Quinton sways closer, a beer in one hand, the other outstretched. “You can’t give out now. It’s early!”

“It’s 1 a.m.!” I laugh. “That’s early?”

“We’re just getting started!” Meredith says.

“I have to get up tomorrow morning and run.”

They both look horrified. “What, before shooting?”

I wave to Jenna, who’s dancing nearby, but I don’t look for Reid. “Yeah, it’s a million degrees by noon. See you guys tomorrow!”

The valet calls a taxi while I wait in the shadow of the building, watching the mixture of young professionals and college students pass. I’ve never told anyone except Emily, but I know I owe my acting ability to compulsive people-watching. I could never express the emotions of so many various people, some of whom I can’t stand even if they are fictional, if I didn’t constantly watch people interact.

“They’ll have a taxi over in a couple minutes,” the valet tells me with a slight drawl.

“Thanks,” I answer, handing him a tip.

“No problem.” He smiles back and stuffs the bill in the front pocket of his vest.

As I peel a breath mint from its wrapper, Graham Douglas exits the club alone and moves to the opposite side of the entrance, lighting a cigarette. Something about a well-dressed guy lighting up is curiously attractive. This allure can probably be traced to the old black and white movies Mom and I used to watch, where everyone smoked: Cary Grant and Clark Gable and Bette Davis, men in tuxedos, women in glittering gowns, cigarettes loosely held like insidious little props.

Lighter back in his pocket, Graham takes a deep draw, exhaling as though every muscle in his body is releasing the stress of the day with the hazy stream. Passing girls glance at him with sidelong gazes, checking to see if he’s noticed them while he leans against the brick wall, running a hand through his dark hair and tapping on his cell. He seems oblivious until with no warning he lifts his gaze and I’m caught staring at him for the second time tonight. Smiling and pushing away from the wall, he crosses to me.

“Hey, you caught me,” he says, echoing my thoughts.

“Taking a break from the club scene, or are you just that addicted?” I ask, teasing.

He glances at the cigarette in his hand like he has no idea how it got there. “Er… both?”

“Ma’am, your taxi’s here,” the valet interrupts.

“Going back to the hotel?” he asks, and I nod. “Mind if I tag along?”

“Sure, no problem,” I say. He crams the cigarette into an ashtray atop a trash can and follows me into the cab as I give the name of the hotel to the driver.

“I’m Graham, by the way.” He holds his hand out and I take it. His grip is firm but not crushing.

“Emma.” The cab driver makes a humph sound and I realize that we’ve just gotten into a cab bound for a hotel, and we’re exchanging names. My face flames in the darkness.

Graham’s eyes narrow, flashing momentarily to the cabbie. He clears his throat. “So how did filming go today? I meant to go along to observe, but decided I could use a day to go over the script and, you know, oversleep.”

“It went really well. Some interesting off-camera action, too—Reid had a devoted crowd of groupies just off set.”

He shrugs, smiling. “Yeah, if fans discover his location, he’s mobbed wherever he goes.”

“Huh,” I say.

His phone buzzes and he checks the screen, types a reply and returns it to his pocket. When we arrive at the hotel, he brushes off my effort to pay half. We’re both silent as we walk to the elevator. I think about him leaving his room in his pajamas to play sleepover with someone, probably Brooke, from their postures in the club… But he left the club, and Brooke, and came back to the hotel with me. Maybe it was her he was just texting.

The elevator’s low-key ding announces the fourth floor, and I nearly stop breathing as I realize what he might expect—having come back to the hotel with me. What if he thinks I want to play sleepover? Heart pounding as we walk down the carpeted hallway, I hear nothing beyond the swish, swish, swish of the blood racing through my ears. I recall Emily’s tales of Hollywood hedonism. Shit. I didn’t plan to stand out as the cast prude quite so soon, but there’s no way I’m sleeping with some guy I just met, I don’t care how hot he is.

As we approach his door, he pulls out his wallet, retrieves his key card and turns to me as he sticks it into the lock. “Thanks for sharing your cab.”

“No problem.” Swish, swish, swish.

The lock on his door blinks green and he opens the door. “Well, goodnight,” he says, while I stand there like a moron.

“Goodnight.” I turn quickly, rummaging in my bag for my key card as I walk away. Unlocking my door, I glance back, and I’m alone in the hallway, muttering, “Idiot,” to myself.

Chapter 10

REID

A quarter after one, and I haven’t seen Emma in a few minutes. I’ve been keeping track of where she is all night, covertly. The one time we made eye contact, she was dancing with Quinton. They moved perfectly together, and she looked so hot I almost ditched the mindless pack of girls clustered around and asked her to dance right then. I opted to wait a little longer. Now I’m rethinking that dimwitted decision, because she’s nowhere.

Did she leave with some guy? Disappointing, but not impossible. She may be better at this game than I’ve given her credit for. Time for inventory. Quinton’s here, dancing with Jenna. Tadd’s chatting with Brooke—which gives me a moment’s pause, but he’s too loyal to tell her anything I’ve said. He also won’t tell me anything she says, but I really don’t give enough of a shit to want to know anyway.

Looking at Brooke, though, reminds me of Graham. And I don’t see Graham anywhere.

“God, I’m so drunk!” one of the girls near me says, making sure I’m listening. “I feel completely crazy tonight, like I could get talked into doing practically anything.”

Wow. Subtle. “Oh, yeah?” I say.

“Absolutely. Try me.” She leans against me, breasts all but escaping from the plunging neckline of her sundress.

“Okay.” I glance around the circle, take the hand of another awestruck girl. I pull her forward gently and say to Miss I’m-So-Drunk, “Take my friend here, and go out there and dance together.”

A flash of disappointment darts across each of their faces before they size each other up. Sharing is better than not having at all. With a wicked smile, girl number one takes girl number two by the hand and they proceed to make a spectacle of themselves, just because I said to.

Meanwhile, Meredith comes to the bar for a drink and I pull her aside. “Have you seen Emma?” My voice is as casual as can be.

“Oh, yeah, she left a while back. She said something about running in the morning?”

“What, before filming?”

“Yeah—crazy, huh?” She takes two drinks from the bartender.

“Definitely.” I get another beer and pay attention to Thing One and Thing Two, who are learning the value of sharing.

*** *** ***

Emma

My phone alarm sounds at six. I’m momentarily disoriented, then sorry that I made a pact with myself to run. As I pull on shorts and brush my hair into a ponytail, I avoid looking towards the unmade bed, all soft sheets and downy pillows. Perusing the map of running routes around Town Lake that the hotel provided, I lace up my shoes, determined to escape this room before the bed convinces me to ditch the run and sleep.

As I cross the lobby, I hear my name. Turning, I’m surprised to see Graham in a t-shirt, shorts and Pumas. “Hey, going for a run?” he asks, and then he stops, noting my confused expression. “Listen, I don’t want to impose if you like to run alone—”

“Oh… no, I was just going to look for one of the trails on this map.”

“Come on, then,” he says as we exit the hotel. “I have a vast one day of experience in finding the trails, so I sort of know where to go. If nothing else, I can promise we won’t end up in Dallas. Or Mexico.”

I note a few girls standing in a cluster off to the side, coffees in hand. They’re watching as Graham and I walk down the steps, disappointment clear on their faces. I wonder if they’re part of Jenna’s “I heart Reid” fanclub.

“Do you run every day?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “I do all kinds of stuff—running, rock-climbing, biking, spin class, weights, yoga. Gets boring otherwise.”

“Huh,” I say. “I mostly run. I have a hard time remembering to do a sit up or a crunch every now and then. I can’t do aerobics because I’m a horrible dancer. I won’t do a spin class. If I want someone to abuse me verbally during exercise, I’ll just get my agent to drive alongside me and yell obscenities while I run.”

“I don’t believe you’re a horrible dancer, since I know better from personal, well, not experience, exactly, but maybe personal observation.” He’s studying the map and street signs, and I wonder if he actually meant to tell me he’d watched me dance last night. A warm hum shoots through me, especially in light of Reid’s brush-off, which doesn’t sting any less this morning than it had last night.

“Dancing in a class is different, especially if they have equipment like portable steps or those ginormous rubber bands? Disaster.”

He laughs. “Seriously, who thought up those rubber bands?”

We run the couple of blocks to the trail as the sun emerges fully behind us, the sky transforming to a lighter and lighter shade of blue, no clouds in sight. Austin is having an unseasonable “cool spell.” According to the local weather update the temps will only be in the mid-nineties by five p.m. I wonder if they understand the definition of the word cool here.

“Thanks for inviting me along,” Graham says, and when I look up at him with the same confused look I had in the lobby, he smiles.

I can’t help but smile back as he matches his pace to mine.

We’re far enough from the hotel now that when I glance back, I can’t see it. “Did you see those girls in front of the hotel?”

“Wondering if they were some of Reid’s followers?” he asks, and I nod. “Probably so.”

“Crazy.”

“You may want to prepare for your own groupies, you know.”

“Pshhh.” I wave him off, unconvinced that I’m about to become famous, though he’s only echoing what Emily said just before I left home.

“When you’re playing opposite someone with his fan base, everything the two of you do will be scrutinized. For instance, if there’s on-screen chemistry, people will assume you have it off-screen.”

“Huh,” I say, remembering my foolish thoughts about Reid and chemistry. Before last night. When he blew me off.

“You say that a lot, you know.” As we find the trail, the cityscape gives way to gravel paths surrounded by faded, end-of-summer green.

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