Unwritten

There’s a tap at the door. We both turn. Mrs. Olsen is in the doorway. “Can I interest you girls in some hot cocoa?” she asks.

“Yes!” we answer in unison. I laugh. “That sounds amazing, thank you.”

“And I just baked up a fresh batch of cookies.” Mrs. Olsen smiles and bustles back to the kitchen.

“You’re so lucky, she’s like the ultimate grandma,” Tegan sighs. “Can I move in? Pretty please?”

I laugh. “You’re the one with that beach-front mansion,” I remind her.

“You mean, Dex is. But you’re right, it’s pretty much mine too,” Tegan grins. “Especially now that our hot water is out again. I went over to take a bath the other night and ended up staying two hours. It was amazing.”

Mrs. Olsen comes back in and sets a tray on the coffee table. “Here you go, girls. Chocolate chip and gingersnap.”

“You’re the best,” Tegan beams. The phone rings in the next room, and Mrs. Olsen turns.

“I better get that. You let me know if you need any more.”

I laugh. “This is enough to feed an army!”

She bustles out, leaving us alone again. I reach for a cookie and demolish the whole thing in three bites. “I’m never leaving,” I vow, savoring the sweet chocolate taste.

“You’ve got it made,” Tegan agrees, sipping cocoa. “But how does she feel about gentleman callers?” She waggles her eyebrows. I blush.

“You’re getting way ahead of things,” I tell her.

“So what’s the plan, anyway? Your big date with Dash.”

“You mean, my big group chaperoned outing,” I correct her. “He suggested we hit some bars in the city, maybe even a club. I think a whole group is going now, I said I’d meet everyone out there for dinner. I figured an awkward car ride sandwiched between Blake and Dash wasn’t really the best thing,” I add.

Tegan shakes her head. “I’m impressed, babe. Who knew big brother would get so possessive?”

“I don’t know about possessive,” I sigh. “Dash is kind of a player. Blake warned me about him, actually, he could just be looking out for me again.”

“See? He’s jealous.”

“Or treating me like I’m his little sister,” I note.

Tegan snorts. “Please. If anyone can make him wake up and realize he needs more than some rabbit-food-eating supermodel bimbo, it’s you,” Tegan declares. “Starting with tonight!”

10.

Blake

By the time we make it to the club, my stomach is tied up in an angry, frustrated knot. Zoey can’t date Dash. She just can’t.

Sure, Dash is my friend—he’s a great guy, and an incredibly talented director—but I’ve seen the way he burns through women. He’s almost as bad as me. That British accent plus his whole arrogant bastard routine has girls throwing themselves at his feet every time, and it burns like hell to think of Zoey falling for the same routine. She’s not like the other Hollywood girls, she deserves better. It’s up to me to make sure she doesn’t get hurt.

At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.

Not because you don’t want anyone’s lips on her except yours…?

No.

I shove aside the jealousy that’s been flaring every time I see them together, and focus on what makes sense. She’s a friend. She deserves better than a brief on-set fling. She doesn’t realize how these things work, how movie sets are a bubble filled with hormones. Soon, everyone will be pairing up, just as a way to work off some energy away from home. But the minute we wrap filming, Dash will be on to the next girl, and Zoey will be heartbroken.

She’s worth more. So much more.

“Waiting for someone?” Dash asks. We’re at a club, a new, stylish place with the music playing loud and people crammed in close. I drag my eyes from the door I’ve been watching ever since we arrived. Zoey’s running late, and I’m even more on edge waiting for her.

Dash smirks. “You need to relax, man. That’s what tonight is all about. Blow off some steam, have a good time. I moved back the call-time to noon tomorrow, so you don’t even need to worry about getting bags under those pretty little eyes of yours.”

He ruffles my hair as he heads to the bar, and I knock his hand away. I get that it’s my job to show up and look good for the cameras, but the constant digs about my appearance are starting to get to me.

“If you think that’s bad, my agent just emailed me a new diet plan.” Lila sinks into the seat beside me. She’s drinking soda water through a straw, her lips glossed and pink. “He saw some of the early footage, and thinks I could stand to lose another five pounds.”

“That’s crazy.” I look over at her. She’s practically a twig already, wearing a casual white tank top and denim miniskirt. When I picked her up in a scene the other day, I felt like I was going to break her in half. “You look great.”

“In person,” Lila laughs. “But the camera adds ten pounds, ‘and you don’t want the blogs speculating you’re pregnant again, do you?’” she mimics her agent. “Because of course that’s the only thing that matters, and not how I actually, you know, act.”

“You were great in the scenes yesterday,” I offer. I still haven’t figured Lila out: she acts like a raging bitch to the rest of the crew, but she’s fine with me. And in front of the camera, she’s a revelation, making me want to push harder, dig deeper, just to keep up.