He stares at the dagger with a look of such longing that it takes my breath away and leaves me shaking. He can’t be that good at acting. No one is. Does Hollywood superstar Mackenzie Jones want to die?
My mind scrambles for my own lines and I’m late in delivering them.
“Stay away from Maisie, necromancer scum. Stop following her. Don’t even think about touching her. You don’t even get to look at her. She is mine.”
The full force of Mackenzie’s gaze is directed at me. His look is full of hate, disgust and shockingly, a deep desire. My body responds to it viscerally and shifts ever so slightly so the way I am holding him against the wall becomes homoerotic. Like I want to ravish him, not murder him.
He really is fucking beautiful. If they ever do a remake of Lord of the Rings, he needs to be Legolas.
He smirks at me, and desire coils low in my gut. I can tell it is reflecting in my eyes. The tension between us is so thick, you could cut it with a knife.
“Cut!”
Blinking, I try to refocus on reality. Mackenzie walks away from me without a word or even a glance. As if we haven’t just shared an intense moment. I watch him go, and tell myself to pull it together. Acting. We had been acting. It is annoying to discover that he is actually amazing at it, and that maybe not all his success has come from being born to the right people.
I have seen him in films and shows before, of course I have. But it was hard to tell if the finished product was his raw talent or the director’s. Now I know. The truth is a little bitter to swallow.
Shit. I hope he isn’t going to show me up too much.
“Great work boys!” calls the director.
It really was. Probably the best of my career. If Mackenzie can pull that out of me, this whole thing might turn out to be tolerable.
I give the director a grin. He hasn’t noticed I delayed my lines, or if he has, he is happy with the dramatic pause I was going to claim it was. He also doesn’t seem to be mentioning the homoerotic subtones we put in. Mackenzie unexpectedly running with my half-joking suggestion at the read-through, and me helplessly responding to it. Like a fly caught in his dazzling web.
I really don’t know what the hell happened there. I’m straight. So it can’t have been a genuine response. I must have been really in character. My gaze is drawn to Mackenzie who is standing silently to the side, as if he can’t wait to get out of here. His arms are crossed over his shapely chest and water is still dripping off of his shoulder length hair. The planes of his face really are exquisite. He would be pretty for a girl. For a man he is jaw droppingly stunning.
That must be it. He looks like a girl. Part of me is confused and that is why it responded. Nothing more than that. Despite my niggling doubts, I’m well aware of one thing. It’s all going to be great for the show. Talk about chemistry!
The director calls it and we all move over to the next set. I’m ridiculously excited to be filming more scenes with Mackenzie Jones.
Chapter two
Thenextday,Iwalk up to him during a break. He is sitting on a foldout chair, one long leg draped over the other as he drinks from a bottle of mineral water. I watch his throat bob and then I cough. He gives me a long level look while his fingers twist the cap back on.
“What?” he asks and I’m taken aback by the hostility.
“Just thought I’d say hi,” I more or less stammer, hating that he has made me feel like this. I’m a confident guy, how the hell did he get under my skin and make me feel like a nervous school kid.
“Why?” he drawls.
I love his accent. I can’t describe it but I know it’s LA Hills. Hollywood born and bred. I could never replicate it, not even with the best voice coach in the world, but the sound sinks into my soul and makes me shiver.
“You know, to be friendly? Since we are working together?” I try.
My own English accent sounds so common compared to his. I’ve mastered a few American ones but the showrunners have decided that my character Abe went to boarding school in England. Just because girls get all swoony for a British accent. It’s a little embarrassing that my first starring role is in a show whose sole objective is to get teenage girls to succumb to their hormones. But we all have to start somewhere.
“It’s not necessary,” snaps Mackenzie and he whips out his phone to stare at it.
It’s clear I’ve been dismissed but I just stand there. Like an idiot. Staring at him because I can’t tear my eyes away. He looks incredible in his costume. There are silver rings on all his fingers and black nail polish on his nails. His clothes are all tight black leather again.
Makeup have put something in his hair and the ends are all spiky, like his personality. He is not looking at me, but I know the dark eye liner looks good. I’ve been staring at it all day while we were doing our scenes. It’s a damn good look on him and he totally rocks it.
My own character Abe mostly dresses like a jock. I’m literally standing here in a red basketball jersey like some High School Musical reject, while he gets to look like sex incarnated. It’s decidedly not fair.
He is still not looking at me, though he has to know I’m looming over him. What the hell is his problem? I haven’t done anything to piss him off. Not that I can think of. We got on just fine at the read-through and then I didn’t see him again until yesterday when we shot our first scene.
Was that the problem? Was there some showbiz etiquette I was oblivious to and I should have reached out to him before filming started? I never used to think there were many cultural differences between America and England. Then I moved here and got an American girlfriend. It is a constant cultural minefield.
