Fallen star, p.15
Fallen Star, page 15
“I’m posting it,” Scott said, smiling as he typed with his thumbs. “You know, when I was a kid I wanted to marry Nala. I think she was my first crush.” He paused and looked up at her. “Is that weird?”
“You mean because she’s a lion?”
“Yeah.”
Grace shrugged. “I wanted to marry Simba. If you’re weird, I’m weird too.”
Scott grinned at her. “Match made in heaven.”
See, the problem was that the flirtier he acted, the harder Grace crushed on him. It was impossible not to find the attention thrilling when it was coming from someone as attractive and charismatic as Scott. But it was also a little bit heart-wrenching, because she knew he wasn’t actually flirting with her. It was just how he was. His way of being friendly.
This was Scott Deacon: he’d slept with hundreds of women, probably. The man had no shortage of game. If he’d actually been interested in her, he would have done something about it by now. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had plenty of chances.
But he hadn’t done anything about it, which meant he didn’t want to do anything about it.
Grace was trying to be fine with that, with just being friends, but it was getting harder every day.
12
They were being graced with a VIP visitor to the set: Robbie Scarborough, who was flying in for the weekend to hang with Scott.
Robbie wasn’t due to get in until Friday at lunchtime, and the whole morning Scott was as antsy as a kid on Christmas Eve. At the end of almost every take, Grace saw him pull his phone out to check the time.
Scott wasn’t the only one excited about their expected visitor either. Every straight woman and gay man with badge access to the soundstage seemed to have found a reason to hang around the set this morning.
When Robbie finally strolled in, escorted by a starstruck intern, Scott transformed before Grace’s eyes. There were a lot of bro-y hugs and hearty backslaps and throaty laughter, and so many ’sups and dudes and mans she felt like she’d wandered into a frat party. It was strange to see Scott so animated, and she couldn’t help wondering if this was what he’d been like all the time when he was younger and less sober. Before he became so intense and so damaged.
Robbie Scarborough was as glossy as his headshot, with the same floppy blond hair and boyish grin that made an entire generation of Millennials swoon during their formative years. Grace had never been that into him growing up, but she couldn’t help being a little dazzled when Scott introduced him, and Robbie projected that dreamy smile directly at her.
“Nice to meet you, Grace Speer,” he said, holding her hand for just a little longer than necessary.
He did that with all the women Scott introduced him to, Grace couldn’t help noticing. Looked them in the eyes, flashed that smile, and repeated their full names, all while holding their hands meaningfully in his. It was like a hypnotist’s trick, and it worked like a charm. Every single woman in the room was left starry-eyed and dazed when Robbie Scarborough was through with her.
Movie stars. It really was like a superpower.
The only woman Robbie didn’t try to charm was Poppy. When she showed up on set a little later, she went straight over to give him a hug, but something about it struck Grace as strained. It wasn’t that it was an unaffectionate hug, exactly, it was just that it was unaffectionate for Poppy. Robbie’s smile lost a little of its luster too. Not that Grace could blame them. She wasn’t sure she’d be half so civil if her ex showed up on set.
“How’ve you been?” Poppy asked Robbie, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.
“Good.” Robbie shot a sideways glance at Scott, who was staring determinedly at his shoes. “I’m good.”
They were standing close enough that Grace couldn’t help overhearing, but she didn’t feel right eavesdropping on their awkward reunion, so she got up and headed over to the craft services table until they were ready to start shooting again.
There was an extra chair set out by the monitors for Robbie, with a headset so he could listen to the scene they were shooting. When Dominic called the actors to their places, Robbie took his seat, giving Grace a wink as he settled in. After watching exactly one take, he pulled out his phone and concentrated his attention on that instead. Five minutes later, he got up, grabbed a bottle of Vitamin Water from the craft services table, and disappeared outside.
Grace didn’t see him again for the rest of the day.
“What happened to Robbie?” she asked Scott later.
He stole an M&M out of her palm and popped it in his mouth. “I gave him the key to my place so he could crash. Jet lag.”
The time difference between Los Angeles and New Orleans was only two hours, but okay. It must be exhausting, flying through two whole time zones on a fancy private jet.
“Hey, so I’m having a party tomorrow night,” Scott said, helping himself to another M&M. Now that he’d finished all his shirtless scenes, he was being less rigorous about his diet. “Nothing too wild, just a few people.”
Grace leaned toward her laptop to skim the email that had just come in from the editor. “I promise not to call in a noise complaint on you,” she said distractedly.
Scott tilted his head to catch her eye. “I was actually hoping you’d come.”
“Oh,” Grace said, forgetting about the email. “Sure. Definitely.”
“Great.” Scott stole another M&M. “Eight o’clock.”
She nodded. “I’ll be there.”
Shit.
At eight thirty, Grace stood in front of the door to Scott’s house with her stomach twisting. She could hear voices next door, and music. She’d been hearing the music for the last half hour—some kind of electronic dance music with a monotonous beat so you couldn’t tell where one song started and the next one began.
Scott had said eight, but Grace knew better than to show up on time to a party, even though it was basically killing her to be intentionally late. She was really not very good at parties.
Grace stared at the adjoining door and wondered if she should go around to the front instead. No, that was dumb. She should just knock on this door, like she always did. But what if they didn’t hear her over the music? Maybe his side was still unlocked, and he was expecting her to let herself in? Unless that would be too forward, just barging in uninvited. Except she was invited, and there were already other people there. She could hear them.
God, her palms were sweating. Why was she so nervous? It was just a stupid party.
A party at the home of a gorgeous movie star she happened to be attracted to. No big deal.
Get it together. You can’t stand here all night.
Grace reached out and tried the door. It was unlocked, so she pushed it open.
Scott’s house was bright and warm and full of people. Well, not full. There were like ten or twelve people there, mostly from the cast or the stunt team. All of them beautiful people with perfect bodies and gorgeous hair and great clothes.
This was fine.
“Grace!” Dex shouted, detaching himself from a clump of people in order to greet her with his arms thrown wide. He pulled her into a friendly, sloppy hug, and she instantly felt a thousand percent more comfortable. She knew Dex. Dex was great. This would all be fine.
Grace felt even better when Dex dragged her off to the kitchen to procure her a glass of wine.
The kitchen was where Scott was, making food. Some kind of canapés with goat cheese and prosciutto. There was a cheese plate already sitting out, and a charcuterie board, and a platter covered with vegetable crudités.
“Hey,” Scott said, looking up at her and smiling. His brown button-down brought out the green of his eyes even more than usual, and Grace’s breath caught when that piercing gaze met hers. “I’m glad you made it.” He stopped assembling canapés long enough to give her a kiss on the cheek.
“Can you believe this guy can cook?” Dex said, thrusting a glass of rosé into Grace’s hand. “If I wasn’t already married and he wasn’t straight…” He shook his head sadly.
“Can I do anything to help?” Grace asked Scott.
“Yeah, taste this for me.” He held a canapé in front of her face.
Grace opened her mouth, and he placed it on her tongue.
“What do you think?” he asked earnestly, like her opinion was deeply important to him.
“It’s delicious,” she assured him, and her heart gave a little lurch at the way his whole face lit up.
“Scotty, what’d you do with the olives, man?” Robbie shouted from the pantry, and Scott abandoned Grace and the canapés to go help him look.
She followed Dex back to the living room with her wine, and squeezed onto one of the couches between him and Stephen Choi, the stunt coordinator. She knew most of the people there, but some of them she knew better than others, since she didn’t have all that much to do with the stunt crew. Nate was there, along with Sareh and Poppy, and Ben and Tamika—who were apparently an item now—and some of the other supporting cast members. There weren’t many people from the rest of the crew though, other than Grace and Tamika.
Stephen introduced Grace to his wife, Jeannie, who worked as a stuntwoman too, and she and Grace talked across him until he finally gave up and switched seats. Another dozen or so people showed up over the next hour, and Scott made the rounds of the room, playing the good host and doling out lots of cheek kisses and handshakes. He checked in with everyone intermittently to make sure they were taken care of and having a good time, like he felt personally responsible for all his guests. It was sweet, but it meant Grace didn’t really get to talk to him, because he was always passing by on his way to talk to someone else.
She watched him drift from group to group: laughing, smiling, making small talk, and reflexively touching everyone he engaged with. He was even more outgoing than usual, a whirlwind of shoulder squeezes, backslaps, and hugs, punctuating every laugh with a friendly touch of some kind. His attentiveness seemed magnanimous rather than manipulative, but it was impossible to tell how genuine it was. Was this party person who Scott really was, or just another act he was putting on? He wore so many masks that Grace honestly couldn’t make heads or tails of him sometimes.
By eleven o’clock the party had thinned out a little and gotten more relaxed. Someone had changed the music, and Poppy was lip-synching to Britney Spears while Sareh egged her on, laughing. When the song switched to NSYNC, Grace was surprised to see Robbie join Poppy for a duet, and even more surprised when they dragged a reluctant Scott up there with them. He was a little self-conscious at first, but he knew all the words and dance moves by heart, and Grace gathered this wasn’t the first time they’d sung this song together.
Not long after that, someone suggested charades, and everyone started organizing themselves into teams. Grace was by herself in the kitchen at that point, grazing on what was left of the crudités, and no one noticed when she slipped into the empty front room.
It was an actual, honest-to-god ballroom, with a crystal chandelier hanging above a parquet wood floor, and floor-to-ceiling windows looking out on the park. But it had been converted to a workout room and equipped with a treadmill and rower and a rack of dumbbells. The room was dark, lit only by the moonlight filtering in through the leaded antique glass, and Grace stood by the window and looked out at the night, comforted for a few minutes by the knowledge that no one could see her.
She’d go back to the party in a few minutes. She just needed a break. She was tired, but she wasn’t ready to go home yet. She wasn’t ready for tonight to be over. To give up a chance to be close to Scott for a while longer.
She liked him so much.
There was a lot of excited shouting coming from the game of charades in the next room. It sounded like they were really getting into it. Actors. They did love their charades.
Maybe she would just go home. Sneak back into her house while they were all distracted and crawl into bed. No one would miss her, probably.
“Grace?” Scott said behind her.
Her heart gave a little kick, and she turned toward him the way a flower turns toward the sun: instinctively.
“There you are,” he said, stopping in front of her. “I was afraid you’d left.”
She looked up at him and forced a smile. “Still here.”
His forehead creased. “Are you having a good time? I’m worried you’re not having a good time.”
“I am.” Now that he was here with her, she was. She was addicted to the way she felt around him, even though it hurt whenever he shined his light on someone else.
His frown deepened, like he didn’t believe her. “Really? Then why’d you sneak off on your own?”
She shrugged. “I’m not really a charades person.”
“What’s wrong with charades?”
“Nothing. It just triggers all my childhood insecurities about performing in front of an audience.”
He pursed his lips. “You’re not having a good time.”
“I am,” she insisted. “This is me having a good time.
“Standing alone in a dark room?”
“Please don’t feel responsible for my emotional well-being. You should go back to your party.” She didn’t want him to be unhappy on her account. It wasn’t his fault she was having all these feelings, or that she found parties exhausting, or that she hated charades with every atom of her being.
“I don’t care about the party. I’d rather be here with you.” Scott reached for her—just a simple, soft brush of his fingers down her arm, but it was enough to make her heart lurch, even though it was the same touch she’d seen him give a dozen other people tonight.
It made Grace feel even more tired. She was exhausted from playing this game with him. Trying to figure out what was genuine and who she was supposed to be in response to all of his breathtaking Scott-ness.
“Of course you care about the party,” she said with a sigh. “You worked hard on the party.”
“I did work pretty hard on the canapés. Did you like the canapés?”
“I loved the canapés.”
“Good.” He gifted her with one of his devastating winks. “I was hoping to impress you.”
She pulled back a little. “You don’t have to keep doing that.”
“What?”
“Pretend to flirt with me.”
His smile slipped. “Who said I’m pretending?”
“I already like you, okay?” she blurted out before she could stop herself. “You don’t have to keep trying to win me over. And we both know you’re not actually interested in me, so really it’s all just kind of—”
“How do you know I’m not interested in you?” he interrupted.
“Because I’m me and you’re you and I’m definitely not your type.”
Scott raised an eyebrow, his expression equal parts curious and offended. “What do you think my type is?”
Grace knew exactly, because one of them was sitting in the next room. “Leggy actresses with thigh gaps and perfect hair.”
He shook his head. “That used to be my type, like ten years ago. Not anymore. Not for a long time.”
“Okay, then what’s your type?”
His mouth twisted into the barest hint of a smirk. “Snarky script supervisors who refuse to put up with any of my shit.”
Her throat went dry. “Scott.” It was supposed to be a warning, but it came out as a whisper.
“Grace.” The soft, slightly breathy way he said her name made her legs tremble. His eyes dropped to her mouth, and he leaned into her. His hands found their way to her waist, and then—
He was kissing her.
She was being kissed by Scott Deacon.
“Scott-EEE!” Robbie bellowed from the next room. “Where’d you go, man? Your team needs you.”
Grace jerked back, but Scott held on to her, keeping her from moving too far away.
“Yeah, okay!” he called back over his shoulder. “Be right there.” His forehead pressed against hers. “Sorry,” he muttered.
She nodded, barely able to remember how to breathe, much less form words.
“Come back to the party with me?” He took her hand in his and squeezed. “Please?”
Grace nodded again and let Scott lead her back to the party. When they reached the doorway of the living room, his hand released hers and moved to the small of her back. He guided her to one of the couches and cocked his head at Robbie to scoot over. Then he nudged her into the empty space and perched on the arm of the couch next to her.
“Hey! Why do y’all get Grace on your team?” Dex asked accusingly.
“Yeah, you guys are already a man up on us,” Poppy protested. “If she’s playing, it’s on our team.”
“She’s not playing,” Scott said. “She’s just watching.” He gave Grace’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and she leaned into him gratefully.
Everyone went back to playing charades, and Grace tried to look like she was paying attention.
She’d kissed Scott. Kissed him.
Sort of.
She’d been so surprised it was happening that she hadn’t had time to respond properly. And then Robbie had interrupted them—damn him—and Scott had stopped kissing her before she’d even had a chance to kiss him back.
He probably thought she hadn’t liked it. Or worse: he thought she was a terrible kisser.
Oh, god. Scott Deacon had kissed her and now he thought she was a terrible kisser.
She could do better. She just needed another chance to get it right. A do-over. Next time she wouldn’t be so unprepared.
Unless…unless when Scott had said he was sorry, he’d meant for kissing her? Maybe he wished he could take it back. Maybe he didn’t want a do-over.
She couldn’t even remember what it felt like to kiss him. She’d been so stunned, she’d kind of blacked out for a second. Scott’s lips had been on hers and she couldn’t remember how they’d felt. How was that fair?
The game of charades dragged on for another hour, and then the lip-synching started up again. Every time Scott caught her eye, he smiled, but then this little crease appeared in his forehead that Grace couldn’t decipher. Other than that, he acted like nothing had happened at all.
