Between the Lines

Ow!” she says, followed by more giggling. Jesus.

Following Emma to the elevator, I can’t help but inventory everything I ever found physically attractive about her—how her hair flows over her shoulders, the way she holds herself as she walks, the curve of her hip and the line of muscle down the side of her legs below the hem of her white shorts, the wrist of stacked bracelets on her left arm, and on her right hand, the silver band with the story I’ll never learn. We enter the elevator and ride to the ground floor in silence, her pale shoulder against the opposite wall. I hum to myself as we take what feels like the slowest descent in the history of motorized, pulley-operated boxes. I find myself thinking Is this goddamned thing even moving? I could crawl down the stairs faster, when not long ago, the two of us appreciated the elevator’s lethargic pace.

Graham and MiShaun are in the lobby, along with Bob, who walkies that he’s bringing us out. Luckily, the early hour yields just a couple of paparazzi photogs. MiShaun takes Emma’s arm, talking nonsense on the way to the car. She sits next to Emma and Graham takes the seat across from her. They’ve joined forces to make sure I’m as far from her as possible.

Awesome.

*** *** ***

Emma

“You never told me how the SAT went.” Graham loads his tortilla with some of everything from the fajita platter we’re sharing, including the sour cream, cheese and guacamole that I avoid lest I be accused of another baby bump. The two of us found a Tex-Mex place for our last meal out in Dallas. MiShaun’s computer guy is in town on some consulting project, so she’s with him, and Reid is probably hooking up with one of the new extras or a local groupie. Filming was hell, but it’s done.

“The exam was protracted and arduous.” I tap my foot to the rhythm of the music in the background as I select lean pieces of grilled chicken and veggies. Graham smiles, and I notice a bit of sour cream at the corner of his mouth. I wonder what he’d do if I reached out a finger and cleaned it off. Maybe with a napkin. Maybe I should just say something. Maybe just ignore it.

“Sounds traumatic,” he says. Huh? Oh, the SAT.

I shrug, take a sip of iced tea and glance back at his mouth. Sour cream still there. I have a vision of leaning across the table and licking it off, and I blurt, “You have a little…” and point to the corner of my mouth. He pulls the napkin off his lap and swabs at the corner.

“Gone?”

“Yeah.” Must stop staring at his mouth. I lean back into the soft leather booth and force myself to look away from him. If Graham and Brooke are together, or trying to be, then I have no business contemplating… licking him.

“Fans, three o’clock.”

“Huh?” I say, and he raises an eyebrow. “Okay, that doesn’t count. That was basically a question, not a huh.”

“All right,” he smiles. “I’ll spot you that one.”

I try to be covert in looking over my shoulder, but covert doesn’t matter—an entire table of sorority girls is staring back. My glancing at them ignites all of them to begin talking to each other excitedly, and then the cell phones emerge.

“Crap. Can we leave?”

“I haven’t paid yet.” He looks for our server, motions her over. “Restaurants sorta frown on customers who leave without paying. Even famous ones.” The server arrives with the check and Graham hands her a credit card. “You know, we talked about this a while back. It’s going to happen even more, once the movie’s released.” He laughs softly as I scowl at my lap. “Emma,” he says, prompting me to look at him. He’s leaning up, his forearms folded in front of him on the table, his eyes dark and direct. “You’re the lead female role in a major studio film. This is about to be your normality.”

He’s right, of course. I lean up on my forearms, too. “Emily told me the fan pages are going crazy wondering why Reid’s being seen with everyone but me.” I could get so lost in his eyes. I must stop gazing into them like I want to get lost there. “You know what this will do, me being photographed at what will no doubt be described as an intimate dinner, with you.”

He smiles, signing the receipt and stowing his card away. “I can take it. Now put on a little attitude, and let’s get out of here.” He calls our driver to meet us out front and takes my hand as we exit, and despite the people staring, pointing cell phones, or just plain pointing, I feel calm with my hand in his.

Chapter 43

REID

The last weeks of filming are moving in a blur.

According to the fan pages, Emma and Graham continue their morning runs and are rumored to be making out all over town—despite no photographic evidence beyond the hand-holding incident in Dallas. In private, they’re no different near each other than they’ve ever been. Easy familiarity, but no staring across the room as though they can hardly wait to get each other alone and no touching that I’ve witnessed or heard about. Graham continues to appoint himself as Brooke’s protector—which at least I get now. I still think they’re involved.

Emma was chosen to play Lizbeth because of the chemistry between us, which refuses to ebb just because we want it to. And oh, how I want it to. Delivering Will Darcy’s declarations of love to Lizbeth is torture. Touching her is torture. Kissing her is torture.

When possible, I bow out of any group social activities in which Emma might be involved. Tadd, of course, is the one who notices my discomfort. Or maybe he’s just the only one who gives a shit or doesn’t automatically think I deserve to reap what I’ve sown. “Almost over, dude.”