Table read-throughs were a necessity of acting, but I always found them fairly painstaking and…well, boring.
My love and passion for this career were rooted in losing myself in my character, and those moments didn’t happen during a monotonous read-through. When the cameras were rolling and I was consumed in a scene, I felt alive and fulfilled. There, in the world of someone else, I got to touch on a life unlived. A path unchosen. A whole different version of myself.
During a read-through, I still felt largely like Ivy Stone. And, hey, I liked her. She was a cool chick. But I knew her pretty well, and over the years, the excitement had dulled.
And that probably explained why I discreetly checked the screen of my phone while Boyce started to discuss business with the entire cast and crew.
It was on silent, but it had still vibrated its notification inside my pocket.
Under the table and out of everyone’s view, I glanced down to find a text message from Sam Murphy, warmly known to me as Grandpa Sam.
Grace’s grandfather had taken a liking to me ever since he and Grace’s mother Mary had reached out to welcome me to town, and lately, he’d made it a point to send me random little tidbits about his granddaughter.
Sam: Gracie hated peanut butter. I mean, HATED it. But she had a sweet tooth that rivaled a kid in a candy shop. The girl loved her sweets.
Now, I wouldn’t say the information he provided was groundbreaking in my quest for character motivation by any means, but I couldn’t deny I adored every single message I received. So far, he’d told me about her favorite movies, music, and the time he’d caught her “necking” in a car with a boy named Paul when she’d been a teenager.
He so obviously loved his granddaughter, even as the years after her death ticked away, and it warmed my heart that he was so welcoming and willing to share his memories of her.
I quickly—and quietly—tapped my fingers across the keypad and sent him a response while Boyce launched into a long explanation of the new script changes I’d already been privy to since I’d arrived in town before most of the cast.
Me: :) Grace and I definitely share a commonality when it comes to having a sweet tooth. Give me chocolate and pastries, and I am a happy girl.
Sam: Have you stopped by Luna Rae’s yet?
Me: Luna Rae’s?
Sam: The best damn bakery in Cold. Her bear claws and cheese crowns are to die for. You’ll be addicted after one bite.
He also gave me little recommendations of things to do and eat in Cold. After I’d damn near melted into a puddle of gooey satisfaction after trying out his “best tacos in town” rec at a little mom-and-pop Mexican restaurant across the street from this very building, I knew I’d gained quite the inside source with him.
Me: Looks like Luna Rae and I will be introduced to one another very, very soon.
Sam: You won’t regret it, darlin’.
I smiled at his response and slid my phone back into my pocket before bringing my eyes back to the table. Thanks to my inside knowledge, it wasn’t hard to catch up to the conversation.
“I guess it’s a good thing I kept up my training schedule from the MMA movie I just finished filming,” Johnny said, smirking in a way only a man who was one hundred percent in love with himself could.
I knew immediately he was referring to the new “bedroom” scenes that had been added to the script. All three of them included Johnny and me wearing more skin than clothes, and he was an egomaniac.
Of course Johnny was solely focused on how he’d look on camera instead of portraying our characters accurately. He gave zero fucks about the detour from the actual story our screenwriter and director had decided to take. He just wanted to make sure his abs were on point.
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. I’d never actually worked with Johnny, but a few of my closest actress friends had, and I’d heard plenty of stories to understand the kind of man he really was.
Boyce chuckled at his stupid comment. “Johnny, we’re definitely going to be scheduling some sparring matches together over the next few months.”
Johnny laughed. “Bring it, Boyce.”
A fucking boys club of dick-comparing, these two.
Sometimes, being a woman of Hollywood was a lot harder than most realized. While Boyce would be praised for his six-pack abs and muscly biceps, I’d be scrutinized for any little fat roll that got captured on film.
Of course, I didn’t want to look bloated and out of shape on camera, but I also wasn’t going to reroute my focus toward my own personal vanity issues.
This story was about Grace Murphy.
And I knew in order to really portray the fierce, determined woman she had been, I needed to focus on her character. Her life. Not whether or not the cameras would catch the cellulite dimples on my ass.
“Well, I think adding the romance aspect to this story is fantastic,” Johnny added and offered a mischievous smile in my direction.
I wanted to gag. I saw right through his persona. Sure, he was a fantastic actor, that I couldn’t deny, but the man beneath the acting skills was purely vapid and narcissistic.
Levi cleared his throat, and my eyes immediately moved toward him. With tight tension lining his shoulders and a hard as stone jaw, every inch of his body bristled.
He looked pissed. And completely out of sorts.
“I have a quick question,” he said through nearly gritted teeth. The normally tanned skin of his cheeks was glowing red with anger.
Ever since he’d stepped into the read-through with Johnny and sat down directly across from yours truly, I’d been trying so hard to avert my focus from him, even though every damn cell inside of my body wanted otherwise. And thanks to Grandpa Sam’s short text message distraction, I’d been doing a pretty good job of it.
Well, until now.
Now, I couldn’t look away. My eyes were solely fixated on him. My fingers trembled slightly as I lifted my glass of water to my lips to soothe my suddenly dry and scratchy throat. It was like his emotions had a live wire straight to my nerves.
I’d tried to pry an emotion other than rage loose from his vault on numerous occasions, thinking the anger was a wall carefully constructed to hide everything else—and I still did. But right now, the fury wasn’t a front for something deeper—he was just pissed.
Boyce nodded toward him, smiling jovially, like a man without a care in the world. “I’m all ears, Levi.”
Every single time I’d seen Levi’s carefully controlled switch flip, I’d been on the receiving end of his ire. It was weird being on the outside looking in. My breath caught in my dry throat and held as Levi worked his teeth together roughly.
“What made you guys decide to add a romance element to this movie?” he asked, and as each syllable left his lips, the irritation behind his words grew stronger and more apparent.
Well, at least, it did to me. Everyone around us didn’t appear all that tuned in to the bristling man in the Cold Police Department uniform.
What the hell is it that makes us feel so freakishly connected?
“Well,” Boyce started to respond, seemingly oblivious that Levi looked two seconds away from going Hulk Smash and flipping over the table. “June Gatto and Hugo Roman felt like there was something missing for our female moviegoers. And after careful consideration, they decided that adding a romance element, even if it isn’t a factual part of the story, was a necessary evil.”
I hadn’t thought it was possible, but Levi’s jaw hardened more. Another fraction of an inch, and I feared it might actually turn to stone. “You didn’t think women would be able to relate to the strength and determination that Grace Murphy showed in stopping Walter Gaskins? You didn’t think that would be enough?”
“Of course we see that, Levi.” Boyce smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “But we also know there needs to be a little more spice for the viewer’s pleasure.”
Levi sat frozen in his seat. His jaw was still hard, his lips firm, and his normally bright blue eyes as cold as ice.
I couldn’t decide if he was at a loss for words or he was trying to restrain himself from throttling our producer. I poised at the edge of my seat, just in case I needed to do some sort of kicking herkie jump between them.
But Boyce didn’t give Levi any time for a reaction. What he said was gospel, and now it was time to move on. I wasn’t so sure the ticking time bomb of a cop at the center of the table would care about following the bullshit Hollywood protocol of voicing grievances quickly and then burying them deep, where they’d never see the light of day.
“All right,” Boyce stated. “I’d like to do a quick run-through with set production to make sure we’re ready to start rehearsing the first scenes tomorrow. Jerry, how are we doing on schedule?”
While Jerry, our head of set production started to ramble on with prop and lighting updates, I kept watch on Levi.
He was frozen in his seat, his eyes staring down at the opened script in front of him, and his hands flexed manically into fists and open again.
I wanted to ask him if he was all right, but I bit my tongue. I didn’t want to make this situation worse than it already was.
But I didn’t have much time to question my judgment.
Moments later, Levi wasn’t frozen anymore. He stood up from his seat, the metal of the chair legs screeching across the tile. All eyes turned to him at the sound, and my throat closed around the unease. I wanted to fix this before he got himself into trouble.
His self-restraint proved worthy, however, as he kept the fireworks inside and mumbled “Excuse me” to the otherwise oblivious room.
And then, he was off, his strides long, fast, and hard as he stormed away from the table of still chattering people. He was out of the room between one heartbeat and the next.
I didn’t even think after that. I just acted. On pure emotion, apparently.
I had to go to him. I had to make sure he was okay.
I didn’t bother addressing the cast and crew; I just hopped out of my chair and jogged after him.
He was visible as I exited the room, his form cutting a dark and menacing line at the end of the hall. His fists clenched around a metal folding chair he’d found resting against the wall. Abruptly, he lifted it up, his movements a beautifully choreographed exercise in frustration, and tossed it from one side of the hall to the other. It hit the tile wainscoting with a shattering bang and clattered to the floor, bouncing wildly before settling. Any sane woman would have turned in the other direction—away from the big, bad man tossing furniture around—but I rarely controlled impulse with real sensible thought. Instead, I picked up my pace and sprinted directly toward him.
I didn’t guard my movements as I reached him, grabbing the thick, muscled heat of his arm and squeezing. His blue eyes startled to mine in surprise.
“Follow me,” I whispered. I could see the resistance swirling just under the surface of his pupils. They were dilated and intense, and I knew the real Levi wasn’t even present. This man was pure emotion, and none of the problems between us existed. “Just follow me.”
I needed to get him out of the hallway and somewhere private where he wasn’t visible to prying eyes and nosy ears. Luckily, the hall had remained empty despite the ruckus, but I had a feeling if Levi kept throwing shit, it wouldn’t be for long.
He stared down at me, my hand still gripping his bicep. My breathing shallowed as I prepared to go into battle, but somehow, some magical way, he didn’t question or argue.
Without any words, I dragged him down the hall until we reached a darkened room at the end. I turned the rust-spotted knob of the closed door and, fortunately, it opened with ease.
I ushered him inside quickly and shut and locked us safely away from the outside world.
The room was deserted. An Office Space version of an old Western ghost town, a worn, dusty desk rested in the corner of the room, flimsy cardboard boxes and old yellowed papers scattered across it.
Levi walked over to the desk while I watched. His shoulders were ridged, and the line of his back bowed. I bit my lip, mentally scrolling through the entirety of the English language, desperate to find some sort of word to comfort him. It was a painstaking process, and his wrath wouldn’t wait. With both hands and a violent will, he shoved everything off of the desk with an angry growl. “Fuck!” he shouted, yellow papers fluttering and floating around him. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
Anger or not, his emotions stemmed from one thing: pain.
Grace Murphy had been important to him, and I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be in his shoes. She had been his friend, someone he’d known since he was a kid, and now, he had to watch as a Hollywood film picked apart their life story and made their own fucking version, no matter if it was factual or not.
He turned toward me, eyes still dark and haunted, jaw clenched. For as visually impactful as his desk clearing had been, it was unmistakably lacking in emotional satisfaction. “I can’t fucking believe this.” His voice was rough and open—so fucking cutting, I could feel the edge of his pain. Completely unbidden, tears stung at the base of my nose. “They’re adding a romance element to Grace’s and my story? What gives them the fucking right?”
“I don’t know, Levi,” I whispered and closed the distance between us. “I honestly don’t know.”
He watched me closely as I walked toward him, his back resting against the now empty desk. But he didn’t try to stop me, and for maybe the first time ever, he didn’t use me as a scapegoat. His body still and his gaze intent, he watched as my fingers moved to his arm again in a gesture of comfort.
“I feel like I’m living in the seventh circle of hell,” he muttered more to himself than me, the physical contact between us the sole focus of his contemplation. “Like I’m in the middle of a nightmare I can’t fucking wake up from.”
Blood buzzed in my veins, and a whoosh blurred in my ears. For some reason, I had an inescapable need to ease his discomfort.
Everything else between us—the fights, the kissing, the nasty words we’d slung at one another—didn’t matter in that moment.
I just wanted him to be okay.
“I’m so sorry, Levi,” I whispered. My voice shook with sentiment, but the unsteadiness was worth it. Because his blue eyes lost their harsh glare as they lifted to mine. “I know I can’t understand what you’re feeling right now, but just know I agree with you on this. I tried to get them to change their mind.”
“You agree with me on this?” The hardness of his jaw softened, and his lips went from pursed to parted. He stared at me, but it wasn’t with scrutiny or judgment. It was with surprise—and a renewed consideration. Like, maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t as bad as he’d thought.
“Of course I do,” I whispered back. “This story isn’t just some made-up screenplay for the sake of making money. This is a real story. A tragic story. It is yours and Grace’s story. It is Cold, Montana’s story. And I think it deserves to be told the way it really happened.”
His eyes shuttered, closing off secrets with the pull of a curtain. I wondered at the timing and reason, but I had no time to linger.
“Then why are you still here?” he asked. “Why are you still going along with it?”
I knew it sounded crazy, but ever since I’d arrived in Cold, Montana, I felt like I needed to be here. Like some sort of magnet lay within the town’s limits and pulled at my core. I thought carefully about my words, hoping to make him understand that.
“Because no matter what I do, they will make this movie. I couldn’t bear the thought of another actress taking this role and not understanding how important it is. I feel like I’m the only one who really cares about making sure Grace’s story is told right.”
“You thought about quitting?” he asked, his voice so quiet I wouldn’t have heard it had we not been in the silent, vacant room.
I nodded.
“But you stayed?”
I nodded again. “Because of Grace.” And maybe because of you too.
My thoughts urged my feet into action without a conscious decision, and with two careful steps, I moved even closer to him.
He did the same, each of us doing our part to close the short distance between us. By the time we stopped, our chests were mere inches away, and with blue looking into green, our gazes locked together in a vise.
Something shifted in him. I saw it in the way his eyes softened and the hard lines of his jaw calmed. The tension in his shoulders released, and my heart pounded wildly inside of my chest. My breath hitched as he moved both of his big, strong hands up my arms, shoulders, until they reached the tresses of my hair.
Silence stretched between us as we continued to stare at one another. We couldn’t look away.
I didn’t know who made the next move.
But one moment, we were looking at one another, and the next, our hands were pulling each other closer. Flesh on flesh, the final inch to connection was seamless. Our lips danced a familiar rhythm that I recognized as ours.
Hard. Rough. Our mouths melded together as if we were starved and each other’s lips were a feast. His hands stayed in my hair, massaging his fingertips into my long locks while I dug my fingernails into the strong muscles of his shoulders.
I anchored myself in the grip of his hot, real flesh and let the rest go. The past, the reason we’d been thrown together, and all the excuses for why we wouldn’t work.
It was here and now, and Levi felt like the air I needed to breathe.
Fuck, he tastes good.
And without understanding why, I wanted more.
This attraction, it felt otherworldly. Like it came from somewhere deep inside my soul and I couldn’t deny it if I tried.
But right now, I wasn’t denying it. And neither was he.
His hands moved down my arms again until they reached my hips, yanking at the small sliver of flesh left exposed at the bottom of my sweater. Pressure and contact turned to lifting, and my legs wrapped around his waist. He turned us around until my ass rested on the empty desk.
Goose bumps rose across my skin, and my nipples grew hard and sensitive beneath my bra as he kissed me deeper. I reciprocated, delving my tongue into his mouth and tasting the sweetness of his lips from the inside out.
I throbbed and ached, and I felt my panties grow damp with arousal.
Instinctually, my legs wrapped tighter around him in response, and my hips took on a mind of their own as they ground against him. I needed more. More contact, more teasing, more pleasure.
God, he was big. And hard. And I wanted to know what he looked like beneath his uniform pants. I wanted to know how he’d feel inside of me. My mouth, my pussy—I wanted to feel his heavy warmth everywhere.
I moaned and ground down harder against him when his lips moved down my cheek to my neck, to my collarbone.
He responded with a gruff, raspy groan.
My toes curled, and I felt instantly greedy to eat up all of his sexy sounds. Groans, moans, growls, screams—I craved each of them in vivid detail.
Three loud knocks rapped against the shut—and thankfully, locked—door before I could try to make my fantasies become reality.
We both startled, hands dropping away from each other like we were on fire. But our bodies were still connected, my legs still wrapped around his waist and his still-hard cock pressed against me.
“Hello?” someone asked from the other side of the door.
I pressed a finger to Levi’s lips and shook my head in a “don’t respond” gesture. The feel of his hot, wet flesh on my fingers made me shake.
The knob jostled, but whoever was on the other side was impatient. When there wasn’t instant success, their footsteps echoed down the hallway, retreating away from the door.
“Shit,” I slurred, still drugged with arousal. It was so potent, not fading at all with the time spent not kissing, that I forced myself to do an appraisal of why. His cock was still very much hard and pressed against the apex of my thighs. And even through my jeans, I could tell he was big and turned way the fuck on.
No wonder I feel so out of control. There’d been absolutely no pause for logic this time.
Shocked and confused, I disentangled myself from him, unwrapping my legs and letting them fall heavily open. He escaped immediately, and with two steps back, he put space between us and turned his back to me.
“Jesus Christ.” He let out a deep breath and ran his hands roughly through his hair. It stood on end and shot out in several directions.
“What was that?” I asked on a whisper, desperate to end how alone I felt with only his back in view. His shoulders tensed—the weight of the world coming back in an instant.
“It was nothing.”
Nothing. Like a knife straight to my heart, that word hurt more than any of the careless words Levi had ever said to me.
Nothing. What a line of bullshit. I knew I wasn’t the only one on that desk damn near fucking with my clothes still on.
Now, it was my turn to bristle.
“Nothing?” I questioned and hopped off the desk. The sound of my boots hitting the floor was undeniable, but he didn’t move. He still only had his back to offer, and the distant move only made rage seep into my veins.
“You know, you could be a fucking man and actually turn around and face me,” I spat.
Calling a guy’s manhood into question always got him moving, and Levi was no different.
He spun on his heels, his blue eyes finally finding mine. But there wasn’t kindness twined in their depths, and there wasn’t respect. His sneer was patronizing and filled with false bluster. One veined arm flexed as he grabbed crudely onto the bulge in his pants. “I’m pretty sure we both know I’m all fucking man, sweetheart.”
My lip curled at the foul move. “Don’t patronize me with nicknames, sweetheart.”
He laughed, but it was all wrong—cocky and disconnected, there was nothing left of the man I’d first brought into this room.
I didn’t know what had happened. There was a reason we kept finding ourselves in situations like this. When it came to the laws of attraction, it was all pretty simple; you didn’t just keep kissing someone you didn’t want to be kissing.
“I know I wasn’t the only one who felt something on that desk,” I challenged. His face never changed. Emotionless and cutting, he was resolved to his new game.
“I didn’t feel anything.”
I glared, and one index finger went directly in front of his face. “You’re so full of shit,” I spat. “So fucking full of shit.”
Quick as a bullet, he moved toward me, damn near lifting me off my feet and locking our lips in a kiss. Again.
Our mouths melded and moved, and when his tongue slipped past my lips to dance with mine, I moaned.
My brain swam with confusion and arousal and a million other things I couldn’t figure out, but the one that was the most intense was want.
I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted him to keep kissing me.
But quicker than it started, he stopped it, and I was back on my feet, Levi staring down at me with that goddamn taunt of voided emotion.
“See? Nothing,” he whispered. I felt his words clench my gut and slide up into my throat like a ball of sick.
I swallowed past the discomfort and fought for composure. He wouldn’t break me. I wouldn’t succumb to insecurity, and I wouldn’t let go of what I knew was true. There were two people in this room, and goddammit, both of us were involved.
Cued by his obscene gesture, I made one of my own. His cock jumped in my hand as I reached out and squeezed it in the palm of my hand. His eyes flared and his jaw flexed. “You’re a terrible actor, Levi Fox. I know I wasn’t on that desk alone damn near fucking with my clothes on. You were there too, and no matter how much you want to deny it, you were feeling something.”
He wrapped his fingers around my wrist and freed my grip with a yank. “Feeling like fucking and feeling something are two different things, honey.”
“Why do I keep thinking you’re something other than an asshole?” I seethed, ripping my wrist away. The flesh from under his hand was still white from the pressure.
I didn’t dare confront what the vigor in his hold might mean.
Without looking back, I walked past him and out of the room.
Screw Levi Fox and his many goddamn moods.
I was done with his whiplash.