When she returned to the campsite, Troy stood next to the deconstructed tent. Again, she avoided his eyes, not sure of what to say. She knew it was over before it even started. And she knew it was her fault.
“Hey,” he said, leaning in close. “What’s going on?”
Elle faked a smile. “Nothing, I’m fine. How are you? Did you sleep okay?”
“Rigby, c’mon. Did I . . . did I hurt you or something?” He ran one hand down her arm. She flinched at his touch and his eyes widened in disbelief.
“No, I . . .” She glanced around the campsite, worried their friends were watching the awkward interaction. “I just need to get back. I have a lot of studying to do.”
“Okay, I’ll drive you.”
“No.” She shook her head, retrieving the tent from his arms. “You stay, hang out with the guys. I’ll ask Staci.”
Troy rubbed his hand against his forehead. “I don’t understand what’s happening. I mean, last night—”
“It was nothing. We’re fine, just like always.” She shrugged.
She hated herself for being so dismissive. Troy’s pained expression made her heart ache, but she was on autopilot, running away in a complete panic. Running away from the only guy she’d ever really wanted.
What in the hell is the matter with me?
Troy didn’t speak to her for two weeks. She’d almost given up on their friendship completely when she found out he’d gone back to dating Amanda. He’d done that to spite her; she was fully aware of that. Troy never shied away from making a point.
But in the strangest of ways, his dating the woman who’d grated so terribly on Elle’s nerves became their truce. He dated Amanda for another year, and slowly Elle eased her way back into a friendship with the man she secretly desired, but knew she couldn’t quite handle. She knew if she fell for Troy, he could break her heart. She couldn’t control their relationship. She couldn’t avoid heartbreak or disappointment.
She told herself that Troy was better off with someone like Amanda. Someone who hung on his every word, who never said anything contrary to his beliefs or opinions. Someone the opposite of her. Someone who wasn’t so afraid of falling in love.
And after a while, she believed the lie that when it came to Troy Saladino, she was friend material and nothing more. The self-saboteur inside her had won.
Elle awoke to the soft pads of Luke’s fingertips making circles on her skin. It was an ordinary Tuesday morning, and Luke had spent the night, just as he had several nights before over the past few weeks. The difference about this morning was he was needed in a makeup chair by 7:00 a.m. Elle glanced at the clock, relieved they had plenty of time to arrive at the studio.
It was Luke’s first episode as David McKenzie. Episode seven. Elle would, officially, be overseeing his acting. She hoped he’d nail his scenes—the last thing she wanted to do was correct him in front of the cast. She had no desire to emasculate him like that in front of his peers. But this character and the coming episodes were pivotal—absolutely crucial to the success of the show.
“Morning.” His voice was raspy. “Time for breakfast?”
“Sure. What’d you have in mind?”
“I’m easy, you know that. Whatever my lady wants is fine.” He planted soft kisses on her shoulder and goose bumps rose to meet his lips.
“I’m fine with coffee . . . and you have to be on set in just over an hour. Rain check?” Elle rolled over to face him. He’d spent the night often enough that she no longer worried about bed head or morning breath. Luke didn’t seem to mind either anyway . . . at least not on her.
“I have an idea. How about dinner . . . tonight? We can celebrate my first day on set.” His grin was infectious and Elle found herself smiling right back at the handsome actor in her bed.
“Deal. Ooh, I’ll ask Gina for the name of that place.”
Luke hopped out of bed; his tan pecs flexed as he threw his shirt back on. “What place?”
“A restaurant that serves Chicago-style pizza.”
Luke shrugged. “Never had it.”
“Seriously?” Elle threw the back of her hand over her forehead, dramatically sighing for Luke’s benefit. “Oh, the horror!”
“Don’t quit your day job. You’re a terrible actress.”
Elle smirked, knowing he was right. “You have to try this pizza, Luke, I’m serious. It’s . . . well, for me it’s home.”
He leaned down, digging his hands into the mattress, his face only inches from hers. “Well, then I can’t wait to try it.”
He placed a delicate kiss on her forehead before retreating to the guest bathroom to shower and prepare for the day. Elle appreciated that he gave her the space she required in the morning. Her bathroom, her closet—he knew it was off-limits to him between the hours of six and eight a.m. He was such an easygoing guy—things like that just didn’t bother Luke. And Elle loved that about him.
In fact, their relationship was full of sex, laughter, and not much else. He relaxed her, helped her mind drift away from the stresses of work. She even wondered if one day he could possibly help her become less of a control freak, although that was still very much up in the air.
The set was all abuzz about episode seven. Rob was pacing the soundstage and Whitney, normally not a fixture on the set, was wandering through the dressing rooms wishing everyone luck. This episode was more than important; it was positively essential for the success of the season. It would air in just over three weeks and audiences had to accept not only the character of David, but also the actor who played him.
Luke had to make a positive impression on millions of viewers.
No pressure.
If Luke was feeling the stress of it all, he hid it rather well. Elle had watched as he took his place on set. He was dressed to the nines in an Armani suit and scarlet-red tie. Since the role of David McKenzie was of the head of security for the casino, he would consistently be seen in such a dapper state. Luke’s normally wavy locks were smoothed back with just enough gel to make him look sophisticated without coming across as creepy. She watched him as he fixed his cuff links with ease and took direction from Rob, who continued to stalk the stage. He appeared to be ready for his close-up. Ready to be welcomed into the homes of millions of home viewers and if his demeanor was any indication, it was going to be a huge success.
Whitney glided from the dressing rooms, holding a magazine, a huge smile plastered across her face. When she reached Elle, she thrust the copy of Us Weekly into her hands.
“Great news. Turn to page thirty-five.”
Elle thumbed through the magazine and landed on the page where the editors polled their readers. This week’s poll focused on the character of Desmond.
“Desmond of Follow the Sun has been making waves during season four and rumor has it Nolan Rivera is leaving the show. Do you think Desmond deserves to win Molly’s heart?” Elle read the poll aloud.
“Eighty percent, Elle! Eighty percent of readers don’t like Nolan’s character anymore. That’s golden. Golden!”
Elle was delighted, looking at the pie chart that depicted just how out of favor Nolan’s character had become. The viewers were ready for a change, and she was ready to give them one. She hugged the magazine to her chest.
“This . . . is even better than I’d hoped.”
“Eighty percent is something to celebrate!” Whitney slid into Rob’s chair, right next to Elle.