Or the way Reid’s hands would feel on my hips.
Nope. Not once.
But twice.
“Damn, Max,” I cursed, walking out into the New York sun.
I quickly sent a text to Reid.
Me: Your brother is certifiably insane. Has he been locked up before?
Reid: Arkham Asylum wouldn’t take him.
Me: This saddens me.
Reid: Just don’t ask him anything related to the Joker. You’ll get a hell of a long answer.
Me: I’m stopping by in a few minutes. Be ready to wow me, lover boy, this shit’s going public.
Reid: I like it when you say shit and lover boy in the same sentence. Do it again.
Me: Shitty lover boy.
Reid: I stepped into that one HA ^^^ See what I did there? Genius.
I fought a smile and rolled my eyes.
Me: Just do what you normally do when seducing the poor soulless women of Manhattan and we’ll be just fine. Also, I’m scheduling a date for us tonight. There will be cameras. So make sure the charm is on.
Reid: It’s never off.
Me: Arrogance part of your charm?
Reid: Yes. GTG, break over.
Me: Later, lover.
Reid: Later, Sebastian.
I burst out laughing as I collided with someone else.
“Watch out!” the man yelled.
I held up my phone and mouthed sorry before making my way down the street. Reid and Max didn’t just live in one of the most expensive parts of Manhattan—they lived in THE most expensive part, where it wouldn’t be weird to see a Hollywood celebrity walking a small dog.
I would hate them both if I wasn’t so thankful that I actually had a roof over my head that wasn’t made up of neon lights and smelled like Chinese takeout.
The day felt like a fresh start. I was stain-free thanks to Max. My white-on-white top with leather leggings was chic and very early fall thanks to my shopping addiction.
And I was about to make Reid Emory the most sought-after actor on the planet.
What could possibly go wrong?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
REID
“That kiss was so not convincing,” Mona whispered. “Seriously, what’s wrong with you?”
My apartment.
With a hot frizzy-haired sexually repressed homeless person. Right, say that out loud and see if it doesn’t land you in the psych ward.
“Sorry,” I grumbled. “I’m tired.”
“Well, grab a Red Bull and make that kiss feel real!” Mona was Indian and had the most gorgeous mocha skin and thick brown hair. She’d taken Bollywood by storm and was on her third blockbuster hit in the United States. “Bud will know something’s wrong.”
Bud, our very anal director, had been on a tirade all morning because it looked like it might rain and he wanted to shoot another kissing scene in the park.
I yawned behind my hand.
Mona elbowed me.
“Take fifteen.” The PA slated the scene again and walked off while I gazed longingly into Mona’s eyes.
“I love you,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean it. What I said.”
Mona’s thick eyelashes fluttered before she leaned up on her tiptoes. “Prove it.”
Our mouths met.
It was nice.
That’s it. I was kissing an A-list star and all I could think of was “nice.” You know, like when you get dressed up in nice clothes for dinner. Nice. Nice as in, oh, that purple tulip sure is nice!
Shit!
“Cut!”
I rubbed my face with my hands.
“Reid!” Bud yelled. “Where the hell is your head?”
If I said, “In my ass,” would that get me fired?
“Sorry, Bud.” I faked a yawn so he’d think I was tired. “I’ll do better.”
“Hey, Bud.” The AD ran over. “The lighting’s really good by the bridge. We should move if we want to get that shot.”
“Thirty minutes!” Bud yelled. “Reid, get your shit together and be ready for the kissing scene in thirty minutes.”
I nodded, hanging my head. I’d never had issues getting into character. Nor had I ever had a problem kissing an attractive woman. I was a guy. They had a name for male actors who had issues kissing women with passion. The word is fired.
But I seriously was not feeling that scene, or Mona.
“Practice?” she offered with a helpful shrug.
“Nah.” I exhaled. “I’m going to go take a power nap, do a few push-ups, bang my chest, take a shot of whiskey, hell, I don’t know. I’ll figure it out. Thanks, though.”
Mona cracked a smile. “Maybe just the nap, Reid. We all know you’re a man. No need to get drunk or bang your chest to prove yourself.”
“Good advice. Quite sound,” I teased.
“I’m mom to three boys,” she whispered in a low voice. “I know things.”
“Mona!” John yelled. “Your nanny called. Something about one of the young terrorists flushing the goldfish down the toilet? Alive?”
“Aw, hell.” Mona moved away. “Speak of the devil.”
I laughed and watched her get on the cell the PA held out to her and start talking in a mom tone about flushing things down the toilet. I had to admit that tone had inflicted terror in my heart as a child.
Smiling, I turned on my heel and went back to my trailer.
The door was slightly ajar.
When I pulled it all the way open, I found Jordan. Typing furiously on a laptop, black-rimmed glasses askew, and hair pulled back into a high ponytail that made her look so damn cute I couldn’t stop smiling.