by Anna Paige
“You might need a little practice, but I don’t mind helping with that. Because I was being honest, you really are beautiful.” I gave her a wink and my most dazzling smile. “Now that I know I won’t get cussed out, I’ll tell you more often so you can work on your response. For the record, it’s usually standard to say something like ‘thank you.’”
“But ‘fuck off’ comes so naturally to me,” she groused.
“I hadn’t noticed,” I said dryly, loving the small laugh that escaped her.
With another wink—she blushed every time I did it, so I planned to do it a lot—I finished off my god-awful drink and headed to the kitchen to get myself something different. I’d suspected I wouldn’t like the minty stuff, which was why I picked up so many other options.
My glass thankfully refilled with an aged Kentucky bourbon, I returned to the table.
I’d barely settled my ass into the seat when Kaiti asked, “What’s it like?”
“What’s what like?”
“Being you.”
I frowned over at her as she refilled her glass from the pitcher on the table. “Care to be more specific? I mean, is this the ‘what’s it like to be a guy’ question? Because I’m not sure I could accurately explain how it feels to have a penis.”
“That’s not what—”
“Oh wait, I have the perfect description. At least as far as my own experience goes.”
She tilted her head in an adorably curious way. She was clearly interested, even though that wasn’t what she’d originally wanted to know. “Okay, I’ll play along. How does it feel to have a penis?”
I leaned forward, looking her right in the eye as I told her in a deadly serious voice, “Heavy.”
She burst out laughing and nearly knocked over her drink in the process, and I couldn’t help joining her. Her laugh was addictive. It wasn’t that fake-ass laugh I was used to from people in the business. It wasn’t practiced and perfect. It was giggles and cute little snorts and her head carelessly thrown back with no regard to lighting or angle; it was real. Like her.
And I wanted more.
More of her laugh.
More of her charm.
More of her fearlessness.
More of her.
When our laughter died, I sat back in my chair and nodded. “Okay, okay, seriously. You want to know what it’s like to be me, but I want to know you better too. So, I’ll tell you at least some of what you want to know and you tell me some of what I want to know. Sound fair?”
She pursed her lips for a moment in thought, then took another long swallow of her drink. I tried not to stare as her eyes fell closed and she made a soft mmm sound, but I couldn’t help myself. She really was beautiful, even if—for some unfathomable reason—she couldn’t see it.
I averted my eyes just in time to avoid being caught checking her out.
“Okay, but you first. Tell me what it’s like to be a famous actor.”
I didn’t really think of myself as all that famous, though I knew it was pointless to tell Kaiti that. Instead, I thought for a minute and went with, “It’s a lot more work than people think. It’s always being ‘on,’ always smiling, always laughing at stupid jokes because the person delivering them has the power to ruin you if you don’t. It’s never having any time to yourself or being able to do small things like have dinner without the waitress sneaking pics for her Facebook or see a concert without bodyguards and reporters up your ass.” I stopped and looked around the room. “This is the longest I’ve been on my own in months and, even now, I know if I bothered to turn my phone back on, I’d have a ton of messages asking where I am or wanting me to make an appearance at some new place to give it the celebrity endorsement. Or Bryce will have left a dozen messages wanting to know how it went tonight. Everyone wants something from me all the damn time and it’s exhausting.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be. I’m making it sound worse than it is, mostly because I want you to know what you’d be signing on for if you came to work on the show. That text you saw from Bryce? He wanted me to paint it as the greatest job in the world, find whatever speech I would have wanted to hear in your place, but I don’t want you to go in blind or be naive like I was when I started out. That being said…it’s a lot of shit, but it’s also all kinds of awesome too.”
“Fast cars and faster women?” she joked.
“Nah, that’s not as interesting as it sounds, either. I never get time to hit the road in my cars, and the women…”
“Don’t tell me you don’t get time to spend with them. I see the pics everywhere; online, on the front of those gossip magazines at the checkout counter, on the news.” She didn’t sound judgmental about it and almost seemed to think it was funny. “Never the same girl twice, Mr. Hollywood.”
I scoffed, shaking my head. “Don’t believe everything you see. Some of those women—I’d dare say most of them—were paired with me for the publicity. When a new show emerges and they need a boost in interest, they set it up so one of the lead actors or actresses is seen in public with a more popular or noteworthy escort.”
Her brows rose. “I knew it! I told my friend Evie that there was no way some of those on-set love affairs were legit.”
“Ratings, scandal, and media buzz. The holy trinity of the entertainment world.”
“Okay, so if you can’t drive your fancy cars and you don’t get to pick your own dates most of the time, why stay in the business? Where’s the awesome?”
“The awesome part for me is the actual acting. It’s being all these people, getting inside their heads and letting them become part of who you are for a while. It’s like gaming the system; getting more than one life because you get to live as those characters too.”
She was watching me with a small smile, the left corner of her mouth rising slightly higher than the right. That crooked grin made me want to kiss her.
Desperately.
Instead, I smiled back and asked the same question I’d asked in the car. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
She shrugged and there was a tinge of sadness in her eyes. “Because I think you’re incredibly brave.”
“Brave? How so?” I frowned.
“Most people don’t even have the courage to be themselves, much less dozens of other people. And you do it all so well. It must take a lot of guts to do what you do.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think it’s brave at all.”
“Agree to disagree,” she said, taking a sip of her drink.
I could have argued the point with her all night, but I didn’t. I liked that she thought of me that way—that she saw me as courageous.
Even if it was as far from the truth as she could get.
Four
Gavin
“So,” Kaiti said in a floaty voice, “this part they want me to audition for…”
“Yeah?” We’d moved to the couch in the living room, and I was sitting beside her, our bodies angled so we could talk comfortably without craning our necks. There had been quite a few drinks consumed by this point, and I’d almost forgotten why I’d originally come to see her. I’d been sidetracked, thrown by her presence—though she didn’t seem the least bit thrown by mine. I didn’t know what to make of that.
“What is the character supposed to be like?”
I wasn’t surprised she asked about the role on the show—it would have been odd if she hadn’t—but the way she asked was unusually careful like she was bracing herself for something unpleasant.
“You want the truth?”
“No, lie to me, Gavin,” she deadpanned, lifting her drink to her lips. My hat was sitting slightly askew on her head, making her look incredibly cute.
I gave a soft chuckle and sat my drink on the coffee table, giving her my full attention. “It’s what I like to call a ‘sacrificial lamb role.’ Basically, they’re looking to add a likable character, keep them around for a season—maybe two, but usually less—and then kill them off or write t
hem out in the season finale.”
She cocked her head, a thoughtful look on her face. “I see. So, I’d be temporary?”
“In all likelihood, yes. There are exceptions, of course. If a sacrificial lamb becomes a huge fan favorite and the producers think they can milk more out of their exit by hanging on for another season—or half season—then they extend the actor or actress’s contract for a while to really reel in the fans and make the loss have more impact.”
Her eyes widened and her brows shot up. “Wait, so is that what happened with Noah?”
Noah was the name of the character who was to marry my on-screen sister, Tia. They had been poised to wed and then Noah’s character had been killed off in a car accident on the way to the church. The fans had gone berserk.
“Exactly. They would never have married off Tia’s character. It would have toned down the show’s edge.”
“So, I guess Tyler’s character won’t be settling down, either,” she commented dryly. Tyler—the character I played on the show—was something of a player, which somehow got me labeled as one too. And I wasn’t allowed to publicly correct the assumption.
“Why? Hoping your role would be as Tyler’s love interest?” I teased, catching her gaze wandering to my mouth more and more as the alcohol flooded her system. She was attracted to me, and it was most definitely mutual.
She snorted and shook her head. “If I’m being honest, I’d rather not have the role at all, but the last thing I want is an on-screen love affair with anyone. Not even you…um…I mean Tyler.” She blushed a little at her slip.
“Why no love scenes? Embarrassed?”
She ran her hands over her arms as though she was cold, and I caught a hint of a shudder as she shook her head. “Not exactly.”
Something had changed in the way she held herself. She pulled slightly away from me, settling into the corner of the couch. Her hands were doing a weird, repetitive motion in her lap. Her fingers touching to her thumb in succession in a distinct pattern she seemed unaware of.
“Is it a stage fright thing?” I asked.
“No.”
I lowered my voice and tried to give her a look that let her know she could trust me. “Then what is it exactly? Why are you so afraid to audition?”
Her chin lifted defiantly and she gave me a steady, pointed look. “I never said I was afraid.”
I held her eye and waited.
She sat forward and retrieved her drink, the ice falling forward to rest on her lip as she sipped the last little bit. When she lowered her glass, she idly ran her tongue over her upper lip to clear away the moisture. I had to force myself not to focus on the motion because I had the urge to kiss the hell out of her and that pink tongue was about to push me past the point of good sense.
“Kaiti?” It came out as more of a plea than a prompting, but she was too distracted to notice.
She blew out a big breath and averted her eyes, looking out the window instead of at me as she spoke. Her fingers started up again in her lap and she caught herself, clasping them together as she cut a quick look my way. I pretended I hadn’t noticed.
“I have anxiety issues. I don’t like being the center of attention, and I definitely don’t like the idea of being filmed doing a love scene or undressing or swimming or anything else that means being put on display or objectified.”
I nodded, understanding at least a little of what she meant. “I don’t think anyone is fully comfortable with making out in front a camera, or at least I know I’m not. I hate shirtless scenes and bedroom scenes, even after all this time.” She finally looked over at me, seemingly surprised at my admission. “What you’re feeling is perfectly okay and normal.”
“I don’t think—”
“Normal,” I interrupted, smiling at her. “But can I tell you something?”
She frowned, looking like she still wanted to argue. “What?”
“The reason I do the scenes anyway, even the ones I could probably talk them into toning down?”
“Yeah?”
I leaned forward and locked eyes with her. “Because I refuse to let fear beat me. I refuse to feel inadequate when I know damn well that I am good at what I do, even if I don’t always like every line of dialog or every scene we shoot. I do what I have to do, and I’m really proud of the fact that no one out there can say I’m not doing my job to the best of my ability. And, most of all, I do it to make those fears and insecurities my bitch.”
Her responding smile was gorgeous. “I can’t believe someone like you would ever be insecure, and it sounds terrible, but knowing you feel that way makes me feel a lot better. Not necessarily enough to actually audition but enough that I don’t feel like such a loser for having anxiety.”
“No one is ever truly one hundred percent confident all the time, Kaiti, no matter what image they project. And you are most certainly not a loser, so don’t ever think that. Okay?”
She snorted. “How would you know? You just met me.”
“Yeah, but I have incredible instincts.”
“And what do your instincts tell you, Gavin-fucking-Lane?” she asked teasingly.
I held up my glass and waited for her to do the same. “My instincts tell me that you’re about to make anxiety your bitch, Kaiti-fucking-Oliver.”
Kaiti
My head is going to explode.
Stupid peppermint concoction from hell.
I lifted one arm and draped it across my face, trying to block out the blinding morning sun that was pouring through my bedroom windows. Why hadn’t I closed the curtains? I always closed them before bed. Always.
I let out a pitiful groan and willed myself back to sleep, thinking it would be easier to sleep it off than suffer through the agony of trying to function.
I’d almost succeeded in nodding off when the bed beside me shifted and a heavy arm snaked across my abdomen. The warm hand gripped my side and gave it a little squeeze before going slack. I was so stunned, I couldn’t move at first. When I finally did, it was only to remove my arm from my eyes and confirm what I already suspected.
Yep.
Gavin-fucking-Lane was in my bed.
Snuggling me.
With no visible indication of clothing.
Oh. My. God.
I shifted slightly, trying to decipher my own state of dress without waking him. I looked down, squinting horribly because of the light, and sighed in relief when I spotted the straps from my tank top. A subtle butt shimmy told me I had on underwear, though I couldn’t tell if I had anything over them. I usually slept in a T-shirt and panties, but given that I also usually slept alone, I couldn’t help hoping there were some shorts present too.
As for Mr. Hollywood, he was bare-chested, but I couldn’t be sure what was going on south of that.
I tried not to stare at the perfection that was his upper torso as I searched my hazy memory for an explanation as to why he was in my freaking bed, possibly with no clothes on.
Why couldn’t I remember?
Oh, god, what if we…?
I didn’t know whether to be mortified or pissed the hell off.
So, I settled on both.
Mortified because there was no telling if I’d been the one to start it in my drunken state. Pissed the hell off because I couldn’t remember anything and that might actually be the saddest thing in the history of ever—to have slept with Gavin-fucking-Lane and not be able to do the replay in my mind over and over and over for the rest of my life.
Shit. Just my luck.
Dear Lord, I hope I was good.
Wait, don’t pray with a possibly-naked man clinging to you after what might have been a drunken one-night stand. That’s some kind of blasphemy, I’m sure.
He shifted in his sleep and pulled me closer, tucking my side against his chest and resting his head so close to mine that his lips brushed my hair.
So close, in fact, that I could feel his morning wood against my outer thigh when he suddenly threw one leg over mine. Thankfully, there was
fabric between us, making me sigh with relief when I realized I was wearing shorts. But was he?
Much closer and he’ll be in my shorts with me.
But would I really mind?
Did I mind last night?
Why can’t I remember?
I was staring at the ceiling, desperately trying to recall the night before while ignoring the rather large erection resting against my hip when the owner of said erection groaned and began to stir. He gripped me tighter for a second and…
Did he just hump my leg?
“Gavin,” I hissed, feeling myself flush with embarrassment.
“Hmm?” he muttered, beginning to trail his hand up and down my side.
I cringed away from his probing fingers, trying not to laugh. “That tickles!” I chuckled even as I pressed myself against him in an attempt to shy away. It was either that or try to wrestle my way past those damn tickling fingers, and I had to pee so bad I didn’t dare risk it.
Talk about humiliation; losing one’s bladder control in front of—and probably on—a famous person would be about the worst thing possible.
Aside from being a disappointing lay, which could have already happened.
“What tickles?” From his slow, thick words, I could tell he was still half asleep. And he was still tickling my side.
Time to practice my Kegel’s and get the hell away from this guy.
“Gavin, stop rubbing my side and let me up. Nature calls.” I gave his chest a gentle shove and was infinitely relieved when he took his hand from my side to rub it over his head. He was waking up, which was great, but I had about ten gallons of Junior Mints I needed to expel pronto.
“Damn, it’s bright in here,” he muttered as I fled the bed.
“I’ll grab us some aspirin. Be right back,” I tossed over my shoulder as I scurried to the half bathroom in the hall. No way was I going to use the one attached to my bedroom. He might hear me pee.