Chapter Thirteen

 

 

BY the time Drew punched the code Steve had given him into the automated gate, it was after six. Traffic in LA always sucked out loud.

The gate retracted smoothly, and Drew put the Land Rover back in gear, following the private driveway. A fifteen-foot hedge surrounded the property, which extended a lot farther than Drew thought. Steve had dropped hints here and there that he hadn’t wanted for anything growing up, and his tuxedo was expensive and current, but still. Drew hadn’t expected a place like this. This was something he’d dreamed of buying someday, when he got tired of the view from his Santa Monica high-rise.

Steve hadn’t emerged by the time Drew parked at the curve of the circular driveway, so he grabbed his bag and got out of the SUV.

The house was a sprawling bungalow, well-kept, with beige stucco and white shutters and a red terra-cotta roof. The yard was big enough that the sun shone in, even over the tall hedge. A rock garden full of cacti bordered the walk to the front door, and as Drew approached, an alligator lizard skittered across the porch, its scales gleaming.

He had to admit he was a little apprehensive about coming out here. Steve had assured him they’d have privacy, but Drew simply didn’t get that very often, at least not without measures beyond most homeowners. Here, though…. Well, if he was lucky, he wouldn’t be leaving the house for three days. It seemed unlikely the paparazzi would find him.

He knocked on the door and set his bag down, careful to avoid the lizard.

“It’s open!” Steve called from somewhere inside. Apparently he wasn’t concerned about intruders if they’d gotten past the front gate.

Drew opened the door, then bent to pick up his bag. But before he could take a step inside, there was a skittering of nails on hardwood and forty-plus pounds of furry enthusiasm hit him in the stomach.

“Rita!” Steve admonished as Drew dropped his bag again. It made a slightly ominous clunk. “No!”

Drew ignored it and focused on the beautiful creature in front of him. “Hello, sweetheart.”

Rita was a—well, she was a dog, reminiscent of a husky but smaller and fluffier, with a down-soft coat that was gray on her back and the top of her head and white on her face and belly. She must have thought Drew smelled wonderful, because she shoved her nose under his chin, sniffing and snuffling. Drew dug both hands into the ruff at her neck, fully aware he was encouraging behavior he shouldn’t.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve apologized, coming in through a sliding patio door at the back of the house. He had barbecue tongs in one hand and wore a striped apron tied around his waist. “She’s normally shy and retiring. She must’ve thought your car was Mom’s. She usually hides when she hears cars in the driveway.”

“Oh yeah,” Drew said, stepping back a little so Rita’s paws hit the floor and then bending to greet her more thoroughly. She flopped onto her back to invite more pets. “I can see that. Real tough customer.”

Rita licked his chin.

“I’m starting to get jealous,” Steve commented, and Drew looked up and grinned.

“I’ll rub your belly later, if you want.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but his ears were red and his eyes crinkled in the smile Drew was starting to find addictive. “Maybe after dinner. You like ribs?”

“Does the Pope shit in the woods?” A light breeze blew through the open back door, bringing with it the scent of slow-cooking meat. Drew’s stomach growled. Lunch was a long time ago.

“No, but Rita does.” Steve gestured to the backyard. “I have to go pull dinner off the grill, but make yourself at home. Sorry for the bad timing. This isn’t the welcome I envisioned.”

Drew couldn’t remember the last time someone had cooked for him without being paid to. Maybe his mom. “As far as I’m concerned, your timing is perfect. Nothing to apologize for.” Though it might have been nice to have gotten Rita’s enthusiastic greeting from Steve.

Rita licked his face again.

Then again, Rita probably couldn’t cook.

With Steve outside, Drew got off the floor and brought his bags in. Then he looked around.

He was standing in the foyer of a sunny open-concept room that seemed to be located in the middle of a U-shaped house. Opposite him, a step down led into a cozy sunken living room. To the right, an airy modern kitchen with butcher block countertops led toward the back, so that it and the wing on the left side of the house sheltered a patio where Steve was tending the grill.

To the left, a hallway lined with family portraits housed a powder room—the open door showed white tile, blue walls, and a frosted window—and, presumably, bedrooms.

Drew should put his bag in one of them… but he didn’t want to seem like he was snooping, so he left it by the door and went to wash up. Once Rita realized the belly-rub offer had expired, she trotted to the back door to supervise Steve.

“So.” Drew stepped outside, sliding the door closed behind him. “You never mentioned you had a dog.”

“She’s my mom’s dog, really.” Steve transferred one last slab of ribs to a plate, then closed the lid of the grill. “A friend of mine found and rescued her on a television set but couldn’t keep her. I fell in love, obviously, but there’s no room in my apartment either. This was just after my dad died, so I thought maybe she and Mom could look after each other.”

That was sweet.

“And also Mom and I always wanted a dog when I was a kid,” Steve added. “But Dad was allergic.”

“Well, I approve of your choice.”

“Me too. Shall we eat?”

Oh—that reminded him. When they went back inside, Drew checked his bag. Fortunately the bottle of wine he’d brought hadn’t broken. “It’s probably not cold enough to drink.” He proffered the bottle for Steve’s inspection. “But we can have it for dessert, maybe.”

Steve had ditched the apron on a peg near the door. He took the bottle and raised his eyebrows at the label. So maybe Drew had wanted to impress him a little. So what? It had been a long time since he had a date to impress. “I’ll put it in the wine fridge.”

He led Drew through the kitchen to a sunny eating area, where the table was already set for two, with fancy-looking flatware and even two pillar candles, though they weren’t lit and Drew didn’t see a lighter. “The wine’s a bit much for barbecue. You want a beer?”

“God yes.”

What Drew really wanted was a kiss. It seemed ridiculous that Steve had invited him all the way out here and yet here Drew was, unkissed. It was cruel, honestly.

At least Steve had good taste in beer—and, it turned out, knew his way around a grill. Whether he could be trusted with potato salad remained to be seen. Drew dutifully scooped some onto his plate, but he held off on taking a bite. “Get much work done before I got here?”

Steve nodded and wiped his fingers with a paper towel. He had barbecue sauce halfway to his ear, which Drew found hopelessly endearing. “Most of the final act. I’m having a little bit of trouble working out what should happen next, but I should finish this weekend.” He paused and gestured at Drew’s plate. “There’s no dill in that, in case you’re wondering. Well, there is, but only in the dill pickles. Dina’s special recipe. I, um.” It was hard to tell because he’d gotten pink across the cheeks from the sun, but it looked like he was blushing. “I thought you might like it, so I asked her to make some before she left for the week.”

Well, now he really wanted that kiss. But he’d wait until after dinner. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Steve lifted a shoulder. “I didn’t really do anything other than ask.”

None of Drew’s previous partners had bothered to pay attention to his paradoxical love of dill pickles. But he could thank Steve properly later.

If Steve let him.

 

 

OVER dinner Drew and Steve learned about each other. Steve had grown up in a small town in Washington; his dad, a writer, had died a few years before. He was an only child, which didn’t surprise Drew, and his nose was crooked because he’d gone skiing drunk while he was in college and hit a tree—which did.

“Two sisters,” Drew said. “Three and six years younger than me.” He winced a little, thinking about it. “It wasn’t easy on them and Dad when Mom packed up to move to LA with me. Sarah was nine; Brit was only six. And Mom was with me for nine years.” His dad had to deal with two girls going through puberty more or less by himself.

“That probably wasn’t fun for anyone.”

Drew took a pull of his beer and set it down, still thinking. “I don’t know. I don’t remember being particularly homesick. Part of it is that I was busy, and part of it is I was selfish; I was doing what I wanted to do. I didn’t really think about how me chasing my dream affected the rest of my family.”

Steve pushed his plate away and pulled a new paper towel off the roll. “You were young. It would’ve been easy to get tunnel vision. Don’t beat yourself up too much.”

“Thanks.” He shook his head. “It does make me think, though. I’ve been meaning for a while to take a break. Maybe I should go back home for a month or two, reconnect with everyone. Or not reconnect. Connect as adults for the first time.” Brit was graduating college next semester. And the last time Drew had spoken to his mother, she’d hinted that Sarah’s boyfriend might propose soon. He’d like to be on closer terms with her before her wedding.

“That sounds nice. I used to like going back to Washington to our place there, but Mom sold it last year.”

“What were you like when you were a kid? I mean, my childhood’s kind of available on Netflix.” Drew lifted a shoulder, feeling a bit awkward. He didn’t want to assume Steve had seen his movies, but Steve was only a few years older than he was. Chances were he was familiar with at least a few.

Fortunately Steve didn’t seem upset by Drew’s presumption. “Busy.” He shook his head. “Scouts, the school soccer team, a competitive league in the summer, school plays, writing competitions. I was lucky. My parents dropped everything to make sure I could do it all.”

More common ground. Drew smiled. “That’s so… normal. Did you always dream of coming to Hollywood?” And what had brought his parents—or at least his mother—here? He’d said his dad was a writer, but Drew didn’t recognize Steve’s last name from anywhere. Maybe he used a pseudonym.

“Maybe not always. But I always wanted to write. I think I wrote my first stage play when I was nine—I bossed my friends into performing it on the playground, but I’m not a very good director. I kept rewriting what they were supposed to be saying.”

God. “I bet you were adorable.”

Steve laughed. “That’s one word for it, sure.”

They finished eating and loaded the dishes into the dishwasher, then washed up so Steve could give a quick tour.

The backyard looked like any Beverly Hills backyard: beautiful pool, neat grass, privacy hedge, patio with built-in outdoor kitchen, sunshade. There was also a sunken spa tub next to a sliding door Drew assumed led to the master bedroom. Dog toys of every size, shape, and color littered the lawn, everything from a large squeaky pretend milk carton to something that looked like a Roomba with a bucket on top.

“iFetch,” Steve explained. Beside him, Rita perked up her ears, and she ran off to retrieve the nearest tennis ball. “Mom spoils her.”

Yeah, right, Drew thought as Rita returned to press the ball into Steve’s hand. She reminded him of Roxy; she was about the same size and had the same intelligent eyes and spring in her step. “I’m sure it’s all your mom’s doing.”

“Do you mind?” Steve held up the ball, his expression a little sheepish, like he didn’t want to disappoint Drew but couldn’t bear to disappoint the dog either. “If I start, she’s not going to want to stop for at least half an hour, but she won’t need a walk later, and she’ll probably pass out on the couch. The iFetch will only keep her busy for a few minutes before she gets bored.”

Drew still had half his second beer left, and the breeze kept the evening from being too hot. He could stand to watch Steve work those shoulders for a while. “As long as you let me throw a couple.”

“That’s up to Rita.” Steve shot him a slightly apologetic look before he cocked back his arm and let loose, firing the ball across the yard. Rita took off like a rocket, a white-gray blur, but Drew was too busy appreciating the way Steve’s T-shirt rode up in the back to pay her much mind. “She can be picky.”

Now Drew wished he hadn’t offered. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d thrown a ball. He definitely didn’t have that kind of form.

Steve didn’t say anything, though, after the fifth or sixth retrieve, when Rita looked at Steve, wagged her tail, and then nudged Drew’s hand with her nose instead.

“I’m honored,” Drew said. The ball dripped with drool.

“Careful what you wish for,” Steve said, wry.

Despite their best intentions, the conversation did eventually turn to the script. By then Rita was flopped happily on the floor by the couch, all four feet in the air as she snored. Drew and Steve sat at opposite ends of the couch, turned toward each other, each with a knee up on the cushions so they almost touched. Between the way Steve kept looking at him, the beer, and the sun streaming in from the patio doors, Drew felt pleasantly warm.

“So they liberate the dog, but they’re convinced a neighbor sees them, and so then when a patrol car goes by….”

Drew let Steve catch him up on the continuing antics of Scotty, Morgan, the dog, and their run through Vegas—casinos, backstage at Cirque du Soleil, the aquarium at Mandalay Bay, maybe a nod to the Stratosphere. For budgetary reasons, they’d have to restrict filming to stock footage and greenscreens, but Photography and Editing could worry about that.

“I have to get a map out to make sure they do it all in the right order. I’ve never actually been to Vegas.” Steve ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “So it’s dog first, and then, despite Morgan’s assertion that they don’t have to go into the city at all, Scotty takes a ‘wrong turn’ as he tries to escape the cops—”

 

MORGAN

(panicking)

No, no, no, what are you doing? You’re going the wrong way!

 

SCOTTY

What are you talking about? I’m—

 

EXT. MOVING CAR - DAY

They pass a sign for LAS VEGAS 9 MILES.

INT. CAR - DAY

Roxy barks happily and licks Morgan’s face, prancing in the back seat.

 

SCOTTY

Look, we came all this way! What’s another nine miles, right? If a couple gay guys and a dog can’t lose a tail in Vegas—

 

Roxy barks again.

 

SCOTTY

It’s an expression! Come on, are you telling me you don’t want to cruise the Strip? Just to see? It’s only, like, four miles long!

 

Only then, of course, they ran into bumper-to-bumper traffic and decided to valet park in order to continue evading their pursuers on foot.

“Looks like we’re going back to the aquarium,” Drew said, swiping on the tablet to turn the page.

Steve nudged his foot and didn’t move away afterward. “Just for you.”

Drew ducked his head, pretending to examine the script closer. “We’re going to get some great visuals from this. Carol is going to kiss you.” Their DP had a lot of talent but had only worked on a handful of low-budget series, the most recent of which was just canceled. She’d be so excited to get her artsy little hands on these challenges. Drew thought about the transition from “Vegas” sunshine to a blue-lit aquarium scene and smiled.

“You think?”

He looked up. “I know.” But she can get in line, Drew didn’t say. “So where are you stuck?”

Steve froze with one hand reaching for his beer on the end table. “I never said I was stuck,” he said neutrally, but he didn’t move.

“Uh-huh.” Drew waved the tablet at him. “But you keep bringing up work”—and I hope you didn’t invite me out here just to finish your script—“and your scene just kind of ends. So what’s the problem?”

“Ugh.” Steve wrinkled his nose. “I’m sorry. I didn’t invite you here for work. But you’re right. The problem is I’ve sort of got a ridiculous idea for where the chase should end. It makes sense with the character arcs. But I don’t know… I feel like it undermines the whole purpose of the script, I guess.”

Drew frowned. He didn’t see how one scene could do that. “What do you mean?”

Steve sighed and held out his hand for the tablet. When Drew forked it over, Steve called up a map and passed it back. “Classic. Right there at the end of the Strip. A little off to the side, but I think for the sake of artistic license, we can make it work. If the producers don’t hate the idea.”

Curious, Drew took the tablet and glanced at the screen. Graceland Wedding Chapel.

He started to laugh. “They won’t. They’ll eat it up.”

“You don’t think it’s too….” Steve sighed and ran his hands through his hair again. Drew wanted to copy him and see what it felt like—soft or bristly? Smooth or sticky with product? “This wasn’t supposed to be a romance.”

Drew put the tablet aside. “It isn’t one. Trust me, this is definitely a comedy. It has all the expected elements. So what if it has a romantic subplot? Steve.” Drew had been in enough movies to figure out how this went. He folded his hand over Steve’s. “This is the twenty-first century. It can be more than one thing.”

Steve bit his lip, seeming to weigh something of greater import than the script. “You think I should go for it?”

“Absolutely. I’d be dis—”

Steve shifted forward until his hand rested on Drew’s knee, and the words died on Drew’s lips.

His heart skipped a beat, and Steve’s throat worked as he swallowed. His palm felt warm, a little damp.

Steve tilted his head to the side, his mouth slightly parted. He leaned in slowly, giving Drew plenty of time to pull away. His eyes had gone very dark, heavy with want and laden with hope.

Oh, Drew thought.

Steve kissed him.

For a few seconds Drew couldn’t move, focused intently on the way Steve’s lips fit to his, on the warmth of him and the way he smelled, like grass and grill smoke and a little like sweat. And then reflex took over, and a groan clawed its way out of his throat. He raised his hands, intending to card them through Steve’s hair, but they insisted on the scenic route: they settled on his waist, swept up his back, measured his shoulders. When Steve licked a question across Drew’s lower lip, Drew opened for him, inviting him closer. He wanted to memorize the taste of Steve’s mouth, the slight prickle of stubble against the sensitive skin of his face, just enough of a rasp to make his nipples tighten in anticipation.

Finally Drew slid his hands up, fitting them around the curve of Steve’s skull and into his hair. It was warm with body heat, soft and a little damp, just long enough to tickle across the backs of his hands.

Just long enough to tug, and Drew did, gentle but firm, leaning back into the arm of the couch. Steve got the message, following until he was braced over Drew’s reclining body, supporting himself on the armrest, one knee propped carefully between Drew’s legs. He kissed Drew like he’d been thinking about it since that day at the aquarium, planning out the most thorough way to turn Drew into a dizzy ball of want and nerves.

Steve didn’t stop kissing him until Drew couldn’t hold his head at that angle anymore, and rested his head on the arm of the couch. Then he pulled back enough for Drew to see his eyes, irises still so blue around wide black pupils. The skin around Drew’s mouth tingled. Steve’s arms were shaking.

“You should do that again,” Drew said, a little breathless, pulling gently. His forearms were flat against the broad expanse of Steve’s back. “Maybe with a little more contact? I won’t break, you know.”

“Trying to cop a feel?” Steve joked, but he must not have cared, because Drew barely had time to take a breath before they were kissing again. This time Steve lowered his body over Drew’s until their chests touched, heat seeping easily through thin layers of cotton. He still supported most of his own weight, but Drew liked the presence of this, the physical proof that he wasn’t alone.

When Steve relaxed enough to settle his thigh against Drew’s groin, Drew shivered with pleasure. Steve’s erection pressed against his hip, but he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to do anything about it.

They kissed until Drew’s neck was sore and his lips were tired and the skin around his mouth felt almost raw. Then, gradually, they stopped, Drew shifting over enough for Steve to lie half beside him, half on his chest, their legs entwined.

“Will you be horribly offended if we don’t sleep together tonight?” Steve murmured into Drew’s shoulder.

Drew moved his hand up from its idle exploration of Steve’s back and ran it through his hair again. “Not at all.” If he’d wanted instant gratification, he’d have called one of his old flings.

This was better.

“Really?” Steve tilted his head enough to meet Drew’s eyes. Their faces were very close; Drew almost had to go cross-eyed to keep him in focus.

He was sure the angle was giving him a double chin, but at this point it was probably immaterial. “I would hate for you to judge me based on my performance after a long week of work, being stuck in traffic, stuffing myself, and running the legs off your dog.”

Steve chuckled, the sound resonating where their chests touched. “When you put it that way.”

“Besides, we did just have our first kiss. Hate to rush into anything.”

Steve laughed again, this time intentionally muffling it in Drew’s shirt. Drew felt light, suffused with warmth. “I’m not sure we can be accused of that. It’s been how many weeks since we met?”

“True, but only two since our first date.” Drew still couldn’t believe it. It felt like so much longer.

“Hmm.” They drowsed together for a few minutes, but when Drew started to nod off, Steve tapped his chest. “Come on, it’s been a long day. I’ll set you up in a guest room.”