by Ashlyn Kane
Steve exhaled as the ready room door closed behind them, and Drew bumped their shoulders together. “Well, that’s it. Tomorrow we’ll be the talk of Tinseltown.”
“Yeah.”
“You okay?”
Cooper was still on set, talking to some of the musicians, so Steve had the privacy to hold out his arms and beckon Drew to him. As soon as he got close enough, Steve planted his forehead on Drew’s shoulder. “Take me away from all of this, please.”
Drew chuckled softly and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Come on. Let’s go home.”
ALMOST before the elevator doors closed behind them, Steve was yawning.
“Sorry,” Steve said when he had voluntary control of his face again. “Car trips always make me tired. Anything over an hour and I’m done for.”
“It’s been a long day.” The doors opened, and Drew led them down the hall to the apartment on the end.
Drew’s apartment was on the twentieth floor of a Santa Monica high-rise, with more space than any ten people could need and sleek, modern furniture. “Wow,” Steve said, looking around despite his bleary eyes.
Drew snorted, obviously interpreting Steve’s flat delivery. “Right? I told you, it’s not personal. But.” He kicked off his shoes and hit a switch hidden in a recessed shelf. Across the palatial living room, blackout curtains began to rise. “It has one thing going for it.”
The curtains rose to reveal the bright lights of LA at night, stretching as far as the eye could see. A wide, well-appointed balcony with a hot tub and a comfortable seating area was the icing on the cake.
“Okay, I reiterate my wow, this time with feeling.” The only thing Steve could see from his apartment was the ugly side of another building. At least he had a window.
“I wanted a place with a view. This is the first apartment my agent showed me. Didn’t pay much attention to the rest.”
They stood there quietly for a moment, shoulder to shoulder, taking it in.
Then Drew said, “So, want to see the bedroom?”
Steve swatted at him halfheartedly and followed.
Much like the living room, the bedroom was enormous, this time with an oversize bed that nonetheless felt dwarfed in the space. Steve suspected the same wall of windows lurked behind the curtains, but Drew didn’t open these. “A little more room than the last bed we shared.”
“I don’t mind having to cuddle up.”
“Me neither. Come on—bathroom’s through here.” He made a sweeping gesture. “I’ll get you set up for the shower.”
Steve could barely stomach the idea of walking past the bed, it looked so inviting. “Lay on, Macduff.”
But if the bed was inviting, the pristine tiled space, bigger than Steve’s apartment, with the freestanding tub in the center and the glassed-in shower that took up an entire wall, was impossible to resist.
He looked at Drew, who looked back with dark eyes twinkling with promise. “I could keep you company,” Drew offered magnanimously. “You know, wash your back, make sure you don’t drown.”
Not that the idea didn’t appeal, but—“That interview is the least sexy thing I have ever done in my life,” Steve admitted after a too-long pause.
“Ah. Yeah.” Drew rubbed the back of his neck, chagrined. “Introvert.”
Steve nodded, relieved he got it. “Rain check?”
Drew leered. “Definitely.” And then he winked and left Steve to it.
Drew’s shower could have made a grown man cry. Steve held it together long enough to get clean and then hung his towel on the heated rack. Drew was already asleep when he slipped into bed beside him.
He thought it would feel different being “out” as famous, as Drew’s boyfriend. But he felt the same as he did when he woke up that morning, only the bed was more comfortable.
It only took a few heartbeats for him to fall asleep.
Chapter Nineteen
DREW finished his second cup of coffee outside the wardrobe trailer, waiting for Steve. It got too cramped with more than one of them and Will inside at the same time. But now that his eyes would open all the way, he thumbed open the email client on his phone and clicked the link in Alan’s message.
Gathering No Moss
Steven Stone, son of silver screen royalty Marla and David Stone, is making his own way in Hollywood—and into Drew Beaumont’s heart.
Well. Drew blinked. That wasn’t the headline he was expecting. But it certainly had his attention.
Steven Stone grew up as Steve Sopol in a small town in Washington. Though his parents had a trophy case full of cinematic accolades, he says his upbringing was remarkably normal—a fact he credits for his even keel and down-to-earth attitude. But now he’s in Los Angeles, and he’s leaving his mark in his own unique way: by writing and acting in his first film.
The story continued in that vein for another paragraph before jumping to the movie itself and Steve’s relationship with Drew.
It shouldn’t have unsettled him. After all, once the story broke on Gloria, people were bound to take an interest in Steve. But it sat wrong. He didn’t think Steve would like it much either, largely because he wouldn’t appreciate the surprise. And on top of that, he wouldn’t appreciate being the sole object of the article’s scrutiny.
“Well, well,” said a familiar voice. “If it isn’t Steven Stone’s boyfriend.”
Drew jerked his head up, a grin already spreading across his features. “Leigh!”
“In the flesh,” she confirmed, doing a pirouette. Her normally medium-brown skin had tanned a darker shade, and she looked more relaxed than he ever remembered.
He stood and wrapped her in a tight hug. “You look good. Established relationships must agree with you.”
She laughed at him as she pulled back, then gave him a little shove on the shoulders. “You’re one to talk. Actually I’m surprised you’re verbal this early.”
“I’m caffeinated.” He held up his empty cup for proof. “Are you here for what I think you’re here for?”
“Didn’t your casting director tell you, Mr. Bigshot Producer?” she teased, taking the folding chair next to his as he sat back down. “Somehow I scored a cameo on this indie flick as someone’s brother’s ex-girlfriend or something. I guess it’s going to be a big deal. Or at least Hilary let me do it anyway since I’ll only be needed for a day or two. Hope you know your lines.”
“I think I’ll manage.”
“You’re damn right you will. God, I can’t wait to put you in your place on camera. It’s like this role was written just for me.” Oh, here we go. Sure enough, she followed with “Speaking of, where’s your leading man?”
Drew indicated the door behind him. “Getting his pants on.” He narrowed his eyes. “Did you take this part so you could meet my boyfriend?”
“Would I do that? I’m here because I love you.”
“Just do me a favor and don’t ask him for his mom’s autograph, okay?”
“What, Marla?” She waved her hand. “I already have it. Remember the charity roast I volunteered for last year? She hosted. Hey, if you’d come with, I wonder if you’d have met your boy even sooner.”
Drew hadn’t been ready to meet Steve then. “I’m glad it happened the way it did.”
She studied him, head cocked. Drew wondered what she saw, if he looked happier or more relaxed or had some kind of hippy-dippy glow unique to people in successful relationships. Whatever she saw, it made her smile. “You really are, huh? Look at us. Two grown adults, two halves of different grown adult couples.” She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
Drew had to raise a hand to shade his eyes. Suddenly the morning light shone so bright it hurt. Only it seemed to be coming from—“Did you get engaged?” he half shouted, grasping for her hand. A classic white-gold band held a princess-cut diamond the size of a Skittle.
Leigh flushed, her smile widening until it threatened to engulf her face. “Surprise?”
Shaking his head, Drew let go of her hand
so he could stand and hug her properly again. “Congratulations! Between you and my sister, I’m going to be spending a lot of time at Williams Sonoma.”
This time it was her eyes that got big. “Sarah’s getting married? Jeez.” She had met Drew’s sisters a few times over the years Leigh and Drew worked on the same lot. “Now I feel old.”
“You’re telling me.” Next thing he knew, Brit would be pregnant or something. Drew touched the wood stairs leading into the trailer, just in case.
“You know,” Leigh said slyly, “they say these things come in threes.”
It took him a moment to realize what she was getting at. Then the back of his neck went hot and he cleared his throat. “So,” he said, “who’s the lucky….”
Fortunately she seemed to be in a good mood—she let him get away with the blatant subject change. “Man,” Leigh filled in. “Actually you might know him?”
Drew’s eyes widened. “Who?”
Leigh smoothed her hair back. “Miles Casey.”
“From Hilary’s office?” Miles had been Hilary’s PA for as long as Drew had been one of her clients, though Drew supposed he was really more of her successor in training these days. “He’s cute.”
“He’s incredible.” She sighed and leaned back, her expression beatific. “It’s weird, you know, dating someone who’s not….”
“Recognizable?” Drew suggested.
“Yeah. It’s different. I like it.” She glanced over at him. “But I didn’t come here to talk about me.”
Of course she hadn’t.
As if on cue, the trailer door opened. “Oh,” Steve said, blinking. “Sorry. Have I been hogging Wardrobe?”
Leigh stood, brushing her hands on her jeans. “No, no, I don’t have any scenes until tomorrow. I’m just here getting the lay of the land. I’m Leigh. I’ll be your on-screen brother’s ex-girlfriend.”
Steve came down the steps, grinning widely as he offered his hand. “I know who you are. You’re playing Lila?”
They shook, and then Leigh curtseyed. “If it pleases Your Highness.”
“Can’t think of anyone I’d rather cast.”
And then they were off.
Drew had been right—they got on like a house on fire. Leigh watched them film Rita’s final abduction from her home, which Scotty was convinced a neighbor called the police over. The scenes themselves went fine, but Drew felt… restless, somehow, between takes, when Leigh would start filling Steve in on all the ridiculous things she and Drew had gotten up to as children.
It was fair play, after all: Drew had heard all about Kid Steve from his mother, who probably embellished a good deal more than Leigh. He told himself to get over it—he wasn’t jealous, that would be stupid—but was still relieved when lunchtime rolled around and Steve excused himself and Rita to have lunch with his mother in her hotel.
“I love him,” Leigh said nearly before Steve was out of earshot. “He’s perfect for you. Where’s he been all your life?”
Drew shook his head. “Washington, I think.” And then right under his nose. “Come on. Let’s get some food and you can tell me about Miles, Hawaii, and his proposal.”
“What makes you think he was the one who proposed?”
Well, now Drew had to hear more. “Did you buy yourself the ring too?” How much did an agent’s assistant make these days? Could Miles afford such a rock?
“Gauche, Drew.” She whapped him with the script she’d been studying. “See if I tell you anything.”
In the afternoon the light changed, so they moved to a parking lot a few streets over to shoot some of their scenes evading the police. The sun beat down until the pavement shimmered, and even Drew’s hair, coaxed into the perfect shape by Chantelle and held there with industrial-strength product, wilted. Between the borderline stunt work and the heat, Drew sweat through his wardrobe three times and had to swap his clothes for identical ones. And the caterer ran out of Perrier, and apparently nobody in this town stocked it.
By the time filming wrapped for the day, he was officially in a mood. But he couldn’t even stalk off to sulk, because the hotel was still booked and he was sharing with Steve.
Who also looked hot and grimy and sweaty, and not in the fun way. Drew should’ve been ogling, with the way Steve’s shirt stuck to his body.
Maybe today just sucked.
Steve wiped his face with the towel a PA gave him and glanced at Drew. “You want first shower? I can take Rita to Mom’s and clean up there.”
Drew softened. What the hell was he so annoyed about? “I don’t deserve you,” he said, sagging. That shower was all his.
“Nope,” Steve quipped. He leaned in and bestowed a sweaty kiss on Drew’s cheek to a smattering of catcalls and offered a slight smile. “See you later.”
THE shower helped. Sort of. Hot water always felt good, and this hotel seemed to have a bottomless supply. But no amount of fancy soap could wash away the grit on the inside.
God, that was dramatic. He should leave the fancy words to Steve.
After the shower he left the towel wrapped around his waist and lay down on the bed and did something he never did.
He googled himself.
The grit on the inside got grittier.
None of the press was even particularly bad. By all accounts most media outlets thought his relationship with Steve was adorable. The original article Alan had sent him accompanied a production still of the two of them in character juxtaposed with the one that had hit the tabloids. In the new one, Scotty was leaning in, essentially batting his eyelashes at Morgan, all part of the attempt to convince him to join his harebrained scheme. The angle flattered Drew, but it illuminated Steve. He looked like some kind of modern prince that Knight Drew was pledging allegiance to. Which was maybe why one of those sites named Steve “Hollywood’s heir apparent.”
Sensationalism was their job, but Drew thought that was maybe taking it a bit far.
He must have lost track of time, because the next thing he knew, the hotel door opened and Steve came in wearing running shorts and a T-shirt and that Leafs hat Drew supposed was going to become part of his everyday dodging-the-press getup.
“Uh,” Steve said, raking his gaze over Drew’s body—the towel had slipped a little—before he remembered himself and shut the door. “Hey.”
Drew sat up, twisting kinks out of his neck and shoulders. Lying like that had been a mistake. “Hey.”
Steve looked pained. “Can we talk?”
The bottom dropped out of Drew’s stomach. In his experience those words never preceded anything good. For a moment he had a flashback to the first time someone broke his heart, to feeling used and discarded and alone.
But no. Steve wouldn’t do that to him, and certainly not this soon after going through the wringer to come out. Real relationships involved talking, even about hard stuff. “Should I put pants on for this?”
“If you want.” Steve rubbed his hands on his shorts, scratched at his arm, ran a hand through his hair, then caught himself and folded his arms. “I… are you mad at me?”
What? Drew opened his mouth to respond that no, of course he wasn’t mad—but then he thought about it. He had been acting like he was mad, hadn’t he? He’d been short with Steve all day. He’d been glad to have time to himself when he should have been jumping at the chance to spend more time with Steve in private. And he did feel… resentment… toward Steve. Which didn’t make any sense, because Steve hadn’t done anything.
Or had he? He’d let the press into his life. He’d given an interview with Drew. And now he was getting attention—from everyone. Drew’s parents. Leigh. The media. More attention than Drew.
God damn it.
Drew groaned and picked up a pillow, which he proceeded to groan into, long and loud. “I’m not mad,” he said when he finished. “At least not at you. Or at least not for anything that’s your fault. I’m just a giant diva.”
Steve, quite understandably, just stared.
With a
sigh, Drew admitted, “I’ve been grumpy all day and I couldn’t put my finger on why, but when you brought it up… I’m jealous about how much everyone’s talking about you. Which is stupid and ridiculous, and you don’t even like that they’re talking about you. I know that. I just… I’m not used to being with someone more famous than me. I need to check my ego. Sorry.” Then something occurred to him and he narrowed his eyes. “Wait, are you mad at me?”
The color drained from Steve’s face and his mouth dropped open a fraction. Gotcha, Drew thought. “No!”
Liar. Steve wasn’t that good an actor. At least when he wasn’t on camera. But Drew had more sense than to say so out loud. “You want to try that again? One more time, with conviction?”
Steve set his jaw. “I’m not mad!” he practically shouted, which wasn’t any more convincing. He must have realized that, because his shoulders slumped.
“So there’s some other reason you’ve been putting off having sex with me?” He’d brushed Drew off the night before, and now Drew was wearing a towel, and yet no sexy touching. They should still be in the sex-at-every-opportunity phase, but here they were. Separated by a towel and Steve’s hangup, whatever it was.
Steve winced like he hadn’t thought he’d get caught. Surely he hadn’t thought Drew wouldn’t notice he was avoiding intimacy. “It’s not what you think.”
Drew fought the urge to throw his hands in the air. “That seems pretty likely, since I have no idea what to think.”
“Fine. Fine. I—” Steve took two steps to his left and ran both hands through his hair. “My parents raised me in the middle of nowhere. They wanted me to be my own person. It’s why I have a different last name. And I am. Every important decision I’ve made in my life, I’ve made it because it’s what I wanted.”
Drew held tight to the fraying ends of his patience. “None of this is news to me.”
Steve dropped into the chair. “I’m getting to the point, I promise. It just sounds really stupid when I say it out loud and I don’t want to.”
