Fuck it. If she could, so could he.
She must have sensed the change in his demeanor, because she softened, her shoulders sagging. “It’s just…I’ve done this before, you know? Trying the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.”
“With Richard, you mean.”
“Yeah.”
He bristled at the comparison, but he could tell by the way her posture had already gone rigid again that it wasn’t worth pushing back.
“Right. Sure. You’re right.” He watched her go over to her overnight bag and dig around. “What time do we need to be out of here?”
“Not until eleven. I was going to head out now, but you can stay if you want.”
If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was talking to a mediocre one-night stand she was desperate to give the slip.
“No, that’s okay. I’ll get going, too.”
His gaze fell on the unfamiliar pattern of black ink on her hip. The symbol of the failure of their first go-round, which she’d rushed to cover up and forget about as soon as she could.
Now that he knew what to look for, it was easy to understand how she’d never allowed herself to fall in love. With him, or with anyone. She still had that same tendency to snap shut like a bear trap at the first hint of vulnerability, leaving him grateful he’d escaped with all his extremities intact.
It was so different from his own approach to relationships, especially when he was younger—offering up his heart indiscriminately, perpetually optimistic that it would be taken care of. Like being consumed by the act of loving, the validation of being loved, would give him some clarity of purpose. Tell him who he was, who he was supposed to be.
But then, neither perspective seemed to have served them very well, since they’d both ended up in the same spot: still single, still messing around with their ex from a decade ago.
As he dressed in silence, folding his sweatpants and handing them back to her, trying to ignore the ache in his chest that had nothing to do with his bruised ribs, he brushed off the question that had popped into his head—one that now seemed too ridiculous to say out loud:What if we’re different now?
…
Lilah didn’t see Shane again until production resumed the following Monday. She’d kept herself distracted over the weekend, tagging along with Margaux and Brian for some sightseeing when she wasn’t trying unsuccessfully to sweat out her restlessness in the hotel gym.
She’d already gotten back in her team’s good graces without even trying. Margaux had posted a handful of photos from Thanksgiving on her Instagram, captioned “ty mom&dad,” thelast slide of which was a candid of Lilah and Shane. Lilah had no memory of it being taken, but it must have been during the Taboo game; they’d somehow ended up next to each other on the couch, too close, their knees brushing. Shane’s face was inclined toward her in midsentence, trying and failing to suppress a grin; Lilah’s head was thrown back in genuine, unselfconscious laughter in response to whatever he was saying.
Seeing the picture for the first time had given her the same squeamish jolt as the screengrab from theAfter Hoursepisode—but worse. That had clearly been a performance—cameras shoved in their faces, studio audience staring them down, everything as inauthentic and manufactured as the skyline backdrop behind them.
This wasn’t that. She didn’t fault Margaux for taking or posting it, but there was something mortifyingly private about the moment she’d captured. Even though it was irrational, the more she stared at the picture, the more irritated she got. He had no good reason to be looking at her like that, like she was the only person in the room, or possibly the universe. It would just add fuel to the contingent of rabid, intrusive fans obsessed with figuring out what was going on between them offscreen.
Then again, maybe she could use their help, since she’d never been more confused about it herself.
Her publicist informed her in a tone of barely restrained glee that the photo had quadruple the engagement of any of Margaux’s other posts, and several news outlets had already picked it up. Lilah had tried her best to sound excited. Shewasthankful that the Jonah stuff seemed to have blown over so quickly. But mostly, it was an unpleasant reminder that the most likable thing about her was Shane.
When they returned to work, they were introduced to the local director the network had hired to replace Jonah, a womannamed Fatima Alami—fortysomething, petite, with a long braid of dark curly hair and a warm, dimpled smile. As soon as Lilah met her, she felt a wave of relief that Fatima would be the one working with them for their kissing scene, and not Jonah.
Once they began shooting again, Fatima quickly proved to be one of the best directors Lilah had worked with, equally adept at handling actors and keeping the set running efficiently. Within a few days, they’d made up a good portion of the time they’d lost from Jonah’s dicking around.
When she’d expressed her sympathy that Fatima was being brought in to clean up the mess Jonah had made, Fatima had just grinned mischievously.
“Don’t worry about it. My manager got me the same day rate he was getting, plus a bonus if I get us back on schedule. I’m cleaning up in more ways than one. Besides”—she’d winked—“I’m a fan.”
The night before they were scheduled to shoot the kiss, Fatima called Lilah and Shane in to meet with her in one of the hotel conference rooms. Shane was already there when Lilah arrived, flipping through his script. He looked up and nodded but didn’t say anything.
They hadn’t been outright avoiding each other since their night together, but they weren’t exactly sitting next to each other in the van anymore, either. She suddenly felt a wave of regret that they hadn’t kissed that night after all—it would have been a terrible idea, but at least then the last time they’d done it wouldn’t have been the day they fucked in his trailer.
Thankfully, Fatima arrived before she had a chance to spend too long weighing which option was worse.
“Thanks for meeting with me. I promise I won’t keep you too long,” she said, half sitting on one of the conference tables. “I thought we might want to do some extra preparation for thisone, since this is such a crucial moment, and you know there’s never enough time to work through it day-of. We weren’t able to book an intimacy coordinator on such short notice, but I want to stress that your comfort is the most important thing here. How are you feeling about everything?”
“Fine,” said Lilah, at the same time as Shane replied “Good.” They exchanged uneasy glances before looking back at Fatima.
