He laughs—the fucker—and flips one more page. “This is actually really funny. I think I’ve read this before somewhere. Or something like it.”
“It’s ridiculous. She can’t seriously want me to consider it.”
“I think you’d be great at it.”
“What?” I lift my head off the back of the sofa to glare.
“I mean, a rom-com would be a departure, but maybe that’s what you need. In Roberta we trust, right? She wouldn’t steer you wrong.”
“I can’t.”
Vin snorts. “I mean, you’re not Sir Laurence Olivier, but I think your range can handle this.”
“It’s—” I swallow the words. Vin will be pissed if I say it out loud.
And of course, because Vin knows me better than anyone, he narrows his eyes and sits uncomfortably close to me. “It’s what?”
I shudder. Time for the lecture. We’re literally trapped in a floating hotel that requires a tin can plane to reach civilization. Even if I don’t tell Vin now, I can’t avoid it forever. Better to rip off the Band-Aid.
“It’s the gay best friend.”
Vin gasps, hand on his chest. “Do not splatter your internalized homophobia all over me.”
“Internalized—”
“It’s the twenty-first century. No one cares if you’re gay.”
“I—” I swallow. I might legitimately be sick over this. This reaction, the way I’ve hidden behind the persona I created for myself since coming to LA, is not something I’m proud of. At first, it had been a can-neither-confirm-nor-deny sort of thing. I was trying to keep my options open. I even had one potential agent—not Roberta—tell me I’d never get the kind of roles I wanted if I was public about my sexuality. I told him to go fuck himself, but the advice stuck with me, especially after the first rumors aboutShadow Leaguebeing interested in me started floating around. I am the face of the most successful (until recently anyway) and most hypermasculine movie franchise in the world. I have action figures, for God’s sake. Everyone knows me or wants to know me, and judges everything from the way my hair is done for interviews to how many times I’m seen eating at the same restaurant. If I was out publicly, the way I’m perceived by everyone from producers and directors to the media to the fans would change. Pair that knowledge with a closeted childhood and adolescence in a small rural town and it would be a big hurdle to get over.
Vin sits back down next to me, head on my shoulder. “Honey. It’ll be okay. I promise. Step into the light.”
I sigh. So unfair. Straight actors take gay roles all the time. Some of them even win Oscars for it. Taking the part Roberta is suggesting won’t out me.
But she wouldn’t have sent it if she wasn’t trying to send a message along with it. It’s clearly time for a change—but is it because it’s the right choice, or because she can’t salvageShadow Leagueand we have to get ahead of it and make it look like it was my idea?
“Fucking Anderson,” I mutter because he’s the reason any of this is happening. Somehow he’s got all the power, and I’m left doing damage control.
Vin reaches between us, pulling my head down so my cheek rests against the stiff swirl of his hair. The product he uses smells like pineapple, which never seems out of place in California but is so strange in our cedar and fur surroundings.
I make an unhappy sound, and Vin presses a finger to my lips, shushing me. “You don’t have to make a decision today. About Anderson or about the script. But I’m also not calling Roberta until you’ve slept on it. And read it. The whole script. It’s been a while since you did a comedy. You might like it.”
I kiss his pineapple-scented hair. “You’re an amazing gay best friend.”
He pats my cheek. “Honey, I am the best kind of any best friend. Now, what do you want to do today?”
“We’re going fishing.”
“No.” He groans. “Did you miss the part where I spent yesterday afternoon turning my insides into my outsides?”
“They’ve got to have pills for motion sickness around here somewhere,” I say.
“But it’s raining.” Vin points at the window where the world is all misty gray. But the puddles on the balcony are still, with not a single raindrop rippling their surface.
“Not right now.”
“Damian.” He slumps his shoulders as he whines, and I get it. If I were him, I would be reluctant to get back on the boat after yesterday too, but I want to see Jack. Want to have conversations with him about fish and mountains and whatever else he wants to talk about.
Vin purses his lips but finally flicks an irritated hand at me. “Fine. Go.”
