Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 5

happening: he was talking to me, I was attracted to him, I had a hunch he was gay but I wasn't totally sure, I liked the smoothness of his voice, I liked the way his real hair fell on his forehead, I liked the way his tee-shirt fit over his pecs, I liked his long eyelashes, I was such a dweeb, I was too skinny, I was too small, I was too femme, he'd never like a guy like me.
    "I like Shakespeare," he was saying when I managed to tune back into his chatter. "I was in Twelfth Night when I was a freshman and..." He trailed off and stared at me for a long moment. "Gosh, you're pretty."
    I laughed, startled and surprised by his assessment. "Oh, shut up."
    He smiled. "No, I'm serious. Surely, people have told you that."
    My face heated up. I'd been hearing that description, "pretty," for most of my life, and I hated it. Girls were pretty. Men were strong and handsome. Sam was classically masculine and attractive, angular, big. He had broad shoulders defined muscles. He was everything I thought a man should be.
    I shrugged. "I get that a lot, I guess."
    "You say that like it's a bad thing. It's really not."
    Before I could stop myself, I said, "Pretty isn't hot. Pretty's what you call the nice-looking guy you don't want to sleep with."
    Sam's eyes widened. "I amend what I said, then. You're hot."
    "Really?" It was hard to contain my own skepticism. I felt like he was patronizing me.
    Sam laughed. "Yes, really . I really want to sleep with you. You are one hundred percent the type of guy I usually go for."
    I'm not sure what I said, but I think it was something bashful and self-deprecating. Or I stared at my feet, shuffled back and forth, and said nothing. I still didn't believe he could possibly be interested in me.
    But then he said, "I'll prove it." He grabbed my hand and pulled me through the crowd that had gathered in the room. "Hey guys! I gotta run. Great party. See you later."
    Then we were outside. I looked back at the building from which we'd just come and then looked at Sam. "Uh..."
    "You're the hottest guy I've ever seen. Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise." Then he kissed me.
    ****
    SAM
    Tyler is standing in the middle of the studio stretching such that he has to be showing off before the rehearsal begins. The sunlight streaming in from the windows highlights his skin in a way that emphasizes how good-looking he is, makes his body seem to glow. Several people, other actors and company dancers, are looking on, not even pretending not to gawk.
    I hate Tyler.
    Part of me had hoped he was also auditioning for Billy, so that when I got the part he'd go away, but instead he's been cast as Enoch, and now we'll be sharing this space every day for the next three weeks.
    He's tall and thin and handsome in the way Hollywood actors are, though the dark shadow of a beard on his face is making me think he hasn't shaved in a week, and something about that is the epitome of arrogance and laziness that is Tyler.
    He smirks at me as I walk in.
    "Why Samuel! Rob told me you'd been cast. I'm delighted to be working with you again."
    "Likewise," I say, though obviously I'm not, and I'm pretty sure he knows this.
    He stretches by holding his elbow over his head and pressing down on it with his other hand. He stands on one foot for good measure. "How is the tiny boy you brought with you from Ohio?"
    "You mean Jess? My boyfriend?"
    "Oh, is that what we're calling him? Seems to me he's a pest." Tyler drops his arms and stands with both feet on the floor. "You could go to bed with a real man, you know."
    "Jess is a real man."
    Tyler tuts and turns away. "Well. My offer still stands if you need a change of scenery."
    You better believe I roll my eyes at that.
    It's handy that the nature of our roles means we won't share the stage much at all, and our first rehearsal goes pretty well. I'm basically done for the day and am in the process of changing out of my character shoes and into sneakers when Rob, the director, barks, "Sam!"
    I stand, just in my socks, and say, "Yes, sir?"
    "Will you show Tyler these steps?" His voice is full of exasperation.
    Tyler's a better singer than a dancer, and I guess the casting makes sense now because the part of Billy requires more dancing. It's clear soon enough that Tyler skipped the part of whatever dance classes he took in which they taught the ballet basics, because he isn't even placing his feet right. Rob explains what Tyler is supposed to be doing, so I try modeling the steps.
    When that