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Ian doesn’t let go of me entirely, but he pulls back just enough to give me space to breathe.
“How can I, your humble servant and mere scrap of a scene partner, be at your service today?”
“Well, you could let me breathe. You’re still squeezing me pretty hard.”
“It’s air you need, milady? Breath in your lungs?”
Still holding me with one arm, he plugs my nose with the other hand, puts his mouth over mine, and breathes into my mouth like he’s giving CPR. It feels weird, and he can’t even get a full breath out before a laugh bursts out of me and I’m trying to twist away from him. I’m squealing for him to stop, laughing and thrashing as he cackles and tries to do it again. He’s got apretty firm grasp on me, but it doesn’t stop me from trying to wiggle out of his grip, which eventually throws me off-balance. I tip right out of Ian’s arms and onto the floor, which sends us both into another fit of laughter that has us wiping our eyes and clutching our stomachs.
“I’m so sorry,” he says once he’s partly caught his breath. He holds out his hands to help me up, then finds a second tall chair-stool for me and pulls it over to the counter where he was sitting before.
“You should be! This outfit is new, and now it has floor all over it.” I dust myself off before leaning against the chair-stool.
“My deepest and sincerest apologies,” he says, his eyes sparkling with joy, a hand pressed to his chest. He reaches out his other hand and pinches the material of the skirt between his fingers, the dark navy of the fabric making his pale skin somehow brighter.
He’s so handsome, flushed from our messing about, eyes bright, smile wide.
“Even with ‘floor’ all over you, you look really lovely,” he says, his voice reverent.
No one has ever called me lovely.
That’s all it takes to shatter my self-control. Whatever was stopping me before is not enough to keep me from taking what I want after a compliment like that.
I launch myself across the space at him, standing between his legs, cupping his face in my hands, and pressing my lips to his. It’s not a soft kiss. Nor is it a rough kiss. It’s something in between. It’s the kind of kiss that communicates exactly what I intend it to.
I wanted you so badly that I couldn’t help myself.
When I break our kiss, he’s smiling. A soft, dreamy smile that’s so sincere it breaks my heart. His hands find the backs ofmy legs and rest there—a tickle even through the fabric of my skirt.
“Did you come all the way up here for that?” he asks, his voice quiet despite the booth being soundproof and the two of us being alone.
“Yep. I just came up here looking for anyone to kiss.”
“Lucky me,” he whispers.
“Lucky you,” I whisper back and lean in again. This time, our kiss is slow, intimate, and intentional. I’ve kissed many people, and this is the kind of kiss you share with someone you enjoy kissing. Someone you want to kiss for the pure pleasure of it. I tell myself I’ve felt this before. I’ve kissed people deeply, and for the pleasure of it.
But if that’s the case, why can’t I seem to think of anyone else I’ve experienced this with? Why does kissing Ian Davidson feel like kissing the first person I’ve ever kissed who actually mattered?
This time, he breaks our kiss, but he pushes his fingers into the backs of my thighs, drawing me even tighter against him.
“If I told you I’ve missed you, would you run away?” he asks.
My heart moves too fast for a couple of beats as if tripping over itself at his words.
“You saw me at rehearsal yesterday,” I say. Now that we’re just two weeks away from the one-act performances, we’re meeting twice a week for rehearsals. “And you’ll see me at rehearsal tomorrow.”
“And yet who is sneaking up to the booth to see whom?”
“I was in the neighborhood,” I say, and when Ian furrows his brow and cocks his head to the side, I clarify. “Very important makeup business.”
He nods skeptically, and I know I’m being called out, but I pretend that I’m not.
“And you? What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I was thinking through some light cues, making notes. It’s easier when I can watch the rehearsals happening.” Ian tilts his head to the side, gesturing to the active rehearsal happening on Main Stage.
The actors’ voices float up to us, barely heard through the thick, tinted glass that separates the booth from the stage.
