“Out where?”
“Campus and Holland’s place,” I replied, unsure why I even told him. He didn’t need to know.
He nodded slowly and looked like he was trying to decide if he wanted to say more. The sound of someone moving around in the filming room carried into the hall, followed by laughter.
I crossed my arms. “You’re still working?”
“Finishing up,” he said. “Had to reshoot a few things.”
I nodded, not sure what to do with my hands or my eyes—or that information—so I looked past him at the door instead. “Okay. Well, I’m gonna shower.”
“Sure.” He didn’t move, though. Just watched me for a second longer than was comfortable.
And because I always got anxious when someone stared at me, I started giving him even more information than he asked for.
“And then I’m going to bed because I’m tired.”
He gave a short nod, as if he actually appreciated me telling him. And he continued to watch me, never taking his eyes off me while a rivulet of sweat rolled down the side of his face.
I couldn’t help but watch it, and I hated myself for thinking something that stupid could look so sexy. When I met his eyes again, and the stare down became too much to handle, I asked, “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Okay. Then…”
“Goodnight.”
I pressed my lips together and nodded. “Goodnight.”
He gave a small nod, and his eyes didn’t leave mine because I wasn’t moving. I couldn’t, and I was internally screaming at myself to just leave and go upstairs. I finally managed to, but I didn’t get far. I stopped halfway up the large staircase and turned to face him. “Actually...I need to ask you something.”
Callan straightened a little, looking like he expected me to say that. As if he knew I had more to say but was unsure how. “Okay.”
“I have to write an essay for class,” I said. “About film production. Any kind. I’m supposed to study how a set operates, how it’s structured. And since you…” I hesitated. “Since you work in that field, I was wondering if I could write about yours.”
His expression didn’t change much, but his jaw flexed.
“I’d only write about the technical part,” I added quickly. “Like how it’s filmed, lighting, direction, editing. Not the content. Just the process.”
The sound in the filming room went quiet. He glanced toward the door, then back at me.
Shit…were they listening in there?
“You want to write about my work,” he said slowly. It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah.” My voice came out softer than I wanted. “Would that be okay?”
Callan exhaled, thought about it for just a second, then shook his head. “No.”
The word hit me harder than I expected. I blinked, unsure if he was joking or if that was just it. “No?”
He gave a quick shrug. “No. I don’t want you writing about it.”
I froze for a second, scared I’d let shame take over. But I held myself together. The logical part of me wanted to ask why,but something else got there first. “Okay, fine,” I said, with the same small shrug. “I didn’t really want to do it anyway.”
I turned to go upstairs, but he stopped me.
“Why’d you ask?”
