Page 32 of Comfort Read

In the end, Kit takes off the suit and tries to put away any feelings that might be attached to it. He spends several hours luxuriating in the rare chance to guiltlessly do nothing at all, then showers, redresses, and tames his hair. He feels ready to face whatever life throws at him by the time Sage’s car pulls up in front of the hotel.

It’s an actual limousine this time, not one of the sleek black town cars Kit’s grown used to. Sage, looking dangerously suave in a three-piece charcoal suit, no tie, and a black shirt with the top few buttons undone, is sitting on the long seat across from the door as Kit climbs in. This leaves Kit to slide onto the bench seat alone.

That honestly might be for the best, because the minute Kit looks at Sage, he briefly but entirely forgets how to talk. Being around Sage was hard enough to fathom the way he normally dressed, a voice in the back of his head constantly muttering, Am I really sure that it’s Sage Ballard, star of stage and screen, existing here in my reality right now? Maybe I’m in a coma.

To see him—to be alone in the back of a car with him—in a suit? An incredibly well-tailored suit into which Sage might as well have been sewn, it’s so perfectly fit to his body? It’s more than just unfair; it’s a psychological blow from which Kit may never recover. It’s sexual warfare. It’s⁠—

“Christ, you look good.” Sage’s words jerk Kit back to himself, and he realizes the limo is already moving. God, has he just been sitting here staring at Sage?

Wait. Has Sage just been sitting here staring at him?

“Thanks.” The word scrapes out against Kit’s dry throat. “You do, too.”

He should probably stop staring at Sage. Definitely one of them should stop—it’s been going on too long already—but Kit can’t quite bring himself to break his gaze. The most he can do is let his eyes flick down to Sage’s mouth, lingering on his full lips, the hint of dark stubble around the edges. What would it feel like to meet that mouth with his own? If he could gather up the handful of celebrities who have been linked with Sage over the years and ask, what would they tell him? Would they say Sage is selfish in bed, feels entitled to take without giving back after a lifetime of elevated status and fame? Or would they describe him as attentive and intense, pulling all the focus he brings to his work into this very different type of performance?

Kit doesn’t get an answer, and in the end it’s Sage who looks away, his eyes flicking down over Kit’s body before he redirects his gaze to the window. He lets out a low sigh.

“Listen.” Sage rubs a hand over his eyes, and then gestures loosely around them both. “We’ll be in here for a minute—traffic’s awful today and then we’ll have to wait in the drop-off line, which is always a nightmare. So I just… I wanted to take this opportunity to apologize. For the way I acted yesterday.”

“Oh.” Kit blinks, trying to process this. It would be easier, he imagines, if he could drag more of his brain away from the thought of stripping that suit off Sage’s body, peeling it off one well-fitted layer at a time. “I’m not sure I’m owed one?”

Sage shakes his head, dismissing this. “I was cold and prickly and weird; I know I was.”

“Yeah, sure, you kinda were,” Kit says with a shrug. “So what? You didn’t make me feel like it was my fault or anything. It seemed like you were in a bad mood; that’s allowed.” When Sage appears to be somewhat stunned by this, Kit throws caution and propriety to the winds and adds, “If you want to talk about what was bothering you, we can. I can’t promise anything in terms of my advice, but I have been told I’m a good listener. Apparently I have a talent for gasping at the right moment.”

Sage’s face freezes for half a second, but before Kit can parse the emotion there, it’s gone. In its place is a shoulder-slumping weariness that Kit hasn’t seen from Sage before, or maybe that Sage has never let him see. “You don’t want to hear about it, honestly. It’s not an interesting story.”

Kit raises his eyebrows. “I’ve spent my whole life in Cedar Falls and you’re Sage Ballard, so I’m guessing it’s more interesting than you realize.”

Sage half smiles, then runs a hand over his hair. It’s slicked down again tonight, his typical public-facing style, and he doesn’t even try to dig his fingers into it, just passes them smoothly over the top. “Oh, it’s just that this movie I’m working on isn’t what I thought it was going to be, that’s all.”

“How so?”

“Well, I wanted to quit,” Sage says, punching it out on a hard breath. “Acting, I mean, not this specific job. A while ago, something happened, I found something out, and it changed things for me. I decided I was done, that Windowframed would be my last film. Cut ties, burned bridges, the works. You might have read about it; there was a lot of coverage at the time.”

“Yeah, I think I saw a few things about that,” Kit admits. He hopes his expression doesn’t reveal the full run of old articles he’s read about Sage, very much including those. “I wouldn’t call any of it, uh… super flattering?”

Sage offers him a twisted, sardonic smirk. “No, it wasn’t. I made a lot of execs really angry, and that’s what happens. All of a sudden the story was that I was on drugs, or in rehab, or battling a sex addiction, or whatever else they could throw at me. I didn’t care at the time, but after a while I started to wonder if I’d made a mistake. Blown up my life just because I was… well. Upset, or whatever.”

“Sure,” Kit says, instead of “If you don’t tell me what happened to upset you, I will die, Sage, I am the cat and curiosity is what will kill me, save me from my dark fate!”

“So when an old friend of mine asked if I’d be in his new picture, I agreed.” Sage shakes his head, looking almost amused. “I thought it would be a good way to get me back into acting, remind me what I loved about it. A low-budget indie project, a fairly unknown director who I considered a friend, lots of new actors just getting into the game. It should have been fun!” He scowls. “Instead, it’s only made me more sure that I’m done acting. If the directing thing doesn’t work out, I’m probably just going to retire.”

“Wow,” Kit says, not sure if he’s responding to the magnitude of what Sage has said, or the idea that anyone in modern America might have enough money to retire at thirty. “Can I ask why? What’s so bad about it?”

“Well, it turns out time has transformed Devin into a real dick, so there’s that,” Sage says. His brow furrows. “Also, apparently he’s been going around town making all kinds of unhinged demands and then using my name when people complain! So now there are God knows how many people walking around talking about how Sage Ballard made them stay awake all night because he needed a bunch of pies on no notice, or whatever. Which, I know that sounds stupid⁠—”

“No, it doesn’t,” Kit interrupts, unable to help himself. “Are you kidding me, man? That would drive me so insane. What right does this guy have to throw your name around? Especially when your reputation is already an issue?”

“Exactly!” Sage looks very relieved to have this understood. Kit wonders if the other people he’s talked to about this have been shitty and unsympathetic, or if—perhaps worse—this is the first time Sage has really talked about it with anyone. “Devin knows my reputation is in the toilet, he knows why, it’s the whole reason I agreed to do the movie. We haven’t hung out regularly since college, but we text all the time, he knows how much it messed me up to—” He cuts himself off, obviously wrestling for self-control. After a deep breath, he continues: “He doesn’t even seem like he’s sorry about it. According to him, this is what I should expect at this level of fame, and he’s just trying to use all the tools at his disposal to get the movie made. Never mind that he never asked me. Never mind how a few months from now, stories will start trickling out about how Sage Ballard is demanding and a prima donna and makes good, hard-working people bow to his most inconsequential whims!”

“Well, that we can probably fix,” Kit says, not really thinking about it. But when Sage turns incredulous eyes on him, he explains: “You said the other night that you’re filming in North Ithaca. My mom’s been the principal at the high school there for more than twenty years; Maggie teaches woodshop there part-time, and my dad pops in sometimes as the school psychologist, and my cousin Evan is the president of the PTA. I know people at City Hall and most of the local bars, too, but the school is the big gossip hub. Maggie and my mom know everyone. Just say the word and they’ll get the real story out there. If I text them now, the whole city should know the truth by the time we get back.”

Sage stares at him. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious. What good would joking about that do either of us?”

“But why would you do that? Why would they do that? Go to the trouble?”