Jace
“Hey!” I pick up the stray marshmallow and throw it back at Lennox. We’re roasting s’mores again after swimming in the lake, and it was actually a good day.
If I’m being totally honest with myself, the past few days have all been really good, and it’s hard for me to admit that, even to myself.
I was dreading coming here, hated the thought of being stuck here with him, hated this tiny house, and looked forward to the moment Raymond would come pick us up and take me back to a normal reality.
Dare I say…I’ve had fun.
Yep. Me. Boring, completely predictable Jace Wilder, is having a good time.
I mean, there’s still two days left, but I’m not counting the minutes like I was when we first arrived.
Lennox makes it easy because he’s the exact opposite of me.
Finding an excuse to do something fun. Although we haven’t been hiking again.
Not that I wouldn’t try but Lennox hasn’t suggested it and, well, I’m definitely not.
We’ve played random board games, swam in the lake, and hackysack—something I’d never heard of or done before, but turned out to be completely entertaining, even for how menial it was.
I find excuses to read, relax, and stay in. He’s indulged me, doing the ‘boring Jace things’ but it doesn’t last long until he goes stir crazy and finds a way to talk or make it playful.
The fire’s burning pretty high, the orange hue bounces off his skin as I stare at him through the flames. His midnight hair blends in with the darkness that can only be found out in the woods, and his green eyes stand out even more with the contrast of his light skin.
Objectively, he’s good looking, and I’m not sure why that’s my first passing thought. But he also surprised me. He’s not nearly the immature, goofball that I thought he’d be.
I’ve been battling with these confusing emotions the last couple of days, wondering why I’m so drawn to him, and not just platonically. I’ve never even considered how good looking men are, or could be, yet my first thought when I met him was just that.
Then, my second day here, I jerked off in the shower to him. Which was a fucking shock to my own ears when his name came out of my mouth. Then as an experiment, I tried it again yesterday and, yep, came right away.
What is it about him?
We’ve had plenty of rehearsal scenes over the last couple days.
Nothing like the first two, when we dove head first into that kiss.
My cheeks heat at the memory of his eyes boring into me like he wanted to devour me, and he did.
If he kisses like that in a scene, I’m actually concerned for anyone that he gets to kiss in real life.
My cheeks flush again but, this time, with more jealousy than lust.
He glances over his shoulder, taking in our surroundings, and I chuckle to myself.
He turns, looking over the fire at me. “What are you thinking about?”
Our kiss.
“That I can’t believe you agreed to come out here after the incident."
“You mean when Yogi Bear tried to eat me for breakfast?”
I can’t help but roll my eyes and laugh because he’s so dramatic. It’s endearing, that side of him.
I shake my head at myself.
My co-star can’t be endearing. What the fuck is wrong with me? This has been exactly what goes through my head every time I’m deep in thought. Which is translating over to my unpredictable mood and I’m sure by now he’s growing tired of it.
My treatment toward him flops back and forth between being open and easy going to stand-offish and difficult, and I can’t imagine it’s something he enjoys dealing with.
I'm even annoyed with myself.
“What made you decide to do this movie?” I ask, completely changing the topic to something I’m comfortable with.
He smiles, his gaze still trained on the flames.
“Pierre Martin. You don’t say no to a man like Pierre Martin.” He shrugs. “At least that’s what my agent said.”
“Did you even know of Pierre before you were asked about the role?”
He presses his lips in a tight line and glances over to me, shaking his head.
“Unbelievable. Actors wait their whole lives for a chance to work with him and you—”
“I know. Lucky bugger, aren’t I? Think it was the tattoos and charming smile?” he says, giving me one of those really cheesy, very not-charming smiles, which pulls another chuckle out of me.
“I think he’s meticulous and his casting is unmatched.” My eyes trail over the parts of his body that I can see. “You’re exactly what I imagine Ryan Wilson would look and act like. Talented, easy-going, a charisma everybody loves.” I toss a stray pine needle into the fire. “You’re perfect.”
Everyone else will think so too. For me, they’ll wonder what the hell Pierre was thinking casting someone like me—his first mistake.
I glance back up to him. His eyes are wide, still registering my words, then I quickly add, “for the role. You’re perfect for the role.”
He looks away, passing me a tight-lipped smile as he holds his hands out over the fire. One bare, the other inked with 5 poker cards, a royal flush splayed out over the top between the top of his wrist and knuckles.
“What are you dreading most about the script?” he asks, “performance wise?”
“Playing guitar,” I reply quickly. “I’ve been practicing with a coach, but I know Pierre loves his dramatic close-ups. I don’t want to use a double.” We’re actors, we should perfect everything as much as possible. “What about you?”
“The sex scenes,” he spits out quickly, and I snap up, looking in his direction.
That surprises me. Not just his honesty, but the fact that I would never think those types of scenes would make someone like him nervous.
He can easily read my expression, something it seems like he’s studied over the past few days.
“I mean…” He shrugs, a shyness I haven’t seen is clear as he shifts in his seat.
“We have an entire culture to represent, iconic musicians that deserve to be seen and it relies heavily on their sexual chemistry and connection. Plus, do you often have fake sex in front of a camera?” He snips a snarky but playful remark, which I found he does when his seriousness comes out.
I think back on our kiss.
Our mind-blowing, earth shattering kiss.
Was it a fluke?
Will it feel just as natural when we’re filming?
For some reason, my shoulders shrug, I guess from lack of not knowing what to say.
“Oh, so you’ve had loads of sex on camera?” he banters back at my silence.
“No. No. I wasn’t being dismissive. I just—” I pause to find the right words. “I understand. I feel the…same.”
He nods slowly.
“I don’t want to fuck this up.” He sounds defeated, like he somehow already has.
“Neither do I,” I confess.
He stands urgently, rounding the side of the firepit and crouches down next to me.
“Okay, so let’s make a deal. For the next two days, you are James and I’m Ryan…
in everything we do. I’ve only method acted for my own character—obviously, but this relies on more than just our individual performances.
It’s about them together, as bandmates and…
lovers. We really need to live as them, in everything that we do. ”
The excitement and passion behind his voice makes me sit up and listen. He places his inked hand over my forearm and the buzz that rolls through me is both exhilarating and comforting.
“I want to do this right.”
And there’s that endearing side that no one else in the public has seen.
I can’t help but nod, agreeing to him.
“Yeah?” He smiles wide and sort-of adorable. “You’re okay with me winning another Silver Screen award over you again?”
“Too soon, jerk.” I pin him with an annoyed smirk, then push him over from his squatted position as I press into my heels to stand.
Bending over, I flip off the flame to the firepit. When I turn around, he’s still sitting on the ground, arms draped over his knees and watching me like I’m something to admire.
“What?”
Placing his palms on the ground, he pushes himself up and takes a step toward me.
There’s been this push and pull between us, moments where I feel like I’m in charge, in control and completely levelheaded and he naturally falls into a more timid role matching our energy. Others where I’m unusually vulnerable and he seems to take charge.
Like now. The extra couple inches he has on me feels like a colossal landslide as he towers over me with intention.
There’s nothing but silence between us, the sound of lake water lapping over the small embankment, crickets and another branch snapping somewhere in the woods.
“I hope that’s a falling branch and not your friend coming back.” My eyes search in my periphery for movement as I remark with a smirk, but Lennox doesn’t look toward the sound. He keeps his gaze trained on me, more serious than ever.
I watch as his throat bobs, the tight muscles in his neck pulling on his sharp jawline.
“When I walk through that door”—he blindly points behind him at the cabin—“I’m going to be Ryan Wilson in everything that I do.
My voice, tone, body language. All of it.
I won’t hold back, and—” He swallows thickly again.
“Anything, and I mean anything goes. If it feels right, for both him and James, I’m not stopping anything.
This thing between them, us, it needs to be real. ”
He’s acting like he’s the only one with something to prove.
“I completely agree,” I say, pulling my shoulders back with confidence. Because as much as his tone is honest and vulnerable, there’s a challenge behind it as well. “Whatever it takes.”
That last bit took him by surprise. His eyebrows lift along with that curious little smirk of his.
“Alright, Moose. Whatever it takes.” He holds out his hand, and I quickly slide mine into his with no intention to take anything back. The buzz of our touch spirals through me immediately until he adds, “I’m going to make you look so good,” with a beaming, sarcastic smile.
“You? Make me look good?” How I manage to say that without giving away the fact that everything about him would make anyone look good, I attribute to my years of pretending to be someone else.
Someone else that isn’t confused and crushing on his incredibly hot co-star.
“Ah, bloody hell. You’re right. I don’t stand a chance against you.” He winks, then turns, making his way toward the house. “See you on the other side,” he yells out, walking through the front door.