Play Dirty, Page 2

  “This is it, Matthew.” He muttered to himself, quietly, so he didn’t freak out those around him. “No girls. Just the stage.”

  Famous last words.

  PART ONE

  chapter two

  Matthew cupped his hands around his drink and tried not to stare too hard at his phone. Waiting was the worst part of the whole gig, sitting back and rehashing your audition to death while praying they liked you enough to see you one more time.

  This was not his high-dive moment.

  This was the hit-the-bottom-of-the-pool-and-momentarily-feel-like-you’re-drowning moment.

  Maybe he should take up swimming again. It could help with his audition jitters.

  The elaborate clock on the wall sliced through seconds at a depressingly slow pace. Two hours had passed since the audition and he was on bourbon number four. Getting drunk before a callback was a death knell, but waiting for this callback was harder than all the others.

  Greg Ficcus was a god among playwrights. Heaven Under Fire on Matthew’s resume would jettison him to the next tier of NYC stages. No more off-off-off Broadway venues tucked behind strip clubs or in the shadier parts of town—this was the real deal.

  No more bartending. No more judgmental questions from his friends and family. No more pretending everything was going exactly to plan on Facebook or around other actors during cattle calls. Life as he knew it would be radically different, a thing of beauty, repayment for all the years he had slaved away in shitty jobs for the passion boiling away under his skin.

  And his goddamn phone was silent.

  Half the pub tables around him were full of other actors from the audition, nervously chatting over waters and plates of celery sticks. A few celebratory squeals had sounded through the room about thirty minutes prior, but the place had gone quiet since then.

  Happy hour was rapidly approaching, along with the promise of too many people in suits and heels to drown out the sound of his ringtone.

  Matthew scratched his hands across the top of his head and tried to settle his nerves. It wasn’t just that this could be his breakout role; this was his last real chance to finally make it. Bartending at twenty-nine was so goddamn clichéd.

  He wasn’t a public servant, he was an actor. Every student loan payment reminded him of the path he took, the soul-crushing amount of money and time put into a degree that now did nothing more than sit on the floor, too painful a reminder to hang up just yet.

  Living in the city wasn’t cheap and his savings were looking more pathetic than the wilted salad at the next table.

  Maybe Lynn really was too much of a distraction. He had tried his damnedest to keep focused, to let the scene unfurl in his mind and breathe life into it, but she was a thorn in his performance.

  Jesus, he got an erection in the middle of the scene.

  The mere thought of the kiss made his balls draw up tight and he had to carefully adjust himself on the seat to keep from rubbing across the seams of his pants. That kiss was going to haunt him for the next week.

  They didn’t just kiss, they had made out during a professional audition. It was blatantly disrespectful and he’d been sabotaged by his own goddamn dick.

  But fuck. He would do it again in a second.

  College-aged girls were so exciting, so full of life, in comparison to the hardened, older actresses. They’d been ridden hard and spit out by the theater community for so long, it was like riding a unicycle, falling over sloppily every way you turned.

  Fresh faces were so rare these days, but how he loved them. Matthew wanted to take her unburdened spirit and bathe in it.

  Maybe even fuck her, loudly, in it.

  Lynn was a taste of the fountain of youth and she was sinfully delicious. Except that she cost him his last goddamn audition of the summer, maybe of his life—if he was feeling particularly melodramatic. Call it a side effect of living the artist’s life.

  Then again, maybe their chemistry helped convey something more powerful than the others. They were Vance and Fiona, fighting for their relationship, up on that stage.

  Or at least he was.

  Matthew Flint was a professional actor and he gave a professional and outstanding audition.

  Maybe he shouldn’t have been so angry. Maybe a more subtle approach would have been Vance’s style, and he mucked it all up. All these ‘maybes’ were going to send him spiraling down another glass of bourbon.

  He checked his phone again. Nothing. At this rate, he was going to kill the damn battery before he could get a call anyway. He stretched and tried to distract himself with the art pieces on the wall for the fiftieth time.

  He was halfway through them when he spotted some new decor: a very nervous, very beautiful Lynn.

  She looked more of a wreck than he did, checking her phone every five seconds and chewing on her nails. From across the room, she looked way too young to be in the pub. That youthful glow did her a disservice around bottles of booze, but sent happy hour pricks circling her like gnats around a fruit bush.

  His fruit bush.

  Matthew shook his head slightly to unwind the territorial fingers wrapping around his brain. She wasn’t his anything. In all likelihood, she was his career undoing. Best case, she was so goddamn distracting, he had botched his final audition of the season. Unfortunately, she was so goddamn pretty, he almost didn’t mind.

  Almost.

  Roles before Hoes aside, he could at least keep her company and fight off the clearly unwanted company while they waited. Waiting alone was going to bring on an aneurysm. He grabbed his lukewarm bourbon and stepped between the tables.

  “Mind if I sit?”

  Lynn jumped, like he had pulled her out of a total daze. She smiled, too nervous for those beautiful dimples to show themselves. Matthew took this as a good sign and took an empty chair on the other side of the table.

  “Hey pal.” Some twenty-something in a blue blazer with a checkered button down protested, clutching his glass of soda-and-something. He looked like the kind of guy who couldn’t drink liquor straight. “I was talking to her first.”

  “Didn’t look like she was actually talking to you.” Matthew raised his glass in a mock toast. With his superior liquor choice. “So why don’t you respect her wishes and get the fuck out of here?”

  “That’s a pretty ballsy assumption, my friend.”

  Matthew stood to face down the guy. Maybe Matthew wasn’t the tallest guy, barely clocking in at five-foot eleven, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in stature. Chubby kids in school may get made fun of through adolescence, but a lot of them end up kicking ass in the gym later.

  Matthew was no exception. Krav Maga was his friend these days. He held his glass so his arms bulked up substantially.

  “Is it now, friend? Or are dickless men like you too clueless to read body language?”

  Blazer Guy’s face screwed up, like he wasn’t accustomed to insults, but he should have been. The guy wore a cheap-looking blazer and had shitty highlights in his hair. This wasn’t the late nineties and that shit shouldn’t be allowed anywhere.

  The guy took one final look at Lynn, who shrugged, and another at Matthew, before he stalked off.

  Matthew should have been wearing a cape at that moment, it was so goddamn heroic.

  “I really should remember to start bringing my phone charger to auditions.” He gestured to his phone. “I’ve checked it so many times, it’s on life support.”

  “This is going to give me a heart attack. I’ve already texted my mom with my last will and testament.” Lynn bit her lip. It was perfect and pink. Matthew found himself wanting to bite it, too.

  “I hope she likes cats.”

  “Do I look like a cat person?” Lynn feigned shock. “Oh my God. No wonder no one wants me. Luckily, though, Mr. Mittens is going in the casket with me. We’re for life.”

  “This is why they haven’t called you back.” He took a sip of his drink, proud he didn’t refute her unwantedness. Fuck, did he want
her, but he wasn’t going to say it. “They could smell the cat lady on you.”

  “Probably.” She laughed, for real this time, and it was music to his ears. She turned to him and her whole demeanor shifted into something more serious.

  “Listen, thanks for chasing that guy off. I never know what to do in those situations. They always make me so uncomfortable because no one ever seems to understand the word no. It can be a little … overwhelming.”

  “A gentleman always respects when a lady doesn’t want anything to do with him.” Matthew gestured to her with his glass. “If you’re playing hard to get, that’s one thing; but when you aren’t interested? He needs to pack up his toys and go home. It’s completely disrespectful and there’s always more than one pretty girl in the bar.”

  Lynn nodded and returned to her phone. Matthew ignored his, despite the growing itch in his palm to swipe his screen just one more time. A call would light the whole damn thing up and it was black as night. Unless it was dead.

  “I don’t know.” Lynn pulled him back out of his head and away from his phone.

  “I don’t know that I can blame the guy. You are definitely the prettiest in the bar tonight. I bet you are every night.” Oh my God, what was he even saying? Why was he saying this? Now he was the creepy older guy.

  Matthew wanted to punch his own dick in the dick.

  “I wish.” The bright smile returned. She was pink around the cheeks. “But thank you. I’ll take all the compliments I can get after this heartache.”

  “It’s certainly a business of heartache. There are too damn many of us and too few roles. Sometimes, it’s easier to think about quitting than to think about another rejection. Don’t ever give up, though. Those who quit, never do.”

  Lynn frowned slightly. “I guess. It can be really disheartening sometimes. It looks a lot less intimidating before you get in there. You know, you can think you’re awesome one minute and then be crushed the next. But, if the guy in the lip ring gets a callback and I don’t, I might just quit acting for life.”

  “The man-bun guy?” Matthew shook his head. “There’s no way he can be what they’re looking for. Vance Gray doesn’t have a freaking man bun.”

  Another smile. “No, no, definitely not. And Fiona wasn’t some wilting flower like half of them were playing. She was in love with an addict. That takes guts.”

  “To guts.” Matthew clinked her glass. “Our scene was arguably the best there. Our talent probably blew them all out of their seats. Blew their brains, which is probably why they are taking so long to call. They’ve gotta find them first.”

  “Or it sucked so badly they want to run us out of town.”

  Matthew wanted to reach out and give her a hug. Her journey was just starting here in theater, and she was in for a lot of disappointment. It could be hard as hell to stomach, and everyone had to go through it, but he hated to see her look so glum. When she smiled, the whole world lit up. Not that he noticed.

  Every.

  Fucking.

  Time.

  He cleared his throat and put on the air of an old timey vaudeville performer. “Well. One thing is for certain: I didn’t tank our odds. My Vance Gray was fucking amazing.”

  “Are you saying I’m the reason we didn’t get called back?” Lynn looked shocked, annoyed, and more gorgeous than before. The pink cheeks flushed a dangerous shade of red. “Rude.”

  “I’ve been acting since I was a kid.” Matthew took another sip. One or two more drinks and he’d be drunk. It was both fun and dangerous. He was close to no longer caring about the audition and instead continued on the banter with this pretty young thing.

  “I’m talking community theater every summer, going to state in high school, acting conservatory in college. I have my MFA in acting, for fuck’s sake. I’m the gold standard on Broadway.”

  “Are you seriously giving me your resume right now?” Lynn laughed at him. Dimples everywhere. “You didn’t make it! They didn’t want you or your fancy MFA.”

  Matthew couldn’t stop staring at her lips, remembering how they had claimed him during their audition and the sweet way she tasted. His drink made his head feel fuzzy and he decided he really didn’t particularly care anymore if he got called back or not, just so long as Lynn was there with him.

  If someone tried to call either phone, he’d probably throw the damn thing out.

  The way she worked her tongue during their kiss was enough to make him consider proposing, or at least propositioning, and the memory was almost as potent.

  “Can I buy you another drink?” He said instead. A subject change was needed before he embarrassed himself again. She was too young for him and the last thing he needed, on top of this terrible day, was to be considered a creeper. The bar was starting to fill up, too, and getting a drink was going to take a while.

  “Oh, just a diet soda for me. Thanks.” She shifted her gaze from him to the clock on the wall. “You know, having drinks and then taking the ferry home never ends well. I get seasick and all that.”

  “Gotcha.” Matthew clicked his tongue like he was cocking a gun, for some terrible reason that made him want to bury his head under the bar, and disappear into the crowd. God, he needed to get his shit together. Roles before hoes. Roles before hoes.

  Lynn didn’t look at all like a hoe. Nadia had always been kind of slutty, and shame on him for never noticing it, but Lynn looked like pure sunshine. Pure sunshine that liked to get a little dirty under the sheets, perhaps.

  He really should punch himself in the dick. It was screwing up his entire evening. A pair of tits and a pretty face shouldn’t derail his audition and career aspirations, even if his current state made him want to hand everything over willingly, so long as she sat on his face.

  Goddammit, Matthew.

  By the time he got their drinks and pushed his way back to the table, the bar was full to the brim and his dick had thankfully decided to stop giving away his every thought. He set down her drink and leaned in to talk to her over the noise. “So where’s home?”

  “Staten Island.”

  Matthew let out a low whistle. “Fancy. When does your ferry leave, provided we’ve been forgotten by the infamous Director Lewis?”

  She checked her phone, and disappointment colored her cheeks. Still no calls for either of them. “A few hours.”

  “What did you say?” Matthew leaned in further, like he was trying to hear her over the noise. In his semi-intoxicated state, it was mostly to get close to her. The bar was just a nice cover.

  “I said a few hours.” Lynn looked around. “Is there somewhere else we can go? It’s so loud in here and I’m afraid I’ll miss the call.”

  She wanted to go somewhere with him, somewhere quiet. Maybe her kiss was genuine interest, and not awesome acting. Matthew cleared his throat and forced his body to cool down. She nailed the role, though, so maybe it was just acting and she was looking for nothing more than a quiet place to hear her phone.

  Or maybe …

  One look at her big eyes told him it was worth the shot. He lived around the corner, but nothing really screamed ‘creeper’ like inviting this girl to his apartment. If they were both drunk in a bar, that was one thing, but they had made out under stage lights while sober. Better to slow-play it.

  “Well.” Matthew ran another hand through his hair. He liked the way she watched him when he did it. “There’s actually a really nice garden on the roof of this building. I took headshots up there once. Gorgeous views of the city but high up enough to be quiet.”

  Roles before hoes. Right, well he didn’t appear to have the role just yet, so this was only an innocent get-together, just two colleagues waiting for the big call. He wasn’t offering to take her back to his place. He wasn’t taking her out on a date. They needed a quiet place to watch their phones.

  Nothing creepy about being responsible and watching for a callback, even if it likely wasn’t going to come this late in the evening. He’d had late calls before, though. So goin
g up to the roof shouldn’t get his blood flowing. It wasn’t creepy or even sexy.

  But it could be.

  “Sounds perfect. Gardens soothe my nerves. You know, all the greenery and stuff. So, let’s go?”

  God, she was young. Or was she nervous too?

  Lynn reached for his hand. Sparks jumped between them as soon as their fingers touched, like something out of the movies.

  They both paused to stare at each other. Matthew felt like he’d been shocked. Not only did they have electricity, but she had reached for him, like she wanted to touch him.

  Suddenly, the kiss on stage didn’t seem so planned.

  He could hope. The bourbon told him hoping for more moments like that, the ones that hooked him like a salmon tired of fighting upstream, were worth it. This young flower was within reach and it stirred a hardness within his pants. He laughed awkwardly.

  “Damn static electricity.”

  “Yeah, static electricity.” Lynn matched his sheepish look and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. He wanted to touch it himself.

  Her blue eyes were the perfect shade of beautiful, and the way she turned pink when embarrassed had him wanting to kiss her all over again. They both stared too long and then laughed uncomfortably. Like they were in junior high or something ridiculous. But he loved it, he loved the way she filled him with this new spirit. He’d smoke it if he could. Drown in it.

  “So, um, how do we get up there?” Lynn broke their silence.

  He forced himself to stop staring and secured his hand around hers. “This way.”

  PART ONE

  chapter three

  If he was honest, this was Matthew’s favorite place in all of New York City. Sure, there were terraces and rooftop gardens everywhere, but this one had the best views of the Theater District, full of lights and sound and the energy of the theater spilling out over the streets and filling up all the dark spaces. A person could get lost there, amble past the brilliant flashbulbs and the show posters, and soak up the vibrant life all evening. They wouldn’t even have to go inside—they could just stand in the middle of the road with all the taxis and theater patrons and feel at home.