I shift in my seat and take a sip of the fine brandy, relishing the burn as it goes down. I’ve been unable to focus even off set. Rehearsing my lines seems a waste of time. Doing anything seems a waste of time. Unless it involves . . .
“Get yourself together, man,” I mutter. “There’s nothing at all special about her.” I recognize the lie as soon as it leaves my lips. I've never had this type of reaction to a girl before. Ever. But at the same time, I have no fucking clue why I’m so worked up over it.
I need to find out if this is just some sort of fluke. Some sort of anomaly causing me to act this way.
And the only way to do that is to get her in my bed.
I grip my glass tightly, trying to push the sexy maid from my thoughts. I’m still frustrated by how much I fucked up this morning. I want to be good at this. Not just because Miranda is hyping this for me, putting her reputation on the line, but simply because I want to be good at whatever I do.
And right now, I’m fucking it up.
My cell buzzes against the wood of the end table. I set down the cognac glass and check it. A slight grin plays across my lips. It’s my best friend, Mark Washington. He rode the bench all four years in college, but he and I still became good friends. We call each other every chance we get. “The very best speaking,” I greet.
Mark huffs out a laugh. “How’re you doing, Anaconda?”
Mark’s about the only person I know whom I don’t get pissed at for calling me Anaconda. Mainly because he’s almost like a brother to me.
“Not too bad, man. Just got done shooting a couple of scenes today. How’s life in Florida?”
After college, Mark went on to law school. Then he became a lawyer in Florida, specializing in admiralty law. He met a girl down there, got married, and has a kid on the way.
A part of me is kind of envious. And I don’t even know why. I’ve enjoyed my freedom to do whatever the fuck I want. But I’m getting older now, and it’s starting to not have the same appeal anymore.
“I’m doing good. Wife’s good, kids are good. Little Sarah is already talking and little Mark is having a fit over it. How’s . . . where the hell are you again?”
“You won’t find it on most maps,” I tell him. “They’ve got a decent college football team around here, a hotel that’s way too big for this place, and that’s about it.”
Mark says jokingly, “You find yourself some fine country girl yet?”
“Nah,” I reply. Yes. And she can’t hide from me forever.
“Seriously?” Mark asks in disbelief. “I thought you would’ve already plowed through a cheerleader squad by now or something.”
I grit my teeth, but I realize I shouldn’t be getting pissed. He knows most of my reputation is exaggerated by the media, and I know he’s just fucking with me.
“Actually, I’ve just been busy trying to get my lines right. This acting thing is pretty new to me and it’s going to take me a bit to get the hang of it.” I grunt. “I just hope I don’t give Miranda a stroke in the process.”
“Damn. Anaconda, the action movie star.” Mark chuckles. There’s a pause before he adds, “Shit, man, why don’t you just say fuck all that, turn in your retirement for football, and just become a porn star—”
“Hey, Mark, I’d love to talk more, but I gotta work,” I tell him, no longer in the mood for discussion. Besides, I’d rather not talk about who I’m not fucking at the moment. I need to start trying to work on my lines even if I can’t concentrate. Or it’s gonna be hell on the set tomorrow.
Trying to muffle the disappointment in his voice, Mark says, “No worries, dude, you do your thing.”
No sooner do I hang up than Miranda buzzes in. I don’t want to answer, but I know if I don’t, she’ll be at my door quicker than a bolt of lightning to hound my ass. But that’s what I pay her to do. Sometimes I don’t like it, but I need someone like her. Holding in a groan, I answer the phone.
I make no effort to sound pleasant. I know what this call is going to be about. “Yeah?”
And Miranda does not disappoint. “What the hell was that today?” she demands. “I didn’t exactly expect Shakespeare from you, but you performed like shit.” I can practically hear her shaking her head through the phone. “I’m just glad you didn’t knock that poor guy’s teeth out and we didn’t wind up with a lawsuit on our hands or something.”
Judging by the anger Lance displayed, I still might.
I grit my teeth, not wanting to deal with any of this right now. “Sorry. I just was . . . out of it.”
Miranda squawks, “Out of it? More like the studio is going to be out of a boatload of money if you don’t get your act together! Every day that we have to film over costs the studio tens of thousands of dollars.”
I almost huff out a laugh. Did she see the quality of the set? I doubt they were spending a fraction of that. “The entire production seems pretty low-budget, if you ask me.” Miranda pitched it to me like it was supposed to be an A-list film.
“Hey,” Miranda protests. “They probably had to cut back on the budget since they had to pay you more. But I still think it’s going to be a hit.”
I shift in my seat. It makes me uncomfortable thinking Miranda negotiated a seven-figure contract on my behalf, especially if it
