4
SWEET. TIGHT. MINE.
I NEVER UNDERSTOOD the need for guys to have a bodyguard until I faced the wall of paparazzi waiting outside of my neighborhood’s main gate before dawn on Monday morning.
“Oh holy…” Dylan said from where he sat beside me in my Range Rover as the gate opened and the flashes went off like hundreds of lightning bolts striking at once. The effect was blinding, and though the sun hadn’t come up just yet, I had to grab my sunglasses from the console to be able to see past them to the main road. And hopefully not hit anybody in the process, though I couldn’t say I’d be devastated if that happened.
Invasive little assholes.
I maneuvered the car slowly through the crowd shouting questions at us, and all I could think was, Why do they bother? Did they believe I would roll my window down and answer them? Wasting their breath.
Out of the corner of my eye, Dylan tugged his hat down over his face, and I felt a twinge of guilt. I couldn’t blame the guy at all if he wanted to flee after the last twenty-four hours. God, was that all it had been? Twenty-four hours? It’d felt like an eternity.
Once we were past the mob, I pulled off the sunglasses and then reached for Dylan’s hand.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
A deep groove formed between his brows. “What are you sorry for? It’s not like you asked for this.”
“No, and neither did you. I know it comes with the job, but I’m sorry you’re getting dragged into it.”
“I don’t want to hear any more apologies from you, you got that? I’m with you, and they’ll all go away eventually. Right?”
Maybe. Possibly. I hope so. Instead of answering him, I asked, “So did Paige get everything you needed from your place last night, or do we need to make a pit stop on the way?”
“No, I’ve got everything I need until tonight. Tell her thanks again for going.”
“Will do.” When we’d realized that going back out last night would probably cause a frenzy, I’d called Paige in for a favor. Unlike Shayne, whom the press would’ve recognized from the year before, Paige had been able to get in and out of Dylan’s apartment to grab a few necessities without notice.
The drive to the studio was quiet, as it usually was before the rest of Los Angeles woke up, except for the handful of cars that had been staying on our tail the entire drive over. When we finally drove past the Warner Bros. gate, we were home free. For a few hours, at least.
As I pulled into my parking spot just outside of the soundstage, Dylan released my hand.
“Looks like we’re breaking your rule,” he said, his lips tipped up. “Didn’t you warn me against dating costars?”
“That rule is still in effect. Unless that costar is me.” Leaning over the console, I grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him toward me for a kiss. His lips were hesitant at first, as though he were nervous others were watching, but then they softened under mine and he kissed me eagerly.
When I finally let go, I grinned and said, “Have a great day at work, Mr. Prescott.”
“Well, what do you know? Looks like Ace Locke has changed his policy on kissing. And, I must say, I approve.”
“Smartass,” I said, laughing at him throwing my words from when we’d first met back in my face. As Dylan turned in his seat to grab his bag, I popped open my door and hopped out, just as Ron parked his sports car in the space beside me.
“Morning,” I said when he stepped out, and then took an eyeful of his shirt. It said, Does Not Play Well With Narcissists. “Nice message this morning.”
“Wore it just for you. What’s with the shitfest that just exploded all over my phone?”
“That’s a long story.”
“Well, I’d love to hear it. Please tell me you’re not actually dating that—” As Ron’s eyes fell on Dylan getting out of my car, his mouth clamped shut.
“Hi, Ron,” Dylan said.
As our dumbfounded director looked back and forth between us, his jaw clenched. “Right,” he said. “See you boys on set.”
Glancing back at Dylan’s worried expression, I shrugged. “He’ll be fine.”
“If he calls me out today, do not say anything.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Ace, I’m serious. You open that trap and I’m cutting you off.”
I strolled around the front of the SUV and cocked my head at him. “You threatening me?”
“Damn right I am. Now that people know, you absolutely cannot say a thing to defend me.”
“And if I do, you’ll cut me off.”
“For at least a week.”
I raised an eyebrow. “A whole week?”
“Okay, maybe a few days.”
“I’m sure I could grovel my way back into your good graces,” I said, and he rolled his eyes.
Backing away before I could reach for him, Dylan grinned at me and said, “Better head to your trailer, Mr. Locke. Time’s a wasting.”
* * *
FOUR HOURS AND thirty-five minutes later, I wished I was anywhere but where I was—mainly on set with Ace Locke, my new boyfriend. From the second I opened the door to stage sixteen and stepped inside, things had been…well, weird.
Ron was on a rampage today, and if I’d been worried he was going to take it out on me, I needn’t have bothered, because I was not the one in his line of fire. No, that honor belonged to Ace, and Ace alone. From the first line out of his mouth to the one he’d just delivered for the twelfth retake, nothing Ace said, did, or hit made Ron happy, and the tense set of Ace’s shoulders and jaw hadn’t escaped my notice—he looked close to exploding.
“Cut. Stop. Stop!” Ron shouted as he climbed out of his chair and came out from behind the camera.
Today’s shoot had the majority of the cast in close quarters with one another as we stood around Ace, who was addressing his crew in an impassioned speech about overcoming the enemy, and who would stand up beside him. As it turned out, with the odd looks he and I had been receiving all morning, I couldn’t help but believe that if an affirmative hadn’t been written in the script, not one of these men would’ve volunteered to stand by Ace’s side in that moment. Minus myself, of course, I thought, keeping my eyes on the ground.
“For God’s sake, Locke. That was about as passionate as a wet rag. What the hell’s the matter with you today?”
I willed Ace to keep his cool, knowing he wasn’t usually the disrespectful type, especially not with Ron, whom he’d told me he enjoyed working with and truly admired. But after everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, Ace was apparently at his wits’ end.
“What’s wrong with me?” Ace demanded, and stormed off set to meet Ron halfway. “What’s wrong is that you haven’t let up since I got here.”
The entire cast stood paralyzed as we watched the two powerhouses in front of us going head to head for the first time since production began. And it wasn’t lost on me that everyone in that room was well aware that I was likely the reason behind the tension and discord this morning. Well, that was the impression I got, as I scanned the curious eyes looking between Ace’s rigid back and me.
“If you’d been giving me your best, I wouldn’t be on your case,” Ron said. “As it is, this is sloppy and unrehearsed. I want to feel like I would follow you to the end of the fucking earth. Not as though I doubt you could find your head from your ass.”
Ron crossed his arms over his chest and fumed up at Ace, and that was when I glanced over at the men standing on the opposite side of the podium we were gathered around, and caught Russ’s eyes. They were narrowed on me and his lips were drawn in a thin line, and I could feel the judgment in them as I wished to God the ground would open up and swallow me whole.
“Bullshit,” Ace finally exploded. The word boomed around the stage and echoed off the walls. Jesus, I had never seen Ace like this. “I’ve delivered that speech perfectly at least ten out of the twelve times you’ve made me shoot it. This has got nothing to do with my acting, and you and I both know it.”
Ron’s face had turned crimson, and he looked as though smoke was about to come out of his ears as he took in a belabored breath. “Take twenty, get your shit together, and be back on set in thirty,” he told Ace, and when Ace brushed by him and marched toward the far exit, Ron turned his attention on us. “The rest of you, get something to eat and be back in thirty also. If you’re late, I’m locking the door. Got it?”
As everyone started to break up and head off set, Ron walked to the opposite exit muttering about needing a drink, and I spotted Russ turning to leave.
“Hey, Russ. Wait up!” I called out, jogging after him. He hadn’t spoken to me when I’d arrived this morning, but we’d all been in such a rush to get ready for the shoot that I hadn’t had time to ask him how his weekend was…or, for that matter, the reason he was looking at me like I was an alien.
He stopped and waved to one of the guys we’d hung out with after work a few times, and then turned to see me coming to a stop opposite him. When it became clear that he wasn’t going to be the one to initiate a conversation, I slipped one of my hands into the pocket of my white dress slacks and flashed him a smile, hoping to ease us back into the friendship that had been developing between us.
“How’s it going, man?” I asked. “Did you have a good weekend?”
Russ’s mouth opened as though he were about to say something, and then he shut it again and turned on his heel to leave. What the…? I reached for his wrist and pulled him back around, and when he glanced down to the hand I had on him, I quickly removed it.
“Yeah, might be best if you keep your hands to yourself,” he said. “I wouldn’t want your boyfriend to get jealous and punch me out. Lord knows Ace Locke could do major damage to someone’s face.”
I flinched at that and shook my head. “Come on, Russ. You know he’s not like that. I want to talk to you for a minute. Want to get—”
“I’m busy,” he said, and went to walk off again.
Shiiiit.
I stepped around in front of him and frowned. “Russ.”
“I’m busy, Dylan. I called yesterday to talk. You didn’t seem to think I was worth your time then so…hey, no skin off my back.”
“It’s not like that. Yesterday was…it was…insane, is what it was. I didn’t have time to talk to—”
“How long have you been fucking him? Locke, that is. Or is it the other way around? I have to say…I’m curious, as is the rest of the world. And aren’t you the one who told me you weren’t ready to jump into a relationship right now? Yeah…that’s obvious.”
Russ’s question was so blunt and so direct that my words stumbled and stuttered to an abrupt stop. His eyes were locked on mine, and right then I knew this was where our friendship was about to end.
It wasn’t as though I’d consciously decided “that’s it, we can no longer be friends.” But as Russ stood there expecting me to give him details on my relationship with Ace, intimate details, I was aware there was no way I was going to give him shit. And there was no way a friend would act the way he was.
I owed him no explanation. We hadn’t been dating; we’d barely formed a friendship. But here he was expecting me to what? Explain myself? Gossip? Gloat?
Well, he was in for a vast disappointment. I started to back away from him and shook my head. Unfuckingbelievable. “See you around, Russ.”
I turned on my heel, ready to go and track down Ace in the lunch tent, when I heard Russ call out, “It was at his birthday, wasn’t it?” But I didn’t bother looking back.
* * *
A FUCKING DISASTER. That was exactly what this morning’s shoot had turned into. Ron had been impossible from the first word out of my mouth, and everything that came after was just another thing he could get annoyed over.
I wasn’t an idiot. I was well aware this was his way of telling me quite pointedly how frustrated he was that the most recent press our upcoming movie had received revolved around its main star and his costar, but that was too damn bad. There was no way I was about to let the chance to date Dylan pass me by because it was slightly inconvenient. Okay, maybe a whole lot inconvenient. But despite what I’d told Dylan about not being allowed to date costars, the truth of the matter was, it wasn’t illegal. It wasn’t written in our contracts. It was just…well, frowned upon due to the media circus that often followed—and most certainly had with us.
Yeah, and they are just getting started.
I pushed the piece of plain boiled chicken around the plastic container it had arrived in, and could feel the beginning of a tension headache throbbing in the base of my skull. I needed to get a handle of myself. This was just the beginning of what promised to be a very trying few months. It was day two of the press discovering I was seeing someone, and it was only a matter of days—hell, even hours until they put two and two together and realized the gorgeous guy I’d had in my room in nothing but a towel was the same man currently gracing billboards for Calvin Klein nationwide.
I sure hoped Dylan knew what he’d said yes to…because it was only going to get more intense from here on out.
“Excuse me? Is this seat taken?”
I glanced up to see the man who’d just been on my mind standing beside me with a concerned look on his face, probably wondering if I’d cooled off yet. After the spectacle with Ron I couldn’t blame Dylan for being cautious, and considering the wide berth I’d been given here in the lunch tent from the cast and crew, it was obvious they were also waiting to see what exactly was going to happen next.
But was there really any question? Was Dylan actually worried I’d say no, he couldn’t sit with me? Sorry, but not a damn chance. What would be the point of that? Or any of this, for that matter, if I sent him away? Everyone was already watching and gossiping, if the murmurs now reaching my ears were any indication.
I managed a crooked grin and then indicated the chair opposite me with my fork. “It will be once you sit your sweet ass in it.”
The worried expression Dylan had been wearing eased as his lips tipped up in a slow smile.
“Sweet, huh?” he said as he sat opposite me, placing his plate down in front of him. I looked longingly at the steak and fries and nodded.
“Sweet, tight, mine. Take your pick.”
Dylan looked from his left to his right before bringing his eyes back to mine with a raised eyebrow. Poor guy isn’t quite sure what he’s allowed to do here. Or what I want him to do. Well, time to rectify that.
I reached across the table, laid my hand over his, and squeezed it reassuringly. “It’s okay to talk to me, you know.”
Dylan leaned in and lowered his voice. “That’s kind of ironic coming from you, don’t you think? Just last week I wasn’t even able to look in your direction.”
“Yeah, but things have changed,” I told him as he turned his hand over and our fingers entwined. “I’m pretty sure most people know you do more than just look in my direction now.”
I added a flirty wink, and it had the desired effect. Dylan’s cheeks flushed and he laughed. “Aren’t you worried someone will take a photo?”
“Of what? Us holding hands? This is far less scandalous than you close to naked in my hotel room…” I let my eyes linger over Dylan’s body and then back up to see him shaking his head at me. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“No… What? Tell me.”
“I’m just surprised how calm you are right now, I suppose.”
“Calm?” I said. “I’m sorry, but were you not at this morning’s shoot?”
Dylan raised his eyes to mine, and his lips quirked. “No, I mean…yes, I was there. I don’t mean that. Ron is obviously pissed about this and was taking it out on you. But what I mean is”—once again he scanned our immediate surroundings—“surely you know everyone in here is watching us right now. Talking about us.”
Dylan looked so scandalized that I couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped me. “Yes…and? Ashamed of me, Daydream?”
“Oh, please. Who in their right mind would be ashamed to be with you?” My stomach flipped at those words, but then it tightened when he added, “It’s just all the speculation they’re doing. It’s in their eyes every time they look from you to me. Hell, Russ just asked me who fucks—”
When Dylan bit off his words and took in a breath, I didn’t need him to keep talking to know what he’d been about to say. Of course that blond asswipe had gone there, and before I could stop myself, I asked, “What did you tell him?”
“Nothing,” Dylan said, and then frowned as he withdrew his hand.
Shit. What the hell is the matter with me? I hadn’t meant to sound accusatory. And I knew Dylan wouldn’t have said anything. My question was just a knee-jerk reaction. Something that had been ingrained in me for so long that it was hard to ignore. “Hey? I’m sorry. Of course you didn’t. I just—”
“I get it,” Dylan said. “Habits are hard to break. You’re used to people running their mouths. But Ace?”
“Yeah?”
“That’s not going to be me. I would never do that to you. Hurt you like that.”
As I picked up the knife to cut into the bland chicken in front of me, I knew that was the truth. Dylan was actually doing everything in his power not to hurt me. He was standing by my side publicly while we dealt with the insanity that had descended on us, when he could have left at the first sign of madness.
I felt like an ass. I hated that I’d let my frustration at the situation make me snap at him, when really all that had kept me halfway sane through my hellish morning was the knowledge that I could openly enjoy my lunch with this man. Everyone else be damned. So I reached across to his plate and stole several of his French fries. Dylan stared at me as I chomped on one, and then he arched an eyebrow.
“Oh please,” he said. “Help yourself. I didn’t want those at all.”
I picked up another and munched it down before aiming a most contrite expression his way. “You didn’t actually expect to sit there eating steak and fries while I eat boiled chicken and kale without sharing, did you?”
Dylan cut a piece of his T-bone and shoveled it between his lips. As he chewed on it he grinned at me, and I was relieved to be back in his good graces.
“Not at all,” he said, and then licked his lips. “What’s mine is yours.”
My cock twitched at his obvious connotation, and since I didn’t want our first public kiss—or groping, for that matter—to be across a lunch table on set, I settled for stealing another one of his fries and biting down into it before saying, “That, Mr. Prescott, is very good to know.”
“I’m glad you think so,” he said with a mischievous grin, and if there was anyone else lingering in the lunch tent after that, I couldn’t have said, because I only had eyes for the man across from me.