Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CASS
Date 11
So?
I wouldn’t know
he hid behind a cloud of vape smoke so thick I thought I was going to choke to death on a watermelon haze
Date 12
That might have actually been a pitch for an MLM
Ah, an entrepreneur then lol
Date 13
Axe throwing
He took me axe throwing
Who still does that?
Lumberjack chic?
My back is killing me
Need a massage? I know how to use my hands
I swear to god…
Date 14
What twisted hybrid of spicy and daddy was this?
I’ll be your spicy daddy
Omg
Date 15
You sent me on a date with a gang member!
Drugs or bikes?
What does he ride?
NOT HELPFUL!
Halfway.Fifteen down, fifteen to go.
Fifteen nights given over to guys she didn’t know. Each some combination of boring, lame, or just not for her. The prospect of handing over fifteen more nights to fifteen more guys exhausted her.
And what had she learned so far? That there was no middle ground between dudes looking for a wife or a hookup? That she’d rather enjoy her friends or her own company than subject herself to an endless carousel of lacklustre dates that necessitated her plucking her eyebrows ?
She didn’t need to put herself through fifteen more dates to learn that.
She’d been learning that lesson over and over since her boobs showed up at age sixteen and boys assumed her newly sprouted assets meant she’d put out. Or since the man who she thought she’d been casually seeing had assumed from her sweet face she was looking to become a fifties housewife and dumped her on the spot when he found out she wasn’t.
No, thank you.
Cass rooted through her purse to fish out her keys, leaning back against the elevator wall. Her back was on fire. Her feet ached. She knew better than to wear heels. The guy’s profile said he was six-foot-one, and after being dwarfed by Dawson on set for months, she didn’t feel like dealing with the wait, how short are you conversation that was bound to come up. Not like three-inch heels made her artificially achieved five-foot-four that much taller, but apparently she wasn’t thinking tonight. And now, with a blister forming, even the thought of walking three flights of stairs to her apartment was daunting.
Her platform loafers would have been a much better idea, but they didn’t go with the dress she’d wanted to wear. Why she wanted to dress up at all in the first place seemed like a distant memory.
Also, that guy was not six-foot-one. She’d put enough lifts in actors’ shoes over the years that she could tell five-ten from six-one at a glance, even if he was wearing combat boots. At least he hadn’t tried to lie to her about packing any other hidden inches anywhere else.
Now she had a sore back and sore feet for nothing. At least it wasn’t a replay of the awkward cheek mauling she’d endured three nights ago, when her date had thought there would be more tongue involved at the end of the evening.
She dropped her keys into their dish, right between her half-drunk cup of tea from the morning and the dirty dishes from her rushed dinner that night and eased her jacket down her bare arms before draping it over her couch. After a minute of fruitless rooting, she tipped her purse upside down and shook it, letting her phone, wallet, and everything else scatter over her kitchen table. She found her phone and sighed.
Dead, no surprise. She hadn’t charged it since yesterday, and the old thing sucked juice like crazy. A debrief with Libby would have to wait. She plugged it in beside her sewing machine, the pieces of a new design waiting to be sewn neatly folded beside her dress form.
How are you going to keep a man if you can’t keep a home, Cassidy? Her mother’s voice echoed in her head. Her apartment wasn’t messy. It just wasn’t a pristine showpiece where she was afraid to sip wine on her couch or had use coasters for everything. The mismatched area rugs picked up from estate sales carpeted the floor and collections of her friends’ paintings crowded the wall, all boldly patterned and coloured. Even if she did clean, her home was so cluttered that it would never look truly neat. Just how she liked it.
Her phone chirped to life beside her just as she’d lowered herself onto the floor for her back decompression exercises, and a rapid succession of beeps let her know she’d been very, very missed.
Why couldn’t you have beeped two seconds ago when I was still standing? Brow creasing, she yanked the charging cord so that the phone fell off the table into her outstretched hand.
Unsurprisingly, three texts from Libby.
Tonight’s date is with the guy with all the ink, right?
I should get another tattoo
Then, an hour later
Josh is blowing up my phone. You’re not dead are you ?
Much more surprisingly, eight texts, two calls, and a voice mail. All from Josh.
No seriously
Beamer or Harley
Okay Lucky Charms. Do you need a rescue?
Lucky Charms?
Cass?
I’m calling you now
Pick up
Where are you?
What the heck? She was in the middle of texting him when an incoming call came through.
“Hey,” she answered, massaging her aching calf. “What’s the?—”
“Thank god,” Josh exhaled in a rush. “Where are you?”
“—emergency?” she finished. She flexed her ankles to get the blood flowing to her toes. “I just got home.”
“I’m on my way,” he said, and hung up without letting her respond.
Bewildered, she stared at the blank screen in her hand, then around her dishevelled apartment. What was that all about? It was after nine, and shooting had been over for hours, and she wasn’t needed on set tomorrow. Her insides lurched at the thought that some crisis had sprung up while she was out with the not quite six-foot-one, tatted librarian who ran what he called a literary rebel gang. AKA, a book club for bros learning to dismantle their toxic masculinity. Cool idea, and a fun guy, but he didn’t set her heart aflutter. Not like Jo?—
Nick. Not like Nick. That’s why I’m putting myself through this . She pressed a thumb into the small of her back and looked around the m ess flowing unbroken from her kitchen to her living room.
Josh’s condo had been pristine. Almost stark in its neatness, all negative space and clean lines. The exact opposite of her happily eclectic home.
Fine. It wasn’t eclectic. It was a mess. He was about to see how she lived. In minutes, from the sounds of it. She raced around her living room as fast as her tired feet and sore back would let her, clearing the abandoned piles of mail and discarded clothes.
Don’t bother cleaning the bedroom. He’s NOT going in there. And why is there underwear on the coffee table? After a beat, she shoved the clothes dropped on her bed into her closet and stashed Chauncy in her bedside table.
No reason. She was just taking advantage of the cleaning frenzy to do a little more.
Her phone buzzed with the announcement Josh was at her door, and she froze with a handful of dirty dishes. Had the man used a wormhole to get here? She dropped the dishes in the sink with a clatter before buzzing him in, kicking the shoes littering her front entry into the closet. There was a strident knock a minute later, and Josh barged through the door.
“How’d you—“ she started, but he pinched her chin between his forefinger and thumb and tilted her head back, squinting at her through narrowed eyes, before releasing her with a whoosh of breath.
“You didn’t answer when I texted you.”
“My phone died.”
Josh gritted his teeth, glaring at her sewing machine like it was responsible for draining her phone’s battery. “You should charge your phone before you go in case you need to call me. Or someone. Whatever.”
“That’s what Jill always tells me.”
Cass cast a glance at her still-open front door, shifting from foot to tired foot. He looked as good as ever, his hair sticking up in dishevell ed spikes, the shadow of his beard coming in dark against his golden skin and outlining the sharp angle of his jaw. He looked down at her with his trademark glower, arms crossed over the chest she knew from experience would be warm and firm and smooth. Her heart pulsed under her breast, and she pressed her hand to still it. “Um, I was going to make tea.” Wait, he didn’t like tea. “Or coffee.” Don’t say it. Don’t ask it. Don’t do it … “Do you want to come in for a bit?”
Shoot .
Josh huffed out a breath through his nostrils as he looked around her mess of an apartment. “No,” he said after a beat. “I’ve got things to do.”
Her stomach dropped just an inch or so. “Oh.”
“I just wanted to make sure you were home safe,” he finished.
She would not be disappointed. Nothing to be disappointed about, after all. To not have a nice, innocent cup of tea or coffee with him. He cared enough to see she was okay. That was kind. Something a friend would do.
It would have to be enough.
She rubbed her hands up her bare arms to wipe away the goosebumps that had sprung up. “You knew that when I called you,” she said. “You didn’t need to come over.”
“I wanted to see for myself.”
“Well, you’ve seen,” she said, trying to keep the petulant tone from her voice. “Thanks for checking. I’ll see you in a couple days?”
“Yeah,” he said, and reached out once more, as if to confirm yes, she was there in one piece. He nodded and disappeared through her door, leaving her without another word in her mostly messy apartment.
Her stomach sank for the second time in as many minutes. What else would be so pressing at nine-thirty on a Wednesday night other than meeting a hookup.
Well, good for him .
Fifteen dates down, fifteen to go. Then she’d be over him.
The morning sun hovered below the horizon. The stars had disappeared on the opposite side of the sky, and the nearly full moon slowly slipped behind the mountains like a party balloon losing its buoyancy.
Cass scrubbed at her eyes and stifled a yawn. Call sheets summoned her to set at four a.m. Wasn’t as bad as Libby’s call time. She and her team had worked through the night.
Brynne, already in position, looked fresh, even from here. None of the gossip about the actress was true. That she was tough to work with. A demanding diva who disappeared for hours to make the crew wait. A few B-words and C-words were dropped.
In fitting sessions, it became apparent Brynne was just exceptionally quiet, extremely introverted, and deeply, deeply self-conscious. The half hour in her trailer to visualize and refusal to watch dailies made more sense. Cass kept their conversations friendly and focussed, and in the short months they’d known each other, Brynne’s icy attitude melted.
There was something about having your hands all over someone’s boobs for fittings that removed silly things, like personal boundaries and inhibitions.
Dawson, too, had picked up Brynne’s loner vibe, and his quiet demeanour complemented her need for restrained energy. The two had become inseparable on set. Which was great, most of the time. Until he had to tackle her as she fled, begging him to stay away from her.
“Hold still, Big D,” Cass said with an indulgent grin, tugging gently on the zippers of the oversized parka that wrapped the giant actor.
It was a nervous tic, she’d realized, him fiddling with his clothes before a particularly stressful scene. He’d tear paper to shreds, boun ce a ball off the wall, drum his fingers on any nearby surface. Anything within reach to keep his hands busy was fair game. And if nothing else was available, his clothes bore the brunt of his jitters.
“Sorry, Cassidy,” he said, his deep voice tight as he stared into the middle distance.
No surprise why he was so nervous. He was about to race across the snowy field, again, and tackle Brynne into a mattress hidden out of camera line. Brynne had refused to use a stunt double, and the gentle man was terrified of hurting her. Josh had already spoken to him—four times after four takes—and Brynne had reminded him she was made of the tough stuff and could take it, but he’d pulled up short at the last moment every time.
Cass brushed her hands down the front of her own parka, warm even in the crisp November morning. The fields shimmered under a glittery gauze of hoarfrost, and the air sparkled clean and fresh in her nose with every chilly inhale. Stephen had whooped in glee when the forecast had called for the cold snap, and days of shooting were rearranged to take advantage of the bluebird sky and pristine snowy landscapes. That also meant driving the portable trailers with blankets, heaters, and thermoses of coffee outside of city limits into a farmer’s field in the middle of nowhere.
Parallel tracks marked Brynne and Dawson’s path as they moved the shot out after every take, each one inching closer to the rising sun. It wasn’t fresh snow they were running out of. It was time. The sun would be fully up in minutes, and Cass could see Josh glancing over, clearly fretting to get the blue hour light before it disappeared.
Dawson muttered a string of incomprehensible words under his breath, toying with the edge of the jacket’s cuffs. Cass caught snatches of “my momma ain’t gonna be happy ‘bout this” and “I’m gonna hurt her” over and over.
“Ain’t nuthin’ to be sorry ‘bout,” she teased, mimicking his broad Southe rn drawl, and he broke out of his daze to smile down at her.
Josh stomped over to them. “You done?” he asked curtly.
Dawson puffed out his cheeks and stared out at Brynne, silent.
Josh blew on his gloved hands, plumes of white breath escaping between his fingers. “You’re not worried about preventing her from reaching her goal. You’re just trying to keep her safe. If she gets to that shed, you don’t know what’ll happen to her.”
Dawson nodded and glanced down at Cass making the final adjustments on his jacket. “If he loved her, he wouldn’t be chasing her and making her scream.”
Cass bit down on her grin and flicked her gaze to Josh, who narrowed his eyes at her, the dimple forming in his cheek.
“Imagine she’s about to step into the street and you’re the only one who can push her out of the way of oncoming traffic.” Cass said with a final tug on his sleeves. She tilted her smile up to him. “She has brothers. She’s tough.”
Dawson gave her a doubtful look.
“You got this. Now, scoot. Brynne’s waiting for you to take her down. Plus, I added padding to her costume. She’ll be fine.”
He gave a chagrined nod. “Thanks, darlin’,” he said, and strode off to his mark.
She pulled her mittens back on as she walked back out of sight lines. Josh glowered as she kicked the snow off her boots and curled up in the chair under the heat lamps. It wasn’t really cold yet, only minus fifteen, but all the out-of-town crew shivered like they were on the set of Snowpiercer .
“Darlin’?” Josh repeated, dimple gone.
If she didn’t know better, she would have thought he was jealous. Cass clicked her tongue. “He says that to everyone.”
Josh looked unconvinced.
Everyone was in position. On cue, Brynne took off at a sprint, arms and legs pumping and her breath billowing behind her, with Dawson charging after her like a bull. The camera raced ahead of them, lens fixed on Brynne’s furious expression, with Dawson gaining on her from behind, a look of brutal determination transforming his kind face. Closer, closer …
Dawson steamrolled Brynne at full speed, tumbling out of sight and onto the mattress, softer than a kitten batting a cotton ball. Brynne popped up as soon as Josh yelled “Cut!” brushing snow from her hair and pants, and Dawson pulled her into a tight hug.
It was a dick move in the story; Dawson’s character blocks Brynne’s attempts to discover the truth at every turn, even if it came from a place of concern.
In the book, with the female main character sabotaging the male main character, a whole swath of the fandom had written it off as stereotypical sexist nagging, her chasing him across the fields shrieking like a banshee. In Josh’s adaptation, with the gender roles reversed, it framed everything through the patriarchy thwarting a strong woman’s ambition.
So much more poignant, topical, and, frankly, fixed a major issue that even the author had admitted over a production phone call.
When the fandom found out their precious Dawson’s Dr. Donovan Rykoff, NASA physicist, had been demoted to the love interest of Brynne’s Dr. Amelia Andersen, half of them would cheer. The other half would riot.
The set had been locked down for months, with non-disclosure agreements signed by everyone from the producing team to the caterers. Every blog article and podcast contained only wild speculation, with only cast lists and the vaguest of locations to pore over. Cass even stayed tight-lipped with Jill, who followed every fan site and still pumped her for information at every brunch and girls’ night. If Jill hadn’t learned anything, no one had.
It would be explosive when the word got out.
Josh huddled over the director’s monitor, grunting something in approval and his eyes narrowing even farther when Cass came into his field of view.
Ever since he had left her place a few nights ago with barely a good night , he’d been not exactly cold, but aloof. Distant compared to the way he’d acted with her previously. He’d speak to her minimally, replying with one-word answers, even as she saw him tracking her with his gaze. If he hadn’t been so adamant about setting her up with other people, she’d have thought he was interested in her.
It wasn’t that farfetched of a thought, was it? They had insane chemistry that night in Vancouver. But that had been one time. Month ago. She’d just been in town for the weekend. No strings. No expectations. A few spicy texts for a bit of fun. And besides the relentless flirting that she suspected was as natural as breathing for him, he’d never suggested they revisit said insane chemistry. He’d basically said he wanted to avoid it altogether. Avoid her altogether.
Besides, the aloofness was probably something else. Not a cold shoulder at all. The shoots had been gruelling the past weeks, lasting well into the small hours of the night, followed by pre-dawn starts the next morning. Maybe his mercurial moods were just a factor of the pressure of the schedule, and nothing at all to do with her.
Why would it?
“That was it. Perfect,” Josh said, as Dawson jogged up to view the take, and Cass pulled her shoulders down and turned her sweetest smile to the actor.
“I believe it. I believe him,” Cass said, watching the replay, “that he’s doing this from a place of love.”
“Good. He’s misguided, but he loves her,” Dawson said, smiling down at her. “That’s what I’m going for.”
A muscle in Josh’s cheek jumped. “Everybody loves a hero.”
“Not everyone,” Dawson replied, stamping his feet.
Josh reached out and pulled Cass out of her chair, tucking her back in clos e against his front. “You see, the glow?” he said, pointing to the monitor with a gloved hand.
In theory, she saw it. It was right in front of her face, but his breath tickling the shell of her ear stole her attention. “Mm-hmm,” was all she could get out and heat crept down her neck and under her downy parka.
Josh’s hand slid down the length of her arm to find her mittened hand, closing his fist around it. “These keeping you warm enough?”
I want to taste every inch of you. The last time his lips had been that close to her, he’d been buried deep inside her, his hands claiming her body like he owned it. Cass swayed on her feet, trying not to lean into him.
“I’m not cold.” Anymore .
He let a disbelieving noise escape his throat. “If we’d got this scene any earlier, it would have been too dark. Whatever you said to Dawson worked.”
“What we said to Dawson worked.” Her willpower broke, and she closed her eyes as she tilted back on her heels.
He inhaled as her weight leaned into him, closing any distance left between them. He smelled warm and fresh, more citrus than sandalwood, his breath on her neck spreading heat across her body. The pace of her heartbeat picked up from a canter to a gallop in her veins.
“Dawson’s standing right here,” Dawson said, eyes flicking between the two of them.
Josh released her so quickly she stumbled back a pace. “I have what I need. Where’s Libby? We can tear down.”
Cass watched him retreat to consult with Stephen and Libby, and she was left with the cold swirling around her neck and her heart thumping in her chest. She drew a slow breath through pursed lips, shivering slightly.
This is what he does. Ignore it. Seduction is his neutral gear. A reflex. He probably doesn’t even notice he’s doing it .
But he could have asked a PA to call for Libby, instead of leaving me here .
“You alright?”
She dragged her eyes away from Josh’s back, pushing down the flutters. “Yep,” she said, smiling widely. “Good job out there.”
“You’re looking cold there, darlin’,” Dawson said, his breath misting around him. “We need to get some coffee or something in you.”
A jet of steam huffed out her nose like a dragon, and she glanced around in false secrecy. “If you promise not to tell anyone, I bring a thermos of hot chocolate to winter shoots. Way better than that stuff from craft services.”
She rooted in her bag to bury herself in the distraction. She untwisted the lid from the battered carafe and poured out a stream of the rich chocolate into its serving cup, tendrils of rich steam curling around her fingers.
She always brought enough hot chocolate to share, and if Josh wanted to disappear, he wouldn’t get anything sweet from her. “Come on, I’ll hook you up.”
Dawson took the proffered cap and sipped, ending in a groan. “That warmed me right to my toes,” he said, and took another swig. “I have never been so grateful there aren’t shirtless scenes in this movie. I would never be able to drink this on one of those superhero diets.”
“Don’t worry. If you put on two ounces, I’ll let out your tailoring again,” she teased, taking back the cup, and stashing it back in her bag. Her eyes wandered over to Josh, who watched her through narrowed eyes, his arms crossed over his chest.
God, he looked good when he was glowering, too. She smiled and waved, determined not to let her mind travel down that road.
What the hell was wrong with her?
“I was thinking,” Dawson started, “would you?— ”
“Good job, Big D,” Libby interrupted as she walked up. “Josh needs to talk to you about this afternoon. He has thoughts.”
Dawson blinked at the interruption. “Oh, sure,” he replied, and tossed a quirky smile at Cass as he followed the summons.
Libby pulled Cass away from the crew tearing down the station, to a space as secluded as could be found on a set with a few dozen people milling about. “Anything new on the romance front?”
“No,” Cass sighed. “The librarian gangster was the last one, and I don’t have anything new planned yet.”
“I’m not talking about those Tinder travesties.”
“The Tinder travesties?”
“Name of your sex tape,” Libby quipped. “No, not that. I’m talking about whatever’s going on here.”
There was no way Libby had picked up whatever Josh was putting down from across the field.
Had she?
“What else would there be?” she asked, a little too innocently.
“Oh, please,” Libby reprimanded. “You have two dudes practically panting over you.”
Two? Okay, that she hadn’t been expecting. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t play coy with me.”
“I’m not playing anything!”
Libby gave her an exasperated look. “Josh is practically pissing on you to stake his territory, and Dawson is just waiting for the chance to wife you up.”
“First? Ew. Second? He’s not,” Cass replied with a grimace. “Third? Extremely unlikely. On both counts.” She wiped her hands over her cheeks, likely bright red from cold and embarrassment. “Dawson’s a sweet guy, that’s it. Josh …” Makes me feel like we could roll around in the snow for an hour and melt this entire field . “Is Josh. He’s like that with everyone. ”
Libby raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “Um, he’s really not. Just you.”
That couldn’t be right. She’d seen him charming other people on set. Hadn’t she?
Or had she? She wracked her brain trying to think of a time she’d seen him touch anyone to direct their attention. Smile at them with those panty-evaporating dimples. Whisper in someone’s ear. Or bite someone’s ear.
Nothing came to mind. And she sure had a lot of mental footage to consider. She’d been watching him. Intently. For months.
Dammit.
Why am I my own worst enemy?
“It’s not fair,” Cass whined, with high pitches and everything. If she could do it with anyone, it was her best friend since second grade. “Why does my vagina hate me so much?”
“I don’t think your vagina hates you, but I think your brain and vagina need to have a heart to heart.”
“Doubtful that’ll do any good,” she muttered. Why on earth, after everything, would she trust her brain, either? She’d almost take a text from Nick for the distraction. No one ever said she wasn’t brilliant at self-sabotage, either.
“Speaking of brains and vaginas, what’s going on with you and Stephen? Is this a thing again?”
Normally Libby would launch into a description of all the dirty things she was thinking of doing with the guy she had her eyes on, but her friend gave a guarded smile and shot him a glance. “Maybe. I don’t know. I think it might be.”
Cass eyed her. Just because the breakup had been amicable, didn’t mean Libby hadn’t turned into a ghost for months after Stephen had left. She hadn’t dated anyone seriously since. “You sure you’re ready for that heartbreak again, Libs? They’re leaving when we wrap.”
She needed to think about that herself. Why get attached when Josh would be packing up and leaving ?
“What if it’s different this time?” Libby said softly.
Stephen looked up and caught Libby’s eyes, and smiled with a warmth Cass hadn’t seen from him before.
Oh, it was like that.
The sun spilled like lemonade over the fields, thin and pale. Nothing like the rich gold of high summer, but bright against the brilliant snow, and Cass felt her longest friend slipping away.
“Well,” Cass said, pasting on her brightest smile.“Then it’s worth a shot.”