Several scenes that didn’t involve me had already been filmed, so I’d been able to see how Dixon worked. He was directing the pilot himself, which I’d guessed would be the case, but he didn’t seem too control-freaky. He knew how to talk to actors and he knew what he wanted—which isn’t always a given, with directors. I should have been focusing on my big break. I should have been excited about my first major role and working with a director and crew who were several leagues above me in terms of experience. Instead, all I could think about was Ryan.
And then suddenly, there he was, resplendent in his fake cop uniform. He looked so good in it that my fractured heart ached and stung. I wanted to run into his arms. I wanted to tell him that it had all been a mistake, that I did like him, more than like him, that I wanted us to be together—
But instead, I said, “Francesca’s doing great. Coffee’s over there if you want some.” And nodded toward the craft table.
And then I turned away and pretended to be watching Francesca do her scene. After I’d got the part of Isabel, they’d slotted her into another, equally big role: she’d be the trainee detective who would fall for the criminal she was investigating and eventually have to battle with her own heart to find out where her loyalties lay. Her current scene had her in the morgue, getting her first look at a (fake) dead body. Make-up had given her an appropriately greenish tinge. Between first day nerves and the eerily realistic corpse, I suspected she barely needed the make-up.
Behind me, I could feel Ryan move in closer. I could feel his eyes on the back of my head. I kept my gaze firmly on Francesca.
“Examine the lips,” said the actor playing her detective mentor. “I got the coroner’s report here, but I want to know what you see.”
Francesca sank into a crouch. They’d put her in a blouse and skirt combo that looked super-sexy on her curves. I could see her character—Yvonne—becoming a fan favorite pretty quickly.
Behind me, I heard Ryan cross his arms. He was still staring at me. I could feel it. Ignore him. Just ignore him and—
Francesca reached out with a pen and touched the corpse’s lips and—
The corpse sat bolt upright on the table. Francesca screamed and leapt halfway across the room.
The detective mentor doubled over with laughter and slapped his knee, then high-fived the corpse. “Gotcha,” he managed between snorts.
“And CUT!!” yelled Dixon. There was a round of applause.
“W—What?!” panted Francesca, now sprawled on her ass on the floor.
Dixon ran over and helped her up. “Sorry,” he said sincerely. “We couldn’t put it in the script. I knew we’d get a better reaction if it was genuine.” He grinned. “It’s a hazing ritual. The other detectives are hazing you, so we figured we’d do it for real.”
Francesca was white-faced and still getting her breath back...but eventually she shook her head and began to laugh. The actor who’d played the corpse gave her a hug.
It was about at that moment that two things hit me. Firstly, Dixon really was a stickler for realism—Ryan and I were going to have to make our on-screen romance look really real.
Secondly, I was in Ryan’s arms.
When the corpse had sat up, I’d given a silent scream of my own. I’ve had enough years waiting in the stage wings and on the edges of a set not to make a sound. But that didn’t stop me jumping backward—straight into Ryan.
And he’d folded his arms protectively around me. You know, like any hunky, six foot five friend. Whose hard muscles I could feel against my back. Whose stiffening cock I could feel against my ass. I could feel the aching pull in my heart, the need to spin around and embrace him. And the feel of his body was sending waves of heat rolling down inside me to pool at my core.
I gently extricated myself. “Thank you,” I said, trying to make it sound like a joke.
“You’re welcome,” he said just as lightly.
How the hell am I going to make this work?!
***
It was time for our first scene. Nothing too taxing. I didn’t even speak in it—I just had to stand there and look like a nervous new officer while another cop introduced all of us newbies to Ryan. But when my name was mentioned, I was meant to turn my head and catch Ryan’s eye in a way that would clue the audience in that we were going to wind up together. A sort of innocent-but-flirty, look. A wow-you’re-hot look. The sort of look you feel guilty about when you’re caught doing it. Easy enough. I’m good at looks.
Except, as I turned and looked straight at him, giving the camera a little who, me? mixed with some full-on smolder...I couldn’t break out of it. My brain was telling me to look away, look away, but all I could feel was the memory of his lips on mine and those hands on my front, seconds away from scooping my breasts into his palms—
I finally dragged my eyes back to front.
“CUT!” yelled a delighted Dixon. “Awesome! I love the chemistry between the two of you.”
I stared at the floor, scared of meeting Ryan’s eyes again. Great. Now, after all my worrying about him, I was the one who was getting out of control. Fantastic, in that it was keeping with my character’s hot head. Terrifying, in that losing control was the one thing I could never do. If I went too far with Ryan, he’d soon find Emma. And that was something I couldn’t let happen.
***
That afternoon, we reached the kiss.
The few lines we’d shot before it had gone fine. There were some other scenes that would slot in earlier in the episode, showing our characters getting to know each other, but they were outdoor shoots with us on patrol together, not so different to when I’d walked with Ryan, the day we got our costumes. Those scenes would need good weather and a whole street shutting down, so they’d be filmed later, when we did a whole day’s location shoot. That’s the thing about TV and film—you often shoot things in completely the wrong order.
So now we were in the authentically grimy locker room, and Dixon was showing Ryan which locker he should push me up against, and Ryan was nodding solemnly, and the make-up assistant was diving in to touch up the powder on my nose and—
I realized I was breathing too fast. Focus. Just a screen kiss. No big deal. “Do you want tears?” I asked brightly.
Dixon and Ryan both turned to me.
“I mean, she’s upset, right?” I said. “Maybe just a few tears in my eyes, but not actually crying?”
Dixon nodded. “Like, shiny eyes?”
“Yeah, exactly. Shiny eyes but no overspill.”
Dixon nodded again. “Great. Do that.”
I glanced at Ryan, who was looking at the two of us as if we were both mad. “How do you do that?” he asked, when Dixon had retreated. “Cry on cue?”
It was pretty easy, actually, whether it was for a play or TV or even for the judge, that day I’d first come to New York, though I’d refined my technique a little since then. I just thought about my old life and then I let a tiny tunnel open up, no thicker than a spider’s line, all the way from my soul to my eyes. Just enough for some tears to escape by. And then I snapped it shut, fast.
“I think about a puppy who’s lost its owners,” I told Ryan.
“Okay,” said Dixon. “First take on this one. We’ve had a good day so far—let’s keep it that way. Roll cameras!”
Everything went quiet. I was staring at Ryan, but I heard the camera operators call out “Speed!” in turn to show they were ready.
I thought of Chicago. I had to find a memory that was bad enough that I wanted to cry, but not so bad that I’d break down. I had plenty of material to choose from.
“Mark it!” yelled Dixon.
The clapper board operator ducked in front of us and said the scene number, then slammed the board.
I’m eight, and its SUCH FUN living above a bar because there are always lots of people around, even though I know I’m not meant to go down there. But I really want to show Daddy the picture of a buffalo I drew in class so I go tripping down the stairs and through th
e door that’s meant to be locked and straight into the special room where I’m not allowed to go. And Daddy’s there in his shirt sleeves and he’s got this other man’s hand in his hands and he’s bending his fingers back until I hear them crack. And the man’s screaming so loud I have to put my hands over my ears, dropping the picture on the floor and now it’s getting all dirty and I shout at Daddy to stop it, stop it, you’re hurting him! But Daddy just turns his head and bellows at me like a monster to GO BACK UPSTAIRS—
Two perfect tears crept into my eyes and I snapped the tunnel shut, trapping everything down in the dark again.
“Action!” shouted Dixon.
I shook my head. “You heard the captain. I’m not fit to wear the uniform.”
“Yes you are,” said Ryan. And God, I actually believed him. He was Tony, for a second. “And you look pretty damn good in it.”
I met his eyes, feeling myself blush. I saw him lean in toward me. I closed my eyes—
The kiss never came. But this time, I couldn’t feel him hovering there, savoring the moment. His body was rigid against mine.
“Cut!” yelled Dixon.
I opened my eyes. Ryan was standing there, frozen, a helpless expression on his face.
Dixon was all friendly, it’s-not-a-big-deal warmth. “No problem, guys. First day nerves. Let’s go again!”
The clapperboard came in again. We did the line again. I closed my eyes again.
I felt him move in, this time. His panicked breath tickled my cheek. But no kiss.
“Cut!”
When I opened my eyes, he looked even more forlorn than before. Lost. I smiled at him, hoping that would help. It didn’t.
Dixon ran over. “You guys okay?” He looked between us. “You’re okay with this, right?”
“Yep,” I said quickly. This is my fault. This is all my fault. I knew exactly what the problem was. I’d pushed him away so firmly that he’d put up a wall between us. He was being the perfect gentleman, respecting my decision to put him in the friend zone...which would have been fine, any other time. But now he didn’t feel he could kiss me. “It’ll be fine. Let’s go again.”
We went again, with me praying that he’d be okay. This time, our lips touched, but...it wasn’t a kiss. He was just mushing his mouth against mine.
“Cut!” yelled Dixon again. This time, he didn’t have to say anything. We both knew what he was thinking: I’ve cast the wrong people.
“We can fix this!” I yelled. “Give us a minute...okay?”
Dixon nodded, looking worried, and told everyone to take five. I hauled Ryan off with me to a deserted part of the building—the holding cells, down in the basement.
“Okay,” I said. “Look.”
And then I didn’t know what the hell to say. I’d been hoping for a better speech than that, but Ryan was staring at me with those eyes and all the words just went out of my head.
“I get it,” I said at last.
He gave me a yeah, right look.
“I do! You think I haven’t been there? I you think I’ve never liked anyone who hasn’t liked me back in that way? I know it’s tough. But you have to learn to separate it. We have to go upstairs and do this.”
“HOW?” His sudden roar made the walls rattle. He accompanied it with a thump of his fist against the wall, only a foot from me, and I just wanted to grab the front of his shirt and pull him into me and kiss him. How could I be causing him this much pain when I felt like I did about him? I looked up at him helplessly and, from behind his anger, he looked back at me with the same expression.
“It needs to not be you,” I whispered. “It needs to be Tony who kisses me. And I need to be Isabel.”
He just stared at me.
“You’re Tony. You fuck women like Isabel every week and toss them away...but this one, you really like. She’s upset and you want to help her. She’s under your skin.”
“You’re under my skin,” said Ryan, touching my cheek.
I closed my eyes for a second and battled for control. “It needs to be Tony,” I said again. “And you need to be kissing Isabel. That’s the only way to do it. If we want to keep you in the show, if we want to get you your old job back, we have to make it work.”
He looked at me for a long time. “You can really do it like that? Just throw a switch and ignore what you’re really feeling?”
No. “Yes.”
“Well then I guess I’m a lousy actor.”
I touched his arm in what I hoped was a warm, friendly way, but every damn contact was sexual. I could feel his muscles through the police uniform, feel the throb of his body heat against my palm. “You’ll do great. I’m going to go upstairs, okay? I want you to close your eyes, just like we did at Fenbrook, and be Tony. And come upstairs when you’re ready and just do it, okay?”
He looked utterly lost. I’d done this to him. Me.
“For me?” I said desperately.
He nodded, looking at the floor.
I climbed the stairs on shaking legs. His whole career—possibly mine, too—was hanging by a thread. And this whole thing was my fault. If I’d been brave enough to follow through with him at my apartment….
Except I couldn’t. He was already asking questions, even as a friend. If he asked about my dad, or found out I’d changed my name, then what? I’d seen the anger in his eyes after the gym, when he figured out that someone had once hurt me. He’d never stop until he had the truth. And once he found out what my old life was like, the things that had happened to me….
This had to work.
Back on the set, Dixon was doing his best not to look nervous. I gave him my best smile, took my place, and got a few tears ready. A moment later, we heard footsteps coming up the stairs.
“You should roll,” I told Dixon quickly.
The cameras rolled.
Ryan appeared, heading straight for me. Only it wasn’t Ryan, a mixed-up bag of emotions. It was Tony, those blue eyes now calm and almost cold. He barely slowed as he approached me, pushing me back against the locker.
I shook my head. “You heard the captain. I’m not fit to wear the uniform.”
“Yes you are!” said Ryan. “And you look pretty damn good in it.”
I looked up into his eyes and this time it was all savage passion there, hunger and need. I closed my eyes as he leaned in toward me—
And we were kissing. Full-on and heavy, his tongue spreading my lips. I actually let out a little mmff! of shock as he pressed up close to me and then his hands were on my cheeks, brushing the hair back from my face, his tongue taking control of me, bending me to his will, and I felt my whole body melt.
And I didn’t want it to be Isabel he was kissing. I wanted it to be me.
Fire was crackling down my body, lighting me up from the inside out, flaring out to fingertips and toes. My heart seemed to swell and rise inside me, making me forget all the stupid, stupid rules about not getting involved with him. How could I possibly not get involved with him when it felt like this? I could feel my whole body throbbing, aching against him, his hard body grinding against my softness, crushing me against the locker as he showed me how much he wanted me.
I panted against his mouth, hot little rushes of air against those full, sensuous lips as we broke and kissed, broke and kissed. When he finally moved back I was left staring up at him, stunned. I felt like I’d been full-body ravished, just from the kiss.
“CUT!” yelled Dixon, delighted. People applauded. Relieved applause, but still applause.
I saw Ryan’s expression change as Tony slipped away and he became himself again, and then he was turning away from me. I put both hands on my belt, because if I hadn’t I knew I was going to reach out and grab him, pull him back and kiss him again.
Ryan marched off toward the craft table. I forced myself to turn the opposite way, toward make-up, and prepared myself to be all bouncy and light and ask the make-up artist if my lips needed redoing.
This was how it was going to be, then. Wanting hi
m—needing him—every waking moment, and then getting just a taste of him, a teasing hit for my addiction, every time we did a scene together.
I’d been worried that Ryan might not be able to separate out his feelings. Now I was worried I wasn’t going to be able to do it myself.
Chapter 31
Jasmine
That weekend, I sat in Central Park wishing I’d brought my huge fake fur coat. The weather had turned seriously cold all of a sudden, the wind whipping straight through my jeans.
Compared to Nat and Clarissa, though, I was toasty. They were in tights, leotards and tutus. You had to admire their commitment. The dancing may have kept them warm, but there’s a limit. I was pretty sure I could see Nat’s legs turning blue.
The string quartet was a tradition Karen had started, back in her freshman year at Fenbrook. The four of them busked for charity every weekend and Karen had kept it going even now that she’d left. Last summer, Nat and Clarissa had spontaneously done some ballet to the music (this was when Nat had just started dating Darrell and Clarissa, though we didn’t know it at the time, was having her secret trysts with Neil). Lots of people stopped to watch and they doubled the quartet’s take, so the dancing had become a semi-regular thing, too.
It was crazy, in a way. Karen now had a job with the orchestra and wasn’t even at Fenbrook anymore. She, Clarissa and Nat all had boyfriends now...and yet the busking sessions still went on and we all showed up. I had to keep jumping around to stop my feet going numb and my hands were burrowed as deep in my pockets as they’d go, but I wouldn’t have missed it for the world because it was a chance for us four girls to get together. Please never let this end, I thought. With everything that was going on with Ryan, I needed some stability.
Acting Brave (Fenbrook Academy #3 - New Adult Romance) Page 19
