Creative Definitions

Jay was avoiding eye contact with me.

Not dramatically. He wasn't hiding behind scenery or fleeing every time I entered a room, just suddenly very interested in stretching.

I dropped my bag on the floor beside him with a heavy thud. “Are you being weird?”

“No.”

“You seem weird. You stretched yesterday and still managed to look at me.”

Jay took his time reaching down toward his ankles before finally looking up. “Good morning, Tess.”

“There you are.”

His mouth twitched, just a fraction of an inch. Good. We were fine.

“Company, hold up before we start,” the director called out from the front of the stage, his clipboard tucked under one arm, looking deeply unimpressed with humanity in general. “I can't believe I have to go over this already, but apparently I do.”

That got everyone's attention. Dancers stopped mid-stretch, and the pianist paused his warm-up scales.

“This company has a strict no-dating policy between cast members for the duration of your contracts,” the director said, pacing the front of the stage. “That includes hookups, casual dating, and whatever creative definition of not dating you think you've invented to get around it.”

A couple of people snorted. Then the director stopped, turning slowly to look directly at me.

Then at Jay.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

“We're not dating,” I announced to the entire room.

Jay closed his eyes.

The director stared at me over the top of his glasses. “I wasn't asking for volunteers, Tessa.”

“You were looking at us.”

“I was looking at the company.”

“You looked at me, then Jay.”

Someone behind me snorted into their sleeve. Beside me, Jay muttered under his breath, “Please stop helping.”

“I'm clarifying.”

“You're really not.”

Across the room, Claire was leaning against the piano, looking like Christmas had come early.

The director sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “The policy exists for a reason. Romantic relationships inside a company create problems with casting, housing, rehearsals, and complaints I don't want to spend my summer dealing with. Violations will result in disciplinary action, including immediate dismissal. Understood?”

A chorus of muted yeses went around the room.

“Great. Let me get back to my job, and you get back to yours.”

As the company scattered, I grabbed Jay's arm before he could escape toward the back wall. “See? Fixed it.”

He stared down at me. “You announced to the entire company that we're not dating.”

“We aren't.”

“I know.”

“Then what's the problem?”

“Tess, twelve hours ago I tried to kiss you in my car.”

I considered that for a moment, letting the full timeline settle. “Okay. When you put those two events next to each other, you've had a rough morning.”

He laughed despite himself, shaking his head.

I squeezed his arm, giving him my best reassuring smile. “Coffee later?”

“Yeah,” he said softly, the tension finally leaving his shoulders. “Coffee later.”

Friendship successfully rescued.

Rehearsal started with Act Two, which meant Danny and I spent most of the morning arguing romantically. Professionally. Mostly.

During one scene, we were supposed to cross past each other near the center stage line, but Danny caught my wrist right as I tried to pull away.

“Stay,” he said, delivering the line quietly. Much quieter than he’d done it yesterday.

Something about the weight in his voice, or the way his thumb brushed against the inside of my wrist, made me forget my next line completely.

Only for a second, but a second on stage is an eternity.

“Good,” the director called out from the dark house. “That hesitation. Keep that tension.”

Danny released my wrist, leaning in close while the director marked something in his binder. “You forgot your line,” he whispered.

“I was acting.”

“Sure you were.”

I offered him a tight, sarcastic smile. “Don't get cocky.”

“Too late.”

At the fifteen-minute break, I was filling my water bottle at the cooler in the wing when Danny appeared beside me out of nowhere, leaning one shoulder against the wall.

“So.”

I looked at him, wiping a stray strand of hair out of my face. “So?”

“You and Jay aren't together.”

I nearly laughed into my water bottle. “Did you miss my press conference this morning?”

“No. Pretty sure the people in the box office heard it.”

“Then why are you asking?”

Danny shifted his weight, his eyes lingering on mine just a fraction too long. “Just making sure.”

Oh. There it is.

“No,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “We're friends.”

“Good to know.” Danny gave me a slow, dangerous smile and walked away before I could answer.

I watched him go, feeling a tiny spike of adrenaline in my chest. Operation Danny was going extremely well.

“You know he's trouble, right?”

Claire’s voice appeared right beside me. I turned. “Do you materialize whenever someone says his name?”

She smiled, fake and sweet, taking a tiny sip from her sparkling water. “I'm serious, Tessa. Danny doesn't do company drama. He’s here for his resume.”

“Neither do I.”

Her eyes flicked pointedly toward Jay across the room, who was currently talking to the stage manager. “Really? Because you seem pretty distracted for someone who just got here.”

I capped my water bottle with a sharp twist. “If you have something to say about my work, Claire, just say it.”

“I just wouldn't want anyone thinking you're more focused on making friends than the role.” Her smile stayed perfectly in place. “The director has high standards. Emily always kept her personal life strictly off-stage.”

My own fake smile disappeared completely. “Is there a problem with my performance today?”

“I didn't say that.”

“Then we're good.”

The stage manager called us back to places before she could answer. For the rest of the afternoon, I made sure Claire had absolutely nothing to critique.

Every single note, I took. Every entrance, I hit dead-on. Every scene with Danny got sharper, faster, and more charged.

By five o'clock, I was sweaty, exhausted, and feeling fantastic.

People filtered out toward the dressing rooms while I stayed behind under the work lights, marking a costume change note in the margins of my script.

“Trying to make the rest of us look bad?”

I glanced up. Danny stood a few feet away near the proscenium arch, his gear bag slung casually over one shoulder.

“It's working, isn't it?” I said, setting my pencil down.

He laughed and walked closer, his boots echoing against the wooden floorboards. “You were really good today.”

“So were you.”

“Careful. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“It was. Don't get used to it.”

He stopped right in front of me. Close. Not stage close, where you leave room for the audience to see. This was different close. Private close.

Danny's eyes dropped from my face down to my mouth, hovering there. I knew that look. I’d seen it a hundred times, but having it directed at me in an empty rehearsal hall hit entirely different.

“We're going to get fired,” I whispered, my heart doing a sudden, violent flip.

“We're not dating,” he murmured, stepping half an inch closer.

I smiled, my breath hitching. “Creative definition?”

His mouth curved into a slow grin. Then he reached out, caught the back of my neck, and pulled me in to kiss me.

For half a second, every sensible thought I’d ever had arrived all at once.

The director’s speech from five hours ago. The strict contract rules. The months I’d spent auditioning for this exact job. The paycheck. The housing. The risk of getting caught. Destroying my summer contract for a hot leading man was an exceptionally stupid thing to do.

Then Danny's other hand settled firmly against my waist, pulling me flat against his chest, and all of that noise simply cut out.

Tomorrow Tessa was going to be furious.

I wrapped my hand into his shirt and kissed him back.