He’s famous. I’m not.
End of story.
There’s a sharp knock on his trailer door, which startles me, but seems to put Trevor at ease.
“Your clothes are here,” he says, walking over to answer the door. He thanks whoever is on the other side, then turns around, holding out a white plastic bag to me. It has my name written on it. I don’t know why someone felt the need to remove my clothes from where I had left them—maybe it’s some other movie set rule I don’t know about—but at least I have them back now.
“Thanks,” I say, grabbing the bag. It’s just jeans and a shirt, but for some reason I’m embarrassed to hold a bag of my own clothes in front of him. It’s not like there are underwear in there or anything—I’m wearing those, thank you very much.
“You can change clothes here,” he says.
My eyes widen at the idea of changing in front of him, but of course that’s not what he means. He opens the trailer door and steps out. “I’ll give you some privacy.”
“That’s fine, I’ll just go home like this and bring their robe back later.”
“It’s a long walk to the extra’s parking lot and you shouldn’t do it in a robe,” he says, flashing me a sympathetic smile. “Plus there could be paparazzi and I’m sure you don’t want to be on the front page of a gossip magazine as themysterious robed woman leaving Trevor Owens’ trailer.”
“Definitely not,” I say, feeling scandalized.
He chuckles. “I’m going to grab a snack, so take as long as you need.”
When he’s gone, I twist the lock on the door just so no random crew members burst in here thinking they’ll find Trevor and find me half-naked instead. It only takes a few seconds to change clothes, so Trevor isn’t back yet when I finish.
It feels like it’d be rude to just leave without saying goodbye, but I also have no idea how long he’ll take. I sit on the couch and check my emails. I have several spam messages from the job websites I signed up for, but no actual job leads yet.
Then I look at my pictures to see how my selfies with Trevor turned out. Even though I technically had to stare at my phone to take the selfie, I was so overcome with anxiety and emotions from being so close to Trevor that I didn’t really pay attention to the phone. Just thinking of it now makes my palms feel sweaty and my heart start pounding. I can’t believe I fell into his lap.
And then I kissed him.
Once this two month gig is over, I’m sure I’ll never see Trevor Owens again. He’ll move back to Hollywood and keep being famous and I’ll get another nursing job and keep living my boring life. But you know what I’ll always have? That kiss. The memories of the kiss.
And of course, the photos.
My jaw drops as I scroll through the picture gallery on my phone. The first couple of photos are okay, but they look like a nervous fan (me) is awkwardly posing for a photo with a handsome actor (him). But then when I lowered myself to fit in the photo better, we look good. Really good. Almost like real friends taking a picture together. Trevor snapped a few photos, which I’m grateful for because I can go through and pick the one that makes me look the least like a doofus. He looks perfect in every single photo.
My smile is a teensy bit goofy and starry-eyed, but I look okay. A little cute, even. Except for the couple of spots on my face that are pink from where I’d pulled off those CGI plastic things they glued to my face. But it’s barely noticeable.
And Trevor… oh gosh. The man is a living embodiment of handsome. His smile is gorgeous and easy-going and perfect. Every single shot is perfection, whereas I look awful in some of them and halfway decent in others. How does he do that? Is looking perfect in pictures some kind of skill they teach you at acting school?
With a sigh, I keep scrolling. The last picture was taken on accident, right as I fell into his lap while he was still holding out my phone to take the selfie. I’m a little blurry, my eyes wide as I’m falling. But Trevor—he’s looking at me, a split second before he realizes I’m falling. The expression on his face makes my whole body feel flushed. It must just be a trick of the camera—a silly half-second in time that only appears like he’s gazing adoringly at me… it can’t be real.
But in this photo, he’s watching me, a sweet, soft smile on his lips. His eyes are crinkled in the corners as he gazes up at me. If I weren’t blurry, it would be a good enough photo to be a promotional poster for the movie. Well, if I weren’t blurry and if I I were Andrea Block, the real actress.
He looks like he’s in love with me in this photo.
I know it’s just a trick of the camera. Just a glitch. Just a weird face he made right before I fell into his lap. But this one image is now the best picture on my phone. I will cherish it forever, even if the emotions in his eyes are just imaginary.
My teeth dig into my bottom lip. I can’t wait to show it to Julie!
Oh geez, maybe I am becoming a fangirl.
CHAPTER12
Trevor
Disappointment floods my veins when I arrive on set the next day for the second day of filming the ballroom scene after it got cut short yesterday. Andrea Block is here, and Annie is nowhere to be found. There’s no time to stand around and chit chat when I get to the set each morning, so I head straight into my hair and makeup trailer to get started, hoping one of the stylists knows what’s going on.
“Anyone know why Andrea is back even though her arm is still in a cast?” I ask.
