Ms. Behave by Cathy Yardley

Author:Cathy Yardley [Yardley, Cathy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cathy Yardley
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

“Okay, let’s do this.” Simon rubbed his hands together. “If we’re going to invade the Illuminati stronghold, there’s only one real shot: there’s a backdoor in their mountain lair, the Devil’s Ridge…”

“Cut!”

Simon leaned back, giving the director a surprised look. “What? What’s wrong?”

“That was one of the pages we changed,” the director, Al, said. “And you’re sounding a little flat. Think you can punch it up a little?”

Simon went back to the script, grumbling a little. He’d been off all morning. Honestly, he’d been off most of the week, and people were noticing it. He wasn’t getting much sleep. Ever since he’d gone up to Rattlesnake Lake with Mal and talked about what was bothering him, instead of relief, it was like the tension had increased.

Now, he was worried that he didn’t have what it took to be a star because he was fucking up all over the place. And he knew that a lot of that was because of his stupid obsession with Mal.

When they’d been snuggled under the blanket, he’d been lucky she didn’t notice his body’s reaction to hers, hardening at her touch. She’d nestled in just like she had when they were younger – and yeah, she hadn’t noticed it then, either. Then she’d gone and mentioned her ex-girlfriend, and it was like tripping into a bathtub full of ice-water. He felt clumsy, stupid, foolish.

Ever since then, he’d had increasingly hot dreams about her… when he’d been able to get to sleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about her.

But talking to her had been awesome.

He didn’t want to lose her as a friend, was the thing. Some people might say that, but he’d actually experienced cutting her off, and now that she was back in his life, he knew that losing her again wasn’t what he wanted at all. He just needed to figure out some way to blow off steam, to get his head back in the game.

Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.

And that response of hers – the matter-of-fact loyalty when she saw he had a problem – was why he didn’t want to lose her again.

He headed back to the set, and had the feeling that people were staring at him. Had he screwed up his lines that badly? He felt his stomach knot. He prided himself on getting his lines nailed, on giving the best performance possible. He took a deep breath, then hit his mark.

He waited for the clapper, then started. “If we’re going to invade the Illuminati stronghold, we’re gonna have to go medieval on them. As in, we’re going to have to use a trebuchet, because nothing else is gonna vault us over those damned walls. It’s like Gondor over there.”

The set was still, as it should be, and he wondered if he was delivering the lines well or if they were sounding as lame out loud as they did in his head. He didn’t blame the writers. He knew he had to sell the script. That was his job, damn it.

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