But it wasn’t.
Nor would it ever be… better.
My brain took action forcing my limbs to move as I ducked under his arm and shoved the bathroom door open, locking it behind me.
I was shaking by the time I made my way to the sink, gripping the porcelain with both of my hands, staring at myself in the mirror like I was a stranger.
I looked… young.
No makeup meant I looked like I was eighteen instead of in my twenties.
It also meant I looked… innocent.
And for the first time in a long time, that word made my lips curl into a small smile as I released the sink and splashed my face with water.
I had to wonder — with all the pestering about food, what would shock Will more? The fact that I’d been celibate since rehab? Or the fact that the last guy I ever slept with that meant anything to me.
Was him.
I could always take it a step further and toss one of his band shirts at him, the one I still hid inside my pillow.
Yeah give him a heart attack at thirty.
Good plan.
I shut off the water.
Forced my shoulders back.
And returned to the chaos.
“JAY!” I WAVED my script in his face. “Dude, why is everything blank after my name? Am I just standing there or what?” I yawned and gave my head a shake. After last night’s dinner, I was emotionally and physically spent, not only was I trying to corral all my clients via keeping in touch with email, but I still had conference calls with tour managers for Zane, not to mention butt loads of amounts of all the other shit that I had to take care of for AD2 and their new merchandising ventures.
Add yet there I was.
On set.
In Hell.
And apparently with a blank script.
Ang and I had shared two words since carpooling to set that morning. I said hello, she said, it’s early.
Okay so that was three.
Wordlessly, I’d made coffee.
She’d poured us our cups, adding sugar to mine.
We were a pair.
Both of us on lockdown since we’d sung together, since I’d jumped in after her in the freaking ocean.
Since I’d agreed to not only be on set but be in the movie for reasons I still couldn’t even understand or even begin to explain to anyone.
“Right, mate.” Jay examined the script, nodded a few times then looked up at me, “What’s the problem?”
“First, don’t call me mate.” I shoved the script against his chest. “Second, if you want me in it, shouldn’t you tell me what I should be doing other than… Will: sit on beach?”
He regarded me with a funny look before grabbing my shoulder and going, “There’s really nothing to say except your only plan is to go sit on that beach right there, and try not to speak when Ang runs her lines.”
“She has lines during that scene? Since when?”
“Since we added them this morning, keep up.” He patted my shoulder and jogged off, grabbing his headphones once again while one of the PAs handed him his coffee. Sometimes I hated his British ass.
At least half the time.
Begrudgingly, I stomped over to my spot on the sand. Honestly, at least I was wearing clothing, poor Angelica was handed a black string bikini and sunglasses while I at least got neon board shorts and a black tank top.
The neon pissed me off, but everything else was fine, including the Ray-Bans that I told Jay I got to keep for emotional duress.
He didn’t argue.
I shoved the aviators on my face and sat.
“Quiet on set.”
“Balls, I hate my life,” I grumbled.
“Quiet on set!” came a second yell.
I threw up my hands and mouthed sorry.
The scene was slated, and I entered into the Seventh Circle of Hell also known as Bikini Armageddon or death by strings.
Ang jogged by me, her heavy breasts spilling out of her swimsuit top nearly blinding me with so much lust that I almost improvised the scene and dove ass first into the ocean.
She stopped just shy from me as the rest of the scene around us played out.
The other characters, including Pris and Lincoln, were playing on the beach, part of the scene including a barbecue and a few other things that I hadn’t paid attention to, partially because I didn’t really give a shit and partially because they kept re-writing things.
Angelica sat.
And hugged her knees.
I stared at her.
Like a creeper.
I had no other direction.
And then she turned her face to me and whispered. “Do you think I’m a bitch?”
I jerked my attention away from her, it was an honest reaction, one I couldn’t hide.
“Never mind.” She flashed a sad smile. “Maybe I am, maybe that’s why they hate me, no matter what I do… sometimes… I think life would have been better like a bird.” Tears filled her eyes. “Where you can fly away, escape.” Her sigh was rough, it hit me right in the middle of my chest as my heart slowed to a stop. “Escape all of this.”