by Mia Sosa
Uninspiring. Emotionless. Don’t quit your day job. Holy shit, the reviewer didn’t hold back. At all.
I jump at the sound of Tori padding down the hall.
She approaches the living room, her steps tentative. One of her cheeks is lined with my comforter’s pattern. She’s wearing my white T-shirt, which ends just below the tops of her thighs, and she’s holding her own phone in her hand. Tori’s the bright spot in my dreadful morning.
“Hey, what’s going on?” she asks as she leans against the archway.
After dropping my phone on the couch, I stride across the room and pull her toward me. “It’s nothing.” I nuzzle her neck, but not long enough for my liking.
She pulls away and peers at me. “Carter, what happened?”
I take a long breath. “Hollywood Observer published an early review for Hard Times. Apparently, the movie and my performance did not impress the critic.”
“Oh, shit. Sorry. Is a review in Hollywood Observer a big deal?”
I nod. “It’s the equivalent of a book review in the New York Times.”
She winces. “Didn’t you just finish filming the movie like six weeks ago? How is it finished already?”
“The production was largely complete months ago. The only scenes left to edit were the ones after my weight loss.”
She nods and reaches for my hand. “Can I read the review?”
“Why?”
Her fingers intertwine with mine, and she squeezes. “It’s hard to console you when I don’t know the nature of the critique.”
I pull up the article on my iPhone and hand it to her. “I’ll warn you now. It’s painful.”
She drops on the couch, sets her own phone down, and pats the sofa cushion. “Come.” I’m too jumpy to sit, so I motion for her to start. It’s fucking annoying that this is how we’re spending our morning-after.
As she reads, I watch her face for signs of her reaction. The entire time, she alternates between furrowing her brows and pursing her lips, and when she’s done, her mouth drops open. “Wow. She’s a snide one. Ever get one like this before?”
“No. And I’m not used to being raked over the coals in the press like this. Have I been embarrassed at an audition? Passed over for a part? Received faint praise? Sure, plenty of times. But this is different. This is a professional review that’s nasty as hell, and hundreds of thousands of people will see it.”
“I’m sorry, Carter. I don’t know what to say. But it comes with the job, right?”
“Yeah. It does. But this one hurts more than any criticism directed at me in the past. Hard Times was an opportunity to demonstrate my range, to show that I’m capable of playing more than the handsome-neighbor love interest. I failed.”
She snaps her brows together. “It’s an opinion, Carter. One person’s opinion, which by definition, means it’s subjective.”
I scrub a hand down my face and grasp onto the back of my neck. She’s right. But what if there are others? What if this is one of many bad reviews to come? “You’re not telling me anything I don’t know, but my head doesn’t know how to put this in its proper perspective.”
“Okay, let’s say this review isn’t a one-off. Suppose several reviewers trash the film. You’re not going to stop acting, are you? Of course not. Besides, every actor’s entitled to a Gigli.”
I shake my head at her, still distracted by the zingers in the review. “A what?”
“Oh, c’mon, Carter. A Gigli. Ben Affleck? Jennifer Lopez? Almost universally regarded as one of the worst films of the modern age.”
Understanding dawns then. She makes a good point. “Well, it’s technically not true that Gigli was a one-off. Affleck also starred in Jersey Girl and Daredevil.”
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “My point is that not every film is going to be a critical success, and even great actors get caught in the crossfire. Judi Dench in The Chronicles of Riddick. What the hell was she doing in a movie with Vin Diesel? Jon Voight in Anaconda.”
My mind whirs. “Matt Damon in The Brothers Grimm.”
She stares at me with a blank look on her face. “Never saw that one. Straight to DVD?”
“I think so.” I pace the room, snapping my fingers. “Bradley Cooper in that movie where he’s an author—”
“The Words,” she calls out, smiling.
“Denzel Washington—”
She raises a hand to stop me and pulls me down next to her. “He’s off-limits. My mother would have my head if I talked badly about him.”
She swivels to the side and wedges one of her legs in the space between my back and the sofa cushion. I turn and fall back against her so that we’re lying together, her hands sifting through my hair. This woman gets me in a way I never expected. If I were upset and had to flash a smile for the cameras, she’d know it wasn’t genuine. I’ve never put on a façade with her, even when she didn’t know I was Carter Stone. With her, I embrace my realness, whether good, bad, or embarrassing. Maybe it’s because she wants me for me, not for what I can give her.
I tilt my head up. “Thanks for listening.”
“I want to be there for you, Carter. That’s what . . . girlfriends do, right?”
Her voice halts midsentence, telling me this isn’t a casual observation. No, this is big for her. I reach behind me and caress her neck. She leans into my touch and runs a finger from my navel to my chest.
Her phone buzzes on the table, and she shifts our positions to grab it. After a few swipes and a bit of typing, she says, “Eva. Wanted to make sure I’m okay.”
“Did you tell her that I rocked your world last night?”
Her body shakes with laughter. “No, I told her I rocked yours.”
She continues to read her phone, and then she gasps.
I sit up. “What is it?”
She shakes her head, and I glance at her screen. She’s reading an email, and her lips curve into a slow smile, calming my rapidly beating heart. “It’s nothing. We can talk about it later.”
I sit up. “Tori, it’s something. I can tell by the look on your face. Don’t hold back on my account.”
She chews her bottom lip as she studies me. “It’s from an investor group I contacted a while ago. At first, they told me they weren’t taking applications. Now they’re saying one of their deals fell through, and they’d like to know if I’m interested in submitting a proposal. Look.”
I read the email as she bounces next to me. “Dreams Inferred LLC. Cool name.”
She grabs my forearms. “Do you know what this means? I might be able to get backing for my own studio.”
I drop the phone onto the couch and pull her into my arms. “That’s fantastic news, Tori.”
She scratches her bottom lip as she stares into space. “But they’re only giving me a week to submit, and they’d like to schedule the pitch meeting soon after that. That’s not a lot of time.”
“I have no doubt you’ll get it done with time to spare.”
The tension in her face eases. “Thanks.”
She stands, and I rise, too. She moves into my arms as though it’s the most natural response to being this close to each other. “I have to get to the gym.” Then she sighs.
Uh-oh. “What?” I ask.
“Your training. You can’t slack off completely. How about I give you some ideas for a more intense home training program . . . until you return to California?”
“That would be great. I’ll purchase a set of weights and have them delivered here. Julian and I usually work out together. I’ll hook up with him when I get back.”
She drops her gaze to the floor. “When will that be?”
“Two weeks or so. I have to return to LA to do the table read for Man on Third.”
She lifts her head and gives me a quizzical expression. “What’s a table read?”
“It’s when the cast sits around a conference table and reads the script aloud. We do it before the filming of the current season. I was supposed to do it sooner, but
I asked for more time so I could work on getting a part in Swan Song. I’d love to take you on set. You could see what it’s like. Hang out with me at my place, maybe?”
I don’t tell her that I’m hoping she’ll love that. Best-case scenario: She doesn’t find the attention too much to handle.
She widens her eyes and gives me a hesitant smile. The look on her face guts me. Julian’s right. I’m whipped.
“I’d like that,” she says. But then she frowns. “But I’ll probably be meeting with the investment group that week.”
“Right. Another time, then.”
“For sure,” she says.
I don’t want to press—but then again, I do. “When?”
She tilts her head to the side. “When what?”
“When would be a good time for you to visit me?”
She sighs. “I’m not sure, Carter. This meeting with the investment group is all I can focus on right now. Let’s revisit when I know more, okay?”
“Sure, I understand,” I tell her.
And for the first time, I really do understand. She’ll never be thrilled about dating an actor, so an opportunity to come to LA and go on set isn’t going to entice her. This isn’t just about me and what I want. This is also about Tori and what she doesn’t want.
I remind myself to keep Ashley’s advice in mind: Baby steps, Carter. Baby steps.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Tori
ASKING SOMEONE FOR money sucks.
I’m suffering through the application process for my funding request while Carter studies the script for Swan Song. He’s relocated the small desk that once resided in his bedroom to the living room. That’s because we learned that having the desk near the bed undermined my ability to get any work done.
I’m hunched over the keyboard, and I have the strangest urge to yank my hair out. “Grrr.”
“What’s wrong?” Carter asks from his spot on the couch.
He’s barefoot and bare-chested, and an even bigger distraction than having the desk in the bedroom.
“These questions are frustrating,” I say over my shoulder. “Example. Question Four: ‘Tell us how you’re uniquely situated to develop the market or service that is the subject of your proposal.’ Can I just say I’m a personal trainer and leave it at that?”
Carter chuckles. “If you’d like a rejection, sure.”
I drop my head onto the keyboard. Within seconds, Carter’s behind me, massaging my neck and shoulders and generally making me feel like putty.
“I hate this. I have a hard time selling myself.”
He kisses my neck. “Luckily for you, I’m the master of self-promotion. It’s time to pad your resume.”
I twist my body and look up at him. “I will not.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m not saying you should lie. Just take the facts and elevate them.”
“You sound like a judge on Top Chef. Should I deconstruct my resume, too?”
He licks the side of my face and puckers his lips. “You’ve committed the ultimate sin. You’re too salty.”
I try to playfully swat him away, but he dodges my hands and rubs my shoulders instead.
“What do you have to offer that no one else does?” he asks.
I turn as I rise, slip my fingers in the loops of his jeans, and pull him toward me. “Okay, how’s this? I’m the girlfriend of one of the hottest actors in television today, and I’m responsible for his smoking-hot physique. That should qualify me on the spot.”
He narrows his eyes before he turns away. “That’s definitely not what I had in mind.”
He’s poised to put distance between us, but I grab his arm and spin him around. Standing on my toes, I pull his chin down and force him to make eye contact with me. “Carter, I was kidding. I’d never try to trade on my relationship with you.”
He throws his head back and draws in a long breath. “I know, I know. Sorry.” He straightens and envelops me in a tight hug. As his lips float across my forehead, he murmurs, “Bear with me, okay? I’m trying not to say or do stupid shit, but I’m not one hundred percent there yet. I blame it on Swan Song.”
It’s not Swan Song. He knows it. I know it. But I’ll let him use this excuse. Just this once. Because I really don’t want to fight with him about something that has no basis in fact. “Are you nervous about the audition?”
“Technically it’s not an audition. I’m reading with the actress who’s already attached to the film, so it’s a chemistry read.”
I wrap my arms around his neck and try to look stern. “I don’t want you to have chemistry with anyone else.”
“But if Gwen Styles and I don’t have chemistry, I don’t get the part.”
I give him a fake pout. “Well, when you put it like that, I suppose it’s all right.”
He inches backward. “Hey, would you read with me?”
Shaking my head, I laugh at the notion. “Me? Act? That would be painful for you.”
“No, no,” he says. “Just read. It’ll help me with my prompts.”
“Oh . . . um . . . okay.”
Carter flies across the room and grabs a stack of paper. “I just got the entire script a few days ago. We’ll have to sit together since I don’t have a copy.”
He flops onto the couch and motions for me to join him. We sit side by side, the pages of the script in front of us on the coffee table.
He gives me a quick summary of the film. Oh my heart, it’s sad. The scene he wants to rehearse depicts the moment his character realizes he’s been deceived by the woman he’s fallen in love with while participating in a pen-pal program.
“Ignore the stage direction and prompts,” he says. “Just read Pam’s lines. That’s Gwen Styles’s part.”
I nod. “Got it.”
PAM
Say something. Tell me what you’re thinking.
I read this line with about as much emotion as an inanimate object. But Carter, apparently assuming the role of Alex, regards me with a dispassionate expression, and I’ll admit to being unnerved by his transformation.
ALEX
I don’t know what to say. I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what’s real. You’ve fucked with me and my life for eighteen months. What kind of person does that?
PAM
I never intended to deceive you. But the more we communicated, the more I realized you needed an escape. I wanted to be your escape.
ALEX
By pretending to be someone else? By making me fall in love with a person who doesn’t exist?
PAM
(eyes brimming with tears)
I never meant for it to go this far. I’m ashamed, and sorry, and so upset with myself.
ALEX
(grabs her by the arms)
Did you laugh with your friends? Did you tell them how you convinced a stupid soldier boy that you were a young widow trying to get her life back together?
PAM
I am a widow. I am trying to get my life back together. But I’m not young. That’s the only difference.
ALEX
(he pushes her away)
That’s not the only difference, and you know it. You manufactured your life, made me think you’d lost your military husband a year ago. You’re sick, and you might not survive this. You’re a wretched person, and you’re nothing like the woman I fell in love with. And I hate you for making me think she existed.
The anger in Carter’s expression disappears, and he smiles. “We can end here.”
Holy shit, he’s good. I’m stunned into silence. For a minute there, he’d convinced me that I was a wretched person who’d done a terrible thing.
“Say something,” he says softly.
He chews on his bottom lip as he waits for me to respond. This beautiful man is anxious about my reaction, and I just want to kiss away his fears.
I swallow and clear my throat. “I’m no expert, but I think you’re made for this part. Carter, you’re talented.”
He releases a long br
eath. “Thank you.”
“Also, this film sounds depressing as shit.”
After barking out a laugh, he pulls me into an embrace and gives me a sweet kiss.
When we separate, I tip him over onto the sofa cushion and straddle him. “Are there any sex scenes in the movie?”
“No. Just a few kisses.”
“That’s disappointing. I was going to offer to rehearse those with you.”
He grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls me down so that our faces are centimeters apart. “Let’s practice anyway.”
My world shrinks to the ten square feet around us. “Yes, let’s.”
I nip his lip and slide my hand down his stomach. When I find his erection, I rub it through the fabric of his jeans, my gaze never leaving his.
His mouth falls open, and he flicks out his tongue. “Yeah, Tori. That feels good.”
The sound of his arousal makes my clit pulse, and I can feel myself getting wet.
Overwhelmed by my need for him, I bury my face in his neck and whisper against his ear. “Please tell me you have a condom in your back pocket.”
He growls his response. “Fuck, yes, I do.”
“Then let’s practice a quickie.”
After that, everything happens in double time. He unbuttons his jeans and pulls down his zipper. Ready for the handoff, I tug off his jeans and briefs as he lifts his ass from the couch.
I reach into his back pocket for the condom before tossing his pants behind me. I want him inside me so badly that I fumble with the wrapper. We kiss and nuzzle each other, our breathing harsh and ragged, and then I place my hand around his rigid cock and pump him a as he strains against me.
“Yeah, Tori, I’m beyond ready,” he grits out.
Together we place the condom on his erection, and then he pulls down the spaghetti straps of my dress and lifts the skirt to my waist.
“Please, baby,” he whispers. “Fuck me now.”
With one hand on his slick chest, I push my panties to the side, center myself, and bear down as I tighten around him. It’s so fucking snug I gasp.
“Tori, Tori, Tori,” he chants.
Then the sound of Carter ripping apart my lace panties fills the room. It makes me desperate to know he’s desperate, and I fall over, pressing my breasts against his chest and capturing his mouth with mine.
