Page 8 of Romance Is Dead

It hadn’t bothered me that Teddy didn’t think I was his type. Not really. He wasn’t my type either — even if he did have a body like the ones that used to inspire statues. Naked ones. But pretending to forget the embarrassment of him bailing on me mid-kiss to sleep with another woman?

That was a tall order even for an Oscar winner.

And I definitely wasn’t that. I’d already been reeling from the industry chewing me up and spitting me out earlier in the summer, and my humiliation at the party had now given me the final push I needed to throw in the towel on making movies for good.

At the time, I was already under contract for House of Reckoning with a sweet contract that would give me a cut of the box-office profits.

I decided that once filming wrapped, I’d be done with Hollywood.

The day after the party, I’d called a realtor about selling my apartment, started packing my things into storage, and convinced Mara to let me crash on her couch until I’d figured out what I’d be doing with the rest of my life.

It remained unclear what that would be.

Now, Teddy eyed me suspiciously as I retrieved my phone from the ground. “Why exactly are you here?”

“Yeah, I. . . Can I come in?” If I was about to allege that whoever was in the background of Trevor’s Instagram photo had murdered him, I should probably do it behind closed doors.

“As long as you’re not here to yell at me again.” He stood aside and pulled the door open farther. “I promise I’ll put some clothes on.”

You don’t have to do that. The thought popped into my head as I stepped into his room, making my cheeks flush. Oblivious, Teddy followed me in and grabbed some clothes from a suitcase. “I’ll be right back.” He headed to the bathroom, clothes slung over his shoulder. “Make yourself at home.”

I perched awkwardly on the chair next to his desk, trying to forget that Teddy was now very naked and just a few yards away.

The room was a carbon copy of my own: one king-sized bed, a TV, and a tiny nook with a mini fridge they probably advertised as a “kitchenette.” It was generally neat, with the exception of an overflowing suitcase in one corner.

A book had been left on the desk, open and face down.

I picked it up and peered at the cover. It was a mystery — Tripwire by Lee Child.

But even as I scanned the back cover, my mind strayed back to Teddy on the other side of the bathroom door.

It bothered me how quickly I was slipping into the same thoughts I had the first time I met him — wanting to touch him, wanting him to touch me.

Wanting to know what his mouth tasted like, even as I was here to talk about a potential murder on set.

I shook my head, knowing better than to go down that path.

Even if I didn’t already know that Teddy wasn’t interested in me, I’d dated celebrities before.

I knew how it always went: a few short months of dating before they moved on to a hot new thing they met on a movie set or photo shoot, sometimes without breaking up with me first.

I didn’t live by many rules, but not dating actors was a firm one.

The door to the bathroom opened and Teddy stepped out, now dressed in gray sweatpants and a sleeveless tee that showed off his biceps. He sat at the foot of the bed, running a hand through his still-damp hair as he lowered himself onto the mattress.

Yanking my eyes away, I grappled for conversation that didn’t involve the size of his muscles. “You read?” I held up the book, still in my hands. “You actually know how?”

Teddy side-eyed me. “You know, I invited you in, trying to be nice.”

“Ok, ok, sorry. Do you like reading?”

“Not really. My brother does, though.”

“Oh?”

“He’s a senior in college now, but when he was a freshman, he was really anxious moving away from home. I called him every night, trying to help him chill out a bit, but we ran out of things to talk about, so we started picking books to read together.”

“Like a book club?”

“I guess. So what’s up?”

Taking a deep breath, I quickly ran through the coincidence with the upcoming scene and the evidence that the fencing had been removed on purpose so someone could push Trevor into the ditch.

“And look at this.” I pulled out my phone, successfully this time, and scrolled to Trevor’s Instagram. “He took this photo an hour or two before he died. Look at the face in the background. They look pissed.”

Teddy squinted at the screen. “Just because someone looks grumpy doesn’t mean they killed someone. Look at how mad you were at me yesterday. And yet here I am. Unmurdered.”

“So far.”

“Very funny.” Teddy’s own phone dinged, and he picked it up.

“Who said I was kidding?”

Teddy ignored me, tapping something into his phone.

“Hello?” I kicked his shin, irritated.

“What?”

“Did you hear anything I said?”

“Yes, you think a frowny face is evidence for murder.” He tossed his phone to the side and ran a hand down his face.

“I’m pretty sure I’m getting fired tomorrow, anyway.

I don’t need to worry about all this — I’ll be gone in twenty-four hours.

” His mouth cracked into a crooked smile, but it faded just as fast.

“No offense, but did you prepare for this role at all?”

“I did.” He buried his head in his hands. “I practiced all my lines and even had my brother run through the scenes with me to make sure I had them down. Then I got here and the cameras started rolling and I just. . . blanked.”

“Yikes. That sucks.”

“And once I started forgetting lines, it kept getting worse and worse.” He rubbed his temples, his hands shaking. “But hey, at least I’ll be out of your hair if I get fired.”

His phone dinged again, but this time he didn’t pick it up.

“Listen.” I leaned forward and placed a hand on his shoulder, momentarily distracted by how solid it was. I decided to remove my hand. “Listen. You’re not getting fired. I’ve seen actors do worse and not even come close to getting fired.”

“Doubt it.”

“No, really. One showed up to set drunk and puked on the AD.”

“That was probably like. . . one of those guys in the Marvel movies.”

I bit my lip, unable to lie.

“Oh my God.” Teddy grimaced. “I’m so fucked.”

“I promise it’ll be fine.”

“Easy for you to say — you’re amazing. The way you change into a literal different person as soon as Natasha yells ‘action’ is mind-blowing.”

Despite myself, my heart fluttered at the praise. I thought back to the episodes of his show I’d watched, trying to find something — anything — I could compliment about his performance.

“What about that scene when you rescued that girl’s lunch from the crab? Totally made episode two.”

One corner of Teddy’s mouth tugged upward, a crack in his dour expression. “You know, I think that’s the moment that landed me this gig.”

“We should find the crab a part, too.”

We both smiled then, even me, and I couldn’t help but notice how nicely his eyes crinkled when he did that. But then his phone dinged for a third time, and he grabbed it off the mattress.

“Can’t you leave that alone for ten minutes?” I spat.

Teddy swiveled the device to face me, beaming like a proud parent. “Kendall Jenner is DMing me.”

“Oh my God.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “I have an idea. Both of us need this movie to be a success, right? You’re trying to make a name for yourself, and I barely get paid unless this movie is a hit at the box office. Preferably, this would happen without any additional murders.”

“Preferably.”

I took a deep breath. “If you help me figure out what really happened to Trevor, even if you don’t believe me, I’ll help you with your acting.”

Teddy considered this for a long moment. “You really think you can help me?”

“Probably. At the very least, I can help you make better choices than pulling a Southern accent out of nowhere in the middle of a scene.” I exhaled and waited a beat. “What do you say?”

Teddy looked thoughtful. “I’m in.” He clapped his hands together before making finger guns, pew pew pew. “But I can’t make any promises that I’ll be too helpful with the detective stuff.”

“That’s ok. I already know where to start.”

We needed to find the face in the photo.