Scary, Lovesick, Foolish by G.G. Andrew

Author:G.G. Andrew
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romantic comedy, horror romance, gothic romance, horror actors, theater fiction, nerd romance, halloween romance, new adult romance, geek romance, theater actress love horror
Publisher: G.G. Andrew

Chapter Eleven

Brendan

I told myself I’d showed up for rehearsal early to make sure we had all the props ready, but really I wanted to spy on her.

Not my girlfriend, but the girl she seemed to be morphing into, the one I’d heard running lines the other night and who seemed to be bleeding out in other places, too.

What kind of part did Maddie have her playing, and was she actually that mean and also did it seem like she was enjoying kissing Kurt?

I fooled around in the dim area behind the upstage flat, pretending that I was looking for a prop, as Maddie’s group took the stage. With the Horror Fest three days away, the theater was getting increasingly crowded at all hours: the stage crew tweaking lights and set pieces, Ryan working on sound, actors mending costumes in the green room. The area behind the upstage flat was covered in boxes, and the air was stuffy with the scent of spray paint and dust, sweat and twenty-four-ounce coffees.

I squeezed past a guy trying on various monster masks from a crate.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” he said from behind a hairy troll face. “How’s it going?”

“Fine,” I said, pretending like I had important business that meant I needed to be in the wings looking through boxes, too.

I was digging pointlessly through a tub of plastic limbs when I heard her voice—that voice, the one that could flay the skin off a grown man who thought he was long past the point of flaying.

“You’re an idiot, Ethan. You want me to wait out here for you?”

“Just fifteen minutes, Sky. We want to see what’s out there, and then I’ll go buy you an ice cream cone.” Kurt’s tone was cajoling.

“An ice cream cone? What do I look like, an eight-year-old girl?”

I dropped a severed head and drifted closer to the stage.

I’ll admit her voice wasn’t all bad—in a way I wasn’t ready to analyze, it kind of turned me on—but it also made me feel about the size of a voodoo doll: six inches tall. If this was Nora the Mean Girl, was I still Brendan the Creeper somewhere inside?

I stopped in the shadows of the wings and watched her. Along with her longer hair, she had a confidence onstage she hadn’t possessed before this summer. She mesmerized me, even as her tone and words shredded my insides a little.

Her back was to me, and she was wearing a brown dress, and the way it fit over her curves was making me uncomfortably aware of the fact that the past two times I’d seen her, we’d done a lot of starting what we couldn’t finish.

A box of fake weapons was nearby, and I fingered the sword at the top of the pile, so I’d have an excuse if someone asked what I was doing and because I needed to be holding something.

“Kiss me, baby,” Kurt said in character, and did one of those awful chin lifts. I wanted to slice the blade through his neck.

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