Chapter Seven
It was too early in the morning when Michael’s phone bleated at him. He groped across the sheets in an irritation that faded into anticipation as the possibility that it was Darcy occurred to him. You are a sick bastard. He forced one eye open. Eight. Dave’s ringtone. Too fucking early.
He cracked a yawn and answered the phone with a grouchy, “What.”
“Tell me about yesterday,” Dave demanded without so much as a how-are-you. “Did you reconnect with your dream girl? Did she collapse in your manly arms with joy? Or did she tell you to get bent?”
Michael groaned. “For chrissake, Dave. It’s too early for an interrogation.” He rolled out of bed anyway and stumbled into his kitchen to put a pot of coffee on. “The woman of my dreams turns out to have been just that—a dream.”
“What are you talking about? Was the spark not there anymore?”
Oh god. The spark was there, a firecracker’s worth of sparks. “I gotta piss. I’m just putting the phone down in the kitchen.” That necessity taken care of, Michael poured his coffee and settled comfortably on his worn sofa before placing his phone next to his ear. “Back.”
“You’re being a bitch, Michael.”
He sighed and brought his mug to his mouth, pausing to draw in the scent. Coffee was the perfect food. “Yeah. Okay, Darcy was there and yes, still gorgeous. Those legs, those eyes, that hair, those eyes…”
“So what’s the problem?”
“Darcy isn’t a woman. She—he—”
“Oh my god, dude, a trans woman is still a woman,” Dave sounded exasperated and amused at the same time.
“No, not trans. He’s a man. He’s…” Michael frowned. Was Darcy straight? He’d never thought to ask. “I kind of, um, swept him up in a kiss and he decided a punch in the gut was sufficient. I swear if he had kneed me in the balls, I wouldn’t have blamed him.”
“Not cool, bro. Is he gay?”
“I-no. I don’t know,” Michael replied, irritated. He took a too-big gulp of coffee and sputtered as the hot beverage scalded down his throat. “It doesn’t matter because I’m straight.” Exactly why he hadn’t asked.
“Yeah, okay. We’ve talked about this,” Dave said, his voice rich with amusement. “So you just apologized and walked away?”
Michael opened his mouth to argue with Dave and decided another gulp of coffee would be better. He swallowed and said quietly, “Not exactly.”
“What? What does that mean?”
He recounted the basic details, skirting over the fact that Darcy’s revelation hadn’t done much to dampen his desire, and finished the story with them getting out of the cab. He didn’t mention the kiss on the sidewalk because that was really inexplicable.
“You’re saying you basically assaulted the guy and he still went out on a date with you?”
“Oh god, it wasn’t a date. You are such a dick.”
He pushed off the sofa and took the ten steps to his kitchen cupboards, looking for breakfast and ignoring Dave’s juvenile teasing. Finally he said, “You know, what I really need from my best friend is some support.”
“Sorry, bro,” Dave replied, immediately serious. “But you have to admit, it’s pretty funny.”
“It isn’t. I feel like I’ve been dumped by a woman I never dated.”
“But you liked the real Darcy well enough to spend two hours talking to him.”
Michael quelled his irritation, though he set the bowl for his off-brand cereal down a little hard. “Yeah. Not relevant.”
When shooting broke for lunch at one, Darcy was famished. All morning small things had plagued production—from garbage blowing through the scenes to curious people staring right at the cameras. His character was being chased through town by Shelter Cove’s resident supernaturals and they’d had endless takes. Running forward while staring in wild panic over his shoulder at something that would be added with CGI later. Tripping over a curb and being caught in LeBaron’s arms.
He felt a twinge of uneasiness, for even though the scene only served to increase LeBaron’s certainty that Dana was connected with the ghosties—who just wanted him out of town—he knew that a LeBaron/Dana kiss scene was coming soon. The realization that he’d never really kissed anyone before was worrying him. What had happened last night didn’t count.
This role could open up a lot of doors for him if he didn’t screw up.
He was surprised when Carlos Bowe waved him over to sit with him. He figured the man had seen enough of Darcy for the day. “Hey.”
“Tough morning, eh?”
“Yeah.”
“Tougher for you than me, I just had to catch you a million times.”
Darcy grinned as he unwrapped his sandwich. “Thanks for not dropping me. It must have been tempting.”
“Nah. Now if it was your fault we got stuck on repeat, maybe. I could almost believe the Shelter Cove spooks were real, morning like that.” Carlos was halfway through his sandwich. “You got anything lined up after this?”
“Not yet. But once the episodes start airing next week, my agent figures that will change. Hopefully not another drag role. Not that I mind, I guess, but…” He shrugged and attacked his own sandwich.
“Yeah, you don’t want to get typecast.” Carlos was speaking with a mouth filled with most of his sandwich. “You gonna eat that?” He nodded towards the other half of Darcy’s turkey and swiss on whole wheat.
“Hell yes,” Darcy said, curling his arm protectively around his tray. “I might go for seconds today too.”
Carlos pushed back his chair. “You want another turkey? I’ll grab it for you while I’m up.”
Darcy‘s eyes widened. Carlos was a star, and while not the star of Shelter Cove, he was second only to Louis Dearman and Krista Michelle. It was like being recognized as an equal.
“Thanks,” Darcy said, with a bright smile.
He checked his phone, half expecting to see multiple messages from Michael, after that weird kiss thing last night. To his relief, there was just the one he sent last night. It read me. He hesitated before adding the number to his phone.
Carlos dropped a sandwich on his plate. “Boyfriend? Girlfriend? Whatever.”
“No,” Darcy replied, tucking his phone away. “Thanks again.”
“Eh.” Carlos grinned. “You’ve been running all morning.”
Darcy was soaking in his tub when his phone vibrated across the metal rack that held his soap, washcloth, and wineglass. He grabbed the washcloth and caught the device before it fell into the water. He reached for his towel and dried his fingers off before swiping the screen. It was Michael. Got some free tickets for the play tomorrow night-interested?
Intriguing. That sounds cool, thx
Np. How many u need?
Just one
It’ll be at the door under your name. Drinks after?
Darcy frowned. Was that weird? Maybe Michael had as much difficulty making friends as Darcy did, and this was his way of reaching out. He was interesting to talk to. He tapped the icon for his schedule. He wasn’t shooting the day after, either. Sounds good! See you then
Michael sent a single letter K that Darcy felt required no response.
Michael stared at his phone, not expecting a reply. He was both elated and confused after his message exchange with Darcy. Elated, because Darcy wasn’t bringing a date. Confused, because why should it matter? It doesn’t. Of course it didn’t.
So why was he wondering if he could possibly kiss Darcy again…?