To say I was worried about my latest movie role would be the understatement of the year. For once, I was playing someone my own age—a sixteen-year-old high-school junior—and although it was the typical boy-meets-nerdy-girl romance, I loved the script and couldn’t wait to bring my character to life on the big screen. Just like any other girl, I’d always been drawn to Cinderella-type stories, no matter how many had been made before.

My lead costar, however, was Ryson Miller. We hadn’t met yet, and I found myself a little nervous about it.

While he was nice to look at, Ryson’s off-screen antics of late were another thing altogether. Rumor had it that he had a recently acquired drug problem, which wasn’t unheard of in this industry, but I’d always done my best to keep that kind of lifestyle far away from me.

Drugs had never appealed to me. Maybe it was because my parents were both schoolteachers, or maybe I simply didn’t have the “let’s get high and get fucked up” gene in my body. More than likely it was because of an upsetting experience that happened when I’d first started acting.

When I was ten years old, my director had tried to get me to do cocaine with him in his trailer. I’d stared at the powdery white substance, a jagged line of it spread across a small mirror, and was absolutely terrified. I had to glance down at myself to be sure I hadn’t peed my pants because I was convinced at the time that I had.

The director told me confidently that “everyone did it” and it would help me “stay up late” at night and get through my scenes with “lots of extra energy.” At his words, my eyes had instantly filled with tears. I might only be ten, I remembered thinking, but I’m not stupid.

Thank God an inner strength came bubbling up from somewhere, giving me the courage to tell him to go to hell as I walked out of his trailer. A ten-year-old telling a grown-up to go to hell was something I never thought I’d have the balls to do; but by the grace of God, I grew a well-needed pair that day.

I never told my parents what happened, although I should have. I was terrified that they would make me stop acting, or that they would tell me it was somehow my fault. Thankfully, the director cut off all nonessential communication with me, and never offered me drugs again. Looking back now, I realized he was probably afraid that I would rat him out at any moment, so he wisely kept his distance from me.

After that happened, I made sure I was never alone for the remainder of the shoot, always asking a costar or the on-set teacher to accompany me anywhere I had to be. Sometimes I wondered where that conviction came from, that lion-like inner power, and I prayed I’d always have the strength to walk away when I needed to.   

Sitting in my designated chair on the set, watching all the activity going on around me, I cleared my mind of old memories so I could focus on Ryson and his problem. Part of me wished that the studios would require all talent to stay clean during the duration of the shoot, but the thought of Hollywood trying to enforce that made me almost laugh out loud. If they insisted the talent remain drug-free, there’d be no one to star in any movies or TV shows. As sad as that was, it was the truth.

I dreaded being alone with Ryson, and definitely didn’t want to feel uncomfortable around him after I inevitably turned down whatever he might offer. Drugs made actors moody. Well, moodier than usual. And they messed with a person’s creative ability, although some would argue that it made them even more creative, but that was a line of bullshit. I’d seen first-hand how destructive drugs could be.

As my mind played out potential scenarios that hadn’t even happened yet, Ryson Miller entered through one of the stage doors and lit up the whole damn room. Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to watch him confidently stride across the concrete floor.

My stomach flip-flopped, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his lean frame even if I wanted to. Only eighteen and he already has this much charisma? Holy shit.

Ryson’s mussed brown hair fell into his eyes, making him seem less like a celebrity and more approachable. When he caught sight of me, a smile broke out across his face. Before I even realized it, I was smiling back at him like a love-struck groupie instead of giving him my usual professional smile.

 He plopped down in the chair next to mine that had his name stenciled on the back of it, and stuck out his hand. “I’m Ryson,” he said, as if I didn’t know his name already.

When his big hand wrapped around mind, warmth immediately flowed through my body at his touch. Ryson was so much hotter in person than I’d expected him to be, and I found myself a little rattled by his presence.

As he squeezed my hand, my gaze fell to his lips, which were incredibly kissable. Thank God we had multiple kissing scenes in this film so I could get well acquainted with them.

“Quinn,” I said softly, hoping my voice didn’t sound as dreamy as I felt.

Ryson studied me for a second before he let out a long breath. “God, you’re even prettier in person.” Holding my gaze, he leaned forward to kiss the top of my hand.

The beginnings of a blush crept over my cheeks, but then I froze as I noticed his brown eyes were glassy, so dark they were nearly black because his pupils were dilated. He was fucked up—on what, I wasn’t sure, but he was definitely on something.

Leaning toward him, I whispered, “Are you on something?” I kept my voice quiet, not wanting to get him in trouble or to mess up our shooting schedule.

He smirked, lifting his eyebrows briefly. “You want? We can take a hit in my trailer.”

Intense disappointment swept over me. I hadn’t realized until now how much I’d wanted the rumors to be wrong. I wanted to hate Ryson for his weakness, to make my body stop responding to him the way that it was, but apparently I was no longer in control of those things.

Dropping his hand, I said, “I don’t do that stuff.”

He cocked his head to the side. “What stuff, exactly?”

“Any of it.” I frowned and shook my head. “I don’t do any of it.”

“Never?”

I leaned away from him and sat up straighter. “Never.”

“Not even once?”

Is my reaction really so hard to believe? “No.”

“You’re a good girl then, eh? I could use a good girl in my life.”

Disappointed, I looked away as I said flatly, “Well, good luck finding one.”

“I thought I just did.”

I turned back toward him, my face dead serious as I pointed at him. “Let’s make one thing perfectly clear. I would never date someone like you, Ryson Miller. It’s a shame that all the stuff they say about you and drugs is true. I really wish it wasn’t.”

He sucked in a breath and swallowed hard, his expression as hurt as if I’d physically slapped him. “Well, what if it wasn’t? What if I stopped?”

“Then maybe I’d consider it.” I shrugged. “But if it’s so easy to stop, then why haven’t you?”

The smirk reappeared as he said, “I’ve never had a reason to before.”

“Seriously? I’m sure that charm works on every other girl in this industry, but I’m not every other girl.”

I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest as I looked away, willing myself to be irritated instead of sweet on him. Ryson studied me for a second before he laughed, a happy, carefree sound that filled the air, my ears, my heart.

“You’re definitely not like every other girl. But seriously, Quinn, I’ve never wanted to stop. Maybe you’ll help me see the error of my ways, make me a better person and all that jazz.”

He sounded so sincere that I glanced back at him. When I did, he winked, and for some reason it really pissed me off.

“You should really want all that for yourself,” I spat back in a low voice. “You shouldn’t need a reason to quit other than you want to stop being an idiot and ruining your life.”

I shook my head, furious that Ryson was so self-indulgent. Hopefully he wouldn’t be a total waste during our shoot. His actions could completely ruin this movie for us, and I’d be damned if I let him do that.

“You’re making this difficult,” he said with a groan.

“Well, I’m not a miracle worker.”

“I think you might be.”

A production assistant shuffled past us as she crossed the stage, her black ponytail bobbing from side to side as she mumbled something into the microphone attached to her headpiece. Catching Ryson’s eye as she passed, she lifted her chin and said, “Ryson, you’re needed in makeup.”

Ryson pushed himself out of his chair and stood in front of me, settling his body between my legs and leaning in close enough that I could smell his spearmint gum.

“If I feel about you at the end of this movie the way I feel about you right now, I’ll never touch another drug for the rest of my life. And you, Quinn Johnson, will be my girl for all of it.”

My cheeks burned as I tilted my head back to meet his gaze. Something in my chest tightened, making it hard for me to breathe. No guy had ever been so direct with me before, so demanding and bossy, and I hated how much I liked it.

An uncomfortable laugh sputtered from me. “Are you always this cocky?”

“Only when I see something I want,” he said, his tone serious. “Better watch out.”

With those words, Ryson walked away and left me staring after him with my mouth hanging open.

What the hell have I just gotten myself into?