His Leading Man

by Ashlyn Kane

  “Ugh.” Steve wrinkled his nose. “I’m sorry. I didn’t invite you here for work. But you’re right. The problem is I’ve sort of got a ridiculous idea for where the chase should end. It makes sense with the character arcs. But I don’t know… I feel like it undermines the whole purpose of the script, I guess.”

  Drew frowned. He didn’t see how one scene could do that. “What do you mean?”

  Steve sighed and held out his hand for the tablet. When Drew forked it over, Steve called up a map and passed it back. “Classic. Right there at the end of the Strip. A little off to the side, but I think for the sake of artistic license, we can make it work. If the producers don’t hate the idea.”

  Curious, Drew took the tablet and glanced at the screen. Graceland Wedding Chapel.

  He started to laugh. “They won’t. They’ll eat it up.”

  “You don’t think it’s too….” Steve sighed and ran his hands through his hair again. Drew wanted to copy him and see what it felt like—soft or bristly? Smooth or sticky with product? “This wasn’t supposed to be a romance.”

  Drew put the tablet aside. “It isn’t one. Trust me, this is definitely a comedy. It has all the expected elements. So what if it has a romantic subplot? Steve.” Drew had been in enough movies to figure out how this went. He folded his hand over Steve’s. “This is the twenty-first century. It can be more than one thing.”

  Steve bit his lip, seeming to weigh something of greater import than the script. “You think I should go for it?”

  “Absolutely. I’d be dis—”

  Steve shifted forward until his hand rested on Drew’s knee, and the words died on Drew’s lips.

  His heart skipped a beat, and Steve’s throat worked as he swallowed. His palm felt warm, a little damp.

  Steve tilted his head to the side, his mouth slightly parted. He leaned in slowly, giving Drew plenty of time to pull away. His eyes had gone very dark, heavy with want and laden with hope.

  Oh, Drew thought.

  Steve kissed him.

  For a few seconds Drew couldn’t move, focused intently on the way Steve’s lips fit to his, on the warmth of him and the way he smelled, like grass and grill smoke and a little like sweat. And then reflex took over, and a groan clawed its way out of his throat. He raised his hands, intending to card them through Steve’s hair, but they insisted on the scenic route: they settled on his waist, swept up his back, measured his shoulders. When Steve licked a question across Drew’s lower lip, Drew opened for him, inviting him closer. He wanted to memorize the taste of Steve’s mouth, the slight prickle of stubble against the sensitive skin of his face, just enough of a rasp to make his nipples tighten in anticipation.

  Finally Drew slid his hands up, fitting them around the curve of Steve’s skull and into his hair. It was warm with body heat, soft and a little damp, just long enough to tickle across the backs of his hands.

  Just long enough to tug, and Drew did, gentle but firm, leaning back into the arm of the couch. Steve got the message, following until he was braced over Drew’s reclining body, supporting himself on the armrest, one knee propped carefully between Drew’s legs. He kissed Drew like he’d been thinking about it since that day at the aquarium, planning out the most thorough way to turn Drew into a dizzy ball of want and nerves.

  Steve didn’t stop kissing him until Drew couldn’t hold his head at that angle anymore, and rested his head on the arm of the couch. Then he pulled back enough for Drew to see his eyes, irises still so blue around wide black pupils. The skin around Drew’s mouth tingled. Steve’s arms were shaking.

  “You should do that again,” Drew said, a little breathless, pulling gently. His forearms were flat against the broad expanse of Steve’s back. “Maybe with a little more contact? I won’t break, you know.”

  “Trying to cop a feel?” Steve joked, but he must not have cared, because Drew barely had time to take a breath before they were kissing again. This time Steve lowered his body over Drew’s until their chests touched, heat seeping easily through thin layers of cotton. He still supported most of his own weight, but Drew liked the presence of this, the physical proof that he wasn’t alone.

  When Steve relaxed enough to settle his thigh against Drew’s groin, Drew shivered with pleasure. Steve’s erection pressed against his hip, but he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to do anything about it.

  They kissed until Drew’s neck was sore and his lips were tired and the skin around his mouth felt almost raw. Then, gradually, they stopped, Drew shifting over enough for Steve to lie half beside him, half on his chest, their legs entwined.

  “Will you be horribly offended if we don’t sleep together tonight?” Steve murmured into Drew’s shoulder.

  Drew moved his hand up from its idle exploration of Steve’s back and ran it through his hair again. “Not at all.” If he’d wanted instant gratification, he’d have called one of his old flings.

  This was better.

  “Really?” Steve tilted his head enough to meet Drew’s eyes. Their faces were very close; Drew almost had to go cross-eyed to keep him in focus.

  He was sure the angle was giving him a double chin, but at this point it was probably immaterial. “I would hate for you to judge me based on my performance after a long week of work, being stuck in traffic, stuffing myself, and running the legs off your dog.”

  Steve chuckled, the sound resonating where their chests touched. “When you put it that way.”

  “Besides, we did just have our first kiss. Hate to rush into anything.”

  Steve laughed again, this time intentionally muffling it in Drew’s shirt. Drew felt light, suffused with warmth. “I’m not sure we can be accused of that. It’s been how many weeks since we met?”

  “True, but only two since our first date.” Drew still couldn’t believe it. It felt like so much longer.

  “Hmm.” They drowsed together for a few minutes, but when Drew started to nod off, Steve tapped his chest. “Come on, it’s been a long day. I’ll set you up in a guest room.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  STEVE woke early, with the sun streaming in his bedroom window. Rita rolled over on the sun-warmed sheets next to him and warbled sleepily.

  He grinned at the morning and rolled out of bed with a spring in his step… and then he looked at Rita and the bed, which had a higher incidence of dog hair than he was comfortable showing off.

  “All right, get up,” he admonished, shooing Rita off the covers. “I guess I’m doing laundry.”

  The house was otherwise quiet, and the door to the guest bedroom was still closed, so Steve put the laundry in and started the coffee. Rita meandered over to her bowl for a drink, then sat patiently at his feet for pets while the coffee brewed. He rubbed the soft fur behind her ears, staring out the kitchen window at the thrushes flitting in and out of the hedge.

  “I don’t know,” he murmured as Rita leaned into his legs. “History repeats itself, right?” His parents smiled at him from an old photograph tucked into the window frame. Steve should find the negative, get his mom a copy that wasn’t faded with age and years of sunshine. “The question is, which history?”

  Rita licked his fingers.

  By the time the coffee finished brewing, Steve heard signs of life from the guest bedroom: footsteps, the zip of a suitcase, running water. A few minutes later Drew emerged wearing terrible basketball shorts and a T-shirt that had been stretched into shapelessness.

  “Good morning.”

  Drew grunted something that could have been a response and rubbed his eyes with the back of one hand.

  The coffee maker beeped cheerfully, and Drew turned pleading brown eyes on Steve. The skin around his mouth was still a little red. Steve should probably shave, or Chantelle would have his head on a plate.

  “Here.” He took a mug from the cupboard, filled it, added an ice cube from the dispenser in the refrigerator door, and passed it over. Drew took his coffee black, and he looked like he wanted to drown himself in the stuff; Steve wa
sn’t going to be responsible for burns.

  Drew wrapped both hands around the cup, staring into the depths like it held the secrets of the universe. Steve fixed his own cup, doctored with a generous splash of milk and a hint of sugar, and gestured toward the table. Drew sat heavily while Steve took Rita outside.

  When he came back in, Rita having found a suitable patch of grass, Drew had finished the mug and regained the ability to form words. “I forgot you’re a morning person.”

  Steve shrugged, sitting down across from him so their feet could touch under the table. “Sort of. I turned thirty and stopped being able to sleep past seven. Figured I might as well embrace it and get things done.”

  “Aging has never sounded so terrible.”

  Steve snorted. “Wait ’til you have your first after-thirty hangover.” These days he could barely have two drinks without suffering. “I’m going to take Rita for a run. Do you want to come?”

  Drew exhaled a long breath. “I probably should. Think I can keep up?”

  “Well, you’re a little short”—Drew squawked—“but I’ll go easy on you. Soon it’ll be too hot for Rita to go very fast anyway.”

  “I didn’t exactly bring my evading-the-paparazzi disguise. Aren’t we going to get mobbed?”

  That could be a problem in Beverly Hills. Fortunately it was a problem Steve had some level of experience with. “We’re not exactly going down to Sunset Boulevard. But I have an idea.” A little searching rewarded him with a pair of Ray-Bans and a ball cap.

  Drew took the hat, his expression dubious. “Toronto Maple Leafs?”

  “It was a souvenir,” Steve said defensively. “So. Are you coming?”

  In the end he had to find a suitable pair of running shoes too—one of his mother’s boyfriends must have left a pair in the right size. Steve filled a couple of water bottles, and they set off.

  It was shaping up to be another scorching day, but the trees lining the sidewalks on Coldwater Canyon Drive provided some shade. Drew kept pace well enough as long as Steve didn’t push himself to his limits, and Rita seemed content to run between them, nudging Steve’s hand every so often for treats.

  Drew was half wheezing as they crested a slight hill, and Steve glanced over, eyebrows raised. A car whooshed past them, creating the illusion of a breeze, and he held his arms away from his body, taking advantage to cool off. “You gonna make it?”

  Drew mock glowered, sweaty but no less attractive for it. “Is this all you got?” he challenged, huffing along.

  Steve laughed. “No,” he said, and he pushed himself faster, putting a few paces between himself and Drew.

  “I take it back!”

  “Too little, too late!” Steve called over his shoulder, picking up speed until Drew was running along just behind him, too winded to comment.

  He stopped a minute later so they could all take a water break, Rita happily slopping a good portion of her share on Steve’s shoes, the sidewalk, and, when she turned her attention to Drew, Drew’s hairy calf.

  “Thanks, baby,” Drew said, dry, rubbing the fur on her flank.

  Rita stared devotedly up at Drew and panted, wagging her tail.

  Steve wasn’t sure what he related to more: Drew’s mild distaste or Rita’s besotted affection.

  The car from before drove past again, slower this time. Probably gawkers. Tourists looking for glimpses at even the houses of the stars got lost up here all the time.

  If this were Steve’s normal morning run, it would be populated with general LA passersby, coffee shops, crosswalks, and other opportunities for distraction. Out here, though, his mother’s privacy needs meant he basically ran down one side of Coldwater Canyon and back up the other. In LA he and Drew could’ve stopped somewhere for a bite to eat. Here they’d have to fend for themselves.

  Oh well. Dina had stocked the fridge before she left. Steve could manage.

  They returned home just as the heat reached intolerable levels. Steve unlocked the front door and the sweet, cool, blissful balm of conditioned air cocooned him. His T-shirt clung to him, damp with sweat, and the skin on his face felt tight and tingly, a side effect of drying salt and too much sun. He probably looked like a wreck.

  Drew closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, breathing hard. His cheeks were flushed over his tan, and a rivulet of sweat ran from his temple down the side of his neck. He’d changed out of his baggy T-shirt before they left, and the more fitted one he’d chosen was white, almost sheer now with moisture. Steve could see the peaks of his nipples.

  Rita nudged him out of his unapologetic staring by tugging at her leash. He unclipped her and she beelined for her water, which she proceeded to slurp enthusiastically.

  “No wonder you’re in such good shape,” Drew commented, his chest heaving.

  Damn it. Now Steve was staring again. “You kept up just fine.”

  “Yeah, but I think I might’ve partially melted.” Drew stood up straight, wincing as he unstuck from the door.

  Steve swallowed hard. Down, boy. “Let’s hit the showers,” he suggested weakly. “Get the sweat off and then I’ll start breakfast.”

  Their eyes locked, and for a moment Steve felt like he was back outside in the sun.

  “Uh, good idea,” Drew said finally. “I’m just gonna… yeah.” But Steve couldn’t move, afraid of what might happen if he did, so when Drew passed him on the way to the guest bath, their hands brushed, and a zing of current tingled up Steve’s arm and made him shiver.

  A shower was definitely in order. A really cold shower.

  STEVE managed breakfast—yogurt, fresh fruit, scrambled eggs, and whole wheat toast—and later that afternoon, Drew made them sandwiches to accompany the rest of the potato salad while Steve worked on the script. But as nice as it was to sit at his table in the sunny den and write while Drew swam or played with Rita or lounged in the sun, Steve thought they’d both go stir-crazy if they didn’t leave the property for three days.

  Besides, it was his turn to take Drew out.

  “So I have an idea for dinner,” Steve said, standing under the pool canopy. “But we don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

  Drew looked up from the pulp paperback he’d picked off the shelf in Steve’s dad’s office. “That sounds ominous.”

  Steve tore his eyes away from the damp hem of Drew’s swim shorts. “It’s not. A friend of mine, Alex, is the maître d’ at a restaurant in town. He can get us in the back entrance to a private table. You like seafood, right? I already told him no dill.”

  Drew set the book aside and squinted at Steve. “Are you trying to impress me?”

  No point denying it. Steve nodded vigorously. “Yes.”

  “Oh. In that case, I accept. Though I didn’t bring much in the way of formalwear.”

  “I’ve already seen you in a tuxedo, so I think I’ll live through my disappointment not getting you into a suit.” He’d rather get him out of it anyway. “Nobody to impress. No cameras, just discretion. I’ll even arrange a car.”

  Drew cocked his head to one side, assessing. Heat rose in Steve’s face and burned his ears. Surely Drew had to see through him, had to know where this was going. As seduction ploys went, this one came straight from the book. But Steve’s father had always said the classics were classic for a reason.

  “I’m already here,” Drew said. “I’m already impressed. You don’t have to…. I don’t need it. I know you’re not the glamor-and-glitter type. I like that about you.” He paused, then amended, “I like you.”

  “I know.” The words came so easily it should have been a surprise. But it wasn’t at all. “You wouldn’t have come out here if you didn’t like it, me, if you didn’t want some quiet sometimes. But you live in that world too, the one with all the lights and sparkle. I want to prove I’m… not afraid of it.” To Drew, absolutely. But also to himself, and maybe a few others as well.

  He wasn’t expecting any publicity, though. Baby steps.

  After another second o
f studying Steve, Drew shrugged and smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “Okay. Just one condition.”

  By now Steve knew not to expect anything too serious. “Name your price.”

  Drew crooked a finger, then reached up to grab a handful of Steve’s shirt. He tugged him down into a short, sweet, coconut-scented kiss. “There,” he said. “Condition met. When do we leave?”

  ALEX’S “private table” was actually a metal picnic table on the patio the staff usually used for their breaks. A nine-foot fence covered in California honeysuckle insulated them from the rest of the world, and a trellis and fans overhead kept them cool enough. And if the back of the stucco building and its thick metal door were less than scenic, Drew didn’t comment, and he barely tore his beautiful eyes from Steve all evening, so Steve didn’t think it mattered.

  They ate seven courses, beginning with fish carpaccio and culminating in a chocolate mousse with strawberries. Alex brought them wine pairings with every new dish.

  Steve reminded himself to thank Alex later for keeping the glasses small.

  By the time they finished the champagne, Drew’s cheeks were rosy and his feet were trapped between Steve’s.

  When the car Steve had hired dropped them off at home, they both had the giggles. It took Steve three tries to get the key in the door. They practically fell inside when it unlocked, stumbling over each other and their own feet.

  Drew caught Steve before he could go too far, and they closed the door behind them, still giggling. “We gotta sober up,” Steve said, kicking off his shoes.

  Drew followed suit and grabbed him by the arm. “Come on. I got an idea.”

  Rita joined them as Drew slid open the patio door. With his free hand, Steve flicked on the pool lights.

  Under the pool canopy, Drew let go of Steve and pulled off his own shirt. “Race you?”

  “You’re on.”

  Belt buckles clinked and fabric rustled and bare feet slapped the concrete as they pulled off their socks. Steve couldn’t have said which of them won. They hit the water together, fingers entwined.