Starstruck

by L. A. Witt

  “So they say.”

  “We’re friends. That’s all.”

  “You’re—” Ginsberg straightened. “So you guys have been hanging out? I thought that was just a rumor.”

  Carter bit back a groan. So much for being discreet. “Yeah, we have.”

  “Seriously?” Ginsberg’s eyeballs damn near fell out of his skull. “You’ve been hanging out with—”

  “Yes.”

  “Nice, man. Nice.”

  “And yes, I’d love to have more with him, but . . .” Carter shook his head. “He’s straight.”

  “Wow. How in the world did you guys even meet?”

  Carter shrugged. “You said he was working at that theater in town, so I went there to see if I could pick his brain about a few things.” The stuntman’s skepticism was palpable, and Carter barely kept himself from rolling his eyes. “Look, I’ve admired the guy as an actor for years. Turns out we both dig the same kinds of movies, so we’ve been swapping indie film DVDs back and forth.” He gave another shrug. “We’re friends.”

  Ginsberg put up his hands. “Hey, I’m not judging. I’m just curious.”

  Carter swallowed some more coffee, even though he suddenly didn’t need the caffeine. He thought Ginsberg might press, but then someone called out, “Stuntmen on set!”

  “Looks like I’m up.” Ginsberg flashed a toothy grin. “Or as you so delicately put it, time for me to get my ass kicked on your behalf.”

  Usually, that would’ve made Carter laugh, but today he only managed a small chuckle. Ginsberg’s grin faded, concern creasing his brow. His eyes said, “We’ll talk more,” and then he walked toward the set.

  The stunt coordinator helped Ginsberg adjust his safety equipment, and then Ginsberg and the other stuntman for this scene took their places.

  Watching them do take after take distracted him for a little while. The stunt was a painful one—tumbling off a fire escape onto the hood of a car just before another character landed on top of him—and it took seven takes to satisfy Anna.

  “All right, I think we’ve got it,” she called out. “Nicely done, gentlemen. Everyone take a break.”

  “Thanks.” Ginsberg swore as the other stuntman got off him and the car, and then he eased himself upright. On his way off the set, he grimaced and rubbed his hip.

  Carter grinned. “You okay?”

  “Yep, I’m good. Just need some ice.” With his other hand, Ginsberg clapped Carter’s shoulder. “Can’t say the same about your character, I’m afraid.”

  “He’ll be fine. Nice job, Gins. You have this gravity thing down pat.”

  Ginsberg flipped him the bird, and then started removing his padding, wincing as he moved.

  “Didn’t I see something in the script where Gabriel gets hit by a car?” Carter tried to suppress a smirk. “That’s coming up soon, isn’t it?”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake.” Ginsberg groaned. “Seriously, dude. Gabriel really needs to go back to kindergarten and learn to look both fucking ways before crossing the street.”

  Carter patted his arm. “Yeah, but if I did that, you’d be out of a job.”

  “True. But I’ll also be out of a job if I hurt myself and can’t do more of your reckless stunts.”

  “Well, then don’t hurt yourself.”

  “Bite me.”

  A crew member came up and handed him an ice pack, which he gingerly pressed to his hip. Ginsberg winced. “Please, God, tell me Anna’s actually happy with the shot.”

  “Fingers crossed,” Carter muttered, and they both watched as Anna reviewed the footage on a laptop screen.

  Carter recognized that tightness in her lips from a mile away. Judging by the groan, so did Ginsberg.

  And sure enough, a moment later, Anna shook her head.

  “Fuck.” Ginsberg dropped his ice pack on a chair and picked up the pads he’d taken off. “Here we go again.”

  After four hours of shooting, Carter was almost as sore as his stunt double. He and Brian were supposed to brawl on top of the car Ginsberg had fallen onto, and tumble off the hood to the pavement. Though he wore as much padding as Ginsberg did, the shot took six takes to get right. That meant hitting the pavement on his back six times with Brian coming down on top of him. Three of those times, his elbow clipped the bumper on the way down. Twice a punch landed harder than it was supposed to. At least it only took him one take to realize there was no need to keep his gun on his hip during those shots. He’d have a Beretta-shaped bruise tomorrow, though.

  The entire cast and crew had stopped for a dinner break, and he sat in a metal folding chair with a bunch of ice packs while he threw back his billionth cup of coffee for the evening.

  He checked his phone for the new production schedule, which was supposed to be updated tonight. Nothing yet. Damn.

  He turned to Brian, who was working his way through another cup of coffee too. “Hey, have you seen Anna?”

  Brian gestured at the parking lot. “She was on the phone with Leigh, and . . .” He grimaced.

  So did Carter. Maybe he’d talk to Anna later, when she wasn’t on the outs with her girlfriend. Again. The woman was a consummate professional, but when things got ugly with Leigh, she struggled to hide the toll it took on her. She didn’t need to deal with his crap on top of it.

  Instead, he grabbed another cup of coffee and a couple of the rolls someone had brought in. While he nibbled in between swigs of coffee, one of the guys said, “Oh, hey, the production schedule just updated.”

  “Did it?” Carter pulled out his phone again. “Sweet. Guess I won’t have to bug Anna after all.” He set the app to update, and when it was finished, he scrolled through the new schedule, which detailed all the shoots and production meetings for the next six weeks or so.

  About three weeks out, a single line jolted the world under his feet.

  Ep. 3.8, Scene 6 – Fuhrman, Hanford.

  He gulped. Oh, fuck.

  There it was. Right there in black and white. In three weeks, Levi would be working here. They’d be face-to-face. Shit. Maybe hanging out hadn’t been a good idea after all. Though he was fooling himself if he thought he’d have been able to keep his shit together opposite Levi if they hadn’t gotten to know each other. If he hadn’t had a chance to get used to being around him.

  He’d be fine. He could focus.

  He just wouldn’t think about the fact that watching Levi on-screen, watching him slip effortlessly into character, did things to his mind. And that was before they’d spent all this time together, with Carter pretending all along that there was nothing simmering between them, beneath the surface or otherwise. With a kiss in the recent past and a hunger that kept Carter awake more nights than not, he was pretty damned sure seeing him act in the flesh would destroy any concentration he had left.

  Fuck.

  Anna came back to the set a half hour or so later, and called an informal meeting. Brian must’ve been right—she looked stressed, though she put on her best smile as she told her cast and crew about some location changes, and a heads-up that the main cast would be getting information soon regarding Comic-Con.

  “And with all that out of the way, I don’t know how many of you have looked at the shooting schedule, but you may have noticed a new name on the roster.” She grinned. “So let me be the first to confirm the rumors—Levi Pritchard will be joining us for the end of season three, and into the remaining seasons as Max Fuhrman.”

  A few murmurs rippled through the group, some of surprise and some of excitement, but Carter just gulped. A second too late, he realized Ginsberg was watching him.

  So it was no surprise that, when the meeting adjourned, the stuntman pulled him aside. “Hey, are you sure you’re okay with this?”

  Carter shrugged. “Doesn’t matter if I am or not.”

  “No, but I’m still curious. Are you gonna be all right with him here all the time?”

  “Of course.” Carter swallowed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Because li
ke I said before, you’ve been exhausted and spaced out. How are you going to handle it when he’s here on the set with us?”

  Carter’s shoulders fell, and he avoided Ginsberg’s eyes. He desperately wanted to believe he’d be all right when they were on set together just like he wanted to believe they could pull off this “just friends” thing. But goddamn it, the attraction was there.

  That kiss had happened, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t convince himself he wasn’t attracted to Levi, or that he didn’t know that it was mutual. He couldn’t pretend they hadn’t been—or at least Carter hadn’t been—attracted since before they’d started getting to know each other. Before the movie nights that had gone on until two in the morning, sometimes without even firing up the DVD player or going down to Levi’s home theater at all.

  “Hey.” Ginsberg touched his arm. “I’m not judging, okay? And I’m not going to say anything to anyone. I’m concerned about you, that’s all.”

  “Concerned about who I’m seeing?”

  “Well, with as tense as you’ve been lately, either it’s only the fact that you’re into someone, which I know you are, or there’s something else wrong too.” The stuntman shrugged. “I’m just hoping for option A over option B.”

  What about a little of both?

  “Okay, here’s the thing. Yes, I’m into Levi. And yes, we’ve been hanging out.” Carter sighed. “And yeah, that’s as far as it’s going to go.”

  Ginsberg grimaced. “Ouch. Sucks having a crush on a straight guy, doesn’t it?”

  Almost as bad as having a crush on a closeted gay guy.

  “Yeah, it does. Ah well. There are worse things than hanging out with Levi.”

  Like trying to work with him. Oh God.

  “Well, that’s good.” Ginsberg patted his arm. “Because in three weeks, it’s on.”

  Carter gulped. “Yep.” He hadn’t even cracked the scripts for Levi’s first two episodes yet. Though he was vaguely familiar with the story arc, he was afraid to see how much the two of them would actually be interacting. Gabriel would go to the ends of the Earth to find his partner, Detective Julia Morris, and Max Fuhrman was somehow involved in her disappearance. From what Carter had heard, there was at least one super intensive confrontation between Fuhrman and Gabriel.

  Between Levi and Carter.

  Fuck. Good thing he enjoyed a challenge.

  Levi pulled yet another bag of vegetables—peas this time—from the freezer, wrapped them in a towel, and pressed them against the side of his neck. He went into the living room and settled into a chair, using the back of it to hold the makeshift ice pack in place so he could use his iPad with both hands.

  Nothing held his attention. No games. No websites. Not even a backlog of emails he really needed to take care of. Finally, he put the iPad away and focused on holding the bag of vegetables against his painfully stiff neck.

  Beside him, his phone buzzed.

  Ran a bit late. Be there ASAP.

  Some of the cable-taut tension in his neck melted away, and he smiled as he typed back, See you soon.

  Well, at least the day would end on a positive note.

  Less than an hour later, Zelda’s head snapped up and turned toward the window. Then Link’s did the same. And after a moment, the familiar sports car engine rumbled in the distance.

  As he got up to greet Carter, he debated leaving the cold pack in the kitchen, but it was finally offering some much-needed relief, so he took it with him.

  As soon as Levi opened the door, Carter saw the ice pack, and his eyes widened. “Whoa, are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” Levi adjusted the bag of peas. “Just that old injury that likes to come back to haunt me.”

  “You sure it’s not old age catching up with you?”

  Levi rolled his eyes. “Kiss my ass.”

  Carter laughed, and as Levi shut the door behind them, added, “If it’s any consolation, I can barely move today myself. Anna beat the shit out of us last night.”

  “Oh yeah?” Levi chuckled and led him into the kitchen, where both cats eagerly jumped up on chairs to greet Carter. “Rough shoot?”

  “It was pretty intense.” Carter stroked Link and scratched Zelda’s chin. “I don’t know who has more bruises today—me or my stunt double.”

  “Ouch.” Levi gestured with the cold pack. “You want one?”

  “Nah, I’m good. I iced it all earlier, so it’s not as bad.”

  “Good to hear.”

  Carter smiled, but faltered a bit. “So, uh, we made the news again.”

  Levi groaned. “God. What now?”

  “See for yourself.” Carter pulled up the article and handed him his phone.

  Carter Samuels: Wolf’s Landing Star Keeping Low Profile

  Usually a visible face around Bluewater Bay, Samuels rarely seen since being photographed with Levi Pritchard.

  Levi snorted. “Wow, you made the news for not doing anything newsworthy? Must be a slow day.”

  Carter laughed humorlessly. “Right?”

  Levi kept reading. In the sidebar, under “Articles That Might Also Interest You,” a name in a headline caught Levi’s eye and hit him right in the gut. It had been years, but simply seeing Dylan’s name still hurt like hell. And reminded him just how fragile the fishbowl he lived in really was—he could be discreet until he was blue in the face, downplay any incriminating photo that surfaced, and everything could still fall apart in the blink of an eye. It almost had when that particular ex-boyfriend had tried to out him.

  Against his better judgment he tapped on the headline.

  Dylan Masters & Fiancé Wed After Whirlwind Courtship

  Below that, Actor & singer, both 37, have only been together six weeks.

  And then the image loaded. Levi stared at it, his heart thudding against his rib cage.

  Carter craned his neck. “What?”

  “Hmm? Oh. Just an article about—” My ex-boyfriend stopped at the tip of his tongue. He tilted the phone to show Carter.

  “Oh.” Carter’s eyes flicked up to meet his. “He’s the one who . . .”

  “Tried to out me.” Levi absently thumbed through the article, curious to see if they still insisted on including that one damning line that always seemed to show up in articles about him or Dylan.

  Sure enough, it was there.

  Masters has also maintained that he and action film star Levi Pritchard, now 38, dated briefly several years ago. Pritchard, who has dated some of Hollywood’s leading women, steadfastly denies the claim.

  But this time, they didn’t stop there.

  Those rumors were reignited recently when Pritchard was spotted cozying up with Wolf’s Landing star—

  He closed the browser and cleared his throat. “Fucking vultures.” As he returned the phone, he met Carter’s eyes, and the question was definitely there. Carter’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and he pressed his lips together like he was literally biting it back.

  Levi sighed. “Let me guess, you’re curious if anything really happened between me and Dylan.”

  Color bloomed in Carter’s cheeks, but he nodded. “I’ve always wondered, to be honest.”

  “You and everyone else,” Levi muttered.

  Carter hesitated, watching Levi. “So . . . did you guys really date?”

  It was Levi’s turn for a long, silent hesitation, but then he nodded slowly. “Yeah. We did.”

  Carter’s eyes widened. “Damn. Why the hell did he out you like that?”

  Levi shook his head. “Who knows? We hit the rocks pretty hard, and I think he was just being vindictive.”

  “I’d have thought he was less of an asshole if he’d been making it up like everyone said.” Carter scowled. “But someone who actually dated you and knew you? Outing you? That’s messed up.”

  “Tell me about it.” Levi eyed Carter’s phone. “You know, as crazy as it is, I still feel guilty about that to this day. About denying that we’d dated.” He sighed. “I know it hurt him. It had
to.”

  “Why did you deny it?”

  Levi swallowed. “I didn’t want anyone to know about me. I guess I freaked out, and I didn’t know what else to do. So I pretended I didn’t know him, never mind that we’d dated for the better part of six months.”

  “That long? Really?”

  “Yeah. It’s . . . kind of a long story.” He pulled the ice pack off his neck. “Damn it, these are starting to thaw. Be right back.” Levi retreated to the kitchen, tossed the melting bag of peas into the freezer and took out a fresh one. There, he paused, letting the images of Dylan run through his mind. He might’ve had a shot at putting that relationship—and Dylan’s vindictive attempt to out him—in the past if the media would let it fucking drop.

  Fat chance.

  He took a deep breath, set his shoulders back as much as the muscle tension would allow, and returned to the living room. As he sat on the couch, he said, “Sorry about that.”

  “Don’t worry about it. So you said that’s an old injury?”

  Levi nodded gingerly.

  “What’d you do?” Carter smirked. “One of those times when you regretted doing your own stunts?”

  Levi laughed halfheartedly, adjusting the cold pack. “Not . . . not exactly.”

  Carter’s amusement vanished. “Shit. Sorry. If it’s a sore spot, you don’t have to tell me. I was just curious.”

  “It’s okay. It’s . . . not something I talk about much.” He swallowed, shifting on the sofa. “It’s from the wreck. When I totaled the Vette.”

  Carter chewed the inside of his cheek, but didn’t speak.

  “I’m guessing you heard that I was shitfaced and driving too fast?”

  Carter nodded.

  “The story wasn’t . . . it wasn’t entirely accurate.”

  “How so?”

  Levi ran his tongue along the inside of his lower lip. “I was going too fast, I’ll admit that. But like I said before, I was not drunk.” He adjusted the cold pack, letting that occupy his attention rather than looking at Carter’s expression. “I, uh, hit kind of a bad patch.”

  “Ice?”

  “No, no, I mean a bad patch in my life.” He tapped his temple with a fingertip. “Up here.”