Teacher's Pet

C
opyright
© 2015 by Rae Lynn Blaise

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

A
previous version
of this book was published under the name Jessie K and was titled
PLAY DIRTY
.

“
P
arsons and Whitney
!”

Matthew Flint jerked his head up from his lines, suddenly very aware of the dampness under his arms. The pair at the end of the row stood and walked up to the bare stage.

Matthew watched them nod at each other and take the stage. She wore a knit parka, while he came in a man bun and a lip ring, of all things. Neither exactly fit the roles, which made him wonder if they even knew who the playwright was or what the damn thing was about. He mentally checked them off his competition list.

Man bun? Come on. No one was doing those anymore.

Someone nudged his shoulder. He glanced over, and then did a double take.

A gorgeous brunette in a very low-cut dress had just sat down next to him. She seemed too young for him to be ogling this overtly, so he dragged his gaze up to her eyes. Reluctantly.

“I’m Lynn,” she said. “You’re Matthew, right? We’re paired up.” His partner flashed a bright smile. She had tiny dimples in her cheeks.

Matthew decided in an instant he loved dimples. He was probably going to write a poem about them later. A haiku. He wasn’t good at poetry.

W
hat had
he done right in a previous life to get paired up with this little angel? She ran her fingers through her long hair, distracting him.

“Yes, I’m Matthew.” He extended his hand, but it was awkward at that angle, so he did an overelaborate body turn. She giggled.

“Sorry, you’d think I’d be used to this after fifty-seven thousand auditions, but I always turn into a mess before I go on stage,” he told her.

Lynn leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, carrying the soft scent of rosewater. “I put on fifty-seven thousand layers of deodorant before I left home, just in case.”

“Maybe I should borrow some of yours.” He winked and the dimples reappeared. Oh, good one, Matthew. Borrowing deodorant. Like they would just smoosh their armpits together? Maybe he’d write another haiku, to embarrassment.

Lynn went back to running her lines, but Matthew couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She must be new to the circuit because she was a foreign beauty in the cattle calls. A face as flawless as hers would be worthy of a memory. Plenty of beautiful girls flooded the streets of Broadway, yet they lacked the natural beauty and youth Lynn carried.

Lynn. That was a pretty name.

He should really be running Lynnes. Lines! Running lines.

And yet… Every fourth or fifth line, he found himself staring at her again, picturing her lips delivering these lines. The last time he auditioned a romantic scene, his partner was like sixty. Boy, had he proved his acting chops that day. She wasn’t a sexy Helen Mirren-type sexy, it was more of a lifetime-of-menthol-cigarettes sixty.

But this time … Well, this time, he wouldn’t have to dig so hard to fawn all over her.

Matthew skimmed across the script, captivated by the way her pink mouth formed the words soon meant for him.

Two words caught his attention and snapped him back to the business at hand: ‘passionate kiss.’ Oh, snap. Just for a moment, his pants got a little too tight. He shifted uncomfortably and tugged on the fabric, aiming for nonchalance.

Lynn cocked an eyebrow at him. Oops. He shouldn’t have thought cock.

“All the waiting turns me into a mess.” Had he already said that? He totally had. What an impression he was making.

The dimples faded as a forced smile took over her youthful face. He wanted them to come back.

“Oh, no! I nail it every time. Just, you know, pre-stage jitters.” Better.

“Me, too, but I haven’t had the experience of fifty-seven thousand auditions. This is actually only my second.”

“Stick with me, kid.” Matthew winked and the dimples returned. “Want to step out and run these together? We’ve got a few more ahead of us.”

She heaved a sigh of relief. “Please. I’m certain I’m going to screw it all up without going through it a few times.”

He led her out to the hallway. A few other pairs dotted the walls, discussing blocking and enunciation. Those types made him batty. Matthew was more of a wing-it kind of guy, but that maybe also explained his low audition-to-callback ratio. Sigh.

“Here?” Lynn pointed to a secluded corner.

Matthew felt his pants tighten again as he nodded, the words running through his mind again.
Passionate kiss
. He let her take the lead, following her as she moved down the hall. The fact that his eyes were on the way her ass moved the whole time was not the point. His mind was still on the play. Mostly.

This playwright was one of his favorites, a local guy who built worlds on gritty characters and unique plots.
Heaven Under Fire
was no exception. Matthew would literally kill a hobo if it meant landing a role in this show. Literally.

In this particular scene, they were fighting over his drug use and recovery. Lynn was the perfect Fiona–funny, charming, and brimming with passion. He found himself losing his place again as he watched her profess her undying love to him… er, to Vance Gray. As she listed his transgressions, he caught a taste of her innocence, but she was so damned convincing.

“You’re supposed to say, ‘I’m not the same man, Fiona.’”

“Sorry.” Matthew offered a light laugh. “You’re just so good in this role. I forget I’m in the scene, too.”

Dimples returned. What he wouldn’t give to touch them. Probably kill another hobo, even.

“I’m not the same man, Fiona.”

“Why can’t you just listen to me?” Lynn crossed away from him and he followed. Only kind of looking at her ass. Improvement!

“I listen to you every time that gorgeous mouth opens.” Matthew grabbed her by the waist and held her close. “You’re just too headstrong and stubborn to notice.”

She slammed a fist against his chest. “I am not headstrong. You’re impossible.”

This was it, building to the climax—their kiss. But instead of excitement, he grew nervous. Lynn was gorgeous, but obviously too young for him. Here he was, pushing thirty, and she looked like a breath of fresh air. A breath of jailbait-scented fresh air.

As badly as he wanted to, he couldn’t kiss this girl. He remembered how everyone thought about guys his age when they were like—twenty—it would be like her kissing her grandpa. He would be that old guy she had to kiss. No thank you. He’d rather just be the old guy who nailed the audition with her.

It pained him to pass up on an opportunity like this, but someone this captivating and youthful wouldn’t want to kiss someone like him. And even if she did, he would probably embarrass himself with an on-stage hard-on. This was running a little too real.

“I think I’m doing that wrong. Can we back up?”

Matthew nodded, relieved he didn’t have to reject the girl or deal with the embarrassment of having her shun an old guy like him. While he had a healthy ego, she was too pretty to stomp all over him and not cause harm.

They ran through the fight a few more times, Matthew helping her run blocking. He needed to at least
look
like a goddamn professional. They were on the fifth run, each time breaking before the kiss, when the stage manager popped her head out of the door.

“Flint and Viggiani!” Viggiani. Of course. He’d always loved Italian girls.

Lynn had that deer-in-headlights look about her, so Matthew took her elbow and waved to the stage manager. Fuck, he really needed to remember that lady’s name.

“You’re going to be great.” He whispered. “Just keep focused. And if you get lost, follow me. I clearly pay attention well.” Pay attention to your butt well, he meant, but politely refrained from adding.

She smiled at that. As they made their way to the stage, Matthew became acutely aware of the heavy silence in the room. Despite being too flustered to flirt, this was his favorite part—tthe nerves before the leap. When he was a kid, the high dive was his favorite part of the pool. Something about the stomach-dropping fear made him feel strong and powerful. He got a taste of that every time he walked on stage.

Only this time, he had a beautiful brunette with perky, young breasts waiting for him. That dress was going to be the death of him.

Before they climbed the stairs, Matthew took her hand and squeezed. “Break a leg up there.”

A devious smile grew between her dimples. “I can’t wait to kiss you.”

He stared in shock as she climbed onto the stage. He had to hurry after her to prevent himself from looking too much like an idiot. The fact that it put him at ass-gazing level was also beside the point.

“Lynn Viggiani. I’ll be reading Fiona Watley.”

“Matthew Flint, and I’ll be reading the role of Vance Gray.”

The director, hidden in shadows, extended a hand for them to proceed. Lynn took her place stage left, and Matthew moved to the back of the stage to pantomime opening a door. This was where all his years of training really took off. Maybe he didn’t like to fret over otherwise meaningless blocking in an audition, but characters were his thing.

Matthew may not have been a druggie, former or current, but Vance Gray was a man on a quest to redeem himself. It was no different than Matthew’s own quest to the stage: each audition was another milestone, requiring him to bleed himself out onto a gaffer-tape-marked wooden floor, in front of directors and producers and stage managers who decided he wasn’t quite the right fit. Vance Gray was like his freaking spirit animal, Fiona his muse.

Lynn’s ass made a gorgeous muse.

Matthew cleared his throat and stepped through the invisible doorway. He made to slam it and staggered forward into his scene. “You bitch!”

Lynn spun on him, full of fire and ice. “Don’t you dare call me a bitch, Vance. Don’t you dare. Karma’s the bitch here, not me.”

“You know what you did.” Matthew sneered back. He tried to picture Lynn as one of his fleeting opportunities, something to chase after like Vance, but he was drawn to her beautiful face and … well. Anyway.

He closed his eyes to focus.

He was Vance.

He was angry. “How could you do this to me, Fiona? After all the shit we’ve been through.”

“What did you expect me to do? The police were banging down our door with your name on their lips. Should I go to jail because of your addiction?”

“I would never hurt you or bring you into this. Never. Why do you think I’ve worked so hard to get clean? Goddammit, have some faith in me.”

He snuck a glance into the audience and watched a pen fly across a notepad. Notes were always such a toss-up. If only he could really see the director …

Goddammit
. Focus.

Matthew slipped back into Vance Gray, seeing the stage through his eyes. Instead of the taped up stage, he saw the broken living room of an old trailer. Instead of Lynn, he saw a beaten-down and angry girlfriend whom he wronged. It was time to kill it.

“I bust my ass, day in and day out, just for us. For you.” Matthew flung his hand backwards and Lynn winced. “I bust my ass, my balls, my back. Everything is for
you
, Fiona. Not one goddamn other person. You see these hands? These hands were made for serving you.”

“Those hands were made for hitting pipes and women. You don’t love anyone but yourself. You’ve been a selfish bastard since the day I saw you standing in the Dairy Freeze, and I curse that day. I curse it, Vance, because it means I got stuck in this shitpit with this shitty life.”

“I’m sorry it’s not a castle.” Matthew ran a hand through his dark hair. He had intentionally left it long, curling at the edges, with a matching goatee, scruffy as Vance would be. “I’m sorry I can’t make you a princess. But I’m doing what I can, and I should be given credit for that.”

“The police, Vance! Explain that, if it wasn’t the crack.”

Matthew took a deep breath and forced his eyes to the stage, the dirty floor of the trailer in his mind. “I … can’t.”

“Get out. I’m done with you, I’m done with the drugs and the booze, I’m done with all your lies and deceit. I can’t handle this anymore. We used to be on top of the world, but that whole world is nothing but embers. I’m not fireproof anymore. I can’t survive any more burnouts.”

“I’m not the same man, Fiona.” Matthew’s heart picked up speed. This was it, barreling towards their passionate ending. One glance at Lynn told him she was excited, too. He had to rein himself back in to finish the scene, keep his pants lax and his mind focused. Easier said than done.

“Why can’t you just listen to me?”

Matthew stood behind her. “I listen to you every time that gorgeous mouth opens.” He grabbed her by the waist and held her close. “You’re just too headstrong and stubborn to notice.”

She slammed a fist against his chest. “I am not headstrong. You’re impossible.”

Blood ran hot through his veins. “Fiona, I love you. I love every inch of this perfect skin. I love every hair on your head. When my heart beats, it beats to your name. I swear on my life, lain out before you, that I am clean and innocent.” He dropped to his knees and took her free hand with his. “My old life is gone, locked behind a key and drowning at sea. I can’t take back the past, but I can fix our future. Just believe in me.”

Lynn’s beautiful blue eyes filled with tears. “Vance, please let me go.”

“Tell me you don’t love me anymore, and I will walk out this door. I’ll walk out of this town and never steal sight of you again, Fiona.” He rose and took her by the shoulders. Who knew shoulders were that sexy? Under the bright stage lights, she looked like an angel. “Say it. Tell me you don’t fucking love me anymore.”

“I don’t fucking love you anymore!” Lynn grabbed the collar of his shirt and pressed her sweet mouth to his. Matthew lifted her up to his waist, holding her tight and letting her devour him. This surpassed a stage kiss, this was magic wrapped around the tongue of a gorgeous girl. He lost himself in her, forgetting the stage and Vance and Fiona.

Lynn rocketed him to a place where it was just the two of them, where the floors spun and an erection was begging to burst from the prison within his jeans. So much for not having an on-stage hard-on.