Chapter Nineteen

 

 

DREW finished his second cup of coffee outside the wardrobe trailer, waiting for Steve. It got too cramped with more than one of them and Will inside at the same time. But now that his eyes would open all the way, he thumbed open the email client on his phone and clicked the link in Alan’s message.

Gathering No Moss

Steven Stone, son of silver screen royalty Marla and David Stone, is making his own way in Hollywood—and into Drew Beaumont’s heart.

Well. Drew blinked. That wasn’t the headline he was expecting. But it certainly had his attention.

Steven Stone grew up as Steve Sopol in a small town in Washington. Though his parents had a trophy case full of cinematic accolades, he says his upbringing was remarkably normal—a fact he credits for his even keel and down-to-earth attitude. But now he’s in Los Angeles, and he’s leaving his mark in his own unique way: by writing and acting in his first film.

The story continued in that vein for another paragraph before jumping to the movie itself and Steve’s relationship with Drew.

It shouldn’t have unsettled him. After all, once the story broke on Gloria, people were bound to take an interest in Steve. But it sat wrong. He didn’t think Steve would like it much either, largely because he wouldn’t appreciate the surprise. And on top of that, he wouldn’t appreciate being the sole object of the article’s scrutiny.

“Well, well,” said a familiar voice. “If it isn’t Steven Stone’s boyfriend.”

Drew jerked his head up, a grin already spreading across his features. “Leigh!”

“In the flesh,” she confirmed, doing a pirouette. Her normally medium-brown skin had tanned a darker shade, and she looked more relaxed than he ever remembered.

He stood and wrapped her in a tight hug. “You look good. Established relationships must agree with you.”

She laughed at him as she pulled back, then gave him a little shove on the shoulders. “You’re one to talk. Actually I’m surprised you’re verbal this early.”

“I’m caffeinated.” He held up his empty cup for proof. “Are you here for what I think you’re here for?”

“Didn’t your casting director tell you, Mr. Bigshot Producer?” she teased, taking the folding chair next to his as he sat back down. “Somehow I scored a cameo on this indie flick as someone’s brother’s ex-girlfriend or something. I guess it’s going to be a big deal. Or at least Hilary let me do it anyway since I’ll only be needed for a day or two. Hope you know your lines.”

“I think I’ll manage.”

“You’re damn right you will. God, I can’t wait to put you in your place on camera. It’s like this role was written just for me.” Oh, here we go. Sure enough, she followed with “Speaking of, where’s your leading man?”

Drew indicated the door behind him. “Getting his pants on.” He narrowed his eyes. “Did you take this part so you could meet my boyfriend?”

“Would I do that? I’m here because I love you.”

“Just do me a favor and don’t ask him for his mom’s autograph, okay?”

“What, Marla?” She waved her hand. “I already have it. Remember the charity roast I volunteered for last year? She hosted. Hey, if you’d come with, I wonder if you’d have met your boy even sooner.”

Drew hadn’t been ready to meet Steve then. “I’m glad it happened the way it did.”

She studied him, head cocked. Drew wondered what she saw, if he looked happier or more relaxed or had some kind of hippy-dippy glow unique to people in successful relationships. Whatever she saw, it made her smile. “You really are, huh? Look at us. Two grown adults, two halves of different grown adult couples.” She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

Drew had to raise a hand to shade his eyes. Suddenly the morning light shone so bright it hurt. Only it seemed to be coming from—“Did you get engaged?” he half shouted, grasping for her hand. A classic white-gold band held a princess-cut diamond the size of a Skittle.

Leigh flushed, her smile widening until it threatened to engulf her face. “Surprise?”

Shaking his head, Drew let go of her hand so he could stand and hug her properly again. “Congratulations! Between you and my sister, I’m going to be spending a lot of time at Williams Sonoma.”

This time it was her eyes that got big. “Sarah’s getting married? Jeez.” She had met Drew’s sisters a few times over the years Leigh and Drew worked on the same lot. “Now I feel old.”

“You’re telling me.” Next thing he knew, Brit would be pregnant or something. Drew touched the wood stairs leading into the trailer, just in case.

“You know,” Leigh said slyly, “they say these things come in threes.”

It took him a moment to realize what she was getting at. Then the back of his neck went hot and he cleared his throat. “So,” he said, “who’s the lucky….”

Fortunately she seemed to be in a good mood—she let him get away with the blatant subject change. “Man,” Leigh filled in. “Actually you might know him?”

Drew’s eyes widened. “Who?”

Leigh smoothed her hair back. “Miles Casey.”

“From Hilary’s office?” Miles had been Hilary’s PA for as long as Drew had been one of her clients, though Drew supposed he was really more of her successor in training these days. “He’s cute.”

“He’s incredible.” She sighed and leaned back, her expression beatific. “It’s weird, you know, dating someone who’s not….”

“Recognizable?” Drew suggested.

“Yeah. It’s different. I like it.” She glanced over at him. “But I didn’t come here to talk about me.”

Of course she hadn’t.

As if on cue, the trailer door opened. “Oh,” Steve said, blinking. “Sorry. Have I been hogging Wardrobe?”

Leigh stood, brushing her hands on her jeans. “No, no, I don’t have any scenes until tomorrow. I’m just here getting the lay of the land. I’m Leigh. I’ll be your on-screen brother’s ex-girlfriend.”

Steve came down the steps, grinning widely as he offered his hand. “I know who you are. You’re playing Lila?”

They shook, and then Leigh curtseyed. “If it pleases Your Highness.”

“Can’t think of anyone I’d rather cast.”

And then they were off.

Drew had been right—they got on like a house on fire. Leigh watched them film Rita’s final abduction from her home, which Scotty was convinced a neighbor called the police over. The scenes themselves went fine, but Drew felt… restless, somehow, between takes, when Leigh would start filling Steve in on all the ridiculous things she and Drew had gotten up to as children.

It was fair play, after all: Drew had heard all about Kid Steve from his mother, who probably embellished a good deal more than Leigh. He told himself to get over it—he wasn’t jealous, that would be stupid—but was still relieved when lunchtime rolled around and Steve excused himself and Rita to have lunch with his mother in her hotel.

“I love him,” Leigh said nearly before Steve was out of earshot. “He’s perfect for you. Where’s he been all your life?”

Drew shook his head. “Washington, I think.” And then right under his nose. “Come on. Let’s get some food and you can tell me about Miles, Hawaii, and his proposal.”

“What makes you think he was the one who proposed?”

Well, now Drew had to hear more. “Did you buy yourself the ring too?” How much did an agent’s assistant make these days? Could Miles afford such a rock?

“Gauche, Drew.” She whapped him with the script she’d been studying. “See if I tell you anything.”

In the afternoon the light changed, so they moved to a parking lot a few streets over to shoot some of their scenes evading the police. The sun beat down until the pavement shimmered, and even Drew’s hair, coaxed into the perfect shape by Chantelle and held there with industrial-strength product, wilted. Between the borderline stunt work and the heat, Drew sweat through his wardrobe three times and had to swap his clothes for identical ones. And the caterer ran out of Perrier, and apparently nobody in this town stocked it.

By the time filming wrapped for the day, he was officially in a mood. But he couldn’t even stalk off to sulk, because the hotel was still booked and he was sharing with Steve.

Who also looked hot and grimy and sweaty, and not in the fun way. Drew should’ve been ogling, with the way Steve’s shirt stuck to his body.

Maybe today just sucked.

Steve wiped his face with the towel a PA gave him and glanced at Drew. “You want first shower? I can take Rita to Mom’s and clean up there.”

Drew softened. What the hell was he so annoyed about? “I don’t deserve you,” he said, sagging. That shower was all his.

“Nope,” Steve quipped. He leaned in and bestowed a sweaty kiss on Drew’s cheek to a smattering of catcalls and offered a slight smile. “See you later.”

 

 

THE shower helped. Sort of. Hot water always felt good, and this hotel seemed to have a bottomless supply. But no amount of fancy soap could wash away the grit on the inside.

God, that was dramatic. He should leave the fancy words to Steve.

After the shower he left the towel wrapped around his waist and lay down on the bed and did something he never did.

He googled himself.

The grit on the inside got grittier.

None of the press was even particularly bad. By all accounts most media outlets thought his relationship with Steve was adorable. The original article Alan had sent him accompanied a production still of the two of them in character juxtaposed with the one that had hit the tabloids. In the new one, Scotty was leaning in, essentially batting his eyelashes at Morgan, all part of the attempt to convince him to join his harebrained scheme. The angle flattered Drew, but it illuminated Steve. He looked like some kind of modern prince that Knight Drew was pledging allegiance to. Which was maybe why one of those sites named Steve “Hollywood’s heir apparent.”

Sensationalism was their job, but Drew thought that was maybe taking it a bit far.

He must have lost track of time, because the next thing he knew, the hotel door opened and Steve came in wearing running shorts and a T-shirt and that Leafs hat Drew supposed was going to become part of his everyday dodging-the-press getup.

“Uh,” Steve said, raking his gaze over Drew’s body—the towel had slipped a little—before he remembered himself and shut the door. “Hey.”

Drew sat up, twisting kinks out of his neck and shoulders. Lying like that had been a mistake. “Hey.”

Steve looked pained. “Can we talk?”

The bottom dropped out of Drew’s stomach. In his experience those words never preceded anything good. For a moment he had a flashback to the first time someone broke his heart, to feeling used and discarded and alone.

But no. Steve wouldn’t do that to him, and certainly not this soon after going through the wringer to come out. Real relationships involved talking, even about hard stuff. “Should I put pants on for this?”

“If you want.” Steve rubbed his hands on his shorts, scratched at his arm, ran a hand through his hair, then caught himself and folded his arms. “I… are you mad at me?”

What? Drew opened his mouth to respond that no, of course he wasn’t mad—but then he thought about it. He had been acting like he was mad, hadn’t he? He’d been short with Steve all day. He’d been glad to have time to himself when he should have been jumping at the chance to spend more time with Steve in private. And he did feel… resentment… toward Steve. Which didn’t make any sense, because Steve hadn’t done anything.

Or had he? He’d let the press into his life. He’d given an interview with Drew. And now he was getting attention—from everyone. Drew’s parents. Leigh. The media. More attention than Drew.

God damn it.

Drew groaned and picked up a pillow, which he proceeded to groan into, long and loud. “I’m not mad,” he said when he finished. “At least not at you. Or at least not for anything that’s your fault. I’m just a giant diva.”

Steve, quite understandably, just stared.

With a sigh, Drew admitted, “I’ve been grumpy all day and I couldn’t put my finger on why, but when you brought it up… I’m jealous about how much everyone’s talking about you. Which is stupid and ridiculous, and you don’t even like that they’re talking about you. I know that. I just… I’m not used to being with someone more famous than me. I need to check my ego. Sorry.” Then something occurred to him and he narrowed his eyes. “Wait, are you mad at me?”

The color drained from Steve’s face and his mouth dropped open a fraction. Gotcha, Drew thought. “No!”

Liar. Steve wasn’t that good an actor. At least when he wasn’t on camera. But Drew had more sense than to say so out loud. “You want to try that again? One more time, with conviction?”

Steve set his jaw. “I’m not mad!” he practically shouted, which wasn’t any more convincing. He must have realized that, because his shoulders slumped.

“So there’s some other reason you’ve been putting off having sex with me?” He’d brushed Drew off the night before, and now Drew was wearing a towel, and yet no sexy touching. They should still be in the sex-at-every-opportunity phase, but here they were. Separated by a towel and Steve’s hangup, whatever it was.

Steve winced like he hadn’t thought he’d get caught. Surely he hadn’t thought Drew wouldn’t notice he was avoiding intimacy. “It’s not what you think.”

Drew fought the urge to throw his hands in the air. “That seems pretty likely, since I have no idea what to think.”

“Fine. Fine. I—” Steve took two steps to his left and ran both hands through his hair. “My parents raised me in the middle of nowhere. They wanted me to be my own person. It’s why I have a different last name. And I am. Every important decision I’ve made in my life, I’ve made it because it’s what I wanted.”

Drew held tight to the fraying ends of his patience. “None of this is news to me.”

Steve dropped into the chair. “I’m getting to the point, I promise. It just sounds really stupid when I say it out loud and I don’t want to.”

Despite everything, Drew melted a little. “Steve. I literally just confessed to being jealous the tabloids are talking about you more than me. You don’t exactly have the market cornered on irrational.”

Steve dredged up part of a smile. “My parents always believed in me. But when I got to LA, I was nobody. I had to earn everything. Every new person who put their trust in my skills was a triumph. Proof I was good enough to live up to my parents’ legacy.”

Oh. Drew could sort of see where this was going.

“When Hilary told me my script got picked up for production, I didn’t think much about the people behind it. I was too excited. It was enough that someone thought it was worth investing in.”

“Steve.” Drew licked his lips, considering his words. “I’d never even met you. I definitely didn’t know who your parents were.”

Steve shook his head, staring at the generic abstract print on the wall behind Drew. “I thought, ‘The producer likes my movie. They approve of all the new scenes and rewrites. I must be doing something right if this person I’ve never met is willing to throw their money into this script.’”

“I do approve,” Drew said earnestly. He leaned forward. The towel gaped a little more, but he ignored it. “I think it’s different and interesting and funny and sharp.”

“I know that. I do. Really. But part of me keeps insisting you don’t count.”

It was gently said, but the words still stung. Long years of practice schooling his features let Drew absorb that pain without showing it. “Why not?”

Steve lifted one shoulder and met Drew’s eyes for the first time in what felt like days. “Because you’re in love with me.”

For an eternity, Drew could say nothing. Steve had him dead to rights. At least he looked happier than he had a few minutes before. Finally Drew managed, “Traditionally I think you’re supposed to wait for me to tell you.”

Steve’s smile grew a fraction of an inch. “Sorry I went off script. But you were taking too long, and it was relevant.”

Drew plucked at the edge of his towel, caught himself, and tucked his hand under his thigh. “No, I get your point. By not telling you I was the producer, I undermined your confidence in yourself when you found out.” He grimaced. “And the other thing… I was maybe being chickenshit about it. I’ve never said it to anyone before, you know.”

Steve shrank a little. “I didn’t mean to steal your thunder.”

“It’s okay. There will be lots of other opportunities for me to make dramatic declarations.” He felt a little cheated somehow, like the universe owed him one perfect moment to pay him back for all the times he’d acted in perfectly scripted ones. But the world didn’t work like that.

Or maybe it did. “Take two?” Steve suggested, the corners of his mouth lifting optimistically.

Drew couldn’t help but smile back. “Why not?”

To his surprise, Steve went as far as stepping out into the hallway. When he came back in, his face was carefully neutral, washed clean of the emotional leftovers of their conversation. “Hey. Nice towel.”

Drew stifled a laugh. “Thanks.”

Steve nodded earnestly. “You’re welcome. By the way, I’ve been avoiding intimacy with you because I’m upset you didn’t tell me you were the producer and because I’m having related self-confidence issues that aren’t really your fault.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. And that I inadvertently caused you to doubt yourself.” And then, in the spirit of the conversation, he dutifully added, “Since we’re confessing, I’ve had my panties in a knot all day because my ego is fragile and you’re getting more publicity than I am right now. Also, I’m in love with you.”

Steve did a poor job hiding his delight. “Is that related to the panties thing, or is it a separate issue?”

This time Drew didn’t bother trying not to laugh. “Come over here and find out.”

Steve stalked over, crawled on his knees onto the bed, and straddled Drew’s legs. “Hmm.” He reached for the edge of the towel and met Drew’s eyes.

Drew tilted his head in invitation.

Steve pulled the towel back. “Liar,” he said, leaning down until his lips almost touched Drew’s. “You’re not wearing any panties.”

“Imagine that. Problem solved.” Drew hooked his ankle behind Steve’s thigh and pulled until Steve lost his balance and had to catch himself on his hands. Then he flipped them until Steve was underneath him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Steve parroted. “Looks like you have me right where you want me. Now what’re you going to do with me?”

“Hmm. I’ll show you.”

Drew brushed their mouths together first, but he didn’t let the kiss deepen. Instead he trailed his lips down the side of Steve’s neck and reached for the hem of his shirt.

He didn’t bother taking it off, just pulled it up until he could touch Steve’s chest. Then he pushed his shorts down just enough, slid his thigh between Steve’s, and melted into a kiss.

Their bodies slid together languidly, the room quiet aside from the hush of skin on skin and their breathing and Steve’s bitten-off gasps. They came like that, Steve with his head back, Drew’s lips pressed to his pulse, his hand on Drew’s nape; Drew a second later, with Steve groaning encouragement in his ear.

He lay down on his side, panting, Steve beside him in much the same condition. Finally Steve mustered the energy to kick off his shorts and tug off his shirt, which he used as a de facto rag for their mess before tossing it into a corner.

Drew patted Steve’s chest. “Well. I like take two much better. Still not perfect, though.”

Steve turned toward him, eyes crinkling in the corners. He threaded his fingers with Drew’s. “We’ll keep rehearsing. Bound to nail it eventually.”

“Good idea,” Drew said, snorting at the bad pun.

Leaning their heads together, Steve added, “Meanwhile, can you take a message for your ego?”

Drew kissed his knuckles. “Of course.”

“Tell it I love you too.”