Lennox
We get back to the cabin in record time, considering the extra weight of the mud that Jace is carrying. I smother yet another laugh thinking back on that entire event. I’ve never seen a grown man fearful of a deer. They’re like the most timid creatures on the face of the planet.
And he thought it was a moose.
A stray snort verbalizes itself even in my attempt to hold back.
“Shut up,” he grunts out annoyed, all angry and fired up.
Like the good actor I am, I quickly wipe the smile off my face before he turns back to look at me and shrug. “Just clearing my throat.”
He rolls his eyes, but I don’t miss that tiny little smirk at the side of his mouth before he turns back around and steps onto the porch.
He kicks off his shoes, unbuttons his pants, and rips off his shirt like everything he was wearing was suffocating him.
And apparently all he had to do to get me to shut up was get undressed because now, I’m speechless.
His body is muscular and thick, built more like an athlete than an actor. It’s clear he never missed leg day, or chest day, or arm day for that matter. He’s proportionally perfect just like his golden boy image.
The light speckling of chest hair down the column of his torso, leading into the waistband of his boxer briefs even looks groomed.
Swallowing through the wet cotton balls in my mouth, I clear my throat and gather myself. “Feel better?”
He glances down at himself. “Yeah, but I still need a shower.” He wipes his bare feet on the mat before stepping through the doorway, and I smile at the habitual manners he has.
Since he can’t see me, I watch his arse as he walks toward the bathroom, which is only a few seconds because this cabin is miniature. He turns the corner into the bathroom and shuts the door.
There’s a strange confidence about him now. Almost as if he’s making up for the deer incident. He stripped his clothes off with so much ease as he pulled his shoulders back, head held high. I have a feeling he’s a master at masking his likes, dislikes, fears, and even happiness.
I grab another shirt from my bag and slip it over my head, tossing both of our manuscripts on the side tables, then walk to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee.
I caught on earlier that he drinks his coffee with creamer, a boatload of it actually. So, I pour us each a cup, putting more cream than I think is normal in his and nothing in mine—realizing this is just another thing we’re exact opposites on, then place them on the coffee table.
As I go to sit down, Jace opens the bathroom door, steam bellowing around him as he steps out in just a towel wrapped around his waist, skin still glistening with a light sheen of water.
Well, good to see that mask of confidence didn’t wash away with his shower.
I dip my gaze down into my searing hot cup of coffee as I take a cautious sip to hide myself behind the ceramic of my mug, like it’ll prevent my lust from showing.
He steps into the bedroom and I keep my gaze forward, but my eyes can’t help looking sideways in his direction.
I can see him peer over his shoulder then drop his towel, the globes of his round arse with notable dimples above the cheeks look like a mold of the Statue of David and, my god, the vision is pure perfection.
Leaning forward, he steps into a new pair of boxer briefs, same color and style as before, as predictable as they come.
I hide my smile behind another sip of my way too hot coffee and turn, grabbing the screenplay, then shift to face his side of the sofa.
He steps out of the room fully dressed, his blond hair a notch darker since it’s still wet and his blue eyes shine even brighter with the contrast. Stepping into the bathroom, he hangs up his towel with precision, then walks back into the room glancing at the setup.
His beige T-shirt hugs his chest and shoulders like a glove, and his deep brown joggers were probably tailor made for the arse that had me drooling earlier.
“Is that mine?” He points at the coffee sitting on the side table at the opposite end of the sofa.
I nod, tipping mine up to him before taking a sip. I’d rather burn my mouth on this liquid lava then accidentally tell him how fucking hot he looks.
“Thanks,” he says questioningly. “You know, you’re so much different than your online persona.”
I smirk, because I think he’s complimenting me.
“Does the media portray you exactly as you are?”
“Well, no, but I don’t have social media or record and post videos of myself doing…stuff.”
I shrug. “My social media platform was something fun I started. A way for me to be someone else, other than myself. I acted like a jackass, did stupid shit, and people started to eat it up. I sort of had to keep that image going, even after I started acting as a career.”
I share honestly, hoping he doesn’t ask me why I would want to be someone else completely.
He nods like he understands.
“I mean, I’m still a goofball, naturally. I like to poke at people a bit, but I’d like for people to take me seriously in Hollywood.”
“They’ll get there,” he replies with a genuine niceness, and it sort of pulls at something in my chest.
I clear my throat, attempting to ignore that foreign sensation. “Alright, Moose. Let’s read some lines.” An unavoidable smile crosses his face as I say his nickname jokingly.
“I read that you’re a method actor, is that right?” he asks.
I nod because that’s how I lived my entire life, off the camera as well as in front of it. To live as if you are a different character is easier than going in and out of it.
Pretending to be someone else, especially when you’re putting on a show for videos that need to get attention, is better than being miserable in your own life.
“Me too, but I typically don’t start until a couple of days before shooting. Are you good if we run lines and rehearse for a few days, then if you’re up for it, we can spend the last couple days being in full character. What do you think?”
He’s confident in his words, in his suggestion, and I can see this is where he thrives. It’s apparent in the way his eyes light up and his posture changes.
“Absolutely. Sounds like a great plan.”
My mind reels on what those last two days will be like, considering our characters are not only bandmates but lovers.
He shifts in my direction from his side of the sofa. I mirror his movements, turning toward him so we're face-to-face. The manuscript is heavy in my hands, and I find myself needing to take a calming breath. Bloody hell, I’m nervous.
I’m about to read lines with the Jace Wilder for the first time. Not only do I want to impress him but, fuck, what if we’re like oil and water. No chemistry, no fire.
“Did you talk to the intimacy coordinator?”
I nod once, taking a sip of my now drinkable coffee.
“What did you tell her was off limits?” he asks, comfortable with this topic of conversation.
“Nothing,” I admit. His eyes saucer at my response—in surprise, I think. “I don’t have limits. I want everything between the characters to feel natural on screen. I don’t want our sex scenes to look staged or forced.”
I bite at my lip. Is that amateur of me? Am I showing how naive I am in this industry by saying that? I hate his silence right now.
“What did you tell her?” I ask, trying to hide my curiosity.
“I told her, other than actual sex, I have no limits either.” I miraculously school any expression even though I’ve got an Energizer Bunny the size of a llama doing cartwheels in my chest.
“Brilliant, we’re on the same page then,” I respond, opening up the screenplay as I flip through a few pages. “Where should we start?”