Prince of the Playhouse by Tara Lain Page B

table, glanced at Gray, who was staring at the place mat, then went back for the milk. When he returned, Gray accepted the glass and the plate.
    “Can we sit in your living room? I really like that couch. I promise not to spill the milk.”
    “I like it too. Sure. Let’s take our dessert in there.”
    Gray settled back on the sectional, complete with dogs flanking, and Ru sat opposite. “Where’s home for you? I mean, I know about the house in Beverly Hills, and the Paris apartment, and the Colorado ranch, but where do you really feel cozy?”
    Gray sipped milk, his long lashes making fans on his high cheekbones. “On this couch, I guess.”
    Well, Jesus, that made Ru want to cry.
    Like someone flipped a switch, Gray looked up and smiled—the famous one. The one Ru now knew was phony as all hell. “You sure do know a lot about me.”
    Ru munched lemon cookie. “Like I said—fan.”
    “That’s really nice. These cookies are great.”
    “Yes, they’re not free of anything.”
    Gray chuckled.
    “It’s not just me. A lot of gay men like you, Gray.”
    A tinge of pink attacked his cheekbones. “Oh? That’s great. Happy to be loved by somebody other than rednecks.”
    “You must have gay friends.”
    He frowned. “Probably.”
    “You don’t know if your friends are gay?”
    “I don’t have a lot of friends.”
    Who the hell would have believed he could feel so sad for the world’s biggest movie star? “Want to attack another soliloquy?”
    For a second he just looked at his glass, then tipped it to his perfect lips, drank the milk down, and leaned forward. “No. I think I need to go through and mark all the places that just don’t make sense to me. Could we work again tomorrow?” He smiled. “I sent three seamstresses who are supposed to be the best to your place. Shazam, right? They’ll be there tomorrow morning. Put ’em to work.”
    Ru laughed. “Okay, a bribe like that deserves respect. I can meet you at lunch if you want, and then we can talk about later timing.”
    “Perfect.” He stood, his pure physicality dominating the room. Flopsy and Mopsy even looked a little awestruck. Gray crossed to the entry and pulled his hoodie from the closet, then slipped it on.
    Ru walked over and looked up at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    Gray smiled that other smile. The one that lit his eyes. “Yeah.” He reached up a hand, and Ru almost shied away. Man, that would have been a mistake. Gray slid a lock of Ru’s long, floppy bangs through his fingers. “And yeah, you’re right. I don’t have much sex—with women.” He walked out the front door, and Ru slowly folded to the floor.

Chapter Eight
     
     
    “THUS CONSCIENCE does make cowards of us all, and thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought, and enterprises of great pith and moment with this regard their currents turn awry and lose the name of action.” Gray stalked to the edge of the apron and snorted in disgust.
    “Okay, hold there. Let’s break for lunch before we commence with Ophelia’s entrance.” Gray kind of ducked as Artie walked down toward the stage from the audience. Artie grinned. “Shit, man, that was so much better. I mean, that was great.”
    Gray let out his breath and shrugged. He’d barely slept all night, he’d worked so hard on the new understanding Ru had given him. Be cool. “Good. Glad it’s closer to what you want.”
    “It was really good—and individual.” He slapped his arm. “Great job.”
    Oh man, he wanted to tell Ru. Funny how just those ideas Ru had given him made the lines come alive. Young, angry, guilty. He bounded off the stage and up the aisle to grab his laptop case from the seats where he’d left it.
    “Gray, hold up.” Benson came striding toward him. Damn.
    “Hey.”
    “What are you doing for lunch?”
    “Uh, working with my drama coach.”
    “Drama coach? I didn’t know about that. When did she come down to Laguna?”
    “It’s not