by Haley Jenner
Ten
Take Two
Roxy
He stands at least six-three, shoulders broad, skin tanned to an inch of its life. There’s a laziness in the way he approaches, a level of chill that borders on arrogant. Dark shades hide his eyes, which I know from seeing him on screen are the color of denim. With only a duffle slung over his shoulder, clothed in bright board shorts, a loose tank top and flip-flops, he looks nothing like the heartthrob star that slays red carpets in Armani.
Offering Reid a faux stab to the gut with his closed fist, he connects heavier than Reid anticipated, a soft grunt barking into the air around us.
“Dipshit.”
“Now, Reidy, not in front of the lady.”
I find myself smiling before he’s spoken directly to me. The thick twang of his accent, comically broad. Enough so, that if I closed my eyes, I’d swear that it was the Crocodile Hunter who had just jabbed Reid in the stomach.
“Roxy, Ari Hart. Hart, meet Roxy Monroe,” Reid introduces us.
“Nice to meet you, Roxy.” Definite emphasis on the O as he says my name.
“Cool accent.”
“This old thing?” He grins, removing his sunglasses to slide them against his neck. “Picked it up a good thirty years ago.”
“Funny guy,” I murmur. “I’ve never met an Australian before.”
“Lucky you,” he jibes. “We swear too much, drink too much, talk a whole heap of shit and most of the time you won’t even be able to understand what we’re sayin’.”
“Sorry, I didn’t quite get that.” I touch my ear.
He laughs. “I like this girl.” He winks at me. “Reid, I need a trailer. Please tell me mine’s ready? I’ve been traveling for a good twenty hours and I’m cactus. I need to get some shut-eye before I put your acting prowess to shame this arvo.” He stretches, a loud yawn echoing his request.
“Yeah, man, Baxter’ll show you where you can get your beauty sleep.”
“Ace!” he hollers. “An assistant.”
“Not yours.” Baxter bites haughtily, making us all grin. “I work for Reid.”
“Me and Reid are one and the same.” He grips Baxter’s shoulder. “I’m just better looking. Catch you guys in a few. Pleasure to meet you, Miss Roxy. Reid’s told me nothing but good things, looking forward to working with you.”
With that, he’s gone, his attention on Baxter as Reid’s assistant shows Ari to his trailer.
“He seems nice.”
Reid watches his retreating back before turning to look at me. “He’s one of the few people I would classify as a friend nowadays. He taught me how to surf,” he offers on an arched brow.
“Am I supposed to be impressed?” I tease.
“Uh, yeah,” he invites. “Me. Surfing. In the ocean. I’m quite good.”
I strangle my giggle, biting at my lower lip to disguise my smile.
“Laugh all you will.” He sees through my lame attempt. “But it’s true.”
“I believe you,” I assure him.
“Yeah, yeah.” He throws his arm over my shoulder pulling me into his body.
It feels natural, like the last ten years hadn’t passed. Like we were back in Tampa, seventeen years of age, our friendship indestructible. But that’s a lie. Ten years have passed, we’re no longer teenagers, and we learned the hard way that our friendship was ephemeral.
Feet stumbling at the contact, my body rushes to shift out of his grasp.
“Shit, sorry, Firefly. I... just got caught up.”
I nod awkwardly. “Roxy. You need to call me Roxy, Reid,” I all but beg. “I don’t need anyone reading into our relationship. The movie is called Firefly, let’s not let rumors fly,” I lecture. “I’ve had enough shitty publicity, I don’t need any more scandals.”
Hurt scores across his face evenly. “Received loud and clear. See you on set,” he mumbles, his back already turned on me, moving away.
Ari wanders over, looking more refreshed than he was this morning, hair still wet from the shower.
Ari Hart is hot property right now. He’s risen to A-list celebrity status in the span of eighteen months. One movie was all it took to propel his career into the big time. Now, from what I read, he’s batting off scripts with a battle ax, trying to catch his breath.
“I remember seeing you with long hair somewhere.”
Baxter, holding an apple in his hand smiles tightly at us as he saunters past.
“What the fuck, man?” he spits as Ari expertly nabs the apple from his grasp.
“Thanks, assistant.” He speaks with his mouth full. “You read my mind. I’m famished. I’ll speak to Reid about getting you a raise.”
I watch Baxter stomp his foot, growling profanities under his breath before storming off.
“I don’t trust people who don’t swear outwardly. Either do or don’t, you know? I enjoy dropping a perfectly timed F-bomb, it’s therapeutic. Hey, tell me, why do you Americans find the word cunt so offensive?”
“I don’t,” I disagree. “I quite enjoy dropping a perfectly timed C-bomb.”
He watches me as he takes another bite of Baxter’s apple. “It’s a very versatile word.” He speaks around half-chewed apple once again. “It can be used to praise or insult. Mad-cunt, positive. Shit-cunt, not so much.”
I turn away to hide my smile, but he senses it, nudging me with his arm. “Can’t hide that smirk from me.”
“Why are you pushing him?” I gesture at Baxter.
“Mate, that guy is so highly strung, he needs a release before he.” He emulates an explosion with both hands. “I’m just helping him along.”
“You want to push him to a point where he loses his shit, to help him?” I test skeptically.
“Yeah,” he answers easily. “Reid made me cut it.”
“What?”
“My hair,” he answers, comfortably jumping conversations without prelude. Finishing his apple, he throws it into the closest trash can. “For the role, Reid made me cut it. Apparently your love interest doesn’t have long, luscious locks.”
“That is true.”
“How do you feel about the ending?” he asks me in all seriousness. “The fact that Tanner dies without Abbigail ever knowing he loved her back.”
“That’s not true,” I answer. “She knew he loved her completely. She just didn’t realize the affection behind it, but then how could she? Tanner himself only realizes it at the end.”
He clucks his tongue. “But don’t you want closure for both of them? A sense that their love wasn’t wasted.”
“It wasn’t,” I dispute. “They loved each other the best they could for the time they had. Tanner dies knowing his best friend, the person he loves most in the world, is happy. It’s poetically sad. It’s brilliant.”
“You know the script pretty well?”
I clear my throat. “I first read it when I was seventeen. It’s etched in my brain as a memory more than a story.”
Silence hangs between us, both our eyes falling onto Reid. He’s standing with James, face creased in complete concentration, totally in his element.
He looks made for the role he’s been given. He’s dedicated his life to cinema. To understanding it better than anyone I know.
“You and Reid, huh?”
I pull my gaze away reluctantly, frowning at Ari. “What?”
He arches a brow, knowing full well I heard him correctly.
“There’s no Reid and I.”
“There’s a vibe,” he combats.
“There’s no vibe,” I counter.
“Woman, please. You were looking at him with little love hearts shooting from your eyes like a SnapChat filter.”
My eyes settle on his profile, working my hardest not to look at Reid again. I huff. “We were best friends once upon a time.”
“Best friends,” he chuckles sarcastically. “Righto.”
“You’re really starting to piss me off.”
“Wound too tight,” he mouths.
; “I’m not wound tight. You’ve known me for a single second, you have no right to accuse me of being high maintenance,” I snap, louder than necessary.
His head shakes. “Never said you were high maintenance, don’t twist my words. I said you were wound too tight.”
He must read the confusion in my face. “You don’t trust this” —he points to his heart— “so, you live in here.” He taps his temple. “Remember...” He emulates the explosion once again and I narrow my eyes.
Opening my mouth to speak, I close it again. Ari mimics the action, exaggerating the movement tauntingly. “I love when I’m right. You gotta live what you feel, Roxy-Roo. Otherwise, you’ll spend your life incredibly unhappy.”
“Your accent is starting to annoy me.”
“Told you us Aussies talk a lot of shit, not my fault it resonates with you. Anyway,” he continues after a brief pause. “You trying to convince me that you two never rooted?”
“I’m assuming that means what I think it means—”
“It does,” he cuts me off.
“No,” I snap. “We never rooted.”
He snorts, big body shaking with his quiet laughter. “I knew that. I just wanted to hear you say rooted.”
The hideous snort of laughter forces my anger to dissipate within seconds, my own laughter joining his. “You’re an asshole.”
“So you’ve said.”
Eleven
Take Two
Roxy
“Fuck, Rox. That’s disgusting.”
Looking over at Reid, I smile, big and wide, the gesture outwardly arrogant. “I’m disgusting? It was a burp. I remember a time when I had to bring you toilet paper because you couldn’t stop your bowel movements enough to get more from the bathroom.”
He laughs. “Gastro is an illness, it can’t be helped,” he declares matter-of-factly. “You’re choosing to turn me off my food.”
I watch him shovel nachos in his mouth on a raised eyebrow. “Your mom was home,” I deadpan. “Your mom was home, and you made me drive to your house and bring you toilet paper.”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “She would’ve fussed.”
Ari and Baxter watch on, heads like those at a tennis rally, moving side-to-side in time with the conversation.
Reid is right. Bree would’ve fussed. Irritatingly so.
“How is Bree?”
He blinks twice, a discomfort making him look away. Pushing his food away, Ari snags the plate, not hesitating before carrying on where Reid left off. “She’s good.” There’s a stiffness to the way Reid speaks, his jaw shifting with the grinding of his teeth. “I thought you guys spoke?”
Bottom lip tipped out, I shake my head.
“She comments on your Instagram,” he combats, working to catch me in a lie.
Eyebrow raised in challenge, I remain silent.
“Dude,” Ari speaks, mouth still full of food. “You just admitted to stalking her social media.”
Rolling his shoulders in unease, Reid scowls. “No, I didn’t.”
“You kinda did,” I combat, now working to catch him in a lie.
“What? You’ve never been on my Instagram page?” he rebuts.
Now it’s my turn to shift awkwardly in my seat. “You have no pictures. None. What is there to stalk?”
He clicks his fingers before pointing at me. “So, you have looked at my page,” he declares triumphantly.
“Who cares?” I shrug.
“No one,” Ari answers. “Absolutely no one cares about who has stalked whose Instagram. Also” —he turns to Reid— “put a fucking picture on your page. You look like a serial killer with zero photos.”
He looks to Baxter for confirmation. “It is kinda weird. It’s like you’re a bot.”
“I don’t even know what that means,” Reid grumbles.
“A fake account.”
His brows furrow.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. Just take a photo,” Ari pushes.
Lifting his phone, Reid maneuvers the device to get us all in the shot. Happy with the picture, he posts it. “Hashtag, these people are assholes. Hashtag, not a serial killer. Hashtag, Ari ate my lunch.”
“Remember to use the symbol for hashtag and not the actual word. We don’t actually want everyone to know you’re a galah,” Ari teases.
We all laugh, not actually sure what language he’s speaking.
“Can you disable comments on that post?” I ask quietly.
He watches me for a beat, understanding making him blink. “Show me how to do it.”
Leaning into him, I point at the three small dots at the top of the photo. “Turn off commenting,” I murmur.
I’m close enough to smell him; his skin fresh, his clothes still smelling like freshly laundered wash. My chin grazes the hard touch of his shoulder, I could rest it there if I was brave enough. Like I’d done a million times before.
“So, Roxy, any siblings? Specifically, any adorably hot sisters that wouldn’t mind spending a night down under?”
I startle at Ari’s voice, both irritated and thankful for his interruption. “Only child.”
“Selfish, spoiled and independent,” Reid jokes, nudging me.
I pinch his tricep, his skin like velvet over the strong line of his arm. “Says you.”
“Ow,” he growls, not denying it.
“What about you?” I turn to Ari. “Siblings?”
“A sister,” he answers, but says no more, turning to Baxter to talk about surfing without a breath.
I look to Reid curiously, but he just shrugs.
It’s weird. I know Reid, and even considering the length of time that has passed, the fundamental parts of him couldn’t have changed that dramatically. He was a good friend. A friend that listened, one that read you before you had to explain your feelings. He’s spent his life observing. He told me himself that Ari was one of the closest people he has nowadays, but it seems he knows little to nothing about the cocky Australian.
It gives me pause to consider that maybe Reid was just as jaded by the breakdown of our friendship as I was. Too afraid to really connect for fear of it blowing up in his face once again.
“Hart, Rivere, let’s chat.” James breaks up our lunch without fanfare. The directness in his tone forcing Reid and Ari to their feet immediately.
Baxter and I, left alone, watch their retreat with interest.
“What do you think that’s about?”
Focusing on me, Baxter turns his back to where they now stand, huddled around a screen, brows creased in deliberation.
“James has had his head stuck in playbacks all morning. Something’s off for him I would assume.”
I grab his hand. “You don’t think it’s me?”
“If it was, James would’ve asked you to speak with him. Don’t think the worst of people. It’s a nasty habit that will only spike your anxiety.”
I settle, my hand dropping from his softly. “You’re right.”
He smiles. “It’s my job to be right.”
Glancing back over at the boys, Reid’s gaze; intent and ruminating is settled on me. He remains that way for a good thirty seconds before turning back to the screen.
Standing without second-guessing myself, I place one foot in front of the other, moving toward their boy’s club with intention.
“Everything okay?” I ask with a confidence I don’t feel.
James, rubbing a hand down his face, sighs. “You and Reid aren’t connecting as Tanner and Abbigail.”
I laugh, the sound altogether panicked and shocked. “That’s ridiculous. We spent ten years of our lives as best friends. We’ve got that role down pat.”
“I’m telling you that you don’t.” There is an authority to James’ tone that doesn’t make me argue.
I glance to Reid, who swallows his worry.
“Roxy,” Ari starts. “James showed us a few shots. Hate to tell you that he’s spot on.”
My chin trembles, and pulling a deep breath through my
nostrils, I work to calm the fire boiling inside. “Are you firing me?”
“What?!” they all ask in unison.
“No.” They all speak at the same time again.
I look to all three of them, trying to work out what the fuck is going on.
“Valentine thinks Reid and I should switch roles.”
I frown at Ari. “You play Tanner?”
He nods.
“But that would mean—”
“That I’d be playing Beau,” Reid cuts me off. “That we’d be playing love interests.”
My heart sinks. No. That’s not true. It doesn’t sink, it crashes through my body, falling at my feet.
“You and Reid have more chemistry.”
I pull my gaze over to James. My head shakes. His nods.
“I’ve spent hours watching over reels this morning, something didn’t sit right. Then I watched you and Reid just now, it’s there in spades.”
“But it’s not.”
“Roxy.” Ari grabs my shoulder. “No one is saying you and Reid have anything going on. You know one another,” he explains. “You’re comfortable with one another. The pull is there. James and Reid need to capitalize on that.”
I want to scream. I want to yell. I want to rant about them changing the game. About them playing games with my heart, which still, as you’d have it, is still lying at my feet, readying itself to be stomped upon.
Instead, I breathe. This isn’t the first time in my career things have decided to derail, a new path being set without my permission. And it likely won’t be the last.
Swallowing the myriad of feelings threatening to choke me, I look to James. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like an hour or so to process this change. I understand based on this decision that time is a premium right now, but…”
“That’s fine, Monroe. Rivere and Hart have a lot to process too. Let’s take a few days. I’ve got to get in contact with the studio. There’s so much to do with a change like this. We’re just lucky we’ve only just started shooting.”
With a quick drop of my chin, I turn on my foot, rushing toward my trailer in need of quiet. Of perspective.
