Say It Sexy (9 page)

I frowned. “No. Gwen.”

“Oh, right. I can’t really decide. I don’t know much about her, but she seems incredibly committed. My mom used to watch
Diamond Eyes
. She says, in spite of the cheesiness, it was addictive. Gwen’s character made her cry a lot. What do you think of her?”

I shifted uncertainly. “I’m in the same boat.”

“Yeah, but after that kiss you shared, I’m guessing you’ve been thinking of her a lot more than anyone else.”

I elected not to answer on the off chance it would reveal my secret desires. Elbows on armrests, I steepled my fingers. “If you had to take a crack at her back story, what would you say?”

“Gwendolyn Marie Vickers,” Tyler muttered before Shane could answer, eyes still closed. “Twenty-two years old. Daughter to Richard and Melinda Vickers. Richard is a Hollywood producer and the winner of the Mr. Universe Competition. Only child. Avoids trouble, and in so doing, stays out of the tabloids. College graduate with honors. First televised role was a young child in a Kellogg’s commercial. Since then, she has grown up with and frequently endorsed the franchise. Best known for her portrayal of Laura in the acclaimed soap series
Diamond Eyes
.”

“
With honors
,” I mocked, sulking.

“Dude,” Shane marveled. “Are you psychic? Or did you two used to, you know…”

“What?” Tyler cracked one eye to look at Shane. “No, it’s all on Wikipedia.”

I snorted. “Nice. But that’s not what I was referring to, gentlemen. That’s a basic bio found on any web page...” I smirked, the gears in my mind churning up a storm. “I was talking about
real
back story.” Turning my attention toward the window, I replayed the kiss Gwen and I had shared for about the millionth time that morning.

A surprise. A shock. Nothing could have prepared me for the pure passion I’d felt behind those lips. There had to be more where that came from. Didn’t matter if I slept with her not—I intended to find out.

* * *

Once we landed in Albuquerque, we had Sunday night to rest. Monday morning we jumped right into filming, which meant while I got to see Gwen constantly, got to speak to her, got to act with her, even got to kiss her just like we’d practiced, it was all in our roles as Payton and Lacey. I could wonder all I wanted (and I did) but outside her acting chops, I didn’t have time to get know her or her seemingly passionate nature better either. Whether we were filming in the studio or on site at the University of New Mexico, the cast was companionable and supportive, but the only meals we shared together were at the catered buffet between sets, and that mainly involved scarfing down food before someone was calling our names again.

Because of the expedited schedule we were on, we generally started at seven a.m. and finished about twelve hours later. As soon as filming was over, we’d all hang around set for about an hour, relaxing and chatting. Gwen would usually leave after twenty minutes, always insisting that she needed to go over lines before heading to bed. She wasn’t overly friendly, but she wasn’t unfriendly either. She was social and civil, and to an outside observer, we would look like a cast that got along just fine, and that included Gwen and me. It would look like we’d left the tension between us back in LA.

But then again, we were actors and I knew better. I felt the tension that built between us with each day that passed. I felt the heat and curiosity to get to know her better, and I felt her equally curious eyes on me when she thought I wouldn’t notice. But I noticed. And I figured eventually we’d do something to appease our mutual curiosity, as soon as we got a decent break in our schedule. That didn’t mean we’d sleep together or even kiss outside of our roles—I repeatedly told myself I didn’t sleep with co-stars for a reason and keeping my career on track was the main one—but that didn’t mean I couldn’t get to know more about Gwen. Maybe even become casual friends with her.

The break came on a Thursday, the fifth day we were in New Mexico. We’d just wrapped up filming the pilot episode the day before and were gearing up to begin filming Episode Two. Meanwhile, the editing team was working its magic so the pilot episode could air that night. Production would continue in this same vein for the next six months, with filming on a new episode beginning each Thursday just before the previous episode aired. The timing was highly unorthodox, at least for network television, where normally production spent weeks—not one day—editing film. But one of the things Lyle had insisted on before he agreed to direct the show was creating something that was as close to live TV as possible, with minimal editing. He believed the less polished the final cut, the more fresh and relatable it would be to the younger demographic the studio was targeting.

It was a risky strategy, but it meant we’d know right away whether the chemistry between Gwen and me was going to pull in viewers. In other words, less cost to produce and less long term risk for us. It fit my personal philosophy. Why waste time on something that wasn’t working? Better to face the harsh reality and move on. Hopefully, audiences would respond well, production would continue through to the season finale in July, and then we’d pick up production of Season Two next January.

So as scheduled, we spent Thursday filming part of Episode Two. By the time we called it quits around seven thirty, I was exhausted and thankful Lyle had set aside Friday, the next day, for us to rest and read lines, although that wouldn’t always be the case. Erica suggested the five of us have dinner together to celebrate the airing of the pilot, which none of us planned to watch. We were, it seemed, a neurotic and superstitious lot.

As soon as Erica issued the dinner invitation, my gaze went to Gwen.

Her eyes were already on me. She hesitated, and I was sure she was going to say no.

Instead, she said yes and I’d felt a ridiculous sense of satisfaction. Hell, the way I felt, you’d think we were having our first date, only with three chaperones along for the ride.

An hour later, all of us but Shane, who’d said he’d be a little late, were at Saguaro Del Rio, an upscale Mexican restaurant that adjoined the lobby of our hotel, Nativo Lodge. Nice place, really colorful. Festive, I supposed, was the word—everything done in traditional southwestern patterns.

The hostess seated us near the back in a private booth framed by wooden screens. The lattices, decorated with fake flowers, corn wreaths, and chili peppers, rose to just above my head. I ordered an iced tea, no matter how badly I wanted a Jack and Coke. Gwen sat in the seat across from me, and, coupled with every other slanderous thing she thought of me, I didn’t want to add “potential alcoholic” to the list.

Erica, on the other hand, had no problem kicking off the night with a shot of tequila. At least, that’s what she intended. But no sooner was the order out of her mouth that she shot a quick glance at Tyler, then shook her head. “You know what? Never mind. I’ll just have a soda.”

Tyler slouched in his chair and allowed a small smile to tip his lips. He glanced at the waiter. “Bring her the tequila and any other kind of alcohol anyone wants. I’m fine. I’ll have a Coke.”

I watched Gwen studying Tyler while trying to pretend she wasn’t studying anybody. The waiter just stood there, and the awkwardness choked us all. I was about to break the silence when Tyler laughed. I think it was the first time I’d ever heard him do that out of character. “I’m clean by choice, people. If I couldn’t handle being around alcohol, I wouldn’t have lasted as an actor as long I have, now would I? Let’s move on.”

We all sort of shifted in our seats until I rapped my knuckles on the table and repeated, “Moving on.” I turned to the waiter. “I’ll have a beer.”

“You’re old enough to drink?” that delicate, prissy voice I loved said.

I turned to Gwen. “Huh?”

“You’re so much younger than me, remember?”

I grinned. “That’s right, I am. However, I’m legal. For everything that’s fun, in case you’re wondering.”

She gasped then shook her head (albeit with a small smile on her beautiful mouth) before ordering her own drink, a girly-girl apple martini. I counted that as a victory. Turned out that surprising Gwen in a way she couldn’t help liking could become addictive.

In record time, we had our drinks in front of us. When Shane walked in a few minutes late, the four of us did a double take. He wore black jeans, a Slipknot T-shirt, and a leather jacket. Low and behold, a piercing jutted out of his eyebrow, lower lip, and left ear lobe. I gaped for a moment. The guy looked like an evil twin of the Shane I had come to know. He dropped into his seat, oblivious to our collective stupor, and took up a drink menu. Casually, he raked a hand, fingers crowned in a few rings, through his spiked blond hair.

He caught onto our gawking—mostly me and Erica it turned out—and looked up. “What?”

“Nothin’, man,” I managed to stutter. Shit. He looked
badass
. He had pulled off the jock look, likely to look more professional, but this ensemble fit him like a glove. How I could tell him without it being weird was another matter. I hoped Erica or Gwen would take a stab at it, but they didn’t.

The waiter swung by to set our table up with two woven baskets of warm, salty restaurant style tortilla chips along with several bowls of guacamole, pico de gallo, and some hot, cheesy dip.

Gwen had to be a poor sport and wear a fitted red dress that hardly revealed any skin but still hammered home the fact she had a great body. So unfair. Why did she have to be so hot without trying? I tried not to stare at her, but it was proving to be difficult, and on several instances, our eyes would meet for a moment before she’d rip hers away.

“So, Tyler…” Gwen ran her fingertip around the edge of her martini glass, and for some reason, I sensed trouble. “By what you said the other day, I’m guessing you’re not a fan of soap operas. Is that right?”

“Oh, boy,” Erica groaned, dunking a chip into the guacamole.

I grinned and leaned back in my seat. Comfort seemed paramount if we were all going to have to endure this conversation. “Fireworks coming early tonight.” I found myself looking forward to a variation of our first meeting together. Now that Gwen knew us all a little better, I wondered if she’d revert back to her uptight ways or if she’d loosen up enough to give Tyler a bad time
and
reveal a more fun-loving side to herself. I was hoping that was the case.

“Now doesn’t seem like a great time to have an argument, gang,” Erica said, assuming the mother role of the group, even though she was maybe only twenty-three or twenty-four. I’d been impressed by everything I’d learned about Erica in the past week. She was sharp as a whip and down-to-earth, but she was also the epitome of responsible. Outwardly she was much more laid back then Gwen, but inwardly she was just as reluctant to let others see her true nature or get too close.

Not that I could fault her for that; if Erica and Gwen were pots I was definitely a kettle.

“We’re out,” Erica continued. “We’re supposed to be celebrating wrapping up the pilot.”

Gwen smiled wide and the power of it almost took my breath away. For the first time ever, she looked like she was completely relaxed, comfortable amongst trusted friends. Yeah, I knew it was likely a lie, her way of lining up the pins in anticipation of bowling Tyler over for his insulting remarks last week, but it was easy to imagine that this girl was more like who Gwen was in her everyday life, when she was free of worry or the scrutiny of others.

“Well, I think now is the perfect time to talk about it,” she said. “I don’t want to argue, I want to discuss. I was raised with dinner time conversation, unless you all prefer to eat in silence.”

“Not me,” Shane replied.

“Gwen,” Erica said, tossing her a knowing look. “I’m sure there are other topics to choose from.”

“But none of them would be nearly as entertaining to watch.” I gulped back a swig of my beer.

Erica scowled at me.

“Tyler feels a certain way about my work. I want to know what it is and why.”

“Waiter!” Erica called just as the guy was passing our table on her end. “Excuse me, may I have another house margarita?”

“Come on, guys,” Shane piped up, eyeing everyone. “We’re supposed to be a team here.”

Tyler hadn’t said anything about Gwen’s attempt at conversation. Just sat there staring at us, face impassive.

“Why is it we can’t have discussions without thinking it’s an argument?” Gwen asked. “A good debate can build camaraderie.”

I shrugged my agreement. “And UST.”

Erica caught the waiter by his sleeve before he could slip out of reach. “Can you actually make that a double?”

Gwen’s brow furrowed. “What’s a UST?”

“Unresolved sexual tension, Gwen,” I said softly, noting with satisfaction the way her eyelids flickered and she blushed before looking away. I straightened a little. Yeah, I knew a lot about UST, and despite trying to fight it, so did Gwen. Maybe with a little push from me, she’d be willing to admit it.

“I swear I don’t have one of those…anymore.” Shane laughed, patting out a rhythm on the table.

“Sugar, it’s a good thing you’re pretty,” Erica mumbled.

Shane scowled with a half-smirk. “Uh…nice to know you think I’m pretty, but I was kidding. Someone has to lighten up the mood.”