by Ashlyn Kane
This time they nailed the blocking… right up until Drew tugged Steve a little too hard and their foreheads knocked together. Ow.
He stared at Steve from half an inch away, daring him to make a comment, half a second away from laughing at the futility of the whole thing.
Then the corner of Steve’s mouth quirked up, close enough Drew could feel it, and he planted a showy, unsexy kiss on Drew’s lips anyway.
Someone catcalled, and there was a smattering of laughter and applause. Eventually Steve pulled away and bowed, his cheeks and ears red.
“Cut,” Nina said for the zillionth time, but she was laughing too.
“Writers and their ad-libbing,” Drew faux grumbled, jabbing Steve with his elbow. Steve smiled back, a little green but okay, Drew thought. Baby steps. They were going to be fine.
THE kissing scene needed only one more take, but sadly, the day’s trials didn’t end there. Drew spent half his time between shots on the phone, trying to sort out the dog situation. They had only rehearsed about half of what they’d moved up to shoot today, and it showed in the number of takes needed for each scene.
Steve’s mood grew progressively more sour as the day wore on. Drew watched it happening, figured he was part of the problem, but he couldn’t do anything about it.
It was sort of a theme for the day.
He’d returned Grace’s call to have her contact a few other animal talent agencies and see if anyone could help them out. So far no luck. They were filming the scenes they could, but Drew was starting to worry. They couldn’t finish the film without a dog. At least not without yet another major rewrite. Until they figured things out, spirits were low and tensions were high, and Steve withdrew into himself a little more every time the cameras stopped.
Drew figured he’d done something wrong, but he wasn’t sure exactly what or how to fix it.
By the time the afternoon light had faded enough that they had to call it a day, Drew was concerned. “Drive back with me in the Rover?” he asked, motioning to his vehicle, which they’d parked down the street several blocks from where they were filming.
Steve nodded wordlessly and followed him back.
But once they were inside, Drew didn’t put the car in gear right away. He started the engine to run the air conditioner, thankful he’d found a spot in the shade, and waited for words to come—his or Steve’s, he wasn’t sure.
His own came first. “Are you mad at me?”
Steve raised his head and met Drew’s eyes for the first time off-camera in what felt like hours. “What? No.” He seemed genuinely surprised and alarmed Drew would think so. “No,” he repeated. “I’m just… thinking, I guess. I’m not mad, I promise. I’m in my head a little.”
Drew had a feeling Steve was holding back, but he didn’t think the car was a good place to push. Besides, the cast and crew had booked a local restaurant for dinner. They’d feel better after they ate. At least he hoped so.
They drove in silence back to the hotel, and Drew handed over the keys to have the Rover valeted. Steve followed him out of the car, still lost in his own head.
And then a shiny black BMW X6 squealed into the parking lot.
There was only one valet attendant, which was probably a blessing, because it meant only Drew and Steve were there to hear when Marla Stone stormed out of her car, slammed the door, and half shouted, “I’m going to sue that limp-dicked, hairy-assed little weasel!” gesturing at the sky the whole while.
In her youth, Marla had shining auburn hair, sharp cheekbones, fair skin, and a commanding presence. Her first role of ingénue had turned quickly to that of femme fatale, and that was a mantle she still wore well at seventysomething. She obviously colored her hair, but she stood straight, and her movements spoke of a woman half her age.
So, Drew thought bemusedly, did her vocabulary.
Steve’s mouth dropped open. “…Mom?”
“Hello, darling,” she said, some of the frost in her posture melting as she patted Steve’s cheek. “I hope you don’t mind we stopped by to vent.”
Steve blinked at her. Drew, also not particularly prone to speechlessness, could think of nothing to say, even to introduce himself.
“We?” Steve said.
Marla opened the passenger-side door and unclipped a pretty pink leash from the seat belt. Rita hopped out and went straight for Steve, fluffy tail wagging madly.
The dark cloud that had been following Steve most of the day blew off, and he grinned unfettered as he knelt to lavish her with pets.
Drew forgot to police himself watching him, which meant he had a really dumb, sappy smile on his face when Steve’s mother turned her attention to him.
Oops. “Um,” he said. Crap, was he going to blush too? How embarrassing. “Hi.” How should he address her? Mrs. Stone? Marla? Mrs. Steve’s Mom? He had never done the meet-the-parents thing. He decided to skip it. “Drew Beaumont. Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand.
Marla took off her sunglasses and regarded him shrewdly with clear blue eyes. Then she extended her empty hand and smiled, showing off a number of smile lines. “The pleasure is mine. Call me Marla.”
“Marla.” He smiled. She had a firm grip. “I hope—oof!”
Rita planted her paws in his chest in a blatant demand for attention. “Sorry,” Drew said to Marla, trying to get Rita to put four feet on the ground. “I think I encouraged some bad habits.”
“Nonsense. I’m happy she likes you. She’s very particular. And, as it turns out, a better judge of character than I am.”
Steve found his voice again. “I’m assuming Rico is the limp-dicked, hairy-assed little weasel in question. Thanks for that visual, by the way, Mom.”
Rita got her fill of Drew’s attention and dropped to stand at Marla’s side. Marla rolled her eyes and put her sunglasses back on. “Obviously. Next time I meet a new boyfriend, I’ll have Rita vet him first.”
“What did he do?”
“Oh, you know that gallery we were supposed to open together. Well, apparently he’s decided that the legal arrangement we signed shouldn’t apply now that I’ve kicked him to the curb.”
Drew had only known Marla for thirty seconds, and he couldn’t imagine crossing her. Rico was either dumber than a box of hammers or he had balls like coconuts. “Tell us about it over dinner?” he invited. “We’re supposed to go out with the cast and crew, but I think they’ll understand if we ditch. Or you could come with?”
“Now that’s the best invitation I’ve gotten all day.”
THEY spent a pleasant few hours at a shady restaurant patio a few streets over from the crew’s chosen haunt, Rita curled up under the table. Steve relaxed more with every passing moment until he was smiling, leaning back in his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him. He looked good like that. Despite the audience—and the fact that the audience was Steve’s mother—Drew found it hard to tear his gaze away.
Marla noticed, if the looks she shot Drew’s way were any indication. And she confirmed it when Steve excused himself to go to the washroom and she leaned forward and put her hand on Drew’s wrist. “I like you,” she said. “And my son is besotted. But if you’re not good to him, I’ll make your life hell. What I do to you will make what I’m going to do to Rico in court look kind and compassionate. Understood?”
Drew swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.”
But even with that frightening interlude, dinner was fun. Marla had made a career of being personable, and she was easy to talk to and adept at steering the conversation where she wanted it to go. Drew happily went along for the ride as they swapped stories about making movies, nightmare directors, and Steve’s childhood antics.
He was in the middle of explaining their current dilemma with Dog Gone when he paused and looked under the table. Rita peered up at him from her back, gravity pulling her upper lip into a ridiculous smile.
Drew sat back in his chair and turned his attention to Steve. “Hey. Does Rita have silver screen ambitions, by any chance?�
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“Well, she was found on a TV set.” Steve quirked up a lip. “Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?”
“She’s perfect for the part,” Drew pointed out. “Husky, Finnish Lapphund. Call it creative license.”
“She doesn’t exactly have formal training. A lot of dogs get anxious in new situations.”
“It might not work.” Drew shrugged. “But you’ll be with her the whole time. If you think she’s uncomfortable or unhappy, we’ll wait on filming the dog scenes until we can find the right dog for the job.”
Steve looked at Marla. “What do you think? Can we borrow Rita for a few days?”
All things considered, by the time Drew and Steve said goodbye to Marla and Rita, Drew was feeling pretty good. Steve seemed to be in a better mood, they had potentially solved a major production hurdle, and he had a full belly of good if simple food.
But while Steve showered off the day’s grime, Drew couldn’t stop thinking. Having dinner with Steve and his mom was nice. Drew and Marla got along well and didn’t have any egregious ego clashes or—and Drew was glad of this because he’d worried a little—feel the need to upstage each other. The three of them fit. They felt like family.
And now he couldn’t help but wonder what it might be like to take Steve home to meet his.
Would Steve and Sarah get along? They were both introverts; it would take them some time to get to know each other well. What about Drew’s father? Did he and Steve have anything in common? Drew could hardly remember if his dad liked to grill, it had been so long since he’d been home. What about Sarah’s boyfriend? Would he and Drew like each other? What if Steve fit better in Drew’s family than Drew did? And why did it suddenly matter?
He could imagine Steve relaxing in the backyard with Brit, who’d just finished her English Lit degree, debating the finer points of writing or a play or novel. Sarah and Mom would boss Dad around in the kitchen until everything was prepared and plated to their liking.
But where was Drew? He wouldn’t have anything to add to Steve and Brit’s conversation, and in the kitchen he’d only get in the way.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Steve said, stepping out of the bathroom. He ran a towel over his hair. His boxer briefs clung enticingly to his body.
Drew pulled his gaze up to Steve’s face. “Sorry. I was just….” Fantasizing about taking you home to my parents when you’ve never even seen my apartment. He sighed. “You know I still haven’t called my mom back?”
Steve crossed to the bed and sat next to him. “What’s the holdup?” He smoothed his palms together and then scratched his upper arm. Anxious.
Drew had best tread carefully.
“I don’t know. I guess I wonder if….” He made a face. “I’ve been gone for so long I don’t know if I belong there anymore. They’re getting along fine without me. They have their own lives.”
Steve swung his feet up on the bed and turned toward him. “That doesn’t mean they don’t want you in them.”
True. But that was just the lead-in. He took a deep breath. “I know that. And I’m going to call. I want to tell my family about you. You’re important.”
Steve’s cheeks went pink, and he bit his lip. “So what’s the problem?”
Feeling awkward, Drew lifted a shoulder. He couldn’t believe he’d made it to this point in his life without doing this, but—“I’ve never told my parents about someone I’m dating before.”
“What, really?”
Drew gestured aimlessly. “Well, for years it was nothing but hookups—I wasn’t exactly going to write home to Mom and Dad ‘that actor from that show you like let me stick it in’!”
Steve choked out a laugh. “I’m gonna ask you who that was. Later, though. But I swear it’s not that hard.”
“Says the guy who talks to his mom every day.”
“Point taken.”
Drew rubbed his forehead. “That’s not all either. I sort of….” Out with it, he told himself. “I told you I’ve been thinking about going to spend some time there when I get a break from filming.” He inhaled deeply. “Do you want to come?”
For a heartbeat Steve froze, mouth slightly open, eyes wide. Then his flush deepened and a shy smile crept onto his face. “You want me to meet your family?”
“I may not be sure what they think of me after all these years,” Drew said, lacing their fingers together, “but they’re going to love you.”
I do.
The realization should have surprised him—probably should have terrified him. It had been so long since he’d felt this way. But it was the most natural, logical thing in the world.
“You think?”
“I know.”
Chapter Eighteen
DREW called his parents that night, sitting at the little table in their hotel room. At his request, Steve sat across from him the whole time. Moral support, Drew said, but Steve thought it was more than that. Drew wanted to include him. He even put the phone on speaker.
“Hi, Mom,” Drew said, a little sheepish. “Sorry it’s been, uh. Well. I’m sorry I didn’t return your call until now.”
“It’s all right, sweetheart. We know you’re busy.”
His father chimed in, “We’re just happy to hear from you. Is everything okay?”
Drew exhaled and bit his lips, and Steve nudged his foot under the table in a show of support. “Actually yeah. Everything’s great. But I don’t…. Can you catch me up on what’s new with you guys first? My thing is sort of hard to follow, and I don’t want to miss anything.”
Drew’s parents ran through the news in, Steve guessed, order of ascending importance. That seemed odd, but then again, maybe it was a tactic for keeping him on the phone longer, if they didn’t speak very often. The new puppy had peed on his mother’s houseplant, his great-aunt needed a pacemaker, and the neighbor down the street hit the line for the sprinkler system when digging a hole for a koi pond and flooded half the street before they got the water turned off.
“And I don’t know if Sarah told you, but she and Eric set a date for the wedding.”
From the momentary flash on Drew’s face, no, she hadn’t told him. “That’s great,” he said. “I’ll have to make sure to get the details. I don’t want to miss it.”
“And I think that’s everything,” his mother concluded quickly, in a tone that Steve guessed was meant to signal to her husband that he’d better not think of anything else to add because she was dying to grill Drew about his recent tabloid appearance. “Now tell us what’s new with you.”
Steve valiantly held in a laugh at Drew’s expense. Drew stuck his tongue out. “Well, as you may have guessed from various news sources of ill repute, I… met someone.”
“That’s wonderful! Will you tell us about him—them?”
So she’d definitely looked at the pictures.
“His name is Steve.” Drew squeezed his fingers. Steve was tempted to leave the table—having someone talk about you as if you weren’t there was a cringeworthy experience—but the squeeze anchored him in place. “He’s a writer… and an actor. He’s actually the writer of and my costar in the movie I’m doing now. I bullied him into the second part.”
“Drew!” his mother laughed in admonishment. “How did you manage that?”
Drew and Steve met eyes, and Steve lifted his shoulders. “It’s possible he finds me unaccountably irresistible,” Drew admitted.
Steve grinned at the tabletop.
“There,” he said when the conversation was over and Drew’s parents had hung up. His mother was obviously over the moon that Drew had found someone more permanent. “That wasn’t so bad, right?”
“You provide excellent moral support.” Drew smiled tiredly. “Okay, I’m going to shower, and then I’m probably going to crash. That okay?”
Shrugging, Steve said, “Sure. I’ll probably be asleep by the time you’re out.”
He wasn’t, quite, when it came down to it: Drew climbed into bed just as Steve was drift
ing off. He had just enough presence of mind to lift his arm so Drew could snuggle under.
“SHE’S a natural,” Steve’s mother said after Rita’s first scene wrapped. She was waiting in Steve’s chair under the sunshade, looking for all the world as though she were about to take one step out of the chair and join them in the movie.
“Obviously it runs in the family,” Drew chirped, though he flung himself into his own chair with considerably less energy than he’d put into his voice. One of the production assistants handed him a Perrier.
Rita herself was currently gorging herself on cold water. Soon Marla would ferry her back to a nice air-conditioned hotel room to recover. The desert heat didn’t agree with her—they were being careful to film her scenes quickly and make sure she had a chemically cooled mat and a shady place to refresh herself, but they still put her in an air-conditioned trailer if they had more than five minutes between takes.
Honestly they were lucky she had learned her hand signals so well, or it wouldn’t have been worth casting her at all. But she rarely missed a cue, and when she did—when Drew as Scotty “broke into” her mistress’s house to rescue her—her ad-libbed jumping all over him fit the scene perfectly anyway.
“Obviously,” Marla agreed, standing. She grabbed Steve by his upper arms and planted a kiss on either cheek. “You’re wonderful, darling. I’m so proud of you.”
Steve didn’t have to do much acting; he just followed Drew around like he was the lovesick puppy. “Thanks, Mom.”
Then she shook her head, her eyes faraway. “If your father were here….”
Steve’s throat got thick and he blinked hard. “Yeah.”
“Oh, but look at me. Harshing your comedy buzz with my pathos.” She released him. “Are you finished with Rita for the day? She seems tired.”
Steve looked at Nina, who was one chair over. She nodded. “Yeah, she’s done. Give her a bully stick from me.”
“I will. I—” Something buzzed quietly. “Excuse me.” Marla took out her phone and opened it. Steve couldn’t hear whatever was being said, but her countenance went from smooth if somewhat wistful to confused to apoplectic in the space of a few terse sentences.
