His cockiness is not lost on me as I ask, “So why are you doing this movie, if you’re so good?”
A slight smirk plays across Gavin’s lips as he replies, “Miranda, my agent, thought it would be good for my image. With all the rumors about me going around . . .” his voice trails off and he clenches his jaw, suddenly irritated.
He doesn’t have to say what those rumors are for me to catch his meaning.
Suddenly, a ringtone of All I do is win goes off at Gavin’s hip.
Holding a finger up to me, he fishes his cell out of his pocket. “Speak of the devil,” he mutters before answering.
“Yeah? I’m having coffee. What do you mean I have five minutes before you crack my nuts? Ok. Fine. On my way.” He hangs up his cell, sticking it back in his pocket while shaking his head and muttering under his breath. “Terrible timing.”
“Trouble?” I ask lightly.
“Yeah,” he groans. “That was Miranda, threatening to bust my ass to get to rehearsals.” He gets up from his seat. “Sorry, but I’m going to have to cut our little date short.”
My breath catches in my throat. Did he just call this a date?
“But I’d like to continue this. What about tonight after filming?” he asks.
My lips open and close like a fish for a few moments before I can find my voice. “I-I-I don’t know—”
Gavin cuts me off. “You know my room number. I’ll see you there at eight.” He walks off, leaving me speechless.
He’s not even out the door well before Mindy comes scurrying over, nearly tripping and falling flat on her face in the process.
“Did I hear Gavin invite you to his room tonight?” she asks breathlessly, her eyes wide.
Why Mindy, you eavesdropping bitch!
I cross my arms over my chest, scowling at her. “You were spying on us,” I accuse.
“What? No I wasn’t,” Mindy protests. She pauses and then adds, “I couldn’t help but hear. You were talking so loud!”
I growl, “Get the fuck out of here!”
Mindy tries to keep a straight face. “You were.”
I shake my head. “You’re hopeless.”
Mindy laughs. “You should know that by now.” She stops to stare at me. “But you are going, right?”Gavin
“What is it about your past that keeps coming between us?” I ask flatly, looking Leslie in the eyes. “Every time we start to get close, something gets in the way.”
“CUT!” the director, Jim, yells, and I lean away from Leslie, holding back a groan of frustration. This is the tenth take on this mini-scene, and I’m getting pissed.
Jim is too. “What the fuck was that, Gavin?” he snarls, moving in front of the cameras as he stomps over. We’re shooting in a borrowed house on the outskirts of town and I’m completely boning it. Two days in a row, I’ve been fucking up. “You delivered your lines with the emotion of a goddamned robot!”
I’d be able to deliver if I didn’t have you shouting CUT! all the fucking time. I bite back the words that will earn me an even bigger headache. Instead, I scowl at him. “I’m trying my best, Jim. Do have any useful advice for me rather than blowing up every other take?”
“Yeah. I’d like you to say the lines like you actually cared about Leslie, and not like some high school kid doing Romeo & Juliet. That’d be a good place to fucking start!” Jim snaps.
He’s right, of course. I’m delivering my lines with the emotion of a cardboard box. But I can’t help it. When I look at Leslie, there’s no connection. She’s pretty, but I just can’t bring myself to say my words with the conviction the script demands.
Jim looks like he wants to continue his rant, but he stops and takes a deep breath, waving his hands at the crew. “Okay, okay, everyone . . . take ten.” He turns to me and shakes his head, sighing. “I’m sorry for losing my temper, Gavin. I just didn’t expect for us to still be stuck on this scene several hours later. Go get yourself a drink or something, get your head right, and then we can continue.”
Giving Leslie an apology, I walk off the set, heading into the catering area and grabbing a bottle of Perrier. I down half of it in one swig, resisting the urge to throw the rest of it across the yard as I make my way to my trailer.
I fucking suck. Reading my lines shouldn’t be this hard.
I know exactly what the problem is—Brianna. I’ve been waiting long enough. It’s going to end tonight.
Seeing her this morning made things worse. My pulse speeds up as I remember walking in on her scrubbing the floors on her hands and knees, her ass sticking out behind her seductively. She’s gotten under my skin like no girl has done in years. Without even trying. And now, I’m going to make things worse by having her in my bed.
I sit down in the chair, relaxing and undoing my belt and fly to relieve the pressure on my balls from the tight jeans they’re having me wear when the door flies open.
“You just keep getting worse,” Miranda says, storming into the room like a tornado, dressed in her red jumpsuit. Scowling, she stops right in front of me, slapping her hand down on the granite countertop and leaning on it. “I don’t exactly expect Leonardo DiCaprio from you, but could you at least try? Or are you just hungover from drinking too much?”
“You know I don’t drink like that,” I growl, opening my eyes and leaving my fly open. “I’m just having a rough afternoon.”
“It seems to be becoming a habit,” Miranda says, jabbing a long, manicured fingernail at me. “Jim just told me that the shooting is behind schedule!”
I know I pay her to do this, but I’m fed up with her
