If everyone on this production didn’t already know, they would now. Jason didn’t care; Colby didn’t either, and had said so.
He touched Colby’s mouth with a fingertip. Colby’s exhale came hot and eager over his skin, lips parting.
The song ended. They stood wrapped up in each other beneath movie-magic lights and cameras, surrounded by a kaleidoscope of extras, Regency-costumed dancers applauding and chattering and skidding to a halt, lightness in the air and under toes.
“Okay, okay,” Jill’s older-sister voice echoed over merriment—she’d been dancing with Laura and Brian—and shooed them all back to their marks. “For real this time. Thanks for that, Leo.”
“Who says it was me?”
“It was!” said at least ten people, cast and crew, in chorus.
“If it was me, then you’re welcome!”
“Places,”
