Page 53 of Anyone But the Superstar

‘This way.’ David waves me over once more, hurrying me along.

For added insurance, I give Mikey another treat before standing.

‘Now then, Anne,’ David says once I reach him and Felix by the crane, ‘we just need to block out the scene, make sure the angles are good before we start filming.’ David holds up the storyboard I created, the details from the script coming back to me as I look it over.

Oh crap.

I cut my eyes to Felix, who, from the smirk on his face, knows exactly what the two characters are supposed to do in this scene.

‘Stand.’ Ron gestures to a blue taped X on the ground.

Like a soldier obeying orders, I do, my Birkenstocks dragging across the textured poolside concrete.

‘In this scene, the two leads are talking,’ Ron explains. ‘Then Jennifer, Amanda’s character, walks over to Holden, Felix’s character.’ Ron looks at me, and whatever expression I’m making has him adding, ‘You’re standing in for Amanda’s character.’

Felix’s eyes glitter like the pool water under the fluorescent lights.

‘Got it.’ I nod, looking anywhere but at the man standing on the other blue X a few feet in front of me.

To Felix, I’m probably getting my just deserts. I’ve spent the past few days since flashing his mother avoiding him as much as possible. Kind of hard to do when you live together, but I’ve given it my best shot.

And now here we are, publicly thrust together, about to be closer than we have since that night at the bar.

Because what Ron didn’t say, but Felix and I know, is that this scene doesn’t end with Julia walking to Holden.

It ends when they kiss.

Felix

My mother’s prayers must’ve been answered.

‘All right people, places!’ Ron shouts, waving people back behind the floor lines the crew taped up earlier.

Because I’m sure she’s spent the last few days since meeting Anne praying to whomever the saint of matchmaking is for them to intervene between Anne and me. She said so in no uncertain terms before she hung up the other night.

And while all week Anne’s done her best to limit her interactions with me, and thus thwart my mother’s not-so-secret plans, it seems today the patron saints finally pulled through.

Notthat I want them to.

I pull at my collar, tight in the humid room.

It’s just that Anne’s awkward, near-silent treatment is getting a little old.

I mean, she sends me thank you notes whenever I call the chauffeur service and leave the car for her to take to workwhenever our schedules don’t align. And she still sketches when I cook and eats with me when I’m home, though that hasn’t been often since filming started.

But it’s obvious that she’s still embarrassed from dropping her towel in front of my mother, even though I told her she didn’t need to be. However, it probably hadn’t helped that I was laughing at the time.

Anne’s eyes narrow and I realize I’m chuckling even now as I remember her peach-shaped ass peeking out from under the bottom of her bath towel as she crawled across the living area and down the hall.

But at least she’s looking at me.

‘Walk when you hear “action”,’ Ron instructs.

If possible, Anne stiffens further, and a flash of sympathy hits me. Shereallydoesn’t like being center stage.

‘Action.’

She doesn’t even get halfway across the ten feet between us when Ron shouts, ‘Cut,’ stopping her robotic movements.