His Leading Man

by Ashlyn Kane

  As luck would have it, Drew was still in Wardrobe when Steve got there. “Hey. Wait for me?” Steve said, already working the buttons of his shirt open.

  Drew cleared his throat and looked back over his shoulder at Steve. “Oh, well. If you insist.” He waggled his eyebrows and gave Steve a blatant once-over.

  Steve grinned and pulled his shirt off. His ears went hot, but the flirting reassured him.

  Still, he was mindful they weren’t alone—Will nipped and tucked and fussed and pinned until Steve’s clothes looked exactly like they had in the previous scene. Then he shooed them out so he could clothe the background characters.

  “So,” Drew said as the door to Wardrobe closed behind them. “I know you said you’re using the break to finish the script—”

  “Do you want to come with?” Steve broke in. He needed to get the invitation out before he lost his nerve. “Uh, I mean. I’m going to my mom’s, but she isn’t going to be there. That was not a super awkward invitation to meet the parent. It’s a nice house—private, pool, hot tub, uh….”

  “Don’t tell me there’s a spa with complimentary facials.”

  Steve went scarlet. “Oh God.” Not that he hadn’t thought about—but inviting Drew to a romantic weekend getaway, even one at his mother’s, was sort of forward—

  Drew bumped his shoulder against Steve’s. “I mean, that sounds awesome.”

  Steve decided that in the interest of not becoming even more uncomfortable in his tight pants, he would not ask for clarification. “So I’ll text you the address?”

  “You’re sure I won’t be too much of a distraction?” Drew asked, eyes twinkling.

  Steve laughed. “I’m sure you will be. Can you come up Friday afternoon? That’ll give me a head start on the writing.” And on preparing everything. He didn’t want to leave the task to his mother’s housekeeper. It would be better if she had the time off.

  “I’ll be there,” Drew promised. “It’s a date.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  BY the time Drew punched the code Steve had given him into the automated gate, it was after six. Traffic in LA always sucked out loud.

  The gate retracted smoothly, and Drew put the Land Rover back in gear, following the private driveway. A fifteen-foot hedge surrounded the property, which extended a lot farther than Drew thought. Steve had dropped hints here and there that he hadn’t wanted for anything growing up, and his tuxedo was expensive and current, but still. Drew hadn’t expected a place like this. This was something he’d dreamed of buying someday, when he got tired of the view from his Santa Monica high-rise.

  Steve hadn’t emerged by the time Drew parked at the curve of the circular driveway, so he grabbed his bag and got out of the SUV.

  The house was a sprawling bungalow, well-kept, with beige stucco and white shutters and a red terra-cotta roof. The yard was big enough that the sun shone in, even over the tall hedge. A rock garden full of cacti bordered the walk to the front door, and as Drew approached, an alligator lizard skittered across the porch, its scales gleaming.

  He had to admit he was a little apprehensive about coming out here. Steve had assured him they’d have privacy, but Drew simply didn’t get that very often, at least not without measures beyond most homeowners. Here, though…. Well, if he was lucky, he wouldn’t be leaving the house for three days. It seemed unlikely the paparazzi would find him.

  He knocked on the door and set his bag down, careful to avoid the lizard.

  “It’s open!” Steve called from somewhere inside. Apparently he wasn’t concerned about intruders if they’d gotten past the front gate.

  Drew opened the door, then bent to pick up his bag. But before he could take a step inside, there was a skittering of nails on hardwood and forty-plus pounds of furry enthusiasm hit him in the stomach.

  “Rita!” Steve admonished as Drew dropped his bag again. It made a slightly ominous clunk. “No!”

  Drew ignored it and focused on the beautiful creature in front of him. “Hello, sweetheart.”

  Rita was a—well, she was a dog, reminiscent of a husky but smaller and fluffier, with a down-soft coat that was gray on her back and the top of her head and white on her face and belly. She must have thought Drew smelled wonderful, because she shoved her nose under his chin, sniffing and snuffling. Drew dug both hands into the ruff at her neck, fully aware he was encouraging behavior he shouldn’t.

  “I’m so sorry,” Steve apologized, coming in through a sliding patio door at the back of the house. He had barbecue tongs in one hand and wore a striped apron tied around his waist. “She’s normally shy and retiring. She must’ve thought your car was Mom’s. She usually hides when she hears cars in the driveway.”

  “Oh yeah,” Drew said, stepping back a little so Rita’s paws hit the floor and then bending to greet her more thoroughly. She flopped onto her back to invite more pets. “I can see that. Real tough customer.”

  Rita licked his chin.

  “I’m starting to get jealous,” Steve commented, and Drew looked up and grinned.

  “I’ll rub your belly later, if you want.”

  Steve rolled his eyes, but his ears were red and his eyes crinkled in the smile Drew was starting to find addictive. “Maybe after dinner. You like ribs?”

  “Does the Pope shit in the woods?” A light breeze blew through the open back door, bringing with it the scent of slow-cooking meat. Drew’s stomach growled. Lunch was a long time ago.

  “No, but Rita does.” Steve gestured to the backyard. “I have to go pull dinner off the grill, but make yourself at home. Sorry for the bad timing. This isn’t the welcome I envisioned.”

  Drew couldn’t remember the last time someone had cooked for him without being paid to. Maybe his mom. “As far as I’m concerned, your timing is perfect. Nothing to apologize for.” Though it might have been nice to have gotten Rita’s enthusiastic greeting from Steve.

  Rita licked his face again.

  Then again, Rita probably couldn’t cook.

  With Steve outside, Drew got off the floor and brought his bags in. Then he looked around.

  He was standing in the foyer of a sunny open-concept room that seemed to be located in the middle of a U-shaped house. Opposite him, a step down led into a cozy sunken living room. To the right, an airy modern kitchen with butcher block countertops led toward the back, so that it and the wing on the left side of the house sheltered a patio where Steve was tending the grill.

  To the left, a hallway lined with family portraits housed a powder room—the open door showed white tile, blue walls, and a frosted window—and, presumably, bedrooms.

  Drew should put his bag in one of them… but he didn’t want to seem like he was snooping, so he left it by the door and went to wash up. Once Rita realized the belly-rub offer had expired, she trotted to the back door to supervise Steve.

  “So.” Drew stepped outside, sliding the door closed behind him. “You never mentioned you had a dog.”

  “She’s my mom’s dog, really.” Steve transferred one last slab of ribs to a plate, then closed the lid of the grill. “A friend of mine found and rescued her on a television set but couldn’t keep her. I fell in love, obviously, but there’s no room in my apartment either. This was just after my dad died, so I thought maybe she and Mom could look after each other.”

  That was sweet.

  “And also Mom and I always wanted a dog when I was a kid,” Steve added. “But Dad was allergic.”

  “Well, I approve of your choice.”

  “Me too. Shall we eat?”

  Oh—that reminded him. When they went back inside, Drew checked his bag. Fortunately the bottle of wine he’d brought hadn’t broken. “It’s probably not cold enough to drink.” He proffered the bottle for Steve’s inspection. “But we can have it for dessert, maybe.”

  Steve had ditched the apron on a peg near the door. He took the bottle and raised his eyebrows at the label. So maybe Drew had wanted to impress him a little. So what? It had been a long t
ime since he had a date to impress. “I’ll put it in the wine fridge.”

  He led Drew through the kitchen to a sunny eating area, where the table was already set for two, with fancy-looking flatware and even two pillar candles, though they weren’t lit and Drew didn’t see a lighter. “The wine’s a bit much for barbecue. You want a beer?”

  “God yes.”

  What Drew really wanted was a kiss. It seemed ridiculous that Steve had invited him all the way out here and yet here Drew was, unkissed. It was cruel, honestly.

  At least Steve had good taste in beer—and, it turned out, knew his way around a grill. Whether he could be trusted with potato salad remained to be seen. Drew dutifully scooped some onto his plate, but he held off on taking a bite. “Get much work done before I got here?”

  Steve nodded and wiped his fingers with a paper towel. He had barbecue sauce halfway to his ear, which Drew found hopelessly endearing. “Most of the final act. I’m having a little bit of trouble working out what should happen next, but I should finish this weekend.” He paused and gestured at Drew’s plate. “There’s no dill in that, in case you’re wondering. Well, there is, but only in the dill pickles. Dina’s special recipe. I, um.” It was hard to tell because he’d gotten pink across the cheeks from the sun, but it looked like he was blushing. “I thought you might like it, so I asked her to make some before she left for the week.”

  Well, now he really wanted that kiss. But he’d wait until after dinner. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  Steve lifted a shoulder. “I didn’t really do anything other than ask.”

  None of Drew’s previous partners had bothered to pay attention to his paradoxical love of dill pickles. But he could thank Steve properly later.

  If Steve let him.

  OVER dinner Drew and Steve learned about each other. Steve had grown up in a small town in Washington; his dad, a writer, had died a few years before. He was an only child, which didn’t surprise Drew, and his nose was crooked because he’d gone skiing drunk while he was in college and hit a tree—which did.

  “Two sisters,” Drew said. “Three and six years younger than me.” He winced a little, thinking about it. “It wasn’t easy on them and Dad when Mom packed up to move to LA with me. Sarah was nine; Brit was only six. And Mom was with me for nine years.” His dad had to deal with two girls going through puberty more or less by himself.

  “That probably wasn’t fun for anyone.”

  Drew took a pull of his beer and set it down, still thinking. “I don’t know. I don’t remember being particularly homesick. Part of it is that I was busy, and part of it is I was selfish; I was doing what I wanted to do. I didn’t really think about how me chasing my dream affected the rest of my family.”

  Steve pushed his plate away and pulled a new paper towel off the roll. “You were young. It would’ve been easy to get tunnel vision. Don’t beat yourself up too much.”

  “Thanks.” He shook his head. “It does make me think, though. I’ve been meaning for a while to take a break. Maybe I should go back home for a month or two, reconnect with everyone. Or not reconnect. Connect as adults for the first time.” Brit was graduating college next semester. And the last time Drew had spoken to his mother, she’d hinted that Sarah’s boyfriend might propose soon. He’d like to be on closer terms with her before her wedding.

  “That sounds nice. I used to like going back to Washington to our place there, but Mom sold it last year.”

  “What were you like when you were a kid? I mean, my childhood’s kind of available on Netflix.” Drew lifted a shoulder, feeling a bit awkward. He didn’t want to assume Steve had seen his movies, but Steve was only a few years older than he was. Chances were he was familiar with at least a few.

  Fortunately Steve didn’t seem upset by Drew’s presumption. “Busy.” He shook his head. “Scouts, the school soccer team, a competitive league in the summer, school plays, writing competitions. I was lucky. My parents dropped everything to make sure I could do it all.”

  More common ground. Drew smiled. “That’s so… normal. Did you always dream of coming to Hollywood?” And what had brought his parents—or at least his mother—here? He’d said his dad was a writer, but Drew didn’t recognize Steve’s last name from anywhere. Maybe he used a pseudonym.

  “Maybe not always. But I always wanted to write. I think I wrote my first stage play when I was nine—I bossed my friends into performing it on the playground, but I’m not a very good director. I kept rewriting what they were supposed to be saying.”

  God. “I bet you were adorable.”

  Steve laughed. “That’s one word for it, sure.”

  They finished eating and loaded the dishes into the dishwasher, then washed up so Steve could give a quick tour.

  The backyard looked like any Beverly Hills backyard: beautiful pool, neat grass, privacy hedge, patio with built-in outdoor kitchen, sunshade. There was also a sunken spa tub next to a sliding door Drew assumed led to the master bedroom. Dog toys of every size, shape, and color littered the lawn, everything from a large squeaky pretend milk carton to something that looked like a Roomba with a bucket on top.

  “iFetch,” Steve explained. Beside him, Rita perked up her ears, and she ran off to retrieve the nearest tennis ball. “Mom spoils her.”

  Yeah, right, Drew thought as Rita returned to press the ball into Steve’s hand. She reminded him of Roxy; she was about the same size and had the same intelligent eyes and spring in her step. “I’m sure it’s all your mom’s doing.”

  “Do you mind?” Steve held up the ball, his expression a little sheepish, like he didn’t want to disappoint Drew but couldn’t bear to disappoint the dog either. “If I start, she’s not going to want to stop for at least half an hour, but she won’t need a walk later, and she’ll probably pass out on the couch. The iFetch will only keep her busy for a few minutes before she gets bored.”

  Drew still had half his second beer left, and the breeze kept the evening from being too hot. He could stand to watch Steve work those shoulders for a while. “As long as you let me throw a couple.”

  “That’s up to Rita.” Steve shot him a slightly apologetic look before he cocked back his arm and let loose, firing the ball across the yard. Rita took off like a rocket, a white-gray blur, but Drew was too busy appreciating the way Steve’s T-shirt rode up in the back to pay her much mind. “She can be picky.”

  Now Drew wished he hadn’t offered. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d thrown a ball. He definitely didn’t have that kind of form.

  Steve didn’t say anything, though, after the fifth or sixth retrieve, when Rita looked at Steve, wagged her tail, and then nudged Drew’s hand with her nose instead.

  “I’m honored,” Drew said. The ball dripped with drool.

  “Careful what you wish for,” Steve said, wry.

  Despite their best intentions, the conversation did eventually turn to the script. By then Rita was flopped happily on the floor by the couch, all four feet in the air as she snored. Drew and Steve sat at opposite ends of the couch, turned toward each other, each with a knee up on the cushions so they almost touched. Between the way Steve kept looking at him, the beer, and the sun streaming in from the patio doors, Drew felt pleasantly warm.

  “So they liberate the dog, but they’re convinced a neighbor sees them, and so then when a patrol car goes by….”

  Drew let Steve catch him up on the continuing antics of Scotty, Morgan, the dog, and their run through Vegas—casinos, backstage at Cirque du Soleil, the aquarium at Mandalay Bay, maybe a nod to the Stratosphere. For budgetary reasons, they’d have to restrict filming to stock footage and greenscreens, but Photography and Editing could worry about that.

  “I have to get a map out to make sure they do it all in the right order. I’ve never actually been to Vegas.” Steve ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “So it’s dog first, and then, despite Morgan’s assertion that they don’t have to go into the city at all, Scotty takes a �
��wrong turn’ as he tries to escape the cops—”

  MORGAN

  (panicking)

  No, no, no, what are you doing? You’re going the wrong way!

  SCOTTY

  What are you talking about? I’m—

  EXT. MOVING CAR - DAY

  They pass a sign for LAS VEGAS 9 MILES.

  INT. CAR - DAY

  Roxy barks happily and licks Morgan’s face, prancing in the back seat.

  SCOTTY

  Look, we came all this way! What’s another nine miles, right? If a couple gay guys and a dog can’t lose a tail in Vegas—

  Roxy barks again.

  SCOTTY

  It’s an expression! Come on, are you telling me you don’t want to cruise the Strip? Just to see? It’s only, like, four miles long!

  Only then, of course, they ran into bumper-to-bumper traffic and decided to valet park in order to continue evading their pursuers on foot.

  “Looks like we’re going back to the aquarium,” Drew said, swiping on the tablet to turn the page.

  Steve nudged his foot and didn’t move away afterward. “Just for you.”

  Drew ducked his head, pretending to examine the script closer. “We’re going to get some great visuals from this. Carol is going to kiss you.” Their DP had a lot of talent but had only worked on a handful of low-budget series, the most recent of which was just canceled. She’d be so excited to get her artsy little hands on these challenges. Drew thought about the transition from “Vegas” sunshine to a blue-lit aquarium scene and smiled.

  “You think?”

  He looked up. “I know.” But she can get in line, Drew didn’t say. “So where are you stuck?”

  Steve froze with one hand reaching for his beer on the end table. “I never said I was stuck,” he said neutrally, but he didn’t move.

  “Uh-huh.” Drew waved the tablet at him. “But you keep bringing up work”—and I hope you didn’t invite me out here just to finish your script—“and your scene just kind of ends. So what’s the problem?”