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shoulder and said, “I like your other look better.” Then he turned and ran.
    I was speechless. I just stood there on the sidewalk, the late October wind biting at my cheeks and ears, as I watched Lance race across the lawn. I like your other look better. What the fuck! No straight guy ever said they liked a dude in makeup. At least not the kind I had been sporting.
    So much for getting Lance out of my head. He was now securely burrowed into the center while I swam in confusion.

Chapter 3

    I DIDN ’ T see Lance again that week. Between classes, rehearsal, wardrobe nightmares, and wig hunting—I finally gave up and dyed my hair brown—I didn’t have time to think about him or the implications behind his last statement to me.
    The thing about the theater is if you’re going to do it, you give it your all. I can tell you from personal experience there is nothing worse than screwing up in front of a live audience. You feel about two inches high, turn bright red in embarrassment, and you want nothing more than to dig a hole through the wood planks and crawl in it. However, when you get it right, you get a rush like no other, and as the curtain closed on the final show, I was experiencing one hell of a high.
    The applause was thunderous, echoing off the walls of the small theater. The roar of the crowd, the screeching whistles only intensified the high. When the curtain opened once again, that sweet feeling ratcheted higher and I was flying as I stared out at the audience. Yes! A frickin’ standing ovation! I’d never experienced that thrill, at least not from center stage. My chest was all puffed out and tight, my legs a little wobbly, and my jaw actually ached from how wide my smile was. I took a bow. The show had been a total success. Each night, everyone had been on their game—from lighting, makeup, and wardrobe, actors, to the sound crew—everything just came together and flowed, culminating in the perfect final curtain for The Boys from Syracuse .
    As I rose, I saw my mom and dad, standing in the second row, and that pressure in my chest grew. Dad was clapping, a huge, proud smile on his face, and Mom was bringing her hands to her mouth, blowing me kisses repeatedly. Bo and Katie were to the right of my mom and they were both applauding, Katie jumping up and down, as they hooted and hollered. I winked and bowed again as the crowd continued to applaud. When I stood once again, my eyes landed on Lance. How I had found him in this huge crowd, I don’t know. Luck? Coincidence? Whatever it was, my breath hitched when I saw Lance, his thumb and index finger in his mouth, whistling. He was dressed in a black suit coat with a white T-shirt beneath and ragged jeans. Not exactly the proper attire for the theater, but for the first time it hit me how truly handsome he was. His short hair was spiked; a day or two’s worth of dark stubble on his jaw only highlighted his perfectly white smile when he pulled his fingers from his mouth. Jesus, he looked good, and when he winked at me, my knees buckled. I mean fucking buckled and I had to lock them to keep from falling.
    I could only stand there and stare at him. A simple gaze, but I felt it like a kiss to my heated flesh. A tingling sensation started at the base of my skull and worked its way down my body, until my toes curled. I wanted him. I’d lusted after guys before, but it was more along the lines of finding them hot and thinking getting up close and personal would be fun, but nothing like I was feeling for Lance. I mean, I really fucking was to the point it was crazy insane how badly I wanted him. Luckily, the curtain closed before I could make a complete fool of myself, and I was able to take a couple of deep breaths when the power he had no longer held me. I tried to calm down enough to get my shaky legs to carry me to the dressing room.
    Someone from the cast—I was too dazed to know who—pulled me into a tight hug and slapped me on the back, then another and