His Leading Man

by Ashlyn Kane

  Despite everything, Drew melted a little. “Steve. I literally just confessed to being jealous the tabloids are talking about you more than me. You don’t exactly have the market cornered on irrational.”

  Steve dredged up part of a smile. “My parents always believed in me. But when I got to LA, I was nobody. I had to earn everything. Every new person who put their trust in my skills was a triumph. Proof I was good enough to live up to my parents’ legacy.”

  Oh. Drew could sort of see where this was going.

  “When Hilary told me my script got picked up for production, I didn’t think much about the people behind it. I was too excited. It was enough that someone thought it was worth investing in.”

  “Steve.” Drew licked his lips, considering his words. “I’d never even met you. I definitely didn’t know who your parents were.”

  Steve shook his head, staring at the generic abstract print on the wall behind Drew. “I thought, ‘The producer likes my movie. They approve of all the new scenes and rewrites. I must be doing something right if this person I’ve never met is willing to throw their money into this script.’”

  “I do approve,” Drew said earnestly. He leaned forward. The towel gaped a little more, but he ignored it. “I think it’s different and interesting and funny and sharp.”

  “I know that. I do. Really. But part of me keeps insisting you don’t count.”

  It was gently said, but the words still stung. Long years of practice schooling his features let Drew absorb that pain without showing it. “Why not?”

  Steve lifted one shoulder and met Drew’s eyes for the first time in what felt like days. “Because you’re in love with me.”

  For an eternity, Drew could say nothing. Steve had him dead to rights. At least he looked happier than he had a few minutes before. Finally Drew managed, “Traditionally I think you’re supposed to wait for me to tell you.”

  Steve’s smile grew a fraction of an inch. “Sorry I went off script. But you were taking too long, and it was relevant.”

  Drew plucked at the edge of his towel, caught himself, and tucked his hand under his thigh. “No, I get your point. By not telling you I was the producer, I undermined your confidence in yourself when you found out.” He grimaced. “And the other thing… I was maybe being chickenshit about it. I’ve never said it to anyone before, you know.”

  Steve shrank a little. “I didn’t mean to steal your thunder.”

  “It’s okay. There will be lots of other opportunities for me to make dramatic declarations.” He felt a little cheated somehow, like the universe owed him one perfect moment to pay him back for all the times he’d acted in perfectly scripted ones. But the world didn’t work like that.

  Or maybe it did. “Take two?” Steve suggested, the corners of his mouth lifting optimistically.

  Drew couldn’t help but smile back. “Why not?”

  To his surprise, Steve went as far as stepping out into the hallway. When he came back in, his face was carefully neutral, washed clean of the emotional leftovers of their conversation. “Hey. Nice towel.”

  Drew stifled a laugh. “Thanks.”

  Steve nodded earnestly. “You’re welcome. By the way, I’ve been avoiding intimacy with you because I’m upset you didn’t tell me you were the producer and because I’m having related self-confidence issues that aren’t really your fault.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. And that I inadvertently caused you to doubt yourself.” And then, in the spirit of the conversation, he dutifully added, “Since we’re confessing, I’ve had my panties in a knot all day because my ego is fragile and you’re getting more publicity than I am right now. Also, I’m in love with you.”

  Steve did a poor job hiding his delight. “Is that related to the panties thing, or is it a separate issue?”

  This time Drew didn’t bother trying not to laugh. “Come over here and find out.”

  Steve stalked over, crawled on his knees onto the bed, and straddled Drew’s legs. “Hmm.” He reached for the edge of the towel and met Drew’s eyes.

  Drew tilted his head in invitation.

  Steve pulled the towel back. “Liar,” he said, leaning down until his lips almost touched Drew’s. “You’re not wearing any panties.”

  “Imagine that. Problem solved.” Drew hooked his ankle behind Steve’s thigh and pulled until Steve lost his balance and had to catch himself on his hands. Then he flipped them until Steve was underneath him. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” Steve parroted. “Looks like you have me right where you want me. Now what’re you going to do with me?”

  “Hmm. I’ll show you.”

  Drew brushed their mouths together first, but he didn’t let the kiss deepen. Instead he trailed his lips down the side of Steve’s neck and reached for the hem of his shirt.

  He didn’t bother taking it off, just pulled it up until he could touch Steve’s chest. Then he pushed his shorts down just enough, slid his thigh between Steve’s, and melted into a kiss.

  Their bodies slid together languidly, the room quiet aside from the hush of skin on skin and their breathing and Steve’s bitten-off gasps. They came like that, Steve with his head back, Drew’s lips pressed to his pulse, his hand on Drew’s nape; Drew a second later, with Steve groaning encouragement in his ear.

  He lay down on his side, panting, Steve beside him in much the same condition. Finally Steve mustered the energy to kick off his shorts and tug off his shirt, which he used as a de facto rag for their mess before tossing it into a corner.

  Drew patted Steve’s chest. “Well. I like take two much better. Still not perfect, though.”

  Steve turned toward him, eyes crinkling in the corners. He threaded his fingers with Drew’s. “We’ll keep rehearsing. Bound to nail it eventually.”

  “Good idea,” Drew said, snorting at the bad pun.

  Leaning their heads together, Steve added, “Meanwhile, can you take a message for your ego?”

  Drew kissed his knuckles. “Of course.”

  “Tell it I love you too.”

  Chapter Twenty

  LILA

  Hey! That’s my dog! That’s my—Scott?

  MORGAN

  (quietly)

  Shit.

  SCOTT

  (faux casual, smoothing the hair at his nape)

  Oh…. Lila. Hey. What are you doing here?

  LILA

  Looking for my dog.

  Lila holds up her phone.

  LILA

  GPS chip. It’s on her collar.

  Roxy prances and wags her tail in greeting.

  SCOTT

  Right.

  Morgan gives him an incredulous look. All that running, and she could have found them at any time.

  LILA

  (kneeling to pet Roxy, becoming agitated)

  I don’t understand. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for days, but you haven’t returned any of my calls. And now you show up and steal Roxy?

  MORGAN

  (to Scott, mouthing)

  What?

  SCOTT

  (defensively)

  I’m not stealing her! I’m taking her back to her rightful owner!

  LILA

  You mean Tony?

  SCOTT

  Breaking up with him to move to Vegas with your new man-skank is one thing, but taking his dog while he’s out of the country?

  LILA

  My new skank? Tony cheated on me!

  SCOTT

  What?

  MORGAN

  (to himself)

  Well, that explains a lot.

  LILA

  With his secretary! God, he’s such a cliché. He broke up with me. And that man-skank is my cousin. He’s letting me stay with him until I find a place out here.

  A pause ensues.

  SCOTT

  Oh.

  LILA

  Yeah, oh.

  Roxy licks her face.

  LILA

  Tony and I talked about what to do with Roxy.
He’s not home enough to keep her, so I took her with me. But it’s just too hot. She can barely go outside when the sun’s out. That’s why I’ve been calling you.

  SCOTT

  (to Morgan)

  Your brother is a dick!

  MORGAN

  Well… yeah.

  SCOTT

  Did you know he was a dick?

  MORGAN

  (meaning yes)

  He’s my brother.

  SCOTT

  How come you never told me he was a dick?

  MORGAN

  I sort of thought you’d figured it out after twenty-two years.

  Roxy watches this exchange intently, turning her head for each speaker.

  SCOTT

  (to Lila)

  I… am sorry my friend is a dick.

  Morgan clears his throat.

  SCOTT

  And that I let Morgan talk me into kidnapping your dog when I didn’t have all the facts.

  Lila raises her eyebrows.

  SCOTT

  Wow, nobody wants to be the bigger man today. Okay, I get it.

  LILA

  I was calling you because Roxy’s always loved you. It kills me, but she was really Tony’s dog anyway. And she’d be happier somewhere with shade. I thought maybe you’d take her.

  The scene required a few takes due to weather interference and, once, Rita taking a bathroom break between parked cars and the three humans dissolving in laughter. But it wrapped, and Steve handed Rita off to his mother to head back to the hotel with Drew.

  “Last night out here in the middle of nowhere,” Drew said, swinging their linked hands. “Think it’ll be weird to be back home?”

  Steve shook his head. “I don’t know.” Then he snorted. “I’m not sure I want to go back to my apartment. There’s no room for both of us in there.”

  “Well, you don’t have to go back.” Drew waited until Steve looked at him. “I mean, there’ll be more scrutiny. Paps in the street, probably. I can almost guarantee someone will recognize you. And my apartment is nowhere near as nice as your mom’s house, but I—”

  “Are you inviting me to an extended sleepover?” Steve interrupted before Drew could babble on.

  Drew nodded emphatically, relief etched on his features. “Yes.”

  “I accept.”

  WHEN Steve returned from dropping his suitcase in the bedroom, Drew was in the kitchen, standing at the white Corian island that ran the length of the room. “Jorj must’ve brought up the mail,” he said when Steve walked in, and he shook his head. “Do you believe that? People are actually still sending snail mail.” He picked up a cream envelope of heavy-looking paper with embossed edges. The one beneath it was a rich brown, the paper equally thick, the seams bulging.

  “What do you think…?” he murmured and slit the first one open with his thumb. He pulled out a scrap of paper that was incongruous with the quality of the envelope.

  “Dear Drew, Sarah and Eric are driving us all up the wall because they can’t decide on wedding invitations. You’re the tiebreaker. Love, Brit. PS. The brown is the obvious choice.”

  Drew snorted and handed Steve the brown envelope to open. “She must’ve express mailed them. What do you think?”

  “Well, I don’t know about obvious.” Steve flipped the envelope over. Mr. Drew Beaumont and Guest, 1 W Century Dr., Los Angeles, California, 90067. Blue satiny paper lined the inside. Steve pulled out a heavy cream cardstock invitation tied with a matching blue ribbon. “You are cordially invited, et cetera.” He passed it to Drew.

  Drew traded it for the one that came from the white envelope; this one was plainer, with a little embossed cherubic bride and groom leaning over to kiss at the top.

  “Brown,” they said at the same time.

  “No question.” Drew waved the embossed invitation. “Honestly, who thought this was a good idea? It looks like…. God, your mom has taste. She probably didn’t have those ugly little ceramic doll statue things mine collected—”

  “Precious Moments?” Steve guessed after a second.

  “Yes!” Drew laughed. “Wait, how do you know what they’re called?”

  “Lorna collects them.”

  For a second Drew just blinked at him. “Lorna. As in Lorna Prout? Who you met at the aquarium dinner?”

  Steve cleared his throat, his cheeks and neck warming in embarrassment. “As in Lorna Prout,” he confirmed, “my fairy godmother.”

  “Your fairy—?”

  He shrugged. “Mom and Dad are—were—atheists, but they believed in Hollywood magic just fine.” After all, they’d met on a movie set. “And Dad and Lorna were old friends. We used to go visit her place in Jackson Hole to go skiing. Kitsch everywhere.”

  “So she knew who you were the whole time and just played along?” Drew shook his head, laughing incredulously. “That little minx.”

  “In fairness, you did introduce me as though there were no possible way we could’ve already met.”

  Shaking his head, Drew turned his attention back to the invitations. “That’s enough work for tonight. I’ll let them know tomorrow.” He looked up expectantly. “You want your name as Stone or Sopol on the invitation?”

  Steve could have pulled a complete Hollywood cliché and melted into his arms. Instead he simply smiled, full of as much affection as he could ever remember feeling. “It doesn’t matter as long as it’s on the same envelope as yours.”

  Drew gave him a sappy grin. “And you’re free in April?”

  Steve pecked him on the lips. “I’ll mark my calendar.”

  MONDAY morning found them drinking coffee in front of the Aquarium of the Pacific—or, as it would appear in the movie, “Mandalay Bay Aquarium.” It would take some doing—the Mandalay Bay Aquarium had a distinctive look—but Editing assured Drew that with a little Hollywood magic, they could make it work. Carol was inside testing the lighting and color and whatever else DPs did, by all accounts having the time of her life figuring out how she was going to transform the place into something so iconic. Too bad they only had the place for a few hours.

  “It’s not quite the same when you have to work,” Drew sighed, sagging into Steve on the bench—apparently heedless of the smattering of onlookers gathered beyond the barrier keeping unauthorized personnel at bay.

  “If you’re very good, I’ll take you to see the jellyfish later.” Steve rolled his shoulder until Drew settled into a more comfortable position.

  He felt Drew grin into his shirt.

  Steve didn’t quite know what he expected, coming back here. Their first date was such an enchanting experience; he didn’t think anything could live up to that, especially not in daylight. But some of the magic must have remained, despite all the differences. Or maybe that was just Drew.

  “Did your mom ever decide what she was going to do about Rico?” Drew asked after a moment, lifting his head again.

  Steve nodded and set his empty coffee cup on the ground. “She’s taking the evidence she gathered and filing a complaint against him with the photographers’ association. It might not have any effect, but it lets her feel better about the situation. Oh, and she warned all her friends not to fall victim to his predations, of course.”

  “Mm,” Drew agreed. He looked at his feet, then the sky, squinting at a seabird flying overhead. “I hate that he did that to you. Destroyed your privacy. I hate that I feel… responsible.”

  Steve nudged him. “Don’t. I’ve always known this could happen. If it’s the price I pay….” He shrugged, not wanting to get too sentimental. Not in public, at least. “It’s more than worth it. And at least now no one can hold it over my head.” He spent a moment fantasizing about what would happen when he saw Austin next. He hoped Drew would be with him.

  Before Drew could respond, Nina pushed open the aquarium doors. “If you’re sufficiently caffeinated, big shot, they’re ready for you by the shark tank.”

  Drew made a goofy face at her, but he picked up his cup and Steve’s and walked t
hem to the garbage near the roped-off area. He waved and said something to a little girl with an orange hat and a ponytail sticking out the back, then cocked his head at whatever she replied and laughed. “Steve! C’mere.”

  Steve stood and dusted off his hands before joining Drew over by the onlookers. It was still a little awkward; he’d never be as smooth handling attention as Drew and his mother. He didn’t want to be rude, but he didn’t want to stop and talk to everyone either. “What’s up?”

  “You’ve got a fan.” Drew motioned to the little girl, who looked up at Steve with wide brown eyes.

  Shyly—though she seemed comfortable enough talking to Drew—she held out a book and a pen. “Can you sign this, please?” she whispered so quietly Steve could barely make out the words.

  The girl’s father, who stood behind her, put his hands on her shoulders in a gesture of support.

  Steve shot a quick look at Drew, who was grinning ear to ear. No trouble with the ego, then. Steve reached for the book. The cover read Scriptwriting for Kids. “I would love to,” he said. “What’s your name?”

  “Shellie,” she whispered to Steve’s shoes.

  “That’s S-H-E-L-L-I-E,” her dad said as Steve uncapped the pen. “Thank you so much. She saw you on Gloria, and it’s all she’s talked about since. She’s wanted to be a writer since she was six.”

  “Hey, me too.” Steve wrote To Shellie and did his best to ignore the few people taking pictures with their phones.

  Shellie giggled.

  Steve signed his name and handed the book back. “It was nice meeting you, Shellie.”

  “Thank you so much,” said her father. “That really means a lot. What do you say, Shel?”