Starstruck

by L. A. Witt

  “You want to come by the house tonight? We’ve still got a fuck-load of DVDs to watch.”

  Carter laughed. “We could live to be a hundred and never make it through all your DVDs.”

  “But we can sure try.”

  “Yeah, we can. Just, uh . . .” He gestured down at himself. “Let me run home and get cleaned up. We didn’t catch anything, but I smell like we did.”

  “Me too,” Levi said with a laugh, not sure why he was so relieved Carter had taken him up on the invite. “Any preference for food?”

  “Whatever you’re in the mood for.”

  “All right. Come on over whenever you’re ready.”

  “Great. I’ll see around”—Carter glanced at his phone—“probably six?”

  “Perfect. See you then.”

  The cats met him at the door—tails up, eyes wide, noses twitching as they searched the air.

  “Sorry, guys.” He nudged them back into the house, taking care not to shut a tail in the door or set the cooler down on a paw. “Didn’t catch anything today.”

  They immediately descended on the cooler, sniffing it all over. He took off the lid, revealing nothing but a few unopened sodas and a couple of just-in-case ice packs.

  Zelda turned up her nose and stalked off. Link, ever the optimist, kept sniffing around.

  Levi chuckled. “Good luck with that, kitty.” While Link continued inspecting the cooler—that would keep him busy for quite a while—Levi headed downstairs. He already needed to grab a shower thanks to the sweat and sunscreen, so he went to his home gym for a short session of weight lifting. He usually worked out in the evening, but knowing him and Carter, this would be a late night.

  Pity it can’t be that kind of late night.

  Levi pushed that thought right out of his mind. Well, he tried to. As he loaded plates onto the bar, he had to stop three times to remember how much weight he’d intended to stack on the damned thing. Twice he had to pull off a plate and replace it with the correct one.

  He had to focus on his lifting, though. One fuck-up, and he’d be in physical therapy, and he wasn’t going through that again. As long as he kept in the best shape possible, his neck and shoulder didn’t hurt much. Even a distraction like Carter wasn’t going to put his ability to move in jeopardy. Not after two excruciating years of getting it back.

  But focusing was definitely a challenge. All day long with Carter? Putting on the “just friends” face and hanging out like they weren’t a lingering glance and a touch away from more?

  Come on, Levi. Focus. Weights.

  He took a deep breath and wrapped his fingers around the bar. It didn’t help in the slightest that every time he grabbed a weight or even moved his hand a little, the cuts burned. The wound was minor, but still fresh enough to be aggravated by pressure or movement. And every time he aggravated it, he was reminded of how it had happened, and where he’d been, and who he’d been with.

  Who’d bandaged his hand and let that platonic, absolutely nonsexual contact continue well past the point of platonic and nonsexual.

  After a set of dead lifts, he put the barbell down and stared at himself in the mirror he’d been using to monitor his form. He’d said himself they couldn’t pull off a relationship. Not now. Not with so much hanging over his head.

  Holding his own gaze, he sighed. Was he being selfish? Maybe. Maybe not. But Carter had seemed relieved when he’d said this wouldn’t work, so it was possible that, regardless of the reasons on his part, this was the best thing. And they were still friends, so if something developed in the future—

  No, don’t think about that. Wishful thinking is pointless.

  He went back to lifting, carefully avoiding his own eyes and watching his form. Pushing through when he struggled with the weight. Gritting his teeth and finishing the set even when the last couple of reps had his arms shaking.

  As he headed upstairs for a quick shower, his muscles burned pleasantly from exertion, and the ache in his upper back was annoying but mild. By the time he was out, dressed, and presentable, it was almost five, so Carter would be along soon.

  He fed the cats. Checked the time. Checked his email. Took an Aleve for his back and neck. Glanced out the window. Glanced at the clock. Took another Aleve.

  The purr of an engine grazed his nerve endings, and when he looked out the window, the candy-apple-red Porsche emerged from the trees, light and shadows playing on its windshield and sleek curves.

  Levi’s heart quickened.

  As Carter parked, Levi went to the front door. Hand on the doorknob, he paused to collect himself. They were friends. They’d spent the afternoon fishing, and now they’d spend the evening in, just hanging out and watching movies.

  The fact that they’d kissed one time—one amazing time—didn’t mean anything.

  Get over it. Like, now.

  He took a deep breath and opened the door.

  And tried not to notice the way his heart fluttered when Carter smiled at him on his way up the walk.

  “Hey,” Carter said.

  “Hey.” He stood aside to let Carter come in. “So what are you in the mood for tonight?” He cringed. “Noir? Something foreign?” Good save, Pritchard.

  Carter shrugged. “I’m game for anything.” He paused and cleared his throat. “Any genre.”

  Right then, before the awkwardness could really set in, the cats thundered into the foyer, tails up and eyes wide.

  “Hey guys!” Carter knelt to pet them. After a moment, he glanced up at Levi. “What about you? Genres, I mean?”

  “Pretty much anything.”

  Carter smirked. “How about Jaws?”

  “Oh, ha-ha.”

  “How’s your hand, anyway?”

  “Just feels like a bad cat bite.” He held it up, revealing a few small pieces of gauze still taped to his palm. “It’ll be fine.”

  “I can’t say I’ve ever known anyone who’s been bitten by a shark before.”

  “Yeah, well. Telling someone that gets a little less impressive when you mention the shark wasn’t even two feet long.”

  Carter laughed, scratching under Link’s chin. “You can always leave that part out.”

  “Uh-huh. Until they ask to see the scar, right?”

  “Hmm, yeah, that would make things difficult. Okay, so show them the scar first, then tell them it was a shark bite.”

  “Right. That’ll work.”

  Carter took a breath like he was about to reply, but right then, Zelda pushed Link out of the way. Of course, Link slunk back because he was a big wuss.

  “Oh, come on.” Carter gently nudged Zelda aside. “There’s enough attention for both of you. C’mere, Link.” He scooped Link up off the floor and stood. “There. Better?”

  Link climbed onto Carter’s shoulder and purred loudly as Carter petted him.

  And Levi’s heart melted. Most people gave him the side eye for treating his cats like they were his kids—he did spend more time with them than anyone else, after all—but Carter adored them. He didn’t mind a few long hairs on his shirt, and when Link kneaded too enthusiastically, Carter just gently popped the claws free and kept right on petting him.

  There were few things in the world that endeared someone to Levi like being cuddly with animals. As if he didn’t already swoon a little every time he looked at Carter.

  Come on. Stop torturing yourself.

  At his feet, Zelda meowed at him, so Levi picked her up. Each holding one of the content—and rather smug—cats, he and Carter went into the kitchen.

  “Drink?” Levi asked over Zelda.

  “I’ll take a Coke if you’re having one.” Carter grinned. “Which I assume you are.”

  “I’m getting predictable.”

  “Just consistent.” As Levi poured their drinks, Carter added, “What was it you said about that stuff killing you sooner or later?”

  “You’re drinking it too. I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Fair enough.” Carter adjusted Link on his
shoulder and picked up his glass. Link craned his neck, peering into the cup. “What? You want some?” Carter offered it to the cat, who squinted and recoiled. “Didn’t think so.”

  “Put some booze in it, he’ll drink it.”

  Carter blinked. “Seriously?”

  “Yep.” Levi picked Zelda up again, then his own glass. “I left a Crown and Coke unattended once, and he had a few licks of it.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah, I think that’s what he thought.”

  Carter just laughed.

  With Cokes and cats in hand, they headed downstairs.

  “So.” Levi set Zelda on one of the recliners. “What are we watching?”

  “You pick tonight. I think I picked the last few.”

  “Fair enough.” Levi flipped through one of his binders, and finally selected an old Italian film that was, on the surface, about the Mafia, but was really a grim metaphor for sons rebelling against fathers.

  As Levi started the movie, Link curled up in Carter’s lap and Zelda parked herself on the broad armrest between the two recliners, a furry, purring reminder of the leather-wrapped barrier keeping them a foot apart. If she hadn’t been sitting there, and things between him and Carter had been different, he could’ve lifted the armrest and tucked it into the back of the couch, effectively turning the bucket seats into a bench.

  So much for ignoring what wasn’t going on between him and Carter. Levi knew all too well how comfortably two people fit together on this couch without the armrest in between. He’d fallen asleep here with one of his ex-girlfriends as many times as he’d fucked her on it.

  He missed the way an arm around the shoulders during the opening credits evolved into a warm, full-body embrace by the end credits. It didn’t even have to be sex. Or making out. Arms around each other, maybe one person’s leg hooked over the other’s—he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed that until now, when it took every ounce of self-control he had not to move Zelda, get the armrest out of the way, and reach for Carter. He’d been going crazy like that since day one, but it was a hell of a lot worse now that he knew what Carter’s kiss tasted like.

  Goddamn it.

  His favorite part of the film came and went—the scene with the Don’s daughter and his enemy’s son on a Mediterranean beach—and he barely noticed. Before he knew it, the credits were rolling.

  And he was still trying to get the hang of sitting this close to Carter again.

  He cleared his throat. “We never did eat. You want to take a break? I’ve got some frozen pizzas upstairs.”

  “Sure, that sounds great.” Carter gently lifted Link off his lap and dusted the hair off his jeans as he stood.

  On the way up from the theater, Levi said, “I’d call for delivery, but no one delivers here.”

  “I’d be surprised if they did deliver all the way out here.”

  “No kidding. Anyway, let’s get some food, and then I’ll show you Croupier.”

  “Sweet. I’ve been dying to watch that one.”

  In the kitchen, Levi preheated the oven, and while they waited for it to beep, they sat in the living room, talking about the movie they’d just watched. The cats didn’t mind—Zelda sprawled out on the cushion between them while Link cuddled up next to Carter.

  The pizza came and went, and they still didn’t head down to the theater. With a plate full of crumbs and two glasses of melting ice cubes, they kept right on talking. Link fell asleep. Zelda got bored and wandered off. Levi refilled their Cokes. Again.

  And they talked. The whole time. About their film careers. About the cats. About Wolf’s Landing.

  Before Levi knew it, it was dark outside, and even the caffeine from his soda wasn’t keeping him fully awake. Big surprise—according to his watch, it was after midnight.

  “Holy crap,” he said. “It’s twelve fifteen.”

  Carter laughed. “You know, I can’t say I’m surprised. I think your house was built in a time vortex or something.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean every time I come over here, I blink and it’s been hours.” Carter eyed his empty glass. “You drugging my drink, or what?”

  Levi laughed and put up his hands. “It’s not me, I swear.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  They both stretched, joints cracking and popping from sitting for so long.

  Carter sighed. “I guess I should go. I still have to do a load of laundry before bed.”

  Levi grimaced. “Damn, sorry I kept you this late.”

  “Nah, it’s okay. I’d rather spend my day off fishing and watching movies than doing laundry.”

  “Yeah, who wouldn’t?” Levi pushed himself up and took the glasses and plates from the table. “I should call it a night myself. I’ll see you soon, though?”

  “Definitely. I’m on set late tomorrow night, but the day after?”

  “Sounds good. Just come on by when you’re free. I’ll be here.”

  Carter smiled, throwing Levi’s pulse out of whack all over again. “I will. See you then.”

  On the way to the door, Carter stopped to pet both the cats again—and subtly kept Zelda from pushing Link aside.

  Then he headed out, and as the Porsche’s engine faded into the distance, Levi went back to the kitchen. The clock on the stove said it was indeed after midnight. Carter had been here for hours.

  And they never had gotten around to watching that second movie.

  Carter returned to the set the next night, and it was hard to believe he’d only had one day off. Wandering amongst the equipment and crew that had become as familiar as his own house, he felt like he hadn’t been here in . . . in a long time. Or like everything had changed, though he couldn’t put his finger on exactly how. He wasn’t about to admit that it had anything to do with seeing the world through Levi-tinted glasses.

  He shook the thoughts away and tried to get his head in the game. He had scenes to shoot. A character to play. The fact that his concentration was shot—probably because Levi had been getting so much mental screen time lately—didn’t negate the fact that he had a job to do.

  Though it was a comfortable evening—not hot, but definitely not cold either—Carter clung to his coffee cup the way he did during winter shoots. He was irrationally sure that the second he let go of that cup, he’d fall asleep. The coffee was only about half-gone, and he’d already begged one of the production assistants to bring him another.

  A few more hours. I can do this.

  It was just as well tonight’s scenes were outdoors. He was away from the stuffiness of the soundstages, and the salty ocean wind was brisk enough to keep him from dozing off.

  They were shooting on location, cameras and lighting equipment set up in an alien-looking semicircle around a beat-up car parked beneath a fire escape behind an abandoned motel. It was a series of intense, violent scenes—that would keep him awake if the cool wind failed.

  “Your coffee, Mr. Samuels.” The production assistant handed him an extra-large and steaming-hot cup.

  “Thank you so much.” He smiled and took the cup, which he poured into the one he’d already been nursing.

  He wandered around to keep himself moving, and found his stunt double getting ready for an upcoming scene.

  “Hey,” Carter said. “You need a hand with that?”

  Ginsberg shook his head and tugged at a strap that was meant to secure some pads to his rib cage. “No, I’ve got it. It’s just being . . . ah, there it is.” He fastened the buckle, then pulled his black leather jacket—identical to the one Carter was wearing—over it. “Much better.”

  “Good.” Carter grinned. “So you’re ready to get the shit kicked out of you on my behalf?”

  “That’s what they pay me the big bucks for.” Ginsberg arched an eyebrow. “Are you ever going to talk to your character about maybe not getting his ass handed to him on a regular basis? For my sake?”

  Carter laughed. “I’ve tried, man. He just won’t listen.”

  “H
mph. And Hunter Easton hasn’t responded to any of my emails either.”

  “Guess you’re stuck.” He jerked his head toward the building. “Ready to go out there and take one for the team, whipping boy?”

  “Fucker.”

  Carter gave another laugh, but it was halfhearted this time. He sipped his coffee, wondering when the caffeine would finally kick in.

  Ginsberg put his foot on a chair and rolled up his pant leg. As he strapped on a shin guard, he glanced at Carter. “You okay tonight? You look like you’re half-dead, and I can’t tell if it’s the makeup, lighting, or what.”

  “I’m fine.” Carter waved a hand. “Just tired.”

  Ginsberg’s eyebrow rose again. “Mm-hmm.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Nothing.”

  “Yeah, sure. C’mon.” Carter brought his coffee up to his lips. “Out with it.”

  Ginsberg shrugged. “The name Levi ring a bell?”

  Carter managed to swallow his coffee without choking, but just barely. And the playful smirk told him Ginsberg had seen how close he’d come to a damning sputter. So much for Ginsberg distracting him, the bastard.

  Ginsberg smirked. “Thought so.”

  “What? Why?”

  “You mean besides your sudden inability to drink your—”

  “Yes. Besides that.”

  “You’ve been a tired, spacy mess since the day he showed up on set.” Ginsberg glanced around, and then lowered his voice even more. “Come on, level with me. You have a thing for him or something?”

  Carter narrowed his eyes. “Are you telling me you don’t?”

  “Please. Who wouldn’t be into Levi Pritchard?”

  “Exactly. So, yes, I have a thing for him.”

  Ginsberg studied Carter. “A thing for him? Or a thing with him?”

  “For.” Carter gritted his teeth. “He’s straight, remember?”