Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set by Gigi Blume (ebook reader with highlighter txt) 📕

and slowly inched out of Will’s vicinity. There was a heady tension that even words couldn’t cut through, and I found myself enthralled by the curiosity it ignited. There was history there, and I could only imagine it was a juicy one. Rival suitors for the same woman perhaps? Beer pong adversaries? Or gasp… maybe Will was a Yankees fan. I had to know.

Will narrowed his eyes as Jorge crossed the room to me, watching him balance an arm over my shoulders with a claiming simper. The dissonance was deafening. With a scowl that went on for days, he heaved in contempt and swiftly quit the room.

“What was that all about?” I asked as Jorge took a step away from me.

For a long moment, he watched the space Will left vacant, waiting for a ghost to reappear. He was quiet, preoccupied by the erstwhile encounter. His beautiful brow wrinkled in review of it, and I noted his fists clenched at his sides. It was inspiring—the sensation of solidarity I acknowledged with a person I barely knew. But a heavy awareness aroused me. (Or maybe it was just because he was still without a shirt.) In any case, something had gotten him all worked up, which oddly made him appear even more attractive.

“Why so silent, good monsieur?” I asked, attempting to bring him back to Earth.

When he turned around to face me, all trace of malice was gone from his features. He wore a cheery smile (and that irresistible dimple) and posed, “Do you like pubs?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

He exhaled an easy laugh, drawing near enough to touch me. “There’s a gastro pub that serves the best onion ring tower in the universe. Come out with me tonight.”

I blinked at this intriguing man standing before me, a man I had known for less time than it took to order lunch at Jerry’s Deli, and he was inviting me out for onion rings.

Onion rings!

My eyes ran over his body, clad in well-used Levi’s, tattered Vans, and nothing more. Then I gazed upon his perfect face and blurted like a dope, “Where’s your shirt?”

8

How Pitiful His Tale (How Rare His Beauty)

Beth

“Jonny without an H car!” I screamed, kicking the tire. It wasn’t the fault of my poor old Volvo but taking out my frustrations on an inanimate object was more palatable than taking the blame for running it on fumes.

“Zombie Prom?” Lydia appeared behind me, laden with her dance bag, worn out from Colin’s endless whims. I’d never seen her so spent. It was rather refreshing.

“Yeah.”

She guessed right. It was my Zombie Prom day for curse word substitutes because at this point, I felt like a zombie. It wasn’t just the grueling dance rehearsal, however. Meeting Jorge had me tingling with anticipation for our date, if you could call it that. We were taking separate cars, after all. But it was the odd encounter with Will that was the turning point of the day, and it all went downhill from there. Now my car decided it wasn’t worth starting for me with only a tablespoon of gas in the tank. Maybe if we gave it a push?

“What’s wrong with ol’ Betty?”

Oh, Lydia. She had a name for everything.

“Ol’ Betty is hungry,” I replied. “Do you think you could give me a ride to the Arco? I have a gas can in the trunk. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

She smirked at me, shaking her head in resignation. “You’re hopeless. Come on.”

Her car wasn’t much better than mine. A Honda Civic hatchback. It was newer than my car, but just as neglected. Well, at least it had gas.

“Let me just clear a space for you,” she said, throwing items from the passenger seat to the rear. Every nook of her little car was occupied with stuff. Clothes, boxes, blankets, and pillows filled the backseat to the brim.

“Lydia,” I said, “are you living in your car?”

“Oh, it’s just temporary.” She waved her hand dismissively. “And my name is Lettuce.”

“Fine. Lettuce,” I said. “How long? How long is temporary?”

She released a long sigh, slouching her usually proud shoulders. I imagined the exhaustion from the long day coupled with whatever was weighing her down finally caught up with her, and she was remarkably easy in the recitation of her plight. She’d been evicted. Not entirely her fault. I’d met her roommates and let’s just say they were avid greenery aficionados. Among other things. As a result, she’d been living in her car for about a month.

“That’s not very temporary,” I said. “Some people have held public office for less time than that.”

“Who?” she challenged.

“I don’t know. But that’s not the point. You’re coming to my place. You can have the couch until you get on your feet. And you’re going out with me tonight.”

She protested, insisting she’d be in the way (regarding the couch, not the bar). Surely, Jane wouldn’t approve. But in the end, she agreed, promising to be out as soon as possible.

The truth was, I hardly ever saw Jane anymore. She spent all her free hours with Bing, and while I was happy for her, I missed our movie nights and ice cream binges. Lydia would return some life to the apartment. Hopefully not too much life.

Jorge was waiting for us, with a shirt on, already on his second beer. To my surprise, our director Cole sat at the table. Sitting very cozily next to him was Lydia’s new friend Holly. With the way she was giggling at Lydia’s jokes the other day, I wouldn’t have matched her with someone like Cole. It didn’t seem to faze Lydia at all, however, and she greeted Cole and Holly in a cheery and familiar fashion. Then she took one appraisal at Jorge and offered him the back of her hand. “Well, hello there. I’m Lettuce.”

Jorge took her hand and kissed it. “Yes, I know. Your reputation precedes you.”

She giggled coyly, and I resisted an urge to gag myself with my