by Alexis Daria
Or so she kept telling herself.
After the last interview, Tanya pulled them aside to debrief. “I think that went pretty well, don’t you?”
Jasmine smiled, even though her heart was a shattered shell inside her chest. “Absolutely.”
Ashton grimaced, and Jasmine was pretty sure he’d been screaming internally for the past forty-five minutes. The final reporter had asked a ton of questions, and while Jasmine had tried to field most of them, many had been aimed directly at Ashton.
“It was bound to happen sooner or later,” Tanya said. “Romance rumors pop up on every show. This should satisfy their cravings, and hopefully they’ll drop the story soon and focus on the whole show.”
“Let’s hope,” Ashton muttered darkly.
Tanya patted his shoulder. “Get some rest, you two. It’s been a big day.”
After Tanya left, Jasmine turned to Ashton. Better to get this over with.
He surprised her by speaking first. “So, this week . . .”
She raised her eyebrows. “Yeah?”
“I won’t be around,” he said, not looking at her. “I’m going to be at a music studio for the next few days, recording Victor’s songs, and in the evenings they want to get B-roll footage of me singing in a few clubs—”
“Ashton, it’s okay.” He was pulling away, as expected. What she hadn’t expected was that it would hurt quite so much. She forced herself to smile like everything was fine. “I’ll see you in a few days. Have fun recording.”
He nodded, the movement jerky, and slipped away. Just like he used to. Jasmine held back a sigh. If she let it out, tears would come next. And they might not stop.
Distance. Distance was good. Maybe it would give her some much-needed perspective and answers.
Like how to stop being in love with him.
Chapter 28
Ten minutes. That’s all Ashton wanted. Ten minutes alone with Jasmine. But when he knocked on the door of her side of their double-banger trailer, there was no answer.
They were on location in front of the building that posed as the Serranos’ brownstone in Spanish Harlem, prepping to film a kissing scene they’d practiced with Vera a week earlier. This kiss would be deeper than the others they’d shared on camera. After all they’d done together, they’d both assured Vera they were comfortable taking it up a notch. For the sake of the show, of course.
But that had been before the Buzz Weekly cover story. Before he’d convinced himself he needed time away from her. Now, he just wanted a chance to talk to her before the camera started rolling. It had been four days since he’d last seen her. With him in the recording studio and her at the production lot, their paths hadn’t crossed.
But she had been on his mind. Often.
Okay, a lot.
Okay, constantly. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. She was in his dreams when he slept, in his memories when he worked out, and in his thoughts when he recorded Victor’s songs.
The production had moved him to a different hotel for a few days so he could get away from the media circus and be closer to the music studio and the tiny downtown clubs where they’d shot footage of him singing live as Victor. After the agonizing “just friends” interviews and the increased presence of photographers on the way to ScreenFlix Studios and near the hotel, a change of scenery should’ve made him happy. That magazine article had been a wake-up call, a reminder that he didn’t have room in his life for a romantic relationship. His family was arriving on a plane that very night, and he had to be more careful than ever. There was no way he could sneak around to see them while also sneaking around with Jasmine. It was begging for trouble.
Except that was exactly what he was doing now—sneaking around the set, looking for her. He didn’t even have a good reason for wanting to see her—the excuse he’d made up was that he wanted to tell her about the recording studio. While he’d trained with vocal coaches in the past, working in a sound booth was another thing entirely. He wished she could’ve been there, to discuss the artistic challenges of recording, to cheer him on from the audience while he sang live, or even to join him on stage for a duet, like they’d done during karaoke.
He’d thought being apart from her for a few days would help him get his feelings in check so he could be around her without fantasizing about getting her naked. But deep down, he just wanted to see her. His anxiety had reached new heights as of late, and her presence soothed him. He was falling for her, and it was incredibly inconvenient.
He’d tried to cancel his family’s trip to New York, but Ignacio had chewed him out. Yadi would be crushed, and for what? Because of some bochinche magazine? Unacceptable. And so, the trip was on.
Another reason to see Jasmine now, before all his free time was given over to a travel itinerary written by an eight-year-old. Jasmine would have loved Yadiel’s plan. It had not one, but three pizza places on it.
He swung by the makeup trailer to see if she was there, but when the stylists caught him poking his head in, they dragged him inside to touch up his face powder and hair spray.
“Stop scowling,” the makeup artist scolded him, echoing the words Tanya had said at the Latinx in the Arts Summit. She tapped the space between his eyebrows with a sponge. “You’re getting a crease.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled, then held his breath before getting blasted with a cloud of hair spray.
When they released him, he headed over to check craft services next. Jasmine wasn’t there, but as he was grabbing a carton of water, Marquita pulled him aside.
“The music engineers are thrilled with the results of your sessions,” she told him, grinning. “These songs will be a great addition to the show soundtrack.”
Ashton inclined his head. “I’m glad they turned out well.”
Marquita made a few more comments about the music, and once Ashton was able to get away, he resumed his search for Jasmine.
Had he really wanted more space between them? Fuck that. This space thing wasn’t working for him. To make matters worse, not being able to find her was activating the same irrational fears that popped up when he couldn’t reach his father, the worry that something bad had happened.
Nothing had happened, of course. They were on a set, with tons of people around. Nothing was going to happen. Jasmine was somewhere, and wherever she was, she was safe.
So why couldn’t he find her?
She finally appeared on set at their call time and gave him a breezy smile. “Hey, Ashton. Long time no see.”
“Where were you?” His tone was harsh, and she blinked in surprise. He couldn’t blame her—he had no right to make such demands.
Before he could apologize, she said, “I was in Nino’s trailer with Lily, playing cards. Why, what’s up?”
“Quiet on the set!”
“Nada. Está bien.” Ashton shook it off. He’d catch up with her after they finished shooting.
Before sneaking off to ensure that his family had settled in okay.
Anxiety still simmered, but he let it stay. He could use it in this scene. Climbing the steps to his mark, he let Victor take over.
Chapter 29
CARMEN IN CHARGE
EPISODE 7
Scene: Victor and Carmen debrief after a series of talk show appearances.
EXT: East Harlem, Serranos’ brownstone stoop—NIGHT
The sky was dark, lit by yellow streetlights, and the neighborhood was quiet. Victor sat beside Carmen on the stoop of her parents’ home, close enough for their shoulders to brush. They had just returned from a whirlwind day of Victor spilling his guts on one talk show after another. He’d admitted to struggling with depression and anxiety, and self-medicating with alcohol, all of which had led to pushing people away, the downfall of his marriage, and canceling a tour.
“You did great today.” Carmen’s voice vibrated with genuine pride, and her lips curved in a small, private smile. Just for him.
“Thanks.” Victor exhaled and leaned his elbows on hi
s knees. “Do you think anyone is going to want to buy my new album after all that?”
Carmen placed a hand on his back and rubbed it in soothing circles, her touch gentle but firm. “I would. Vulnerability is sexy.”
“Vulnerability is exhausting.”
After a pause, she said in a quiet voice, “I never knew.”
She was referring to all the things he’d confessed. He closed his eyes. “I didn’t want you to know.”
“But I should have known something was going on. I should have tried to help—”
“There wasn’t anything you could do.”
“I still could have tried.”
Victor lifted his head and gave her a rueful grin. “I didn’t make it easy.”
The corner of her mouth tipped up in response. “No. But neither did I.”
Since the moment seemed right, he took her hand in his, lacing their fingers together and resting their joined hands on her thigh. “We both made mistakes, Carmencita.”
She leaned into him, placing her head on his shoulder. “We did.”
He swallowed hard and looked up to the sky for guidance, then back down at her. And took the leap. “So what do we do now?”
She lifted her chin and gazed into his eyes. Then, with her free hand, she cupped his face and kissed him.
This kiss was slow, languid. As if they had all the time in the world. As if they weren’t sitting on the stoop of her parents’ home, where anyone could see them. As if they were just two normal people . . .
As if his own family weren’t on their way to New York that very minute, as if they were in charge of their own lives, as if they weren’t surrounded by crew members, as if this kiss hadn’t been choreographed down to each touch and sigh . . .
When they slowed to catch their breath, Victor looked at her with a question in his eyes.
“I don’t know what we do,” Carmen said in response, her voice husky. “But this—opening up, letting people in, even if it’s just to carry the burden of the knowledge—it’s a start. You’re not alone, mi amor.”
The tension in him eased. He wanted to kiss her again, but it wasn’t in the script. So he just nodded, and got to his feet. He helped her up and together, they ascended the steps, hand in hand.
“Cut! Go again!”
Chapter 30
Jasmine locked the trailer door behind her and let her shoulders droop with exhaustion. Keeping her distance from Ashton was killing her.
She’d given him the out and he’d taken it, like she’d known he would. Old Jasmine would have called him multiple times during the last few days, but New Jasmine was sticking to the Leading Lady Plan.
And if she’d had to enlist the Primas of Power to help her hold strong, well, sometimes change took time.
She moved to the mirror and started to remove her makeup with wipes, taking extra care around her eyes. Esperanza had sent her an article about how makeup wipes were terrible, and while Jasmine wanted to sneer at it, the information had stuck in her mind.
When she got to her lipstick, she paused. Part of her didn’t want to wipe away the feel of Ashton’s mouth on hers. What if this was the only way she’d get to be close to him? They only had one episode left, and a second season wasn’t assured.
Sangana. She was acting like a teenager with a crush vowing never to brush her teeth again after being kissed for the first time, not a Leading Lady who was whole and happy on her motherfucking own.
Screw it. She scrubbed at her mouth with one of the wipes, harder than strictly necessary.
When she was done, she stared at her reflection. Her lips were slightly swollen and dark pink from the friction. She could just imagine what her grandmother would say, and pictured Esperanza slipping a tub of Vaseline into Jasmine’s purse.
The image made her smile, and she held on to that while she changed out of Carmen’s outfit and into her own clothes. Esperanza’s party was coming up soon, and while Jasmine had given up all hope that Ashton would show up—especially now that she knew how much he hated big crowds—she was still looking forward to it. She and her cousins had been busting their butts to make it an event the Rodriguez family would remember forever.
There was a light tap on the door, and Jasmine opened it to let Nino and Lily in. They’d planned to meet in her trailer, since it was largest, before hitting up a nearby taqueria for drinks and a late dinner.
“Ready to go?” Nino asked.
“Almost. Make yourselves comfortable.” Jasmine rubbed moisturizer onto her face while her friends sat on the small sofa looking at videos of Nino’s dog. Just as Jasmine was applying lip gloss, there was another knock on the door.
Jasmine met Lily’s and Nino’s eyes in the mirror. “Did you invite someone else?”
When they shook their heads, she shrugged and went to open it. It was probably a PA with script updates. The writers on Carmen made more changes than Lady Gaga at an awards show.
Opening the door, Jasmine gave an involuntary gasp. Ashton stood on the metal steps, and even though they’d just been on set together, the sight of him there caused an answering tug in her solar plexus, some combination between desire and yearning. He was so handsome, with his own face freshly washed, dressed in a simple T-shirt and jeans. But it wasn’t his sex appeal that made her gasp. It was the recognition and surprise, the feeling of there you are, I’ve been waiting for you.
But she hadn’t been waiting, because she didn’t think he’d come. Except he had. And what was it he’d said earlier? Where were you?
Had he been looking for her?
“Jasmine, I . . .” He trailed off and his gaze drifted past her to where Nino and Lily sat on the sofa, waving cheerfully at him.
“We’re going for margaritas,” Lily called out to him. “Want to come?”
“No. Thank you.” Ashton gave them a brief smile, then looked back at Jasmine. “Just . . . saying good night.”
As he turned to leave, she caught the slight creasing of his brow, the tightening of his features, and before she knew what she was doing, she whispered, “Ashton.”
He paused and glanced over his shoulder, something wistful in his eyes. “Good night, querida.” Then he jogged down the stairs, away from her.
Jasmine inhaled, ready to shout for him to come back, but this time, she held the words in, even though they suffocated her.
He had been looking for her. Before and after they’d filmed. Seeing the others in her trailer had clearly thrown him off. Was he looking to get her alone? And if so, why?
Hope bloomed in her chest, and she didn’t know whether to nurture it like a flower or squash it like a roach. Either way, it pained her to see Ashton reverting to his old ways and turning down invitations to hang out with the cast. She wanted better for him. But she’d resolved to give him space, so she closed the trailer door and addressed her friends.
“Let’s go,” she said. “There’s a margarita out there with my name on it.”
AFTER LEAVING THE shoot, Ashton headed to the short-term rental on the Upper East Side that he’d booked for his family. He would have loved to have had them closer, but with all the paparazzi roaming around, he couldn’t chance it.
The irony of filming a scene about opening up to people and then turning around to go visit his secret family wasn’t lost on Ashton, but what could he do?
Although even Ashton had to admit nothing about this was normal.
It was late when he got there, and his father was the only one still awake. Ashton chatted with him briefly, peeked in on Yadiel’s sleeping form sprawled out on a twin bed, and left.
By the time he got back to the Hutton Court, Ashton was practically dead on his feet. He picked up his bag from the front desk, which production had retrieved from the hotel he’d stayed in the last few days, but when he stepped onto the elevator, he found himself pressing the button for Jasmine’s floor instead of his own. Then he found himself at her door, and before he could question his motives or talk himself out of it, he knocked.
It was late. She was probably sleeping, or still out with the others. He should go back to his room and go to bed. But just as he took a step back, the door opened.
He’d spent what felt like all night looking for a moment alone with her. And now here she was.
She wore a simple black tank top and gray shorts. She looked tired, but her eyes were alert.
He didn’t say anything. What was there to say when you showed up at a woman’s hotel room in the middle of the night? But she stepped back and let him in.
“Were you asleep?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head. “Couldn’t.”
And then he saw the TV was paused, and a lone glass of red wine sat on the coffee table.
“Come on.” She led him to the sofa, which had one of the hotel’s extra fleece blankets bunched up on it. She shoved the blanket aside and sat, leaving room for him to sit beside her. “Wine?”
“No, thanks.” He glanced at the TV. “What are you watching?”
“Real Housewives.” She looked at the screen, which was paused on a frame of two women shopping. “It’s what I watch when I can’t sleep.”
She picked up the remote, and just when he thought she was going to press play, she put it down again and turned to him.
There was a wary look in her eyes, and he knew she was going to ask him what he was doing there or why he’d come to her trailer. Slight panic rose in anticipation—he didn’t know what he was doing there. He didn’t know what he was doing, period. Everything was a mess.
Except this. With her, things seemed to make sense, even though they shouldn’t. So before she could voice the question in her eyes, he slid his hand around the back of her neck and sank his fingers into the warm mass of her hair.
She didn’t move toward him, but nor did she pull away. They hovered like that, his intention clear, and her—waiting? So he leaned in and kissed her. Until their lips touched, he still wasn’t sure if she’d stop him, but she met his mouth with open enthusiasm, and he had a flash of kissing her earlier on the stoop. The two experiences merged—then, wanting to kiss her more deeply, but needing to stick to the agreed-upon choreography—and now, feeling a jolt at the touch of her tongue on his, craving the heat but worrying he needed to pull back.
