Between the Lines
“Noticed that, did you?” His voice is careful, calm. He doesn’t seem angry.
“I’m so sorry—it’s none of my business.”
“It’s okay. I’ve never really… discussed what happened with anyone.” He shifts in his chair, waits while the waiter takes his plate. “We were involved. A long time ago.” His blue eyes sweep up and he sighs. “To say it didn’t end well would be an understatement.”
“Wow. I’m really… sorry.” I’m dying to know what happened, but there’s no way I’m asking that of him.
“Seriously, it was a long time ago. I’m way over it, believe me. I know she is, too. This is just the first time we’ve worked together since then.” He smiles pensively, then twitches his hair back and seems to shake off any negative leftovers. “There’s no reason for either of us to be bitter at this point. She seems happy enough with Graham.”
Boom. Just like that.
“Are they—? I mean, tonight she said…” Oops, this is probably going against the girl code. Even if Brooke and I aren’t exactly best friends.
He arches a brow. “What?”
Ugh! What if he tells Graham? Should I tell Graham?
“Well, um, she said something about a date tonight…”
“With someone other than Graham, is that what you mean?”
“Yeah.” I feel uncomfortable having divulged this, until Reid answers.
“Emma… you’re not used to Hollywood people. You’re still inexperienced—not that you should be anything else.” He snaps a credit card on top of the bill and sends the waiter away. “I’m almost positive Brooke and Graham, living as far apart as they do, have an understanding.”
“You mean… to go out with other people?”
“Either that, or they’re just fooling around while we’re on location here.” I guess the look on my face takes me directly from inexperienced to downright naïve, because he says, “Oh great. I’ve shocked you. Look, I’m sure whatever they’re doing, they’ve agreed on between them. The best thing to do in this business is adopt a live-and-let-live attitude.”
He signs the receipt, an illegible scrawl, and stands, taking my hand. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
When we reach the hotel, he shields me on the way in as he did hours ago, on the way out. Once we’re inside, he takes my hand as we cross the lobby. I feel more comfortable with him than I ever thought it possible to be, but my pulse is hammering by the time we get into the elevator. When the doors shut, he leans against the side wall and pulls me forward, his feet spread just far enough apart for me to stand in between them. “I’m going to kiss you now,” he says, his hands pressing my low back. And then he does.
We stop at my door, and he says nothing about us continuing to his room. “I know you have filming at an offensive hour tomorrow, so if you’ll let me have one more kiss just inside your door, I’ll go to my room, where I’ll sit and smile for a bit before falling asleep.”
“No killing zombies tonight?”
He laughs. “Ah, who was it—Tadd, or Quinton? That addiction is supposed to be our secret. It’s like Fight Club for guys with faces that have to stay pretty.”
I laugh, unlocking my door. We step inside my room, where I’ve left a single lamp on and curtains open, because it was light outside when we left. Reid lets the door shut and immediately presses me to it, his hands on my shoulders. Inverting his hands, his fingernails lightly skim down my bare arms. When he gets to my hands, he takes them in his, dips his head and kisses me.
“I have to go now or I’m not going at all,” he says, minutes later. I can’t do any more than nod. He kisses me again, pulling away and murmuring, “Damn,” before opening the door and slipping into the hallway.
***
Production interrupted the Bennet house filming schedule in favor of completing some scenes at the mall. We have to be on location and ready to go by 5 a.m. so we can wrap filming before the mall opens. No one can blame us for whining about morning coming too soon when we’re dragging ourselves out of bed at 4 a.m.—which I’m sorry is not technically morning. Graham and I decided yesterday, when we got news of the change, to sacrifice our morning runs for the week.
Five of us stumble into the limo and collapse on the seats, clutching Starbucks cups and battered sides, going over lines. Reid, Tadd and Brooke don’t film until the afternoon, so at the moment, everyone hates them. Quinton sprawls next to me, eyes shut and Ray-Bans in place, despite the darkness outside and the tinted windows, as if the mini-lights throughout the interior of the limo are an outrage. “Why am I awake? Sun’s not even up yet,” he complains.
Next to me, Graham’s mouth turns up on one side and he bumps my foot with his. We’re used to being up before the sun, familiar with the gradual warmth on our backs as it rises, the erratic, elongated shadows it creates ahead of us as we jog west along the river paths, its rays on our faces as we circle around to head back to the hotel. “I miss running already,” he says.
“I hear mall walking is popular with the older folks,” I say. “You could stick around after we’re done filming, get a few laps in…”
He shakes his head, fighting to repress a grin. “Funny girl.” His gaze moves to the window across from us, and we both watch the cityscape passing by for several moments. “What if the running isn’t the only part of it I miss?”