by M. J. O'Shea
This week it also looks like our favorite queen bee, Ryder, has thrown a wrench in the works. He’s decided he wants brooding sexpot Mack all to himself, and he’ll do anything to make it happen… even betray Kelly, who’s his oldest friend in the whole wide world. Dramarama!
The trailer hinted that there might be trouble in paradise for our resident DILFs. What did Jeff do to Evan to make him go cry on hottie neighbor’s shoulder? And oh, last but not least, I can’t even believe it. Poor sweet pretty Joey is starting to have feelings for Robbie! Of all the beach-bodied hot boys for him to go for, he had to pick that one. I hope he doesn’t get his little innocent heart stomped all over, but I think we all know what’ll happen when Coconut Cove’s bad boy gets ahold of him. I don’t know ’bout y’all, but I simply cannot wait.
I’ll be back later today with breaking news about our favorite NYC drama Suite 3B. Stay tuned ’cause you won’t believe what I have to tell you!
xoxo
Tiff
BLAIR ALWAYS used the ride home from work to decompress. After a day of living what felt like someone else’s life, the familiar streets helped ground him. The set was in one of the exclusive neighborhoods, with huge beachfront compounds and impressive historical architecture, but the farther he got from it, the smaller the houses became, until he was gliding past rows of bright but tiny bungalows nowhere near the ocean or the best zip codes. Home. The little house he’d shared with his mom since his dad had left years before.
Blair pulled his bike up in front of his house and braked. He’d already gotten shit for riding a bike to his job filming a major role on a television show. Mostly from Howie. But even with the amount of money they paid him—and Blair had definitely choked at the number of zeros on his contract—he figured it was better to be conservative with his cash than end up in debt someday and clamoring for his spot on a reality show to pay off his Ferrari.
There was no shame in being humble. They weren’t exactly movie stars. Not yet at least. Blair felt that same thrill he got every time he thought about it. He was going to be a TV star. An actual star. It was still a total trip. Had been ever since the day Xara had walked up to him and asked if he’d ever done any acting. He remembered thinking she probably worked in porn. It had taken a meeting and a whole lot of paperwork before it really sank in that no, she meant acting.
Sometimes it still hadn’t sunk in quite yet.
He hadn’t had one of those days. At all. It had been a long day, one that actually felt like work and not the beginning of some sort of crazy fairy tale. So long he barely remembered leaving his house that morning. It felt like a lifetime ago when he’d pulled away from his mom’s “well loved but worn around the edges” bungalow in the pale near-dawn. His eyes were drifting shut already. He wanted a snack—healthy of course, since his days of nightly Fritos and cheese dip had disappeared when he signed on the dotted line, but food nonetheless. It had been hours since he’d scarfed down a salad at craft services.
He kicked over the seat and hopped down onto the ground. His legs were so tired he nearly biffed it on his mom’s gravel driveway, but luckily he didn’t. Lorelei would have his head if she had to cover a face full of gravel burn in the morning. Xara wouldn’t be very happy either. She’d probably have had to write the injury into the script somehow, and something told Blair that queen-bee-pretty-boy Ryder wasn’t exactly the scrappy type.
Blair still couldn’t wrap his head around his character—caricature still at that point—scheming mean boy to the hilt. He was excited to get to know more about what made Ryder tick. Hopefully he did him justice in more than his look.
A scuffling sound made Blair look up. A lanky form sat on the top stair leading to his neighbor’s porch with a cup, staring out into the night. Tall, with golden hair, hooded blue eyes, killer cheekbones. Oh God. Blair almost tripped for the second time in less than a minute.
Sander. Jesus fucking Christ, I didn’t need this right now. I’m tired, I look all greasy… and who the hell am I kidding? I’ll be lucky if he even remembers my name. No, unlucky. I don’t want him to see me. Not like—
“Blair?”
Well, hell, there goes that.
“Hey, Sander. When did you get into town?”
Sander Christiansen unfolded his long, lean, muscled frame from the stairs of his parents’ bungalow, which matched Blair’s in everything but color. He had long hair, way longer than it had been in high school, tied back in a waving thick blond stub of a ponytail, and wore an old thin tank top, some flip-flops, and a pair of ragged cargo shorts. It was warm still, and his skin glowed with a fine sheen of sweat in the porch light. For a hot drawn-out moment, Blair traced the lines of his muscles mentally with his tongue. Yeah. Not even a challenge. Sander was still, hands down, the most beautiful guy Blair had ever seen.
“Just this morning. Staying at the parents’ place for a little while. My job fell through.”
Blair cringed. “That’s rough.”
Sander was two years older than Blair, had played forward on the high school soccer team, had been the hottest guy on campus, the whole nine million yards. Everything Blair wasn’t. If they hadn’t been neighbors since infancy, Blair was sure Sander wouldn’t have ever noticed his existence. Even with the neighbor factor in the equation, he’d never gotten more than a passing nod from Adonis-next-door.
“It is,” Sander said. “I wasn’t looking forward to moving back into this backwater.” He looked up as if he’d really just noticed Blair for the first time. “What are you doing back?”
Blair snickered nervously. He didn’t want to admit how very little he’d accomplished since he left school. At least until recently. “I never actually left this, um, backwater.”
“You’ve been at home this whole time?”
Okay, you didn’t have to be so condescending. “Yeah. I have,” Blair said. His voice sounded a lot snappier than he’d intended. “My mom’s job cut her hours, and she couldn’t afford to keep the house on her own. I help with the bills.”
Sander held up his hands. “Hey, no judgment. Didn’t mean to sound like a prick.”
“Sorry. Just tired. I had a long day at work.”
“It’s good you’ve got a job. Not much to be had around here.”
“Yeah, there really isn’t.” Before Coconut Cove, Blair had been waiting tables at Margaritaville and getting groped by drunk tourists, male and female. It hadn’t been his idea of paradise. He’d been glad to give that place the mental finger on his way out the door.
“Crazy about all that Coconut Cove stuff, isn’t it? Heard the set’s hiring, though. Looking for carpenters and set designers.”
Blair’s heart raced. “Uh, yeah. Maybe. I hadn’t heard anything about that.”
Is this the time you tell him you’re one of the stars of the show? Because, yeah, Blair hadn’t quite come up with a way to work that into casual conversation without sounding like a douche. Obviously Sander hadn’t watched the first few episodes, or he’d already know.
“I was thinking of heading down there tomorrow to turn in my résumé. It’s a step backward, but I have to have more experience than a lot of the other applicants.”
“You’re twenty-six.” Blair thought of Steve, the head of the set department. He’d been in the business for years and was older than Blair’s mom.
“How do you know that?” Sander asked.
Because I know your birthday. Still. I got you a card four years in a row and was too big of a chicken to give it to you. “Lucky guess? You were two years ahead of me in school.”
“So you’re twenty-four?”
“In a few months.” He hoped by then to have enough money saved up for a better ride. No matter what he said about economizing, it was pretty embarrassing to show up on set every day on the same bike he’d had since tenth grade.
“Sweet.”
“Uh, yeah.” Blair’s stomach growled. “Hey, listen, it’s been nice talking to you, but I’m starved. I haven’t had dinner
yet, and lunch was hours ago.”
Sander looked a bit taken aback. Blair kinda got it. Every other interaction they’d had since the dawn of civilization included Blair hanging on Sander’s every word like he was the second coming of the Messiah. “Sure, man. I’ll catch ya later.”
“See you around, Sander.” A hell of a lot more than you think if you end up getting that job on set.
“Night.”
Blair escaped to the comfort of his silent house. His mom had left that morning and was gone for the week, in Miami visiting his Nana. She hadn’t seen any of Coconut Cove yet, and they were trying to prepare her a bit before they let her watch. She’d never seen anything of Blair but the shy kid from high school. Seeing him decked out in designer beach wear, spewing bitchy, sexually charged lines right and left was sure to be a shock. He figured she’d love it, though, once she got used to the idea. His Nana was kinda like that. Blair promised himself he’d make the drive up to Miami soon enough to visit her.
FRIDAY. THANK freaking God. Blair limped into his house, not in pain other than the dead-tired sort. He was ready for some television and a lot of sleep.
“Hi, baby. How was work today?”
Her voice was a little bit of a shock after days of silence in their tiny bungalow. “Mom? What are you doing here? I thought you were with Nana until Sunday?”
“Got called into work, so I drove in this morning. It’s good to see you. How was your week?”
Blair shook his head. His mom was in her nightgown, sitting with a cup of tea at their kitchen table, which had always wobbled. She looked tired, Blair thought. And not the kind of tired that meant she’d had a long day. More the kind of tired that meant she’d had a lifetime of long days. Blair couldn’t wait until he was making enough to tell her to quit her job at the crab shack. He planned for it to be soon. Very soon. She was one of the reasons he’d been riding his damn bike to work instead of getting a car on credit with money he didn’t quite have yet.
“It was nice. I got to film another scene with Flynn today.” He smiled. He knew his mom had always thought Flynn was a “handsome boy,” which was code for she thought he was hot but didn’t want to say it. Blair had been looking around the set for Sander since their conversation earlier that week. He hadn’t seen him, so maybe Sander didn’t apply. Or maybe he didn’t get the job. Blair hoped that wasn’t the case, since it was only a matter of time before Sander realized he was one of the actors on the show—if he hadn’t already.
“I really liked Flynn.”
Blair smiled. He knew she was going to say that. He’d brought his mom to the first cast party at the Orchid Palms. She’d bought a new dress and shoes, and Blair could tell from her face that she’d felt better than she had in years. The whole cast had been friendly. He had told her beforehand to avoid Howie and not to take it personally if he was an ass, and she’d had a great night. Blair wanted to do more things like that for his mom. He wished he could completely change her life.
“I like him too, Mama. Is there any spaghetti left over from last night, or did you go ahead and eat it?” They were supposed to subsist on salads and green smoothies most of the time to keep their bodies close-up ready, but Blair was hungry. Plus, his mom would look at him funny if he walked in the door with a bucket of green sludge for dinner.
“I didn’t touch your food, sweetie. I’ll heat it up for you.”
Blair motioned for her to sit. “It’s okay. I know you’re tired too. Long day for both of us. I’ll be in soon.”
He nearly fell asleep, watching his spaghetti heat up in the microwave. He made it through half a television show, then woke up to his mother tucking a blanket around him.
“Thanks, Ma. I’m going to bed.”
She brushed a hand across his forehead. “Okay, sweetie. You look exhausted.”
“I get to sleep in tomorrow.”
“That’s good.”
Chapter Three
DEVON JONES here with Hollywood Spin, and we’ve been talking to director Xara Xanakas, who’s been bringing the heat week after week on this season’s newest ensemble drama, Coconut Cove.
DJ: Tell us a little bit about your casting choices.
XX: Well, each one of our actors had some very big shoes to fill. The characters are larger than life, and the story lines are filled with dramatics. I wanted people who could give their all to each episode.
DJ: Pretty shoes too. We’ve all noticed.
XX: Well, that’s a given. Our cast is rather easy on the eyes, but I doubt you’ll find any teen drama where that’s not the case.
DJ: What role was the easiest to fill?
XX: Oh, Joey. We had Anthony cast as Joey right away. He brings such a great innocent energy to the set. He was exactly what we were looking for when we set out to find the perfect Joey. And Levi Phillips was our first choice for Robbie. We were really excited when he ended up working out.
DJ: Anyone who was hard to cast?
XX: Definitely! We had a few false starts finding the best Mack. It was a stroke of luck really that Flynn Wright joined the cast. Also, we had a really rough time finding the right person to play Ryder. Our queen bee had to be perfect. Just the right combination of vulnerable, devious, and intelligent. We went through hundreds of guys until we found that right one.
DJ: I’ve heard that’s a fun story.
XX: Oh, it is. We’d gone through casting call after casting call and never found anyone. I just happened to be down here checking out the location and ran into Blair Fletcher. He had the perfect look, and his screen test was exactly what we were looking for. It was another stroke of luck. He’s brand-new to acting, but he’s a natural.
BLAIR SCRUBBED a hand through his hair. It was so hot out that all the product Eugenia had lovingly spackled on early that morning felt like glue melting down his head and onto his face. Ironically, since he’d spent his whole life on Key West, Blair had never handled the heat well. He couldn’t wait to get home. The only thing in the entire world Blair wanted was a beer and a bucket of ice to dunk his head in. He honestly thought he might take Tony up on his constant offers to use the Orchid Palms’ pool too. The thought of lying all night in his bedroom with only the pathetic fan to keep him cool wa—
“Oof.” Blair was so tired that the wall of muscle in front of him sent him flying right onto his ass—in his five-hundred-dollar designer chinos no less. At least he was on an interior set. “I’m really sorry.” He whispered the last word when he looked up, because Sander—Sander in all his Thor-like hot godness—was looming right over Blair looking really confused.
“Blair… Fletcher? What are you doing here? And why are you dressed like that?” Sander cocked his head to the side and stared. Molasses-slow, he extended his arm to help Blair up. He was wearing a gray tank top, tight on his abs and pecs, and his golden arms, muscled and lean with a dusting of sun-bleached blond were just there, waiting for Blair to take a bite. Blair had been wanting to take a bite of Sander Christiansen’s various parts since puberty, and all the lovely hormones that came with it, had taken him by storm. Sander had always been bigger and athletic and just… damn. Blair would love to pin him up against the wall and destroy him. Okay, not really. That wasn’t exactly Blair’s style. He was more the—
“Um, Blair, man. You okay? You look a little wobbly.”
Wobbly. Fanfuckingtastic. Exactly the word he wanted Sander to think when he looked at him. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just hot and a little tired.” He grabbed Sander’s hand—grabbed his hand, holy shit—and let Sander help him off the ground.
“You didn’t answer my question. Why are you dressed like one of those rich guys from Palm Beach?” Sander lowered his voice. “Did you sneak onto the set to try to get autographs? I won’t tell nobody if you did.”
Blair grinned. “Not quite.”
Just then Xara’s assistant, Amy, came jogging to him. Her face was panicked, then relieved when she noticed Blair still standing there. “We need Ryder back on the cafeteria s
et. Cutter missed his cue, and Xara wants to reshoot that scene from the beginning one more time.”
Damn. He’d been about to go too. It was worth it to have whatever few minutes he’d just spent with Sander, though. Soon to be big TV star or not, his old crush still made him swoon. Probably always would.
“Why are they calling you Ryder?” Sander asked.
“Because I am Ryder.” Blair shrugged sheepishly. “I got cast on the show.” It was a little gratifying to watch Sander’s mouth fall open; Blair wasn’t gonna lie. “Listen, I’ve gotta go. I’m sure I’ll see you around here!”
“Yeah.” Sander still looked shell-shocked. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.”
BLAIR FOLLOWED Xara’s production assistant back to the set. They talked a little about the scene he had to shoot. Again. Blair hadn’t been exceptionally impressed with Cutter Whittingham. The guy was gorgeous; there wasn’t any doubt about that—bronzed and dark hair and ripped to all hell—but he’d been late to set more than once. This wasn’t the first time they had to reshoot a scene because he’d had problems. He brooded around a lot. Blair hadn’t seen a smile on his face the entire time, unless the camera was rolling and he was in character. At least he could do that amazingly. He flipped his pretty smile on and off like magic.
The cafeteria set looked nothing like the run-down room with buzzing fluorescent lights and chipped linoleum that Blair remembered from high school on the not-so-exclusive part of the island. It was bright orange and cheerful, with suede couches and tiled floors, potted palms scattered around the room, and a coffee cart with pastries in the corner. Even the regular tables were glass-topped wrought iron with cushioned stools. Yes. Not even close to the peeling laminate he remembered from his not-so-glory days of sitting in the corner with his one best friend watching Sander and the rest of the royal court laugh and joke with their perfect golden glow.
