The Sweetest Star: Under the Stars Book 2

by Raleigh Ruebins

  I wasn’t gonna let him get away. Not before I asked him something.

  “Wait,” I called after him, “Dash.”

  He turned to look at me, but didn’t stop walking. “Nice show. See you later,” he called out, and then was pushing through the door to the back hallway.

  I waved to Andrea and then trotted after him, pushing through the door and catching him in the hallway.

  “Hey—Dash,” I said, catching him lightly on the shoulder. He spun around. “That was awesome, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah—nice work. I’ll see you, Eric.” He was turning and walking again.

  “Wait,” I said, probably a little louder than I needed to.

  “Seriously, what is it that you need?” he said, narrowing his eyes at me as he turned to look at me again, exasperated. His eyes looked pained, almost, and I was taken aback.

  “Whoa. What is your problem?” I said, probably against my better judgment.

  “What are you talking about?” he shot back.

  “Like, you’re acting like I’m chopped liver as soon as the cameras go off, dude,” I said, throwing my hands up in the air. “And you can spare me the ‘I’m just here for the money’ shit, because I’ve had a lot of coworkers, and none of them act like this.”

  “Act like what? What do you expect, Eric?” His eyes seared into me.

  I leaned back against the wall in the hallway. “Well, for one thing, you kept… touching me, during the filming.”

  He cast his eyes down toward the floor and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. “It was for the cameras.”

  I hitched one eyebrow up. “Really?” I said.

  “Yeah. Really.”

  I cocked my head to one side. “I don’t see why you’d need to do that for the cameras. We could be plenty friendly without touching one another.”

  “Fine, fuck, I’m sorry—it won’t happen again,” Dash said, still not meeting my eyes.

  I shrugged. “Wasn’t saying that. Actually, I loved it. I was just confused by it.”

  “You loved it?” he said, finally looking up, and I thought I caught a glimpse of something like surprise in his face. But then just as quickly, his face changed, and he rolled his eyes at me. “Whatever. I told you, it was for the cameras. Now are you going to leave me alone?”

  “Jesus,” I said, “Why are you so… mean?”

  He let out a long breath. “I don’t know what you expect, Eric.”

  “I don’t know, a little respect? Treating me like an equal? Like we did in the test kitchens, after last rehearsal?”

  He furrowed his brow. “We shouldn’t have done that anyway.”

  “Okay, fine, but you don’t have to act like you hate me as soon as the cameras turn off.” I was probably being too harsh, but I was sick of his shit. “I’ll see you next time, Dash.”

  This time it was my turn to storm off, leaving in a huff, back to the break room. I retrieved the brand-new rum bottle and took it to the test kitchen, replacing the bottle we’d taken shots from.

  I sat in the break room for twenty minutes, decompressing. I was seething, honestly—I didn’t know why it bothered me so much that Dash was cold anytime the cameras were off. I thought it might be because he was so warm and friendly when they were on, and the contrast was so stark and jarring, but that couldn’t have been the whole story. I would have been pissed if anyone treated me like that. It just didn’t make sense. He didn’t make sense.

  I couldn’t tell if I was angry, or sad, or just… confused.

  When I finally felt calm enough to leave, I grabbed my shoulder bag and headed out to the back parking lot.

  I was about to get in my car when I saw someone on the other side of the lot with their hood open. Car trouble, probably. I started to saunter over and as I got closer, I realized that it was Dash.

  I walked up to him slowly and deliberately, trying not to smile. “Ever heard of karma?” I said.

  He looked at me like he was ready to punch me straight in the face, and then made an irritated sound, running his hands through his hair.

  “Guess now’s not a good time to ask if you have jumper cables?” he said.

  “I might tell you the answer to that question—if you tell me why the fuck you’re so hostile toward me all the time,” I said, leaning against the side of his car in my best casual pose.

  He shook his head. “No. Nevermind, then. I’ll take a cab. See you later, Eric.”

  My anger came searing back, hard as I’d tried to get rid of it. I moved in front of him, pushing in close and stepping a foot between his legs. “No, actually, it’s not fine. If you have a problem with me, tell me now, otherwise I don’t know if I can do this.”

  He let out an exasperated groan and threw his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. “You don’t fucking get it, do you?” he said.

  “Yeah, I really don’t.”

  He tipped his head down again and met my eyes, now looking pained instead of angry. “Fine,” he said, pressing in even closer to me, his gaze unwavering. “I wasn’t gonna say anything, because frankly, its fucking unprofessional. But I’m… I’m attracted to you, okay? There it is. And despite that totally annoying, maddening attraction, I’m not so sure it’s a great idea to act on it. Got it? So now you can go home and be content with the fact that you have yet another person on your list of admirers.”

  His face was twisted in anger, and for a moment I could only stare at him, slackjawed.

  This was so far from what I’d expected to hear.

  “God,” he continued, his voice strained. “I finally have a real job for the first time ever, and I knew I couldn’t screw it up right away by admitting I’m attracted to my co-host. …But I guess I just did that. So fuck it. You can find another co-host. I’m done.”

  He spun on his heel, slamming the hood of his car down.

  “Dash,” I said, my voice quiet, but he’d started walking away.

  “Stop, I’ll get a fucking cab—”

  I reached out and gripped his wrist. He stopped, turning to face me, his face anguished. I pressed in close to him again, looking down at him, and realized that his hand was actually trembling slightly.

  And I caught a flash of something in his eyes that was so different from his usual hardened gaze—it was open, fleeting, almost tender, and it hit me hard.

  “Dash…” I said, taking his arm in my hand.

  “Oh God,” he said, his eyes pained, but he didn’t look away. Instead, he was looking right up at me, pressing in closer, like an invitation, or a dare.

  “Are you…?” I said, not sure what the end of the sentence was.

  “I might be,” he said, reaching out and touching my chest. It was nothing like how he’d touched me in front of the cameras—it was deliberate, unwavering, like he’d finally given himself permission for something.

  Adrenaline shot through me, and I realized my heart was racing.

  “I want to kiss you,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

  “Please do,” he murmured, and I almost gasped.

  I dropped my head to his, pressing my lips to his, gently at first. His lips were dry, and he uttered a little moan of shock as I kissed him, gripping his arm in mine.

  And then it was like he had let go of all his hesitance. He reached his arms up and around my shoulders, pulling in even closer, and opened his mouth. I deepened the kiss, pressing my tongue to his, tasting traces of the sorbet we’d made on camera just an hour ago.

  It was alarming how good he felt in my arms. This brash, difficult person, who minutes ago I’d been convinced hated me, was now soft and pliant, opening to me, his body almost begging. Completely intoxicating. I swept my hands down to the small of his back, holding him there, pressing his body to mine.

  “Fuck,” he said, when we broke the kiss. He kept near me, his face hovering an inch from mine, as he spoke. “This is… that was… definitely a bad idea,” he said, his eyes meeting mine. But his hands were clutched around my hips, and he didn�
��t back away.

  “Yeah. Totally the worst idea,” I said, my breath catching in my throat.

  And then he leaned in and kissed me again, harder this time. I didn’t know if I’d ever been kissed like that—it was so raw, so full of ache. He kissed me like he was angry with me, maybe angry with himself, and absolutely fucking needed to have his lips on mine.

  And this had been behind all of his coldness?

  “Dash,” I said, breaking from his lips slightly. He moaned at the loss of contact.

  “Yes,” he said, his voice low.

  “You’re not quitting the show, right?”

  He took a deep breath, and I felt his exhale against my cheek. “Okay. Of course I’m not.”

  “And—don’t keep things from me anymore,” I said, my voice low. “I mean, not things like this,” I said. “Deal?”

  He swallowed, nodding. “Deal.”

  I moaned slightly, and gave a small bite to his bottom lip. I was still in complete disbelief that I could even do this with him. It felt like I had been given a very fragile gift and I had to be extra careful around it, because I knew somehow I was gonna fuck it up.

  If we didn’t do something else quick, I was liable to stand there kissing him for the rest of the goddamn day. And while I would have loved that, I didn’t want to move so fast that he’d retreat.

  So I decided to help him in the one way I knew he needed it.

  “Alright,” I said, grinning at him, “Wanna go get some jumper cables?”

  Six

  Dash

  Ok, had I stepped into a different dimension? As I got into the passenger side of Eric’s car my heart was pounding, still, and my hands were shaky—I’d kissed him, I’d fucking kissed him, and now he was just casually driving me to get jumper cables.

  It hadn’t even taken him long to break me. I thought for sure I’d be able to sail through the filming of the show, letting Eric think I was an asshole, and he’d never find out. Instead, we hadn’t even filmed a real, live show yet, and already I’d showed him all my cards.

  I’d say it was typical of me—but honestly, I didn’t even know what was “typical” for me anymore. The last time I’d been this attracted to someone besides Caleb was over 10 years ago. It was petrifying. I felt unformed, like I’d skipped out on an essential part of adulthood, and now I had to start over.

  But the only thing I knew for sure was that kissing Eric had been beyond good. It had been electric. I’d fantasized about it, but had tried to convince myself that the reality couldn’t possibly be that great. But it was better. He was so responsive, so yielding yet firm, and I had fit perfectly against his frame.

  Do not fall for him, I told myself. You cannot fall for him. It was one thing to kiss or maybe even hook up with him, but if I developed an attachment? I knew I’d be done for. Eric wasn’t that kind of guy, and I shouldn’t have been either. I was trying to get over someone, not get with someone new.

  Eric got in on the other side of his car and turned on the engine.

  “You have so much stuff in here,” I said, lifting my hand to the little plush animal hanging off his rearview mirror.

  “Oh, you like Kiki?” he said, smiling up at the little animal. “That’s my sloth. I got that when I donated to the Sloth Sanctuary—they tell you the name of the one you ‘adopted,’ and you get a little plush. Mine was named Kiki, and she lives in Costa Rica. And she watches over the car when I’m gone.”

  I bit down a smile. “Oh God. That is… adorable on so many levels,” I said.

  He pulled out of the lot and started down the road. “Yeah. The rest of the junk in here is stuff my friends give me—I’m sorry for all the clutter, seriously. I need to clean this thing.”

  “No worries,” I said, rifling through the papers in the side door. The car wasn’t dirty, at all—there wasn’t any old food or cups—but there were tons of flyers, like DJ shows, party invitations, wedding invitations. There were also things I probably shouldn’t have seen—handwritten notes and receipts, and what looked like electricity bills.

  “My house is super clean, but my car kind of becomes a catchall for mail,” he said, his face getting a little sheepish.

  “Seriously, I don’t care,” I said, “My apartment is still a total mess from when I moved in. I have too many books and… not enough furniture.”

  There was a lull in conversation, and Eric turned on some music on his stereo. I looked at the floor, and sticking out of one of the piles of paper, I caught the end of one of the handwritten letters. At the signoff, it read, “Thank you so fucking much, Eric. Love, Adam.”

  “So,” I said, “Who’s Adam?” knowing that it was probably far too nosy a question. I of course thought it must be one of his conquests.

  “Oh, Adam! God, I love Adam,” Eric said wistfully. “Why are you asking about him, though?”

  “Just saw one of these papers down there has his name on it,” I said, reaching down and pushing the papers into a neat stack.

  “I really should take that inside. Adam is one of the former 5*Star members. You know, the one with the dark hair? All broody, keeps to himself, openly gay even back then?”

  Oh. I shook my head. “Nah, I never really followed 5*Star. No offense.”

  He laughed. “None taken. But yeah, Adam is an incredible person, but he spends a lot of his time… missing in action. Or ‘off the grid,’ whatever you want to call it. I, uh, sort of helped him out of a bad situation last year and he sent me that letter to thank me. Remind me to take that inside.”

  I nodded, picking up the letter and folding it neatly, pressing it to the front of the dashboard. So I’d completely miscalculated—Adam wasn’t a conquest, just an old friend. I was still getting used to this whole… being friendly with Eric thing.

  I looked out the window as we drove, watching the palm trees and streetlights. How it would feel to end up one of Eric’s quick flings? Was this how they all started? And I didn’t know what to say to him, even though I’d just kissed him until my lips got swollen. I reached up and touched my fingers to my mouth, in disbelief that it had even happened.

  “There it is,” he said finally, pulling into a strip mall and parking. “I knew there was an auto supply store nearby.”

  We went in and located jumper cables, and then went back out to his car. When we’d driven halfway back to the studio lot, he still hadn’t said anything, and I shot him a glance. He was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, stopped at a red light. There was a little roadside stand that was selling some sort of knickknacks at the corner.

  “God, who buys that sort of stuff?” I said, looking over. “I’d never actually stop my car and go to one of those things.”

  Eric looked over at me, while the streetlight was still red. He got a look on his face that I couldn’t place, then started to smile and turned on his right blinker, indicating that he was going to turn toward the little kitsch stand.

  “No way,” I said.

  “Yes way,” he replied, his smile widening.

  “We don’t have time to stop now!”

  “Time?” he asked. “What are you talking about? We’ve got nothing but time. You got anything to do tonight?”

  I paused for a moment, thinking of my open evening ahead, probably bound to be spent alone in front of my computer.

  “Well, no… but… look at those little knickknacks! They’re like, portraits of your face painted on a little rock? Who needs that? Let’s just go back to the studio—”

  Eric shook his head, still grinning, and when the light turned green he turned the corner and then quickly pulled onto a small side street, putting the car in park. “C’mon. We’re going. And you’re gonna get your face painted on a little rock, and you’re gonna fucking love it.”

  I groaned, but couldn’t stop a smile from appearing on my face. Damn it, Eric was getting to me already. “Eric. No. It’s so cheesy. It’s for tourists.”

  “Too bad,” he said, unbuckling his seatbelt and turni
ng off the car. “Get ready to pose for your rock portrait, Dash Thompson. I’m so ready for this.”

  He laughed as he got out of the car and came around to meet me on the passenger side. I reluctantly got up and out, stepping over to the little stand.

  A short and squat older woman, maybe in her late sixties, was sitting on a folding chair behind the stand. A teenager who looked about fourteen was near her, staring down at his cell phone.

  “Howdy,” she said, “Rock paintings are only ten dollars. I could do one of the both of you, if you want. You make a cute couple.”

  “Oh, we’re not a couple, no, no,” I said, probably too fast.

  Eric just laughed.

  “Can we each just get one of ourselves? I’ll get them both.” He started to reach for his wallet.

  “Eric you don’t have to do that—”

  “My treat, Dash,” he said, handing the cash over. “Consider it a gift you’ll always remember me by.”

  He smiled at me again and I couldn’t help but laugh.

  So I sat for the next fifteen minutes as the sweet older woman painted a little portrait of my face on a tiny rock. Eric watched the whole time, sometimes peeking over at the painting in-progress and making silly remarks like, “oh yes,” or, “wow, you’ve really captured his likeness,” which even made the woman laugh.

  She handed me the smooth stone, warning me not to touch the paint for at least 30 minutes, and I looked at my own face staring back at me, smiling and goofy.

  And I realized that this was the first time I’d had true, unadulterated fun in… who knows how long. It was jarring, realizing that suddenly: I’d been so lonely, so alone and preoccupied with my breakup recently that I hadn’t let go like this in too long. I lived alone. I worked from home. I’d just moved to a brand-new city.

  But getting the silly little rock portrait was just so spontaneous and so odd, I couldn’t help but lose myself in the moment.

  I wondered if this was just what life was like for Eric. Spontaneous, random, fun, and free. I couldn’t deny how alluring it really was.