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Or am I in deeper than I think?
CHAPTER 18
Stella
After the incident with the security guard at the studio, I find myself confused over what is real and what is fake. My head spins at the thought that something bad could have happened because of me, but simultaneously, I’m touched that they would have gone out of their way to protect me at risk to themselves.
This is all so daunting and overwhelming.
I find Gabe at the beginning of the third week on one of our few days off from filming, chopping at one of the fallen pines in the thick of the woods. I want to speak to him about what happened.
He doesn’t stop his hacking as I approach, giving me the courage to blurt out the question in a rush of breath.
“Was what happened in the parking lot park of the show?” I ask reluctantly. “With the car?”
The question had been weighing on me for days, and I’d put off asking it, maybe because I didn’t want to know the real answer.
Gabe stops cutting wood, for I don’t even know what this time, and stares at me in surprise. “What?”
I blink a couple of times. “The car… was that part of the script? It wasn’t in my script.”
“Of course not. I mean, that scene is probably going to be put into one of the episodes, but no, the show had nothing to do with us getting you a car. The guys and I discussed it after we saw your pink rust pot. We all chipped in and bought it for you. That vehicle you were driving isn’t safe, Heartbreaker. The Mercedes is yours.”
My jaw slacks in shock. “What?”
He throws the ax down and approaches me, his dark eyebrows knitting as he comes closer. “You seem confused.”
“All three of you bought me that car?”
“It’s a good, reliable vehicle. I already made arrangements to have it shipped back to LA. It will be there when we go home.”
My heart swells, a lump forming in my throat. “I don’t know what to say, Gabe.”
He winks. “Thank you?” he jests.
Impulsively, I throw my arms around him and kiss his cheek as he laughs, wrapping his strong arms around my waist and holding me against his firm, athletic form. I instantly grow hot next to him.
“Don’t forget to thank Benny Boy and Mr. Hollywood.”
“I won’t,” I choke, emotion overwhelming me. I sniff and draw back. “I just don’t understand you guys.”
He peers at me. “What’s not to understand? We care about you, Heartbreaker. We want you to be safe. You need a decent car.”
“No,” I say. “Not that. I’m talking about you and the boys.”
“What about us?” he asks, perplexed.
“I mean… on camera, you guys act like you hate each other, but then you go and do stuff like this, like you’re best friends.”
He snickers and chucks me under the chin. “How we are on camera isn’t a depiction of how we really feel—especially aboutyou. You have brought us together, Stella, and we’d do anything for you.”
My heart flutters again, heat shooting up through my chest. I would do anything for them, too, I realize. But can they really act that well? Do they really like one another when the cameras are off?
I really can’t wait to be done with filming, to be away from the prying eyes of the lenses and really know what they’re each feeling without scripts and “rivalries.”
I’m having a hard time keeping the two sides of this separate, this job proving much harder than I had anticipated when I signed up for it. I hadn’t expected to develop feelings for the men I am working with, not really. Do they feel the same way about me, or is this just a physical thing?
I can’t reconcile that they had all pitched in and bought a brand-new car if they didn’t care about me a little bit.
