His eyes search mine. For what, I don’t know. But he must find it because his expression relaxes back into the subdued mask he was wearing earlier.
“Aren’t you going to ask me about them?”
I don’t have to inquire what “them” he means. He’s referring to the scars. “No.”
“Most people don’t notice, but those who have assume they’re the result of my fights. Like you did at first.” He pauses, scrutinizing me like he can see right into my soul. “But you don’t now, do you?”
Reluctantly, I shake my head.
Before he can say anything more, a shadow darkens the door behind him. I glance up just as one of the techs announces that she’s here for Rogan. “Stage Four is ready.”
“Just a sec,” I reply, avoiding Rogan’s eyes as I quickly dab some makeup on two more round places that dot his ribs just under his left pectoral. Except for the one around his shoulder blade, these scars, just like all the others, are so pale they’re barely noticeable. And I’m sure Rogan likes it that way. And I envy his body’s ability to naturally conceal things that might otherwise cause him discomfort. My body saw no such need to help me out. What’s wrong with me is impossible to miss if I don’t take measures to hide it.
When I finish, I steal a glance back up at Rogan’s face. He’s watching me again, only this time with an odd expression marring his otherwise perfect visage. When he leans close to me, he does it quickly as he stands so that I have little chance to move away. His lips graze the shell of my ear as he speaks. “Whatever I did last night, I’m sorry.”
And with that, he swipes up his shirt and follows the tech right out my door.
SIXTEEN
Rogan
“Cut! Let’s try this again. Right from ‘You wanted it.’”
I grit my teeth. Why the hell can’t I get this right?
The answer to that question is a word. A single word. Or rather a name.
Katie. Sweet, beautiful, intriguing Katie. Katie with a dash of fire that she keeps as close as the hair around her neck. Katie with lips that taste like the wine we never got to drink. Katie with the eyes that push me away and then beg me to stay. That Katie.
I push her out of my mind and smile at the tall redhead across from me, the one with whom my onscreen relationship is heating up. She watches me with her appreciative gray eyes, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth as she stares up at me. She’s made her interest in me known. I’ve been polite in my disinterest. She’s all but ignored it. Obviously, she’s not the type to give up.
Her attention doesn’t bother me. Her titillating teases don’t faze me. I’m not tempted. I’m just . . . distracted.
I just keep smiling, unaffected, as I run the lines through my head again. When I can recite them perfectly in the silence, I nod back at the director. My mind is clear and focused. I’m ready.
I roll my head on my shoulders, trying to regain my usual level of concentration. That’s when I see her. She draws my eye like a bright flash of light, only there’s no flash, no light. Just her.
I’ve never seen her come out to watch filming before. And wouldn’t you know that today, of all days, she’d show up. Normally I wouldn’t mind, but I’m having enough trouble keeping my head in the game as it is. She certainly isn’t going to help that.
“Rogan?” Rayelle, the redhead, leans left, putting her face in my line of sight, making it a nonissue for me to look away from Katie.
I grit my teeth again, something I’ve done all day, something that has given me one helluva headache, and I nod once more.
“Take fourteen. Action!”
The instant Tony, the director, says ‘action,’ the words just leave me. Again. My eyes flicker to Katie. On her face is a blank mask. She’s neither excited nor blasé, neither interested nor disinterested. She’s simply here. Watching. I’m beginning to know her well enough to guess that something is going on just beneath the surface, though. It didn’t take me long to figure out that her still waters run very deep.
“Cut!” Tony barks again. “Rogan, what the hell? Is your head in your ass or what?”
I curl my fingers into fists. This isn’t like me. I never bring less than my A-game to anything that I do. I’m an all-or-nothing kind of guy.
“Sorry, Tony. I don’t . . . I don’t know what’s wrong, man.” The aggravated disappointment on his face makes me feel like shit. He’s been singing my praises since the first day I got here and I hate to let him down.
He gets out of his chair and walks over to me, reaching up to drape his arm around my shoulder. It’s an awkward position for him considering the height disparity, but he does it anyway so that he can lead me off set. “Are you running your lines? Putting in the time?”