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“I need to know what's going on between you and Luke,” he says. “I won't be mad at you. It's not your fault if he tempted you. You can't help yourself.”
I want to tell Ryan to go fuck himself for his attitude, but the look in his eyes hits me like a ton of bricks. All I can see is the scared boy who walked me home from school. The scared boy who worried if I had more than two drinks. The boy who begged me to move out of my crappy neighborhood, to some place safer, someplace where I wouldn't get hurt.
He was always there, and everyone around me was in the TV industry, and none of them could hold a conversation that wasn't about movies or who they happened to know. And, maybe Ryan didn't have a lot to say, but at least he didn't want to namedrop. And he never made me feel like I was taking away the free time he desperately needed to study.
All I can see is the boy who saved my life and saw how badly I hurt when no one else could.
I reach for Ryan's hand.
“I love you,” he says. The words bounce around my ears. It's not going to consume me or engulf me, but it will be there to keep me safe and comfortable.
“I won't be able to live with myself if something happens to you,” he says.
“Nothing will happen to me.”
“Tell me what's going on with you and Luke. I need to know.”
“I'm exhausted.”
“Alyssa.”
“Not now.”
“We're going to have to talk about it eventually.”
“I know,” I say.
“I love you,” he says.
“I love you too,” I say, but I don't know if I mean it. Ryan slides his arms around me, and, even though I promised Luke I wouldn't, I press my lips into Ryan's.
It still isn't fireworks or electricity, but maybe it is safer that way.
Chapter 28
Monday morning is a welcome respite from my thoughts. I soak in mindless banter with my makeup artist, begging her to tell me every excruciatingly boring detail of her weekend. By the time she finishes her recount of last night's drinks—she drinks a lot—we are behind schedule. She rushes through the rest of my makeup, my false eyelashes barely glued to my lids.
I throw myself into my lines and the director—a new episode, a new director—has to keep asking me to tone it down. There is too much waiting while we change lights or move the camera or touch up someone's makeup. I am not about to let my mind wander to all this confusion with Luke and Ryan. Sunday was hard enough. It was so quiet I couldn't think of anything except the sad, hurt look in Ryan's eyes.
I am so weak and pathetic. Why can't I tell Ryan the truth? He already knows about Luke and me. He already has some idea. I should admit what we've done. I should admit how I feel about Luke. But Ryan needs to believe he's the only one for me. It will kill him to know how much I want Luke. It will kill him to know he has never stirred me the way Luke has stirred me. It will kill him to know he has never made me feel electricity.
A month ago, I couldn't imagine my life without Ryan. Now…Now I can't imagine any of this working out.
“Alyssa!” The director screams. “We're ready! It's your line!”
Naomi nods to the director and rolls her eyes. None of the actors seem to like this guy, but, apparently, he's some kind of visionary. Like it matters. Honestly, the ego on some of these assholes.
I focus on my lines. I focus on my irritation at our stupid, balding director and his stupid windbreaker. I focus on the blindingly bright lights, and I block out everything else.
Lunch comes far too soon and I am stuck with my thoughts. I try to listen to Naomi, but she goes on and on about some magazine interview, some publicist, some bullshit.
“What's with you today??
?? she asks.
“Nothing,” I say. “Rough weekend.”
“Something happen?” she asks. I don't doubt her intentions, but I'm not about to spread this around. There are already far too many people involved. It should be me and Luke or me and Ryan. It shouldn't be the three of us plus Samantha.
