I looked from my binder to Tripp and then back again. “That can’t be it. There has to be more.”
“I’m not used to hearing that from you.” He moved to stand next to where I sat, giving me a front row view of his rapidly hardening cock.
He wasn’t wrong. If there was any more to the impressive length, I would be risking permanent bodily injury each time I took it.
It would be worth the risk, but still.
The sight of it was almost enough to distract me from my outrage.
Almost.
I lifted my gaze—slowly and eventually—to meet his. “Did they give you some clue how it will end?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Partially to avoid spoilers, but mostly so the end doesn’t influence our portrayal throughout filming. We won’t find out until right before we film that scene.”
That made sense. Logically. But I was still unhappy about it. I would’ve never begged to run lines with Tripp had I known it was going to end on the mother of all cliffhangers. I flipped through the script that I held, searching for clues I knew I wouldn’t find. “This is cruel.”
I knew that Tripp was good at his job. He was an amazing actor, and he made the rest of it look easy because he loved movies, and it showed.
He was also good at picking his roles. Far better than his father or Tony gave him credit for.
Summerwas going to be big. I knew it. I could feel it down to my bones. Unless the rest of the cast sucked, there was no way it would fail.
And if there were issues with the cast, I would make a scene myself to fix it. The script deserved nothing less than perfection.
With the way Clark and Tony had shit on the booking, I’d assumed the film was going to be a cliché drama. And at the beginning, it kind of was. A recently dumped woman vowed tospend her summer experiencing all the things she’d never been brave enough to try.
And then the first gut punch came. And they never stopped coming.
Because rather than her living, laughing, and loving her way to self-fulfillment, a cancer diagnosis threw a wrench in the big plans she was finally going to make a reality. What followed was a gut-wrenching story of regret and missed opportunities because time was finite.
The script played up her ended relationship, making it seem like her ex would rush in like a knight to save the day. He didn’t. Instead, she found companionship and love with her neighbor, a playboy chef.
Played, of course, by Tripp.
The slow build of their relationship was going to be perfection. The bit of the table read with the cast that I’d caught and then the full—though badly acted on my part—one we’d just finished made that abundantly clear. I couldn’t wait for filming to start so I could catch pieces of it coming together. If I wasn’t so close to finishing my degree, I would take a semester off so I didn’t miss a second.
Especially the mysterious end.
I was still distractedly flipping through the pages when my phone rang. I barely glanced at the number I didn’t recognize before answering in case it was something for Tripp.
Like the damn ending to the movie.
“Hello?” I said.
“Greer—”
I hung up.
Tripp’s watchful gaze took in the shock I wasn’t quick enough to hide. “Your dad?”
“Yes,” I lied.
Like the kind of liar I hated.
