He laughed, too, and her stomach swooped like she’d missed a stair. “If you’re trying to intimidate me with your experience, it’s working.”
She cast her eyes down at her script, needing a break from the tractor-beam focus of his gaze. “Is this your first pilot season?”
“My first audition, actually. Well, third, if you count the other rounds for this.”
“Wow. Lucky you.”
He laughed under his breath. “Tell me about it.” He glanced around, then lowered his voice. “I’m not even an actor. I waited on Macy at The Vine last month, and she asked me to come in and read for it.”
His devil-may-care energy suddenly made perfect sense. He wasn’t like the rest of them, painfully aware they were inches away from achieving their dream but were far more likely to be smacked back down to earth. If he’d seemed at all smug or cocky about it, it probably would have killed her attraction to him right then and there. But he’d said it almost guiltily, like he knew he shouldn’t be there. Like he was ashamed of even making it this far.
The fact that hehadmade it this far, though, said something.
Lilah raised an eyebrow. “So youdoexist. I thought that kind of thing was an urban legend to get all our hopes up. Since the L.A. economy would probably collapse without the aspiring-actor-to-service-industry pipeline.” She had her catering uniform stashed in her car so she could go straight from the audition to the party she was working later that night.
Shane shook his head, a self-deprecating smile creeping across his face. “I haven’t given up the rest of my shifts yet, that’s for damn sure.”
“I’m sure this whole thing is just a formality before they cast a couple of industry kids instead. Your dad doesn’t run the network, does he?”
“Not that I know of, but it’s been a few weeks since we’ve talked.” He jutted his chin at the script pages in her hand. “They tell you the twist at the end?”
“What? That you don’t know you’re a ghost?”
“And you don’t know you’re psychic.”
Lilah flipped through the sides absentmindedly. “Pretty smart of them.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know how these things go. I’m sure they’re setting Kate and Harrison up for the long game, trying to draw out the unresolved sexual tension as long as possible. If the characters literally can’t touch each other, they can coast on that for years.”
“Years,” he repeated, with a sardonic twitch of his eyebrows. “You really think they’ll make us wait that long?”
His delivery was innocent, but when his eyes met hers, the suggestion in them made her breath hitch. She fought to keep her expression blank. “Well. It might not be us.”
“Right.” He nodded slowly. “Maybe that would be for the best, though. This is the kind of thing that changes the course of your whole life, right? I’m not sure I’m ready for that.” Though his tone was still blasé, she sensed a hint of truth lurking beneathit.
“Not necessarily,” she said. “We could shoot the pilot and then it never gets picked up. Or it gets canceled after three episodes. No matter what happens, there’s, like, a ninety-nine percent chance you’ll be back at The Vine by next pilot season.”
He cocked his head, and she wondered if he was going to chastise her for being so cynical. Instead, his grin widened. “I like those odds. Sounds like we have nothing to worry about, then.”
“No, there’s always something to worry about,” she said reflexively, half under her breath; but she was smiling, too, gratified when he chuckled in response.
His gaze caught on hers again, both their grins fading as their eye contact lingered, the easy rhythm of their conversation lurching to a standstill. It was a little unnerving, the way he was looking at her. Dark pupils swallowed amber irises, leaving her helpless as a trapped fly.
“We’ll be okay,” he said simply.
Something about the way his mouth wrapped around that “we” sparked a deeply unprofessional thrill in her lower belly—quickly overpowered by the rush of shame that followed. But that was why they were there, wasn’t it? It was hard to avoid, in a situation that felt closer to speed dating than a job interview.
Feeling it was one thing. It would only be wrong to act onit.
He was close enough for her to notice he’d missed a spot shaving, a small, dark patch of stubble decorating the corner of his jaw. She found her mind drifting to what it might feel like against her lips, dragging over her skin, the thought sending a hot quiver through her.
All of a sudden she was grateful that, unlike in most chemistry reads, there would be no physical contact involved. She wouldn’t have to fumble her way through touching him for the first time with a table full of strangers watching them.
For the first time?Where the fuck did that come from? Talk about getting ahead of herself. Even if they got cast, they wouldn’t be touching—that was the whole point.
She realized belatedly that she’d gone way too long staring athim without saying anything. He was still watching her, the corner of his mouth quirking up in amusement.Dimple,she thought stupidly, involuntarily. She opened her mouth and inhaled sharply—like that would make the words come faster—then hesitated.
