Free Caribbean Crossroads by Connie E Sokol Page B

Talking in the hall with Rosa, helping Marvy with boxes, practicing the salsa with him. When she let down her guard, she was the real Megan, he could feel it.
     The salsa. He smiled, thinking about the way she’d fought him at first, then relaxed, then given in. The feel of her waist, her moving with him, the way she’d upturned her face and made the Fred Astaire comment before thinking.
    Bryant lifted the barbell and did another set of repetitions. Without guile. That’s how he really saw her, even though she did her best to show him a colder side. Strange that he remembered the phrase from the Bible. Stranger still that this girl who tortured him daily made him think of it. But at times, he could feel it, had felt it from the moment he saw her on the dock.    Bryant shook his head, replacing the barbell again. She was a study in contradictions, most of the time like she was almost afraid. But that didn’t make sense as he knew she had spunk, and plenty of it. So what was she afraid of? And why was she here on a cruise ship? His comment in the Green Room about blaming something, or someone, had definitely hit a nerve. This trip was more than a favor to a friend. It had to be something about a guy, or maybe her family, but what? Whatever it was kept her at arm’s length, at least with him.
    Sitting up, Bryant towel dried his face, pensive and bugged. It was still there, that gnawing confusion about her and the need to know, to find out the truth. Why he felt so driven, he had no idea. But he cared about her, that was for sure, more than he’d felt before and in a different way than other girls. They all seemed the same—giggling, over-pleasing, and without their own thoughts. Something beyond his understanding was definitely there with Megan—almost compulsive between them—despite her outward rejection of him. It bugged him and attracted him at the same time, a challenge and an aggravation. And yet he had to be careful. Too strong too soon and that would be it.
    Bryant blew out a breath of frustration. All he knew was that until he got the real Megan, he couldn’t leave it alone.

***
    A few hours later, several of the cast stood on the side stage peeking through the velvet burgundy curtains at the evening audience. Nervous energy vibrated through the cast, many of them standing in twos and threes, chatting excitedly, touching up makeup, or adjusting their costumes. Mrs. Van De Morelle had been rumored to attend, but it hadn’t been confirmed.
    “People, people, this is so unprofessional,” said Marvy, shooing them away, then turned and peeked through the slit in the side curtain.
    Megan approached stage right, hesitating, trying to act natural. Automatically, she scanned for Bryant but was relieved not to find him. Since the Green Room Incident, she had vaguely seen him twice, both times acting as if she hadn’t. It was utterly juvenile, of course, but her insides jumped like fighting cats. She couldn’t focus on being mature. A dangerously close connection lay open between them, like cut live wires lying close to each other. It didn’t take much to make a spark and she would have to be so very careful. Several times random moments from their encounter had replayed in her mind. The rawness of it, the sharing of such personal things so freely and unrestrained. And the feelings. It unnerved her that they could connect so quickly so deeply, but she couldn’t stop to think about why. Right now she needed to get through the performance without a mistake. Clint had announced tonight they would do the salsa: apparently, he was feeling more confidence in Megan. More than she felt at any rate.
    Jillian hurried to Megan, fixing a hair piece. “Can you believe we have a full house opening night? That never happens. Usually everyone is too enamored with sightseeing to bother with us.” She put in another bobby pin. “In a few days they’ll be full on both time slots, mostly snoring in the back, but, oh well.