Page 45 of Play the Part (Marsford Bay #2)

HUXLEY

W e spend a slow, quiet morning together. Luckily, Sophia has class early on Thursdays, so we don’t have to deal with her righteous smirks and leading questions.

For now.

After we both shower, I make us some scrambled eggs and roasted parmesan potatoes for breakfast. We sit in comfortable silence at the dining room table, sharing stolen glances and satiated smiles as we eat.

DK is by Connie’s feet, purring loudly. He seems just as smitten as I am with her as she idly bends down to scratch the top of his head.

I imagine every morning like this.

The thought feels so damn good that it makes me want to get on one knee and beg for Connie to be mine till death do us part.

I’m shocked when I don’t.

I must have some restraint left after all.

“Shouldn’t you be at your new job?” Connie asks out of the blue.

She studies me from over her cup of coffee as she takes a long sip, her red hair in a ponytail, wearing another one of my t-shirts, tied in a knot, over her skirt.

I know immediately why she’s asking. It was my excuse for quitting the theatre last week. I play innocent, not necessarily wanting to get into all my past— and rash —decisions right now.

I shake my head.

“Starts next week.”

She hums, slowly nodding her head as she places her mug back on the table. She has this coy grin on her face as if she’s holding herself back from saying something.

“Do you want to play hooky with me today then?” she asks, and my heart flutters as if she’s flat-out proposing. “We can go to the movies or something. I just need to stop at the theatre to grab my laptop—” She stops herself, a shadow crossing her face. “I forgot it last night.”

It occurs to me then that she still hasn’t told me what happened yesterday. It must have been something big for her to show up at my door like that. And by the way she’s avoiding my gaze, it must have something to do with her laptop still being at the theatre.

I decide not to beat around the bush.

“So what happened last night?”

Straightforward but devoid of accusation.

Still, she turns sheepish. Almost guilty. And, shit , maybe I shouldn’t have asked.

“Promise you won’t get mad?”

I puff out a half-scoff, half-laugh, but Connie stays serious, and we stare at each other for a quick loaded beat.

“I promise,” I finally say.

She sighs softly. “Oliver is in town.”

Fuck.

She’s right.

I do get mad.

The rage I have for that loser ignites in my veins like a flame to gasoline. But I stay perfectly still. I’m not—I can’t—I won’t ruin it this time.

“You saw him?” I ask, desperately trying to keep my voice leveled.

She nods, watching me from under her lashes like she’s studying my every reaction.

“He’s been, uh … persistent.” But then she shakes her head, waving her hands in front of her.

“Nothing happened though,” she starts to babble, “I was just giving him a tour of the Remington, and I didn’t even really want him there, he’s just kind of good at weaseling himself into situations,”—her eyes are everywhere but on me—“and then, well he said he had some good news and wanted to celebrate, and I was like, celebrate? For what? And he was like oh I’ll tell you at dinner and I was like no tell me now,”—her gaze finally flicks to me—“and that’s when I learned he stole my screenplay and sold it to Universal. ”

I let the flurry of her words settle between us while I piece everything she said together.

“You wrote a screenplay?” She nods, eyes wide. “And he stole it and sold it to Universal.”

“I mean—” She lets out an exasperated sigh, and I can see the exhaustion in her hazel eyes. “He claims it was his idea, which okay, I guess he’s right. But I literally wrote the whole thing myself. But it’s his word over mine, and his mother is Susan Renfort, for god’s sake.”

I have no idea who that is, but I still understand the gravity of what she’s implying. My heartbeat triples in rate, my nostrils flaring.

“That entitled piece of shit,” I say, dragging my hand over the scruff on my cheeks. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

She laughs, but it’s weak and defeated. “I wish.” But then she smirks, her eyes on me. “I did tell him that I hoped he choked on his own spit and died, though.”

I chuckle and drag my chair closer to hers. Lifting her hand to my lips, I kiss her knuckles, my lips lingering on the tattooed heart on her middle finger, before flashing her a grin.

“That’s my girl.”

She laughs softly as if a small puff of air is all the energy she has left. Leaning my elbows on my knees, I keep her hand enveloped between mine as I look up at her.

“So what are you going to do?”

Her expression turns slightly crestfallen.

“Nothing.” She shrugs. “It’s not worth the fight, I just want him out of my fucking life.”

We fall silent, my hands still wrapped around hers. I chew on my words, deliberating if I should say what’s on my mind. I can hear Sophia’s voice in my head, taunting me.

It’s like you guys are allergic to talking.

I do my best to climb over the boulder lodged in my throat and say the words out loud.

“So it’s over between you two?”

Her gaze is pensive but comforting, her lips pressing together in a sad little smile. She places her free hand over top mine.

“It’s so over.”

Finally leaving my apartment, we head to the theatre. I walk inside with Connie to say hi to Whit while she gathers whatever things she left last night. Whit and I are catching up in the auditorium when I suddenly hear loud shouting.

Our conversation stutters to a stop, both our heads swiveling to the exit doors. It sounds like it’s coming from the lobby.

Then I hear it again, but this time I recognize Connie’s voice, and I snap to full alertness. She shouts again, followed by a man’s voice yelling back at her.

My body moves without me even having to think.

My mind blanks as if suddenly on autopilot, my only urge is to get to Connie.

Now. The feeling is eerily similar to when I used to shut down in prison.

The lines blur, and I’m not sure if I’m here or back there as I stalk up the aisle of the auditorium.

When I slam the doors open, the threat becomes perfectly clear.

It’s Oliver.

Like a fucking cockroach, he’s slithered back, shouting at Connie as if he has every right to.

I feel like a bull charging after a matador, but neither of them sees me coming. I breezily step in front of Connie, and Oliver blinks in surprise, stuttering into silence.

I cock my head and grin arrogantly.

Then head butt him in his stupid fucking face.

The crack of my skull connecting with his nose echoes loudly in the empty lobby.

I hear Connie gasp behind me, but she doesn’t intervene.

His head snaps back with the force as he groans loudly, bringing his hands up to his face.

He stares back at me in horror, eyes wide.

His shoulders curve inward as he bends slightly over, looking at his hands, blood all over them.

“You broke my fucking nose!” he whines, the words muffled behind his hands back on his face.

He snaps up straight, baring his teeth.

I see his swing coming a mile away. He could very well be moving in slow motion by the way I process his every move. I dodge his right hook easily and return his attack with a solid uppercut to the chin.

His body swings back like a rag doll, slamming down to the floor. I’m barely thinking. I just want him to pay. I have time to land a hard kick to his left thigh before I feel someone drag me away from him.

“Relax,” Whit says into my ear. “Before you end up back in prison.”

I blink back to reality, my heart battering in my chest, my breathing ragged and hollow. I look over to Connie, suddenly terrified to see her reaction to my violent outburst.

But there’s nothing but pride in her gaze as she stares back, a subtle smirk on her lips. Relief washes over me like a powerful wave. Then, she breaks eye contact and turns to Oliver still moaning on the floor.

“And if you even think of pressing charges for what just happened,” she barks, pointing a finger at him. “Know that I’ll fucking sue for what you did.” She steps closer, glaring down at him, her face set in hard resolve and spits on him. “Consider us even, asshole.”