Opening Night in the Dressing Room (Backstage Quickies #4)

Opening Night in the Dressing Room

W hen the star of the show ran into the dressing room with a hickey the size of a baseball on her neck, I was about ready to slap her. Puck, on the other hand, grinned like it was the best thing to happen all day. “Have fun?”

I snapped a shirt at him. “Knock it off. We don’t have time for this.”

Dress bunched in my hands, I threw it over her head and helped her pull it down while she shimmed out of the costume she’d been wearing during the first act.

“Grab my makeup case,” I say to no one in particular.

Normally, with professionals like this, being in charge of makeup and hair isn’t terribly difficult. At least, not at this point in the run. The hair and makeup design is done and I’ve trained them all on what to do. I’m really just back here for small touch ups and wardrobe malfunctions.

This is more than a minor malfunction. The props manager, Luc, saunters over with my makeup kit as if he has all the time in the world.

“Hurry!” We have exactly two minutes to get her and Puck on that stage.

“What the hell were you thinking?” I reprimand her as I smear a generous glob of foundation over the spot on her neck. This won’t be enough.

“It’s not her fault. It’s the opening night curse.” Puck laughs as if this is great fun, sounding a little too much like the mischievous character he plays in the show. I hate method actors.

The foundation doesn’t work, so I scramble to find a scrap of fabric I can use to make a makeshift collar for the dress. “Stay here!”

When I rush back in the room, the ridiculous woman is recounting her sexual encounter in vivid detail, while Puck giggles like a schoolgirl. My cheeks flame with anger more than embarrassment. I don’t want to hear about someone else’s sex life when I’m going through a dry spell as desolate as a desert.

I pin a lacy scarf in place around her neck and tuck it under her bodice as quickly as I can. Then shove her and Puck towards the door. “Get your asses on stage. Now!”

“You’re hot when you’re telling people what to do.” Luc says from somewhere behind me. He has the kind of voice that’s memorable. A voice like the men in my dirty audiobooks. Every time I hear it, I melt a little.

“Yeah, right,” I roll my eyes at his obvious teasing.

I’m not blind. I’m attractive in a girl-next-door kind of way. But I’m almost a decade older than him and not exactly his type.

As I turn to put away my makeup kit, I come face to chest with him. Did I mention he’s tall? And muscular. And all the girls in the cast have crushes on him.

“I wasn’t making a joke, Adriana.” His voice rumbles with sincerity that I can’t fully believe. Won’t let myself believe. I’ve always been gullible, and I’ve been played too many times before. I’ve learned it’s safer to keep my walls up, never assume someone is flirting, and push away advances before I get my heart stomped on by guys having a laugh at my expense.

“Get out of my way, Luc.”

“Mmm, there you go again, making me hard.”

“There you go again, making things up to mess with me.”

He tilts my chin so I’m looking at his gorgeous face. “I’m not messing with you.”

“Right.” I skirt to the side and move to the vanity to put away my foundation. He follows behind me.

“Let me show you.”

I shiver at what he’s implying, imagining all the ways he could prove I make him hard. I don’t answer, just search his gaze in the mirror.

His hands come to my hips, tentative at first. “Do you know why I never date anyone from the cast or the crew?”

I shake my head, holding my breath.

“It’s because there’s only one person here I want." There's certainty and confidence in his tone. "And it’s you.”

“But I’m so much older than you.”

“I like that. Tell me what to do and make me your good boy.” He shivers and presses closer, not close enough to tell if he’s telling the truth about being hard, but close enough to feel the heat of him.

“Why are you telling me this now?”

He shrugs. “Maybe Puck’s right about opening night of this show, because… I can’t hold it in anymore. I’ve been near the edge of my control all night. You’re so efficient and demanding. Creative, too. Seeing how you solved that problem with the hickey and put those actors in their place. Fuck, it was sexy.” He comes closer and this time I feel it. His long length pressing along the base of my spine. His very hard length.

“I want you, Adriana. Have for a long time.”

Still a little incredulous, I spin to face him and put my hands on my hips. “If that’s true, then fuck me right here in the dressing room with the door open.”

We both know if the stage manager catches us having sex in here, he’ll fire us before the show’s even over. He’s done it once before.

Luc doesn’t hesitate at all. “Okay.”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah. I can get another job, but I might never have another chance with you.”

I shake my head, not believing what I’m hearing. “You might be ready to get another job for a fling, but I’m not.”

He crowds me against the vanity. “I don’t want this to be a fling, love.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Pretty words, pretty boy.”

There’s no way a guy like him, in his prime, wants an actual relationship with a woman almost a decade older than him.

He grasps my hips and lifts me onto the vanity table, hands immediately running up my sides under my shirt, until his thumbs are skimming the under wire of my push-up bra—because you don’t get to be almost forty without having saggy tits. No matter who tells you otherwise.

“Nope.” I push him back and hop off. He looks like a wounded puppy. “Don’t give me that face.” I can’t believe I’m going to do this. “I just mean not here.”

Taking his hand, I lead him to the back corner of the room where the racks of costumes are lined up in rows. I can’t exactly lock the door to the dressing room. The actors and actresses might need to get in, but these are the costumes we’re not using this show, or the ones that are already done for the night.

It’s darker back here, the lights only on in the main part of the room.

If we’re doing this, I’m taking control. I won’t be laughed at later when he says it was all a joke. I won’t fall into a trap. This is just to take care of the incessant itch I’ve had all night. I’m gonna be the one using him. Not the other way around.

As I walk, I pull off my black shirt. He trails behind like the obedient little puppy he wants me to believe he is. Next, I wiggle out of my black pants. He groans from behind me, and when I look over my shoulder, I catch him checking out my ass. He’s practically drooling. I’ve never felt more powerful in my life.

Maybe he does want this. Doesn’t mean I’m letting down my guard, though.

By the time I reach the end of the row, I’m in only my bra and panties and he’s only in a tight pair of Sponge Bob boxer briefs. I want to laugh at his choice of underwear, but my mouth is suddenly dry when he hooks his thumbs in them and reveals what’s underneath. Nothing childish about that.