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Oh, fuck. I took a deep breath. This wasnotmy job, it was Sally’s, and if we’d gone with Toby, we’d have been all chill about what would go down.
“In an hour or two, you and I will go on set. We’re arch enemies, but I’ve never actually seen your face before. You’ve been taunting me for the entire season. I’m really pissed off with you. You hate my guts. So, to start the scene, we do our lines until you say, ‘The ultimate prize. It will be right there under your nose.’ You’ll push me into a wall, I’ll pretend to hit you, then you’ll grab my shirt, like this.”
I grabbed his hand, placing it on my torso. Standard move. Nose to nose. I crowded him, right there. He recoiled in shock. Yep. It would be a long…long day.
It was nearly eight in the evening when I sat in the car heading back towards my hotel. The action scene had been textbook, but we’d done so many retakes that we’d all slightly lost the plot before we wrapped up. My arm ached with the unease of those repetitive moves, but the end result would be good. You could feel it in the air sometimes as we filmed. People around us were quieter than normal, and when it was over they cheered and applauded.
I wish I could have said the same about the intimate scene. We’d done it, eventually, but Alex was clearly a straight dude with issues, and the kissing had been awkward…until I’d turned around and told him to swap places with me so I could show him how to do it.
The director had followed my lead, rolling with my intuition, and we’d filmed it that way around a few times—me going for him instead of him going for me. That had produced some good raw footage, but it wouldn’t surprise me if we had to reshoot the entire scene in a week. Hopefully with Toby. Anyone but this guy, who had used a wet wipe to clean his face after every take. Fuck him.
The car turned onto the familiar verge outside the Premier Inn, where the purple illuminated logo shone to welcome me home. I stood there for a minute, wondering whether to go straight to the gym. I was knackered, and I needed a shower, food and my bed in that order.
I took a few steps forward, turned around, and headed for the gym. I had my kit in my holdall, as always, and I still needed to read through tomorrow’s scene one more time. My head was fried already, some complicated choreography clouding my memory cells—
“Hey!”
Oh! I stopped. Smiled. He smiled too. Then I didn’t because OMG! The guy’s face!
And now I was right up there crowding him again. The black eye he was sporting was no mean feat, and his cheek was…mangled…for the lack of a better word.
“I’m so…so…sorry,” I ground out in a voice that made me cringe. I’d done this. Me. All my handiwork.
“No worries.”
No worries? This was not a no-worries thing. This was the kind of thing that brought on medical issues and lawyers and court appearances and charges of assault.
“Mate, are you OK? I can’t believe…” I stopped myself and pulled my sleeve back, revealing the faint bruise on my wrist. It was nothing really and could easily have been covered up with a bit of make-up. I showed it to him, almost proudly, like a child. “We have a matching pair,” I joked weakly. “I’m…I’m mortified.”
“It’s fine,” he insisted. “Gave me a one-up on some of my students today. Said I’d taken up kickboxing and won my first match. Not sure they believed me.” He smiled. He had such a big smile.
“You should have told them the truth, that some idiot beat you up at the gym, totally unprovoked.” It wasn’t funny, and I was ashamed. Really embarrassed.
“Don’t worry about it.” He waved his hand like he was about to walk off. I grabbed his arm because apparently, I hadn’t learned my lesson tonotassault members of the public. “I’ve come straight from work. Long day.” It sounded like a standard excuse, but he looked as tired as I felt.
“I still owe you dinner,” I said, breathless even though we were still on the street. I didn’t know what it was, but there was something wrong with my head. Static. White noise in my ears.
He wasn’t what you’d call a handsome man. He was just an ordinary bloke. Nice suit. ID dangling from his neck. Huge, heavy bag hanging off his shoulder. Earphones. Good ones. Curly, messy, dark hair. He had nice eyes. A good face. Expressive. And when he smiled, the world seemed to go silent.
“There’s no need,” he said quietly, or maybe he was shouting. What did I know? I shook myself out of my weirdness. I was so bloody tired.
“I’m Con,” I said, trying to rescue my dignity. “Con…Telford.”
“Matt Winston,” he offered a little too politely and reached out to shake my hand. His fingers were cold. Mine were far too hot.
“Matt,” I repeated like a muppet.
“Short for Matthew. But only my mother calls me that.” He grimaced. I grinned.
“Look,” I said weakly, “it’s my birthday, and I’m starving, and it would be…really nice to have some company over food. Also, I do owe you, and it would…”
“But we don’t know each other,” he said, looking more confused than I was comfortable with.
“No,” I agreed.
“You mean like a…date?” Now he was blushing, and I was squirming on the inside.
“No. No, nonono. I… Look… I’m sorry, I’m not…”
