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What do I do? I have zero interest in trying to seduce her husband. I don’t even want to see him. I don’t want to see her, either, since guilt has become an emotion I feel.
Dammit.
I rub my forehead and try to think. Jessie was hot and cold with me when I was a kid. Sometimes, I was her confidant. Other times, I was invisible to her.
Probably she was living her own life like any other teenager.
As adults, we’ve hardly seen each other.
Maybe I should try. Forging ties with Jessie will make it easier not to backslide into my mother’s clutches, and it would be nice to have some family. I always envied what my cousins had.
After another moment of staring at the ocean, I text back that I’d love to meet up.
Chapter twenty-two
Gabe
Iflipthepageand take a drink of my cold coffee. The actor who plays the villain in Warwick reads his line and the director stops him with a suggestion. There’s a pause while notes are scribbled on multiple scripts. He reads the line again.
I left Ash asleep in my bed, with a soft kiss and a promise I’d see her later. She’s been staying with me in Malibu for the last week, but now that my schedule’s packed, she’s heading back to her place. It’s nearly noon. She’s probably left already. David was supposed to make sure a car was available to take her home.
My thoughts drift to what she’s doing now. Maybe she’s lying naked in her bed, surrounded by ten million tasseled throw pillows, thinking about me.
Everyone turns a page and I turn mine a second late. Shit, I need to focus.
This last week has been…
Not sure I have words for it, yet. Just this feeling in my chest, uncomfortable because it’s new. It feels deep, though, like it won’t be easily dislodged when the time comes.
I won’t see her until tonight—we have a public date arranged—but I’m already thinking about her smile, the scent of her skin, and the sound of her laugh. If I could stop there, it might be fine, but I’m remembering the feel of her body beneath mine, the tight, hot grip of her…
My costar Greta’s foot presses softly against mine and the room full of people staring at me jolts into focus. My brain spins, panic shocking my heart into a rapid thudding rhythm as I find my line and read it. Fuck, I hope I’m not on the wrong page.
The director is studying me when I finish, maybe thinking I’m more hype than I’m worth. If recasting would be worth the trouble.
I need to salvage this. Make it seem I was thinking about the script and not daydreaming. I clear my throat. “I think—”
“Right. That line’s not working,” the director interrupts. “Take it out. Let’s go back to Greta’s last line.”
For the rest of the read-through, I’m attentive, tapping my pen on every line as they’re read aloud. I get pages worth of notes from the director, who wants me and Greta back tomorrow to go through some changes he wants in one particular scene.
“Don’t worry,” Greta says as we’re leaving. “Nic was a million times worse at read-throughs.”
I can’t manage more than a weak grin. I need to focus and I don’t care if my worst is better than Nic’s best. There are people in this room I need to impress with my professionalism and losing myself to daydreams isn’t the way to do it.
Walking into Michael’s house, I can feel the disappointment in myself through his lens, magnifying my own. Michael Sinclair’s nephew does not zone out at read-throughs because he’s thinking about the woman he’s sleeping with. I’m not some hormonal teenager who can’t compartmentalize this shit.
David’s in my kitchen and I walk straight past him to the fridge and pull out a beer. He glances at the bottle but doesn’t acknowledge my breach of studio-sanctioned diet. “How’d it go?” he asks.
I take a long drink before I answer. “Not great.”
His expression shifts to one of concern. “What happened?”
Ashley Foley happened. I stare out my kitchen window at the lush foliage and the Pacific beyond. It’s a beautiful, calm evening, the sun on its way down. “I couldn’t concentrate.” I set my bottle on the counter with a sigh. I’m supposed to meet Ashley for dinner in an hour and a half, but I need to spend time with my script. “Cancel my reservations for tonight.”
She’s probably all dressed and ready to go. I bet she looks amazing. If I hadn’t fucked up today, I’d be seeing her soon. We’d have dinner so we could be photographed together, but then we’d come back here. I need her. To see her, touch her. Make her scream my name.
“Anything else?” David asks.
