Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
“A lot of nothing,” Brendan murmured, looking up at him. “No script readings. No irritable texts from crew members. No Newcomb. No Maxwell. No reporters. Nothing. Just us, rest, and a little peace and quiet until Monday.”
“That…sounds perfect. So perfect I won’t want to leave.” Draping his arms around Brendan’s shoulders, Cillian leaned into him. “So is this more of the real Brendan Lau, less of the Prince of Romance?”
“If that’s what you want to call it. I still just call it home.”
A gleam in Brendan’s eye was the only warning before he tumbled back—and took Cillian with him, sprawling on his back and dragging Cillian atop him. Cillian went down with a yelp, tumbling against Brendan and landing…
Face down in his chest.
“…I have had more graceful exits,” he muttered around a mouthful of Brendan’s shirt, then pushed himself up, looking down at the lazy, serene smile on Brendan’s face. “But I’m not complaining about where I am. So…what now?”
“Now?” Brendan tilted his head back, looking up toward the skylight angled into the roof where it soared up over the half-floor of the loft. “We rest. Just…rest, and enjoy our weekend.”
“I think I can do that,” Cillian said, and wondered how this man made him smile so very much. “In fact…I can think of nothing better I’d like to do.”
l
CILLIAN HAD NEVER THOUGHT HE could be so content just…being still.
They sprawled on the sofa together well into the afternoon. Brendan fell asleep at some point—and Cillian wasn’t long after. They woke only to put together something to eat from the frozen staples in the fridge, before falling right back into drifting, curled up on the sofa together with Cillian nestled in the crook of Brendan’s arm.
He let himself slip in and out of sleep, listening to Brendan’s heartbeat, the only thing counting seconds in this timeless quiet.
They spoke of little, or nothing at all, and now and then Brendan wordlessly pressed his lips into Cillian’s hair, and Cillian let himself dream that he wouldn’t have to go back.
He wanted to finish the film. He did. He wanted to finish it with Brendan.
He just couldn’t endure any more of that vile man.
But he could stay like this for ages with Brendan.
Near sunset, though, Brendan seemed to come awake a bit more, and his eyes slipped open; he gazed up at the skylight, idly walking his fingers up and down Cillian’s shoulder.
“You know, you asked me, but never told me yourself,” Brendan said in a drowsy-soft rumble. “Why did you get into acting?”
“You,” Cillian admitted, rubbing his cheek to Brendan’s shoulder. “But it’s not what it sounds like. I promise it’s not actually some hero worship thing.”
Brendan snorted. “I’m no hero.”
“And I’m a little over worshipping you.”
Thick fingers flicked his arm. “So tell me. What’s the real reason? Nice cars? Gorgeous women? Worldwide prestige?”
“Loneliness,” Cillian admitted softly. “I told you…I’m from a very small place. Cut off from the outside world. I’ve spent my life living in this microcosm of the same people, the same ideas, feeling completely isolated from everything else out there.” He bit his lip, curling a hand against Brendan’s chest. “The first time I performed, it was a school play in grade school. But there was still…something there. Something that made me feel like I was connected to everyone watching me, and it made me feel like I could reach farther than my tiny little world.” He smiled faintly. “Then…when I was about seventeen, my hometown finally got a modern movie theatre. The first film I ever saw on a thirty-foot screen…was you.” Closing his eyes, he let himself sink into the memory. “Do you remember? Half-Moon?”
“The man with sun sensitivity who could only come out at night,” Brendan murmured with a chuckle.
“And he fell in love with a girl with SAD so deeply affecting she couldn’t even function after dark.” Cillian sighed. “You were so…vivid, even though you were playing this quiet, self-effacing character. And I realized…there was a whole other world out there that I could reach. I could make my world so much larger…and maybe, if I was lucky, do that for others the way you did for me. So I wouldn’t have to be lonely, and neither would anyone watching my films.”
“Mm.” Those walking fingers stopped—and Brendan gathered him in closer to his warmth, those heated lips brushed into Cillian’s hair. “You’re right. That’s not the usual awkward hero worship answer. I like it.”
“Yeah?” Cillian flushed with pleasure.
“Mmhm. In fact…” Rough fingertips traced his jaw, his cheek, nudging. “I think, after that, you should kiss me.” Brendan’s lips brushed his brow; his breath rushed warm, sweet with the remnants of the pancakes they’d tossed together earlier for a late lunch. “And don’t stop kissing me until we have to go back to L.A.”
Cillian had been wrong.