Preston's Luck

There's no way I'll ever be able to use a surrogate now. There's only one woman my seed belongs to and it's the one I'm buried ten inches deep inside of. Leaning down I kiss her lightly on her lips and then pull out of agonizingly slow.

Lying beside her again, I pull her close and breathe her in. She smells like flowers and me. The scent is overwhelming in the best way.

I know I'm drifting off to sleep, but fuck she wore me out. Is it crazy to want to marry a woman I barely know? I decide it's a moot point. Crazy or not I'm gonna marry this woman. When I pop my eyes open again, it's dark out and after searching my place I realize Tori is nowhere to be found. I checked with the doorman who informed me she hailed a taxi and took off. I can't believe she left like that.

Now that I know she exists; I can't let her go. I content myself with knowing I can ambush her at work tomorrow. That'll have to be enough for now.Chapter SixToriWhen I am sure that he’s asleep, I slip from his bed and grab my clothes. It takes me a few minutes to locate my bag, but when I do, I slip out of his apartment, locking the handle as I go. I have thirty-five minutes to make it to the theatre. Muscles I didn't know I had are screaming at me but I guess that's what happens when you have crazy primal sex for four hours without hydrating.

“Hi, Tori Baldwin,” I say as I stand at the sign-in table just inside the open doors of the theatre. The lobby is bigger than I thought it would be, but the table is crowding the doorway,

“Is that your stage name?” the older woman asks, a cigarette hanging from her lips. I had no idea you could smoke indoors in New York, but I don’t say anything.

“Yes,” I reply. She nods and writes down my name and takes my headshot from me.

“I’m Twyla. I’m the stage manager. Here is the script. Depending on which role you are auditioning for, the highlighted passage is all the director wants to see. Understand?” she asks, putting the cigarette out in the already full ashtray in front of her.

“Yes, thank you.”

“You clearly aren’t from around here. Don’t be so polite. They’ll eat you up in there.”

“Thank you for the advice,” I reply knowing that I will firmly ignore it. I don’t know how to not be polite unless it’s for a role.

“Break a leg,” she says smirking at me while lighting another cigarette.

“Thanks,” I say cheerily while hightailing it into the theatre. I stand there, taking it all in. Never in a million years did I think I’d actually be standing in a theatre, Broadway capacity, in New York City but here I am. Oddly, I am not nervous. I feel powerful and confident that I’ve got this. Looking around, this appears to a small group of people auditioning. Moving to the front of the theatre, I sit with a small group of girls who are reading their copies of the script. I set my bag down and open the script for Fair Verona by Kyle Loughlin and Jenny Hearse and locate the passage highlighted for Jules Cappo. Reading it, I know that I want this role. About twenty minutes later, I’ve got most of it down. It’s just a short scene between Roman and Jules.

“Baldwin, Tori? Locklear, Joshua” A man calls from the stage and I look up.

“Yes?” I call at the same a man’s voice does. Looking in his direction, I notice that he’s cute, but he’s not Preston.

“You’re up,” he says, and I stand walking up the stairs.

“I’m Todd Michel, the director. Whenever you two are ready,” he says steepling his index fingers under his chin.

Closing my eyes, I take one more second to get into character. I channel my inner Audrey Hepburn, my idol.

“Roman, you can’t act like this. What if someone sees you? My father will be pissed and there won’t be anything I can do. He’ll bury you. Literally. You have to do this the right way. You’re just going to stand just inside the window and act like an animal? What makes you think I’d sleep with you when we just met? What? No smooth-talking answer now?”

“Jules, just because your father is the head of the Cappo crime family and mine is the head of the Montalbano’s doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

“Love me? You don’t know me.”

“I know enough. Marry me. Let’s show our father’s that we can’t be manipulated.”

“Oh lord, Roman. You sound like a petulant little boy. I don’t find that sexy and you don’t want me.”

“Don’t I?”

“No. You’ve got something to prove. I am not a point to be made.”