Between the Lines

I glance at him, but his gaze doesn’t shift from the window. God.

Em: Details from last night?? I saw photos online, but it isn’t the same as the straight dirt.

Me: It was nice. We talked a lot. The paparazzi stuff is all a little scary.

Em: You’re going out with a guy who has his own posters, i mean holy shit.

Me: I knnnnooooowww. It didn’t feel like that last night though…

Em: Are you guys official? Fan pages say your people and his people are not commenting.

Me: I have people??

Em: Apparently

Me: Ugh. Gotta go film. I’m supposed to start classes this afternoon. Zzzzzz

Chapter 28

REID

For the past three days, any time I can get away with it, I’m monopolizing Emma’s time. Her afternoon classes are an annoying interruption, plus now she has assignments to do during the free time that I’d rather she spend with me. We have next Monday off, due in part to it being Labor Day and in part to Adam Richter’s wife having a scheduled C-section that day.

For me, a long weekend means two things. First, Emma’s going home to Sacramento on Saturday, so I already won’t see her for three days. And second, my mom’s first two weeks in rehab, which I’ve consciously refused to think about, are almost up. Dad’s just informed me that I’m leaving for LA Friday night—meaning tomorrow.

“We’re expected to be at a family session with her Saturday morning,” he says.

I feel myself responding emotionally to his dictatorial bearing before I even process the words. And then I process the words. Family. Session. The last thing I want is to talk to another f**king therapist because of Mom. “What,” I say, my voice devoid of inflection.

“Look, I’m sorry if this interrupts your routine partying, but this is your mother, and she should be important enough to give up an hour or so of your customary time-squandering activities. George has you set up for Austin to LA Friday night, and I’m driving us out to Malibu Saturday morning.”

Okay so first, he thinks he’s going to lecture me on making Mom a priority? What about all the dinners he misses? The charity shit she does that he pays no goddamned attention to? He spends evenings and weekends in do-not-disturb-I’m-important-and-working mode, even when he’s home. Now, because she’s in rehab again, he’s going to play the concern card? Really?

I run a hand through my hair, grabbing and pulling it while my jaw clenches. He pushes every goddamned button I have. “Fine. Friday night. Tell George to have a car waiting at LAX.”

“It’s already set up—you know George.”

“Fine,” I say again. I’m done talking to him but for some inane reason can’t seem to just hang the f**k up on him.

“You’ll be in a little late for dinner—” he begins.

“No thanks anyway, Dad. This week is killing me. Just have Immaculada leave me something I can heat up when I get there.”

“All right. I’ll see you tomorrow—”

“Right. tomorrow.” I push end, hurl my phone at the bed. It bounces once and off, hitting the thick carpeting. “Goddammit.”

Emma is in tutoring for another few minutes. She’s coming to my room when she’s done. The past few days, we’ve been dancing around the subject of sex. Any time I take a step up and she responds by stepping back, so do I. But I really don’t want to go home without this in the bag. If home and Dad and family sessions weren’t looming, I could keep hold of my patience better. If I hadn’t decided to terminate local hookups, I could just grab Quinton or Tadd and go out, find someone… if, if, if. Gah. I keep telling myself that she’ll be worth the wait. If the chemistry we have so far is any indication, she’ll be more than worth it.

Most of us were in the Gap this morning, where she and I did scenes in which our characters were involved in a heated exchange. I swear we were both so into it we were half pissed, half turned on by the time Richter called cut. While waiting for production to get the lighting repositioned, I angled my head away from the crush of people all standing around. “Come ’ere.”

She followed me, puzzled, as I walked to the opposite side of a ten-foot high partition hung with board shorts on one side and sundresses on the other. “Reid? What—?”

I didn’t let her finish, drawing her into the rainbow of sundresses and kissing her, pushing her up against the makeshift wall, the gauzy cotton at her back like a cushion. When I lifted my head, she blinked, her hands braced on my chest, not exactly pulling me forward, not exactly pushing me away, either. “What was that for?” She was a little breathless.

“That was ‘Have dinner with me tonight.’” I started to lean in again and she put a hand over my mouth, laughing quietly and glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one had discovered us. I guess someone had to care about that, because I sure as shit didn’t.

“We have to be here early again tomorrow. We won’t really have time to go out—”

“Dinner in, then.” Her hand muffled my words, and the careful one-day scruff of beard I have to keep for filming tickled her palm.

“Are you going to behave?” She began to slide her hand away, carefully, like she didn’t trust me. I tried not to smile and failed. When she arched a brow at me with a look of authority, I imagined her with a ruler in one hand and a piece of chalk in the other, wearing glasses, a tight little skirt, high heeled pumps… definitely not helping.

I nodded, holding up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”