Bennett stands there for a second with two thoughts on her mind: First—this is her own fault for texting him back. And second—her mouth is hanging wide open, meaning the clunky, plastic-and-metal retainers she’s worn every night since getting her braces off in tenth grade are currently on display.
Bennett snaps her mouth shut, turns to her right, and walks straight into the bathroom, unconcerned with the possibility of the door slamming in Teddy’s face. Only after she’s pried her retainers out of her mouth and shoved them back into their case does it occur to her she probably just gave him a good excuse to leave.
But then she hears him snicker, “Cute glasses, nerd,” and her eyes cut to her reflection in the mirror. That smug little shit shows up at her door looking dressed for a night out, and here Bennett is in well-worn pajama pants and an arguably see-through T-shirt. With no bra on. He’s not allowed to pull the trigger on a stunt like this and not expect some kickback here.
Bennett moseys out of her bathroom and finds him leaning against the door to keep it propped open, arms crossed over his chest.
“Makes sense you picked acting,” she says, mimicking his stance against the bathroom doorway. “You’ve got such a talent for repeating lines.”
Teddy rolls his head back, grinning up at the ceiling. “Every single time, man,” he murmurs, then he looks at Bennett and his grin turns smug again. “You know, using your own room number in that text was a cheeky little move, Caldwell. You can imagine how thrown off I was when I went to the front desk to ask what room you’re staying in.”
“Payback for the read receipts.”
Teddy fist pumps. “Knew you’d fall for that. God, I’m good.”
“Right,” Bennett says, pretending she doesn’t notice his gaze dropping to where her arms are crossed over her lack of bra situation.
Teddy shrugs, eyes flicking back to hers. “Not my fault you’re gullible.”
Bennett has to catch herself before she yells, Clearly, with as much implication behind it as she can. Instead, she goes with the classic, “I am not.”
“Please,” Teddy says. “I’ll bet you a drink at the hotel bar I could get you again just as easily.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He cocks his head to the side and gives her a wicked grin. “I already got you once; I’ll bet you a drink at the hotel bar I could get you again.”
Bennett blinks at him, because God—what is she supposed to do with that?
“Hi, by the way,” she stalls, gesturing out in front of her. “Welcome to my entryway.”
“Thank you, ma’am. Your southern hospitality never disappoints. You’re dodging my bet, though,” he says.
But then of course he follows it up with that look—the same look from last summer that doubled as a constant reminder that in addition to Teddy Sharpe having an insane, superhuman ability to be everyone’s best friend, he also has the terrifying capability to see straight through Bennett’s bullshit facades, all the way to the fine print written on her heart that says NOT AS TOUGH AS IT APPEARS, HANDLE WITH CARE.
And you know what? Teddy Sharpe is not going to throw her off her game like this. Bennett straightens up and plasters on the best smirk she can manage.
“Fine. What do I get if I win?” she asks.
Teddy bites down on his bottom lip to keep his grin from getting bigger (which, Christ—he has to know how hot that is, right? It’s so unfair). “I dunno,” he says thoughtfully, dropping his gaze to where Bennett’s arms are folded across her chest again. “Either way, I saw this ending with us getting a drink, so…”
Bennett glares at him.
“Okay, okay,” he laughs. “What do you want?”
What she wants is to not have the urge to self-incinerate every time he smiles at her like that.
“You have to actually knock on every door on this floor and ask them to turn their TVs down,” she says after giving it some thought. It’s not her best work, but whatever.
Teddy groans. “Fine, deal. Shake on it?”
Bennett shakes her head instead. She might look composed, but there’s no way she can handle touching him in any capacity right now.
He frowns. “How do I know you’ll stick to your word, then?”
“How do I know you’ll stick to yours?” she shoots back before she can stop herself, this time with plenty of implication behind it.
Teddy’s eyes flick to hers and hold her there.
“Easy now, Caldwell. I always stick to my word,” he says, his tone calm but laced with tension. “Don’t want to give anyone the wrong idea about me.”
Bennett didn’t need confirmation about Teddy’s intentions at the table-read this morning, but his words hang heavy between them anyway. Something stops her from calling him out on it, though. She already made the decision to deal with this head-on—it’s not fair to be so abrasive about it, especially since she’s the one who initiated it just now.
“Nope, wouldn’t want that,” she says. Teddy’s shoulders visibly sag. “So, what are—”
“Hang on a sec, sorry,” Teddy interrupts, stepping into the room toward her. “What is that?”
“What is what?” she panics, too afraid to move as he closes the space between them.
Teddy half smiles and points a finger to the left of her sternum. “That—what is that?”
Bennett tips her head down, trying to remember if she’s wearing a necklace or something. “What, is there something on my shirt? Is that what you’ve been looking at?”
Her mistake dawns on her a half a second later.
“WAIT—” she shrieks, trying to bat Teddy’s hand away, but it’s too late. His finger flicks the tip of her nose, and Bennett Caldwell has officially fallen for the oldest trick in the book.
“YES!” Teddy howls, jumping around and fist pumping.
Bennett stares at him impassively. He would act like a five-year-old on Christmas morning over a practical joke. Teddy Sharpe has two personality settings: Portable Romantic Comedy or Five-Year-Old on Christmas Morning. There is no in between. And, honestly, Bennett would probably find all the cinnamon-roll enthusiasm irritating if she weren’t already so charmed by it. Teddy somehow keeps her door propped open during the entire scene, and Bennett watches an elderly couple shoot him a nasty look as they walk by. He’s too busy dancing to notice.
“Oh, man. It was just too easy, Caldwell,” he says, switching to ridiculous hip gyrations.
“That was so cheap.” Bennett sulks.
Teddy stops dancing immediately and looks down at her, his expression dropping to something far more serious than Bennett thinks should be possible for a guy who was doing the disco point three seconds ago. “No, no. Don’t do that. Don’t be a bad sport, Caldwell—it’s unbecoming.”
Bennett starts to tell him that he’s unbecoming, but Teddy changes gears on her with: “Come on, nerd. Time to settle your debt. We’re getting champagne to celebrate that article I sent you.”
He reaches for her hand, and Bennett ignores both the nervous jump in her stomach and the look that crosses his face when she shies away from it.
“It’s too late tonight,” she says. “Rain check.”
Teddy snorts. “That’s not gonna fly. Change your clothes—I’ll meet you at the elevator.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Pro tip: Champagne is just bubbles and truth serum hidden by a fancy French name, and Bennett hates whoever decided it was a good idea to distribute it to the masses.
Sure, at first drinking it was flirty and exciting and a little bit dangerous since Bennett is definitely underage and Teddy’s bartender friend definitely knew.…
But now it’s morning and Bennett’s hungover.
She already skipped her run this morning. And she has like five meetings to go to. And she’s still in bed and hasn’t showered yet. And she has to figure out how to deal with all this today in addition to dodging Teddy Sharpe until she can piece together what the hell happened last night.
“Yeah, well, you didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend,” Bennett had replied, meaning for it to sound breezy and playful.
It did not come out that way.
“Dude, I told you, she wasn’t my girlfriend at the time! Technically.”
“Yeah, well, technically doesn’t cut it.”
It all went downhill after that. Bennett already acts like a moron when she’s had too much to drink, so when emotionally unstable is thrown into the mix, it turns into a fiasco.
“Did, uh—did you ever tell your family about what happened that weekend?”
“Why does that matter?”
“Because it does.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“They were already asking me so many questions about you, I figured telling them would only make it worse.”
“Probably better that way, I guess.”
Bennett pulls the comforter up over her face and groans as more pieces of last night’s conversation rush back to her. Teddy had asked, “You want another?” at least four times, and each time the conversation was steered into more dangerous territory.
“Liz told me.”
“Liz is a terrible person.”
“At least she can keep her lies straight.”
“Hey, what the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. It just means I don’t wanna talk about what happened at the airport, all right? Stop bringing it up.”
“But I—”
“No.”
“Can we just—”
“Is this why you brought me down here?”
“No. Kind of. One of the reasons.”
Bennett finally forces herself out of bed and into the shower. She doesn’t have any Advil, and her headache only gets worse when she remembers that the subject of feelings had come up more than once last night, though most of what was said is still under review. If the knot in her stomach is any indication, she probably said some things that will land her in a compromising position sooner rather than later.
Thus, the reason to dodge Teddy Sharpe like it’s her day job.
“I’m not drunk.”
“Me neither.”
“Bullshit.”
“I want to finish this conversation, though.”
“Well, we need to go before they kick us out.”
At least today’s going to keep her busy. She has three table-reads to attend (that don’t involve the leads), a final production meeting, and a sit-down with Burt and Olivia, so there’s a solid, solid chance her and Teddy’s schedules won’t overlap at all in the next twenty-four hours. The only possibility she has to worry about is running into him at the hotel.…
Bennett stands in front of her tiny little hotel room closet and contemplates if it’s going to be a leggings day or a jeans day. She needs caffeine. And twenty-seven Gatorades.
“You didn’t have to walk me back to my room, you weirdo.”
“Don’t try to act like you didn’t want me to.”
“Yeah, well—don’t try to act like that’s a line that’s gonna get you inside.”
Plus, the reality that she let herself drink enough last night to entertain the idea of letting Teddy into her room after the bar … well. Let’s just say the moral hangover is worse than the physical one.
Half an hour later, Bennett’s in her car heading to set. (It’s definitely a leggings day.) Her first meeting is at nine thirty, and it’s one she can probably coast through unnoticed. She shows up a few minutes early with wet hair and a latte, and she’s just about to pull the meetings trailer door open when her phone goes off.
Her personal phone.
It’s silly for her to tense the way she does, particularly since, as he pointed out multiple times last night, Teddy has both of her numbers now. (He admitted to getting her work number off Burt yesterday.) The good news is the person calling her personal phone is Will.
“You’re up early,” Bennett answers in lieu of a greeting.
“Bennett! What’s up?”
Naturally, the McGearys finding out about the movie turned out to be just as much of a disaster as Bennett had expected. Liz did some online digging after seeing Teddy that weekend and pieced it together on her own. Three of the four McGearys pretended to be “so hurt” that Bennett kept it from them. Will, on the other hand, was so happy for Bennett he cried. Since then, he and Bennett have spoken a few times a week about how everything’s going.
“About to go into a production meeting,” Bennett says, switching the phone to her left hand so she can untwist one of her backpack straps. “What’re you doing?”
“Just at school. I have an early study hall on Thursdays. I was calling because I thought shooting started today and was going to wish you luck! But I definitely got the days mixed up, didn’t I.”
Bennett grins and tells him they start tomorrow. Then she gives a rundown of the past three days and what the schedule is supposed to be like for shooting. She does not say anything about Teddy. And Will—bless him—never brings him up, despite how much she knows he wants to.
“Olivia Katsaros is the lead, right?” Will asks.
“Yeah.”
“She’ll kill it. She’s killed it in everything she’s done so far. I actually can’t believe this is her first franchise—someone should’ve picked her up years ago.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Bennett sees a couple of producers heading her way.
“Hey, Will—lemme give you a call later. I gotta go into this meeting,” she says.
“Word. Call me when you can.”
They hang up and Bennett heads inside the meetings trailer, reminding herself again to sort out a good time to have Will come visit set. She’s had this idea since he told her over Christmas that Liz signed herself up for the same acting workshops he’s been taking for the past three years. Will is stuck surrounded by semi-unsupportive parents and a sister who’s made it her life’s mission to personally steal any spotlight that might point in his direction. Setting up a day on set is the least Bennett can do.
The rest of the day passes in a blur once production meetings start. It’s a lot of tying up loose ends and making sure everyone knows where they need to be tomorrow morning. Bennett wonders if Burt’s drinking coffee or rocket fuel out of the thermos he carries around, because the dude is a force of nature today. Just watching him makes Bennett feel even more tired than she already is. By the time he and Bennett sit down with Olivia later that afternoon to discuss how Olivia wants to portray Katherine, Burt’s so jittery he might jet pack out of his chair, and Bennett’s so tired she might fall off hers.
Olivia Katsaros is not what Bennett had been expecting, and she feels guilty for jumping the first-impression gun. Olivia’s incredibly educated on the acting techniques she wants to bring in, and she’s unwavering on making Katherine’s character as robust as she reads in the books. Olivia’s so passionate it’s hard to disagree with her. Even for Burt. They all end up walking out of the meetings trailer in agreement with everything Olivia suggested, and Bennett one-eighties from worrying that Olivia was wrong for the part.
So when Bennett finally does crawl into bed later that night, she lies there for a minute and takes a moment to appreciate the exhausted satisfaction she feels from a productive day (despite the hangover). She’s strangely calm—even with the few anxious butterflies she has floating around inside her rib cage—and she doesn’t initially panic when she sees a text message from Teddy pop up on her work phone.
Bennett doesn’t respond.
She didn’t have much time today to piece together more of what was said between her and Teddy over illegal champagne last night, but she remembers enough to remind herself that she still needs to keep some perspective here. Teddy fell right back into the role of the guy Bennett
had difficulty breathing around in July—back when it took him less than seventy-two hours to get enough of a grip on her heart to absolutely shatter it.
“Fuck you—I don’t still have feelings for you.”
“Then why are you smiling like that, Caldwell?”
Imagine what he could do in two months?
* * *
The atmosphere on set the next day feels a lot like the first day of school, if the first day of school were also the Super Bowl and held on New Year’s Eve.
Bennett and Emmy arrive half an hour before anything is supposed to start, and it almost feels like they’re late. Production assistants are flying around, bouncing off one another and calling out orders using set jargon Bennett doesn’t understand. Crewmembers are running through lighting cues and sound checks and equipment logging. And Burt is standing at the helm of it all, looking every inch a movie director in his ball cap and Ray-Bans.
Bennett is a little overwhelmed as she blindly follows Emmy over to one of the PA tables to put their bags down. She pulls out her copy of the script for something to do, making sure none of her sticky notes were dislodged or lost, and of course Teddy is the first person she sees when she turns back to face the set. He’s with a few other actors in a cluster of director’s chairs about thirty feet away. His elbows are propped up on his knees with his own script open in his hands, and even though he’s bent over the pages in front of him, his head is up, his neck is craned, and he’s looking right at Bennett.
Bennett watches Olivia tug playfully on Teddy’s sleeve when he stands. (She can’t do anything about the pang of insecurity it brings on, either—she’s only human.) Olivia laughs at whatever Teddy says when he puts his script down in the seat of his director’s chair, but her smile wanes in confusion when he turns and sets off across set.
Meanwhile, Bennett resists the urge to use Emmy as shield, because Teddy is heading straight for them and Bennett apparently has the emotional maturity of a six-year-old.
“Ladies,” Teddy says, sauntering right up to them like the ridiculous person that he is. He stops just close enough in front of Bennett to make her accidentally take a step backward into the PA table.
Love Scene, Take Two Page 16