I snort a laugh. “I’m pretty sure I’m still going to hate it.”
“Oh, this is going to be fun.” She bounces around me, bounding over to the TV and pulls out a giant case of CDs. She pulls one out and puts it in the tray of the DVD player by the TV.
“You don’t have streaming?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “Only DVDs.”
I walk over to her and start flipping through the book. There are easily five hundred movies in here. Maybe there’s even one I’ve done…
I point toDestination: Heights. “I’m in this one.”
Her jaw drops. “No way.”
I chuckle. “I didn’t think that would be exciting to you, when your brother’s a big-name actor.”
“It’s not the same!” She pulls it out of the sleeve and ejectsThe Count of Monte Cristo.“You do death-defying stunts. Adam has someone else do them for him.” She pauses, her hand in the middle of switching the DVDs. “Have you done stunts for him before?”
I shake my head. “Not quite large enough for that.”
She snorts a laugh. “I don’t know about…” Her eyes widen, and she clears her throat. “Uh, okay. So you have done stunts for Sterling Moore though?”
“Yep. And Ryan Gosling and Glen Powell.”And Tristan Jackson, I think but don’t say out loud.
Her mouth drops open. “Okay, I need to see you in action.” She finishes swapping the DVDs and hands me the remote. “Find your scene.”
I skip forward, the DVD remote a little awkward after so many years of using streaming platforms, until I find my scene halfway through the movie. “There.” I point at myself on the screen. “That’s me, climbing the burning building.”
“No. Way.” She leans in closer to the TV, as if trying to see my face, but the production studio makes sure it’s almost impossible. “Oh, I see it. I swear I see it.”
“Sure you do.”
“No, I do!” She points at my arms. “Those are definitely your arms. Your flipping flirtatious muscles.”
“My what?”
“Your…” Her eyes widen and her cheeks turn bright red when she realizes what she said. “Uh, I meant your fantastic muscles. Or, no, your fabulous muscles. Ack!” She twirls her hands in the air. “Your…oh, whatever.” Her shoulders droop as she surrenders. “Your flirtatious muscles,” she mutters in defeat.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to be objectified. “My flirtatious muscles,” I repeat.
She nods, her expression grim. “But it’s not their fault.”
I cross my arms over my chest and laugh.
She gestures at me. “See! Right there! Your muscles are just begging for attention.” She points at the screen. “And there they are, on display while you climb a burning building. I can’teven.” She throws her hands up in the air and rushes over to the couch, where she grabs a pillow and hugs it to her chest. She buries her face in the cushion and mumbles something.
“What was that?” I ask.
She lifts her face and meets my eyes. “I’m so embarrassed.”
I walk over and sit next to her, not so close that we’re touching, but just near enough. “I’m sorry my muscles are so distracting.”
She squeaks and buries her face in the pillow again.
“I could just show you another movie I’m in, and we can pretend this conversation never happened.”
She nods, her face still in the pillow, so I get up and flip through the CD case until I findIron Shackles. I put it in the player, sit next to her, and skip forward until I find my scene.
“There we go. Riding a motorcycle.”
