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“Going from that to ATL Law must have been a big deal,” I say.

Ares shrugs a little. “Yeah. It sounds cheesy, but that show changed my life. It’s weird to think that it’s over now.”

ATL Law is one of those shows that people like to think of as a guilty pleasure, like those medical dramas that run as long as soap operas. The plotlines have definitely been cheesy and overdone during the course of its four year run, but the acting is good and it’s all just compelling enough to keep people coming back for more.

As much as I wanted to pretend like I wasn’t watching to keep up with Ares, I definitely was. His character was interesting, handsome, and clever. It was pretty good casting.

“I’m honestly kind of surprised they ended it so soon,” I admit. “It felt like one of those shows that could have gone on for a lot longer.”

“The producers went back and forth on it. They had enough written to milk another two seasons out of it if they wanted to, but they thought it was better to go out while it was still popular, before it jumped the shark.”

“Makes sense,” I say. “Do you know what you’re going to do now?”

Ares sighs. “Not really. It’s… I don’t know. It’s bittersweet. I’m proud of the work I did there, and I know it’s going to be a good stepping stone to more work later, but I feel a little bit lost now that I don’t have that as an anchor. On the one hand, being able to move onto other things is exciting. Atlanta is becoming a real driving force in the industry, so there are plenty of opportunities. But on the other hand, it’s terrifying because I’ve been doing the same thing for so long. Part of me is worried that I’m going to find out, along with everyone else, that I’ve been a fraud this whole time.”

I can’t help but laugh at that, and Ares shoots me a look. “No, I’m not laughing at you, sorry,” I say. “It’s just that I definitely get that feeling.”

“You do?”

“Of course. Between tours or albums, I end up with this horrible feeling that everything I do is shit. Or that all my best songs are behind me and I’ll never write another good song again. Whenever I have a spell of writer’s block, I sit there thinking ‘well, it’s been a good run, but I guess this is it’.” I trail off, the smile slipping from my face. I hesitate, not sure if I should keep going. But then I decide fuck it. “That’s one of the things that makes my OCD worse. It’s the feeling of not being in control of things, the worry about not being good enough, the pressure of my career. When I’m waiting for reviews or refreshing to see if ticket sales are good enough to continue with a tour, it’s so easy to spiral into a freak out.”

Ares looks over at me, concern written all over his face. “I don’t have OCD to relate to, but I get the pressure. I think everyone in an industry like that can understand. Sometimes our art, the thing we love doing, can hurt us if we let the pressure consume us, right?” I nod, and he keeps going. “But I keep telling myself that I have to remember why I fell in love with it in the first place. We have to hold on to that part of it and let the rest fall away. Because in the end, the rest doesn’t really matter.”

I blink as his words settle over me. He’s right, and I guess I didn’t understand just how much he could relate to how I feel. He says it with the certainty of someone who has gone over those same thoughts time and time again, and I know I’ll be remembering it the next time I find myself trapped in that spiral.

“Thank you,” I say softly. “You’re right. I need to remember that.”

He flashes me a smile, and we fall silent for a while.

The air between us is easy and uncomplicated right now, and I don’t want to ruin that, but there is something on my mind that I want to ask. If I don’t do it now, I don’t know that I’ll work my nerve up to do it later.

“So uh, while we’re talking about stuff,” I begin. “The other night, when I said that you had more experience than me, you had a weird look on your face. What was that about?”

Ares flushes, keeping his eyes on the road.

Tate and Callan have been quiet for the most part, letting us talk, but now Tate leans forward, piping up.

“Oh, I can shed some light there,” he says.

“Tate,” Ares mutters.

“It’s not a big deal.” He looks at me. “As long as I’ve known Ares, he has never been interested in another woman. He’s maybe gone on a handful of dates since we met, but then he’d be full of excuses about how it didn’t feel right. She talked too loudly or didn’t communicate well or the vibe just wasn’t there, etc., etc. It was always something.”

“For a while we thought maybe he was just the pickiest dude in existence,” Callan says, backing Tate up. “And we left it alone.”

I look at Ares, shocked. I can admit I imagined him with women draped over his arms, flocking to him because of his TV star status and his good looks. But to hear he hasn’t really dated anyone in eight years?

Ares’ face is red now, and he lets out a harsh breath through his nose. “Fine, whatever. It’s true. It’s not like I didn’t try. I went out with women, I let people from work set me up sometimes, I tried to make things happen, but it never felt right. Even when we got close to going to bed together, I couldn’t get into it. It never worked.”

My heart pounds in my chest. I have no idea what to do with that. I know Ares wasn’t waiting for me, since in his mind, I had betrayed him and we were never going to be together again, but some part of him rejected every other woman.

I feel all these emotions bubbling up in me, but I don’t know what to say or what to do. I don’t know if I should ask more or leave it alone, but poking at it now seems like taking it too far.

So I take a breath and change the subject back to something lighter.

“You know, I remember when we were in high school and you got cast as Romeo in the spring play,” I say.

Ares looks relieved at the subject change and Tate and Callan want to hear everything about the play so they can tease Ares about it.