From what I understand, it didn’t shock anyone who actually knew the guy. I was dying to get Blake’s thoughts on all of it, but of course I couldn’t bring myself to call him.
Bertram sighs. “Yes, unfortunately.The chap did some cop show years ago and is pretentious as hell. And he won’t leave me alone. I’ve never had a straight man so determined to affix his lips to my ass.” He gathers up his long coat, which is already dusted with sand. “I’m going to flee before he escapesTroy. I will see you on set for our scene later, dear.”
“Bye, Bertram,” I say, laughing at his attempt at a dignified exit while scurrying away with an armful of coat and feathers.
I’m trying to both avoid looking at Blake and also figure out how to adjust my shorts without getting caught picking them out of my ass crack when the AD, a British woman named Sarah Paltrow, approaches with an assistant at her side.
Sarah smiles as she walks up to me. “Has everything been set up to your liking, Ms. Watterpless?”
I blink, wondering for a moment if I misheard her, but her pale cheeks turn a bright pink, and her crisp facade cracks a bit. “I’m so sorry,” she says, clearly flustered. “I meant Ms. Watterson.”
She’s not the first person to inadvertently call me by our old couple moniker, and I doubt she’ll be the last. When I first suggested we get our agents to feed the name “Watterpless” to the press soon after Blake and I started dating, it was because I knew otherwise the press would go with something horrific like “Blim.” Blake thought my attempt to create our own couple name was hilarious, but it totally worked.
Maybe a little too well.
“Everything’s great.” I figure she’ll be less embarrassed if I don’t call any more attention to the slip. I grab the bowl of M&Ms from the table; I still can’t bear to look closely enough at them. “You can take these, though,” I say, handing the bowl to the assistant at her side.
The assistant, a kid who looks barely out of his teens and is clearly starstruck, fumbles the bowl as soon as he takes it, spilling M&Ms all over the sand.
“Gary!” Sarah’s eyes flash, but I jump in before she can rip into him. I hate on set power trips.
“It’s okay,” I say, mostly to Gary. “It’s really fine. I wasn’t going to eat them, anyway.” I stand up to help clean the M&M mess, but Sarah’s gaze hits something behind me.
I know it’s Blake before I turn around, and my chest tightens.
“Well, I’ll let you two catch up,” Sarah says briskly, grabbing Gary by the shoulder and pulling him away from where he’s crouched, picking candy out of the sand. “We’ll be ready to shoot in five.”
I turn, and yep, there’s Blake. Right there. My palms begin to sweat.
You’d think that over six years of being divorced and sharing custody of two children, I’d have been within five feet of my ex-husband often enough that this wouldn’t seem so strange. But the kids always get driven to and from his house by the nanny or a driver, and while I’ve certainly seen him at industry events, I do my best to steer clear and avoid being introduced to his latest gorgeous girlfriend.
“Hey,” he says. He looks strangely sad, almost resigned. “I’m sorry about—” He gestures at the little specks of bright candy in the sand.
“You didn’t have anything to do with spilling them,” I say, confused.
“Yeah, not that. About . . .” He makes a little motion with his hand, and suddenly I get what he means.
My eyes widen. “Youdidput the peanut butter ones in! I didn’t know if—I mean—”
I thought before that it would hurt equally either way, and that’s why I couldn’t know. But now I realize that’s not true. I was really worried he wouldn’t.That it wouldn’t even occur to him to anymore, that he wouldn’t give me or my damn candy a second thought.
He did, though.There’s a fluttery feeling in my stomach I know I’m going to regret.
Blake’s sad expression disappears, a slow smile appearing in its place. “Ididn’t do anything,” he protests, as he always has. He gives me a look of mock concern. “So weird that person is still following you, trying to mess with your perfect M&M mix.”
I find myself smiling back. “I really do need to launch an investigation.This has gone on far too long.”
“Seriously. Whoever this stalker is clearly has deep, unresolved feelings for you.”
There’s this little skip of my heartbeat, a flush of warmth, but my rational brain knows he’s joking.
The fact that he can tell a joke like that might even be a good sign. It means he doesn’t know the truth about my feelings for him. A silver lining, I suppose, but it doesn’t take the pain away.
There’s a reason I had the rule about not dating co-stars. My parents were the ones to first suggest it, but it was sound advice. I’d been in the industry practically my whole life, and so I knew how common it was for co-stars—especially ones in romantic roles opposite one another—to confuse their characters’ feelings for their own. It never seemed to end well.
But Blake . . . It wasn’t long before I knew, deep down, that this was something different. Something real. Something I felt for him that had nothing to do with the characters either of us were playing.
What I didn’t know was if it was different for him. He hadn’t had the experience in romantic roles that I’d had. What was real for me could easily be acting runoff for him.
