Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“I’m sure I could manage it.”
Third time’s a charm, though.
When Jordan’s gray eyes meet mine while his hands unbutton my shirt and slip it off my shoulders, I prepare for his lips to meet mine. I try to find that free-flowing go with it attitude I had in the club, but it’s not there.
And when he finally kisses me? It’s awkward. So fucking awkward. Our lips are mashed together, I can feel everyone’s eyes on us, and it’s cold and impersonal.
“Cut!” Ben yells and stands, running his hands over his hair in frustration.
“Still straight?” Jordan quips.
“If it’s possible, I think I’m more straight.”
He holds his heart. “You wound me.”
I chuckle.
We don’t realize Ben’s upon us until he’s in our faces.
“I’m calling it a day. I’m done.”
Here we go with the dramatic artist shit again.
“We’ll get it shot,” Jordan says. “It’s fine.”
“Maybe I should’ve gone with a queer actor. That was like watching two fish kiss.”
“Aww, cute,” Jordan says.
“That wasn’t a compliment.” Ben huffs. “Just … go home. Both of you. We’ll reshoot tomorrow.”
And I’m fucking this up again.
How long’s left on the shooting schedule?
Chapter Six
Jordan
I like to think of myself as a pretty positive person. The life of a mid-list celebrity is cushy as fuck. But ever since seeing that production assistant leaving Ben’s house, I’ve had a cloud of doubt hanging over me, and it’s only made worse by Ben’s excuses and anger toward the scenes Blake and I have been shooting.
Only, it’s not Blake who’s at fault this time. Yeah, the kiss yesterday was awkward, but it was our first take. Ben just gave up. Then he told me not to bother coming over to his place because he was, and I quote, “too busy regretting a casting choice.”
Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I can’t help thinking something else is going on, and this is exactly why I don’t like relationships. All the mistrust and suspicion. Well, that, and because I always know how it’s going to end—with them finding their happily ever after with someone else. It happens every damn time.
When I finally arrive on set the next day, late because of typical LA traffic, I’m expecting to get reamed about it, but it turns out I’m not the last one here. There’s a flurry of talk and chatter among the crew, some hurried whispers and confused looks as I walk onto the set.
I find Blake in the clothes he was wearing for the scene yesterday, sitting on a folding chair behind the cameras and scrolling through his phone.
“Hey. Why is everyone being weird?” I ask.
His head shoots up, and his blue eyes fill with … relief? “Oh, thank God you’re okay.” He stands, and I’m suddenly engulfed in his arms. Which is weird. We’re the kind of friends who give quick pats on the back—the straight-man hug as I like to call it. We’re not hold on for dear life while we hug type friends.
“Am I missing something?”
Blake pulls back and gives me the once-over in an assessing way. “Oh.” Then his eyes widen. “Oh. You don’t know.”
“Know what?”
“Uh, tabloid shit. You’re dead. Apparently.”
“I have a death rumor about me? That’s so cool. That means I’ve really made it in Hollywood. Show me.” I hold out my hand, but Blake refuses to hand over his phone.
“It’s nothing. You don’t need to see it.”
My gaze narrows. “You’re leaving something out.” And if he’s not going to tell me, then fine. I take out my phone. “I’ll look it up mys—”
Benjamin Randt in Scandalous Car Crash.
“Scandalous? Car accident? Wait, wha? Is he okay?”
Blake groans. “Keep reading.”
The article doesn’t say much, but then I see it near the bottom.
Benjamin Randt and his passenger are being treated at Cedars-Sinai and are in critical condition, according to a source.
“Passenger?”
“We thought it was you because … well, you know …”
“I know what?”
He purses his lips. “What article are you reading? The one I saw on TMZ said witnesses told them the two in the car were, uh, in a compromising position.”
“What?”
“Umm …” Blake’s gaze darts around the place, and then he steps forward to take my arm. “How about we go to the hospital? I’ll take you.”
I let him lead me, my mind caught somewhere between Ben’s in the hospital and compromising position.
Blake’s town car is outside the studio when we get there, and he shoves me in the back seat and climbs in after me.
My leg bounces, and he places a calming hand on my knee. “Hey, it’s TMZ. What do they know? I’m sure this is all one big misunderstanding.”
Except when it comes to tabloids, TMZ always seems to be closest to the truth.
Traffic to the hospital is a bitch, and I can’t help thinking Ben’s accident was the reason I was late to set today.
Blake’s driver drops us off, where we’re hit with a wall of paparazzi trying to get an update.