I frown. “I say what a lot?”
“Huh.”
A light bulb goes on in my head. “I say ‘huh’ a lot?”
“Maybe we should start counting.” He grins down at me as I’m estimating exactly how embarrassed I should be. “By the time I get to twenty or so, you’ll have broken the habit if for nothing else than sheer annoyance’s sake. We’ll call that last time one.”
I frown at him good-naturedly and he laughs softly again. Is this an old habit, or a newly ingrained one? Why would Emily not point this out? I make a mental note to grill her during our next conversation.
“Maybe we won’t be that convincing onscreen,” I say, returning to the previous subject, which is not, I realize belatedly, grounds for non-self-conscious discussion.
“I doubt that. This is an adaptation of one of the most romantic novels ever written. There has to be chemistry.”
I give him a narrow-eyed look. “If this is your idea of ‘no pressure,’ it’s not working.”
“They wouldn’t have chosen you if the chemistry wasn’t there. I’m just pointing out what being a romantic lead opposite him might do to your private life. Such as, there’s no way Reid could do what we’re doing right now without bodyguards.” He moves behind me briefly so the elderly couple walking towards us on the pathway don’t have to squish together.
“I hadn’t thought about it like that,” I say as he falls in beside me. I think of Emily, who isn’t a crazed fangirl, but would still freak out if she saw Reid in person.
“Well. No reason to panic. Yet.”
“Yeah. Yet,” I echo.
Chapter 11
REID
Most of the cast is going to Kenichi for sushi. So far, Austin hasn’t been as backwater as I assumed it might be, though most of the city is more laid-back and casual than the parts of LA I’m used to.
One glance at Emma tells me she’s still adapting to the commotion caused when we all go anywhere. Tonight, Richter and Leslie Neale are joining us, which adds to the crazy. Leslie, cast as Mrs. Bennet, boasts an impressive film career spanning nearly forty years. Even still, she’s undeniably hot, and as famous for her romantic exploits (often with men decades younger) as she is for her professional capability. The tabloids love her.
The restaurant staff is either used to celebrities popping in, or they’ve been cautioned to remain composed. The effect on the patrons is a different story. Cell phones angle towards us as we’re ushered to the table, voices whispering from person to person alongside us, like waving grain. Typical crowd reaction to celebrity in their midst.
Graham and Brooke are behind Quinton, Tadd and me on the way in, Emma and the other girls ahead of us. I haven’t seen Graham with Emma, so I’m not sure if they’re acquainted. If Emma left the club with Graham, or someone else, she did so damned discretely, because no one appears to have any idea. I step up to her now, say quietly, “Hey beautiful,” my hand at the small of her back. She glances up, the faintest blush spreading across her cheeks. The room instantly begins to speculate about us. I can feel it.
We’re led through the restaurant to a long table, offset from the others, set parallel to the back wall, which is covered in shoji screens. Semi-private, conversationally speaking, we’re visually conspicuous. I take Emma’s elbow and lead her to the center of the side facing out, and MiShaun files in next to her. Richter takes one of the ends with Leslie Neale to his left, and Quinton takes the other end, everyone else filling in. Graham sits next to Brooke, directly across from us. He smiles at Emma, which tells me they’re definitely acquainted.
The staff hovers, cordial and professional greetings are spoken, menus handed over shoulders, drink orders taken and filled. While Richter and Leslie are ordering, Quinton leans up and asks the rest of us, “We going out after?”
“I heard there’s a cool blues place around here somewhere,” Tadd answers.
MiShaun regards him skeptically. “You like blues?”
“I like music, especially live music.”
“Do you play anything?” She sips her sake.
“I play guitar,” he answers. “Just enough to be dangerous.”
“Graham plays guitar,” Brooke says then, and from my viewpoint it looks as though she follows this announcement up with a hand on his leg under the table. “He’s amazing.”
“Uh-oh,” I say quietly, leaning close to Emma’s ear, “looks like Brooke has decided on this film’s prey.” She looks confused, so I elaborate. “You know—one guy from every film. I’m not sure what the policy was on her little cable series.” This is gossip, not fact, but hey, I didn’t originate it.
Her voice is equally hushed. “That’s, um, kind of sleazy.”
I laugh. “You think?”
“What?” Brooke sips a Japanese beer, her eyes narrowed at me. Emma tenses while Graham watches our tête-à-tête from across the table, his expression guarded.
“Nothing, nothing, keep your shirt on,” I say. “We were just wondering who’d be more dangerous with a guitar—Tadd or Graham.”
Brooke arches one brow and narrows her eyes even more. “What’s the verdict?”
“Well, I’ve never heard Graham play, so it’s hardly something I can decide here.”
“Maybe we should stage a little competition in my room later,” Brooke suggests. “They can both play for all of us.”
“Sounds cool,” Tadd says. “Alas, I didn’t bring my guitar this trip. I forgot my laptop, extra contact lenses, hell, I barely remembered pants.” Emma laughs softly next to me. She’s so damned cute I can barely stand it.
“You can borrow Graham’s,” Brooke says, turning to ask Graham after the fact, “Is that okay?”
“Sure, no problem.” He couldn’t be more compliant. She must be sleeping with him. “Let’s call it a jam session, though, rather than a competition.”
“You know, if there’s no competition, you can’t win,” she adds, and I hear this comment with the gossip I just passed to Emma in mind.
“Winning is overrated,” he answers.
“Huh,” Emma says, and Graham’s eyes snap to hers.
Four? he mouths, and she shakes her head once, glaring but looking more like she’s trying not to smile. Three, he mouths, and she rolls her eyes and mouths back fine.
Um, what? I glance at Brooke and see her thoughts are similar to mine, her eyes darting back and forth between them.
Emma and Graham don’t look at each other again the rest of the meal.
Emma
Brooke suggests that we all raid our mini-bars of tiny liquor bottles so we can pool our resources. Her room, predictably, is the one I saw Graham enter my first night in Austin, less than a week ago, when I didn’t know who he was. Now we’re becoming friends, but he hasn’t said a thing to me about Brooke.
I call Emily when I’m changing in my room a couple of hours later. “He seems like a nice guy… and she seems like a junior Chloe.”
“You don’t know him well enough to point out that kind of hazard. If they’re just screwing around, and you guys are just friends—you are just friends, right?”
“Yes.”
“He’s a guy, Em. They think differently than we do. You can bet a guy invented the whole friends-with-benefits thing. Though if Quinton Beauvier showed up at my door and said, ‘Which way to your bedroom?’ I’d be like, ‘Right this way!’ But, you know, we wouldn’t be friends. We’d just be benefits.”
I shake my head. For all of her talk, Emily’s the most guarded person I know when it comes to actually getting involved with a guy. Smart of her, because once she’s involved, she’s in all the way. She’s had her heart shattered twice, and standing on the sidelines was the hardest thing ever for me. “Well, at least you have your standards. I’m putting you on speakerphone while I get dressed for the guitar hero challenge.”
“What are you wearing to this little soiree?”
“Brooke suggested PJs.” I toss the phone on the bed after hitting speakerphone and adjusting the volume.
“What are you guys gonna do? And moreover, if all these hot guys are going to be there why was I not invited?”
I groan. “Emily, focus. I have no idea what the agenda is, beyond the guitar playing. I’ve never been on a set with so many people in my age group. I’ve always been pointedly excluded from cast get-togethers, what with me being a decade or several younger than everyone else.” I stand in front of the mirror holding up a pink t-shirt and then a black tank top, back and forth. “Plus you know if you were here, I’d share.”
“Fine, you’re forgiven. Got capri pj pants?”
“Yeah.” I pull a pair out of a drawer and shake the creases out. “They’re pink with black polka dots. Too babyish?”
“No, perfect. Pink and black are so retro lingerie, very chic. Slap your black tank on and you’re ready to go.” I pull the pants on, tie the drawstring loosely, and then pull the black tank over my head. Mirror check. Cute.
“Emily, you’re a genius.”
“Yeah, yeah. Text me when you get back in your room, I want to know everything.”
“You are such a gossip whore, Emily.”
“Hey, just be glad I’m not asking you to set up a webcam… wait a minute, that’s an idea…”
“Bye, Emily!” I laugh, shaking my head.
“Text me, text me, text me.” Her disembodied voice comes from the bed. “Do not forget!”
“I won’t forget! You know I tell you everything. Miss you.”
“Miss you, too.”
As I pass Graham’s room, he exits with his guitar in one hand and a standard-sized bottle of tequila in the other, which reminds me that my hands are empty. “Oh, I forgot—” I say, turning back.
“Carry this.” He hands me the tequila. “Should be enough entry fee for both of us.” He’s wearing a different pair of drawstring pajama bottoms than the other night, paired with a heather gray t-shirt.
I’m about to go into a room full of people near my age, all wearing pajamas and drinking. Cue a hearty dose of panic. “What exactly are we doing?”
He shrugs. “I assume Tadd and I are going to provide some musical entertainment. And then, I don’t know. Sit around and talk, I guess.”
Talk. Right.
Thanks to Emily, I didn’t miss all of my high school experiences. I tagged along to enough parties with Em and her friends where there was a keg, or someone’s parents didn’t lock the liquor cabinet, or a fake ID was good enough to score a case of beer or a bottle of vodka. Talking isn’t what people end up doing when they’re young and plastered. But this is a small group, and we still have most of the film to shoot. Things can’t get too out of hand or it will be insanely awkward.
We stop at Brooke’s door and I take a deep breath. Graham touches my arm. “Hey, don’t stress. I’ll make sure you get to your room safe and sound. Well, safe and as sound as you can be if you have any of that.” He points to the bottle in my hand.
