by Ashlyn Kane
Leigh smiled. “Tell her hi from me.”
Chapter Six
WITH Drew gone for the morning, Steve went back to his usual morning MO. He got up early and went jogging, showered in his microscopic bathroom, and then took his laptop to the café down the street. Carlos the barista kept him supplied with a steady stream of coffee until he realized that was going to wreak havoc with his shooting schedule in the afternoon, and ordered a breakfast sandwich and a cookie instead.
Two hours passed with the tap of fingers on keys. Finally the crumbs ran out and Steve pulled himself out of his script long enough to check his phone.
Heads-up, our private party might get some publicity soon. Drew’s talking about you on Gloria.
Steve barely refrained from squawking. Drew did what? Why would he do that? What would he even say?
He didn’t have to wonder long, though; Hilary followed that text with a link to a clip on the show’s website.
With no small amount of trepidation, he took out his earbuds and plugged them in. Then he clicked.
His palms were sweating and his cheeks warm by the time Drew said, “Besides, he’s good.”
He watched until the clip ended, then pulled out his earbuds and put them away. You think I’m safe? he replied, not knowing how to address anything Drew had said.
Hilary must have been watching her phone, because only a few seconds went by before it buzzed on the table. For now. Might get some paparazzi hanging out around the set. I’ll have a word with security on Drew’s behalf.
Thank God he had friends he could rely on. You’re the best.
After that, though, he had to pack up or he was going to be late to set. He emailed Nina and the producer the updated script, closed his laptop, and shoved everything in his shoulder bag. He made it to Makeup just in time to almost bump shoulders with Drew as they both reached for the door.
Their camaraderie had always been easy. Steve wasn’t prone to starstruck moments, and Drew might be a diva, but usually only about his Perrier and the way his pants fit. But now for the first time, Steve felt awkward.
“Hey.”
Drew smiled back. “Hey. Nice morning off?”
“You had a morning off,” Steve retorted, trying to find his conversational feet. “I was writing your lines.”
“And yours, I imagine.” Drew held the door and let Steve through, even though he obviously had leftover stage makeup on and would need to get started first.
“And mine,” Steve agreed. He proceeded to the farthest chair, then went another step and opened the minifridge to grab two bottles of water. He tossed the Perrier to Drew.
“Thanks.” Drew caught the bottle and plopped into the chair. “Any idea where Chantelle is?”
“Nope.” Steve looked around, but there were no notes, and he knew nobody else had texted him. “Guess we wait. Maybe you can de-goop in the meantime.”
Sighing, Drew reached for the dispenser of makeup-removing cloths. “Seems a waste.”
Steve nodded wordlessly, mulling over the right phrasing. Did you have a nice time pimping yourself and our movie on television this morning just didn’t have much of a ring to it. “Productive day?” he asked instead.
Drew huffed and waggled his hand in a so-so gesture before raising the cloth to his face. “Parts of it were good. Parts not so much.” He broke into a grin. “I bragged about you on TV today. Watch out, you’ll be famous any second now.”
Oh goodie. “Can’t wait,” Steve said dryly and hid his smile in his water bottle when Drew laughed, unrestrained and unscripted, his face tilted toward the ceiling. Ignoring the tightening in his stomach, he prompted, “What parts were not so good?”
“Ugh, I don’t want to tell tales out of school.” Drew wiped vigorously under one eye, then apparently gave up and reached for his water bottle. He cracked it open and escaping gas hissed into the room.
Steve snorted. “Oh, I don’t think so. You’re a better liar than that. You don’t even want me to buy that.”
“Ha!” Drew sat up straight and gave him a guilty look that lacked any repentance. “All right, you caught me.”
“I promise not to tattle,” Steve said solemnly.
“I guess since your aspirations are not casting, acting, or producing, I can let you in on a few secrets.” Drew leaned forward, darting his gaze to the door to the room before resettling it on Steve. “The thing is, I don’t actually like everyone I’ve ever worked with.”
“Oh, you don’t say,” Steve said. “Gosh, there’s a shocker. I feel so jaded now. I don’t know if I’ll ever recover. Where are my rose-colored glasses?”
“Shut up! You asked for this revelation and now you’re stuck with it.”
This time Steve didn’t bother hiding the smile. “All right, I’ll bite. Do you hate Gloria Pearl? Leigh Miller?”
“I don’t hate anyone,” Drew protested. “I don’t want anyone to think I’m….”
“A diva?” Steve suggested innocently.
“Difficult,” Drew finished, shooting him unconvincing eye daggers. “But Austin Sparks wanted your role in this movie, and I am so glad you took it before someone said yes to that.”
Steve felt a moment of vicious satisfaction, but it faded, and then he didn’t know whether to be surprised or touched. Finally he settled on “Aww. You like me,” and batted his eyelashes. Juvenile, yes, but so was this whole project.
“I do, but it’s just—something about him rubs me the wrong way. He….” Steve got the impression he was about to say more, but something must have stopped him, because he shook his head and changed directions. “You know how some people you click with right away and everything’s smooth and good, and you just get along with them and trust them? And after a short time it’s like you’ve known them forever and you’re totally comfortable?”
Not anymore, he didn’t—or at least he hadn’t before Drew. But lately he was remembering it did happen. “Yeah.”
“Yeah,” Drew echoed. “This is like, the opposite of that. He’s like a hemorrhoid. In the right circumstances, you might forget about him for a while, but he’s still a pain in the ass.”
Steve didn’t bother trying not to laugh. “I see. Well, I’m glad I don’t have the dubious honor of being a pain in your ass.”
At that moment the door opened and Chantelle came in carrying a six-pack of Perrier. “I’m not even going to ask,” she said. “Steve, can you put these in the fridge?”
When he stood up to take them, he caught the expression on Drew’s face: pinched around the eyes and mouth, lips pressed uncharacteristically flat. Did he regret that Chantelle had interrupted them? Had he been about to say something else, and now he felt like he couldn’t?
No. That was reading too far into it. He was probably just holding in a fart.
Sure enough, when Steve turned around from stashing the water bottles in the minifridge, Drew looked perfectly relaxed.
Steve was just seeing things he wanted to see. It wouldn’t be the first time. He took a deep, quiet breath and reminded himself to focus. This movie could make or break his career as a writer. He needed to be at his best.
And that meant no distractions.
Chapter Seven
DREW talked himself out of asking the question at least four times over the course of the afternoon. But then Steve would make him laugh or flub a line or forget it entirely and ad-lib something ridiculous, and Drew would remember how much he enjoyed spending time with him, and he’d think it was a good idea again.
He blamed Leigh.
Seven excruciating hours after they began, Nina finally called, “Cut! All right, I get it, you guys are juiced. Go home.”
Drew could have kissed her. In fact, why not. Maybe it would snap him out of his… whatever this was. Sudden tendency to overthink. He handed his “wallet” to Flora, the prop master, and swanned down to the director’s chair. “Nina, my love! Beautiful, wonderful, merciful—”
“You’re full of something,” Nina g
rumbled, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as Drew pressed his lips to her cheek.
“Gracious, benevolent—”
“Old,” Nina broke in, swatting at him. “When you were small, you had the protection of child labor laws. How come there’s no version for old farts like me?”
Okay, now he felt like an ass. “Are we working you too hard? We could get an AD in here, probably. I know a guy. Or a girl. I can put in a word with the producer.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“That’s very sweet.” Nina patted his cheek. “This is a one-off shoot, not a regular day job. I’ll be fine. Get me something pretty for Bosses’ Day and we’ll call it even.”
Drew blinked. “There’s a Bosses’ Day?”
“Oh, get out of here. Go home. Go find some pretty young thing and make the most of what’s left of the night.”
Without meaning to, Drew glanced over at Steve, who was talking to Flora. “Not really my thing.”
Nina eyed him shrewdly. “Oh? Like them a little older than you, do you?”
Damn it. “I don’t date.”
She let out a lewd chuckle. “Who said anything about dating?”
“Nina!” Drew hissed. Fortunately no one seemed to be paying them any attention, everyone dragging ass to get ready to leave for the day—or else hightailing it, fueled on some kind of postwork energy infusion Drew would very much like the recipe for. “I’m not going to screw around with a costar. I’m more professional than that!”
Nina raised one well-manicured eyebrow in an incredibly articulate retort. Okay, so she probably knew him too well to buy what he was selling. He didn’t date in the business, but that had never stopped him from hooking up with other actors and actresses who shared his philosophy.
Well. Maybe Drew should just be true to himself. “Whatever. I gotta go, Nina. See you tomorrow!”
If he hurried, he could catch up with Steve in Wardrobe.
By the time he got there to hang up his expertly tailored jeans and gossamer-thin T-shirt, Steve was unfolding his own cargo shorts. “Hey. You got big plans tonight?”
Drew winced. “I still have to hit the gym.” He’d skipped working out too many days this week. “But first, fuel.” He slipped his belt through the loops and set it in its cubby. “You?”
“I run in the mornings.”
Of course he did. Drew wanted to ask And the shoulders? but he had too much self-respect. Okay, champ. Here’s your chance. “What about this Saturday?”
Steve paused with his hand on his fly. “I’m running then too?”
Drew narrowed his eyes, trying to decide if he was playing hard to get or being obtuse. “After that. Seven o’clock, eight if we want to be fashionably late and make an entrance.”
Steve paused, brow furrowed. “Are you, uh…?”
Not exactly the resounding yes Drew had been hoping for, but he injected his voice with as much confidence as he could fake. “I’m asking you to dinner.” And then abruptly his feigned confidence fled and he added, “My date canceled to go to Hawaii, and the idea of spending four hours in a tux eating canapés and schmoozing with people who spent a thousand dollars a plate to schmooze with me makes me hate humanity.”
“Gosh, you’re such a people person,” Steve said, drier than a stale saltine in Vegas. “I can’t imagine why you have trouble finding dates.”
Ouch. Drew probably deserved that. “Sorry, that just… ugh. Let me start over?” He unbuttoned his jeans and started shimmying out of them. The process took a few seconds. “I have an extra ticket to a fundraiser dinner at the aquarium. I guess the penguins need a new air conditioner or something. I always take Leigh to stuff like this because I know she’s not using me for publicity and she can hold up her end of the conversation without trying to get in my pants.” He finally got the skinny jeans down to his ankles, but he didn’t dare kick them off because Will would murder him if the seams ripped. Instead he bent to work them over his feet. “But she can’t come. And I like spending time with you.”
Damn it. When Drew glanced up, Steve still didn’t look convinced. He certainly wasn’t jumping at the chance to spend a night off with Drew. Maybe Drew had read him wrong.
But finally his expression cleared and he said, “Pick me up at seven.”
Yes!
There was just one problem, of course.
Drew still didn’t know if it was a date. Or even if he wanted it to be.
AS it turned out, Drew didn’t have just one problem. In fact, the act of thinking so had probably, in true Murphy’s Law fashion, directly led to many other problems, including forgetting his lines, missing his marks, dropping props, and spending twenty minutes on his lunch break wondering how to answer an email about filming on location.
“Rough day,” Nina said, sitting down across from him with a plate of food. She shoved an extra, smaller plate, this one laden with pickles, toward him. “Something on your mind?”
“Mulling over what to get you for Bosses’ Day,” Drew tried, but he couldn’t muster enough enthusiasm to pretend he thought he was funny.
“Ooh. Should I have gone for the chocolate instead of the pickles?”
He sighed. “No. You know chocolate makes me break out.” Besides, he’d already gotten the message that he needed to buck up. He couldn’t remember the last time a director had to sit him down for a heart-to-heart about why he was screwing up.
Nina reached across the table and patted his hand. “Eat the pickles, baby. I need you to nail the rest of the day. My grandkids are in town.”
Drew crunched into a pickle. They always tasted better when he was filming. Grandkids. The last time they worked together, Nina’s daughter was in her late teens. “How old are they now?”
“Eight and six. Allison has her hands full.”
“You’re not going to see them much if we don’t finish at a good time, huh?”
“That’s the way the cookie crumbles.” She gave a tight smile. “Grandma’s place is nice for a base of operations for Disney and Legoland and aquariums and all the other things kids love.”
“Like their grandmother?” Drew suggested. Allison and her wife lived in Maine, he thought. Somewhere coastal and liberal but with shittier weather than LA. “Why don’t you bring them by?” They were supposed to shoot a crowd scene at a food court in a couple of days. “They can be extras—if Allison says it’s okay.”
“You don’t think Hilary will mind?”
He scoffed. “What, because she gets to cast two less child extras? I think she’ll be okay. This whole production is practically a family affair for her—you know she knows Steve from when they were kids? Might as well keep it in the family, so to speak.”
This time her smile was a little more genuine. “That’s a good idea. I’ll talk to Allison. The oldest, Marley, he reminds me of you. Young and vain.”
“Hey, when you got it, flaunt it. Maybe I can give him some pointers.”
“On second thought—”
Drew stuck out his tongue.
“Anyway.” Nina picked up her napkin and carefully wiped each of her fingers before depositing it on her plate. “Do you think you can pull your head out of your butt and be a professional now, or do I need to ask Steve to show you how it’s done?”
Drew opened his mouth, ready to retort that Steve was a professional head-from-anus remover, then thought better of it. He didn’t need to think about Steve and anyone’s butt more than he was already. As filming wore on, Will was tailoring Steve’s pants more and more too, to reflect that Scotty and Morgan were rubbing off on each other.
Ugh, Drew didn’t need to think about rubbing off either.
“I asked him to go to a fundraiser dinner with me. Badly.” Honestly he couldn’t remember being less smooth. “He said yes anyway and now I don’t know if it’s a date.”
Now Nina leaned back in her seat and gazed at him assessingly. “It’s not a date unless you both want it to be a date. So the question you have to ask before anything else is:
Do you want it to be a date?”
Yeah, it would be helpful if Drew knew the answer to that. It definitely wasn’t no. He just wasn’t sure it was yes. “I don’t know.”
“That’s just a yes with an asterisk.”
He wrinkled his nose. Did he want to have sex with Steve? Yes. Did he want more than sex?
He hadn’t dated in years. He’d been focused on his career and on not letting someone use him. He had friends; he had a fulfilling life. He didn’t feel like anything was missing from it.
But that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be nice to share it with someone more than a friend, and getting action from someone other than his right hand or a onetime hookup would be a nice bonus.
“If you think any harder your brain’s gonna melt.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He picked up his tray to deposit it on the service cart.
“You don’t need any more confidence. You need clarity and maybe a kick in the pants to get you moving.”
The thing was, he wasn’t sure she was wrong.
He pushed the thoughts from his mind, ditched his tray, and draped his arm around her shoulders. “Maybe so,” he said. “But for now let’s concentrate on me nailing the rest of the day’s shoot so you can go home to your family.”
A little extra motivation never hurt. They finished the day’s shooting schedule before six. Drew still didn’t have all the answers he needed… but at least now he knew the question.
Chapter Eight
“WHAT do you think?” Steve asked, holding his phone at arm’s length and swapping the camera so his mom could see his full reflection. “Too much?”
“You look fabulous, darling. I know what people wear to these things. You’ll fit in.”
