Chapter 6 Quentin
SIX
QUENTIN
“What’s the deal with Sadie? Like, really?
” Avery asked as they crunched along the gravel path toward Sadie’s trailer.
Her tone was light, but there was an unmistakable edge of curiosity, like she’d been waiting for the right moment to pry.
After weeks of witnessing the whiplash-inducing tension between him and Sadie, it was clear to everyone with a functioning brain that this wasn’t just some casual friction. It was personal.
He honestly had no idea what her problem was.
Sadie treated him like he’d committed some deeply specific crime, like he’d keyed her car, unfollowed her on purpose, and spoiled the ending of her favorite show in the same afternoon.
Every time their paths crossed, she looked at him like she was mentally drafting a true-crime podcast episode with his name in the title.
“No clue. I think she might be distantly related to a banshee,” he replied, trying to sound unbothered.
Avery snorted, but the truth was, it bothered him more than he liked to admit.
He was used to being liked. He liked being liked.
He was friendly, easygoing, the kind of guy who held doors open and returned shopping carts because it felt morally wrong not to.
Growing up as the only guy in a house full of women had turned him into a professional diffuser of tension.
And yet Sadie had taken one look at him and decided he was Public Enemy Number One.
“It’s weird,” Avery said. “She’s nice to literally everyone else.”
Oh, he’d noticed. The way she was all sunshine and laughter with the rest of the crew but turned into a storm cloud the second he entered the vicinity. It gnawed at him.
By the time they reached her trailer, his patience had run out. He didn’t bother knocking. He just marched in, ready to demand answers. And then, he stopped short.
Inside, Sadie and Devi were deep in conversation, their laughter bubbling through the air. Sadie had her head thrown back, laughing so hard she practically sparkled. The sound was light, carefree. Beautiful, even. For a second, he just stood there, completely thrown off.
“Didn’t know you had the ability to laugh,” he muttered, lacing his tone with enough sarcasm to make it a proper greeting.
Sadie looked up, caught off guard, and for a brief, glorious moment, he saw something other than disdain flicker across her face. The sight sent a little thrill through him. Maybe he was making progress. Or at the very least, confusing her, which was almost as satisfying.
It also made him painfully aware of how badly he wanted to crack her armor, to get at the version of her he had just seen laughing with Devi. The relaxed one. The one who didn’t look at him like he was a walking inconvenience with cheekbones.
“Didn’t know you lost the ability to knock,” she shot back, scowl firmly in place. Ah, there it was. Balance restored to the universe.
Devi, clearly an expert at dodging whatever weird energy they had, packed up her stuff and left with a wave.
Quentin cleared his throat, remembering why he was here in the first place.
To work. He groaned internally as he remembered that he’d left his script back in his cabin.
And after yesterday’s disaster, where he butchered his lines so badly that even the sound guy winced.
He really needed to go over them before heading to set.
“Avery? Can you do me a huge favor and grab my script from my cabin?” Quentin asked, throwing her his best ‘I’m charming and helpless’ look.
“Sure thing!” Avery, ever the MVP, left without question. And just like that, it was just him and Sadie.
He shifted in place, suddenly very aware of the sound of his own breathing. The quiet. The fact that this was the first time they had ever been alone and his heart had decided to act like this was a high-stakes situation.
“Well,” he said, lowering himself into the chair, “alone at last. Should I be worried for my life?”
Sadie turned, makeup brush in hand like a dagger. “Yes. I’m going to steal your soul and hijack your stupidly hot body for my own evil purposes.”
The words clearly escaped before her brain could intervene, because she froze immediately afterward. Her gaze snapped anywhere but his, and a blush crept up her neck like it had somewhere important to be.
Quentin’s smirk was instant, slow and smug. “Wow. You want my body and my soul? That’s intense, even for Hollywood.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she muttered, reaching for her brushes with a little more force than necessary.
He chuckled, deep and amused. “Too late. I definitely heard ‘stupidly hot body,’ and I am choosing to build my confidence on that alone.”
“Shut up,” she said, her voice tight.
Her hand trembled just slightly as she dipped into the powder, ears now matching the color in her cheeks, and Quentin decided this might be the most productive conversation they’d had yet.
He tilted his head to study her, the way she was suddenly all business and zero eye contact. He was eating this up. “Hey, I’m not judging. I worked hard for this body. Twelve weeks of chicken breast, kale, and crying during planks.”
“That explains the personality,” she muttered, pressing the brush to his cheek a little harder than required.
“And you,” he said, voice dipping low and warm like velvet, “are very interesting when you are flustered.”
“I am not flustered.”
“You are aggressively avoiding my face,” he said pleasantly. “Which is impressive, considering your job requires prolonged eye contact with my pores.”
She leaned back, squinting at him like she was appraising livestock. “You definitely own tear-away sleeves.”
He laughed. “Only for high-stress environments. Grocery stores. Libraries. Emotional confrontations.”
“You absolutely flex at reflective surfaces,” she continued. “Windows. Cars. Spoons.That black screen when your phone dies.”
“Okay,” he said, holding up a finger. “In my defense, spoons are very flattering.”
She groaned and turned back to her kit. “You are unbearable.”
“And yet,” he said cheerfully, “here you are, consensually touching my face.”
Her hand stilled for just a beat before she recovered. “It is literally my job. I am being paid to tolerate you.”
“Are you also paid to be so worked up?”
“I’m not worked up,” she snapped, way too fast.
He grinned. “You’re literally blushing.”
“I’m literally not.” She dabbed powder onto his cheek like she was trying to sand him down. He didn’t flinch. He just sat there, grinning, like a man watching his favorite team win and already planning the victory parade.
“Fascinating, Fosforito.”
Her brows pulled together. “What does that mean? Is it some niche insult?”
“Spanish.” He nodded toward her hair. “Means little matchstick.”
She squinted at him. “Great. Nicknames. That’s what we’re doing now.”
“Oh, I’ve got a few,” Quentin said, his gaze flicking to her mouth like it had magnetic pull. “But that one’s my favorite. It just fits. Red on top and quick to ignite. Sound familiar?”
Sadie tried to scowl, but the heat creeping up her neck betrayed her faster than words ever could.
Quentin opened his mouth, clearly ready to press his luck, but she beat him to it.
“Oh, please. I’ve got nicknames for you too,” she shot back. “A-list asshole. Walking jawline with a PR team. Discount Greek statue. Human cologne sample.”
The corner of his mouth twitched.
She was not done. “Overpaid Ken doll. Trailer-sized ego. Abs-with-a-voice.”
Now she was rambling. And he was absolutely enjoying it.
“Wow,” he said, mock-impressed. “You’ve really built an entire mythology around me. Should I be flattered or slightly concerned for my safety?”
She groaned. “You should be quiet.”
“If you’re not careful,” he murmured, leaning in until his breath brushed her skin, “people might start to think you like me.”
Sadie snorted. “Please. The only thing I feel toward you is professional irritation and a mild desire to trip you in public.”
He smiled, unfazed. “That’s very middle school of you. Be mean to the boy you like because you don’t know what to do with the feelings.”
Sadie’s eyes snapped to his, and shit. That look again. She did this thing where she focused on him like she was aiming, and it hit every time. Her gaze was fire. Slow, consuming, and terrifyingly precise. Like she’d found every nerve ending in his body and set them all on fire at once.
“Especially if you look at me like that,” he added, voice rougher now, like the words scraped their way out of his throat.
“Like what?” Her tone was level, but her breath caught, just barely.
“Like you want me.” His voice dropped, heat curling beneath each syllable. The teasing was gone.
Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she lifted her hands to his face, her fingers brushing over his jaw as she reached for the scar makeup. The contact should have snapped the moment. Instead, it made it worse.
“Maybe in an alternate universe,” she said, cool as ever.
“Why not this one?” The words slipped out before he could stop them, which was becoming a theme.
Her fingers faltered, just a fraction, but enough to send a ripple through him. Their eyes locked, and suddenly the room suddenly felt too small, like the air itself had decided to take sides.
“Why do you hate me so much?” he asked quietly. “If this is about the party, I’m sorry. I really am. I was being a dick.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting to the ground. “It was actually… kind of great. Weird and funny and way more thoughtful than anything I would’ve come up with.”
His throat worked as he swallowed, the words catching somewhere behind his teeth.
He didn’t say it out loud, didn’t explain how the party reminded him of Delly, how his sister used to throw ridiculous themed events just like that one, and how the memory had hit him out of nowhere, turning him into a jackass because he didn’t know any other way to handle missing her.