Page 8

Zoe

C yndi and Bronco are apparently in cahoots. Because the first morning this week that Bronco doesn’t wake me up with a wet willy, my agent texts me at five in the morning. It’s an hour earlier for her in California, but I’m not surprised she’s working. Her commitment to her clients is one of the reasons I signed with her all those years ago.

As I crack one eye open and glare at the illuminated screen of my phone, I regret my decision to work with her.

But only for a split second. That’s how long it takes Bronco to pounce on my stomach and whine in my face.

“G’morning, dog,” I mumble, pushing him off me and dragging my tired limbs out of my cozy cocoon and into what I’ve begun thinking of as my morning uniform. Ratty purple slippers. Oversized tie-dye hoodie over my pajamas. The closest blanket-cape.

I snag my phone as I stumble through the house, Bronco hot on my heels. I’ve given up hunting for his leash in the pre-dawn hours and simply open the front door for him. He doesn’t so much run onto the front stoop as he waddles, nudging my leg with his sizeable hindquarters.

Rude.

Closing the door behind me with a soft click, I tiptoe behind the dog, who is immediately enamored with the crunchy orange leaves dotting the lawn and sidewalk. Each crackling step makes him jump and look behind him.

“It’s just you.” I refrain from calling him an idiot. Barely. And only because I’m more curious about Cyndi’s text than I am interested in insulting Nan’s companion.

Just emailed you the script sample for auditions.

It’s good.

I flick it open, holding my breath as I skim the lines.

It is good. Really, really good. There’s a reason that Caro heard the buzz about this project all the way in the hair and makeup trailer.

I check on Bronco quickly—he’s fine—before diving back into the pages. The thing about this script isn’t just the story or the dialogue though. It’s the way Evelyn Simpkins is somehow teacher, aunt, and big sister rolled into one. It’s the way she’s fiercely protective of her towering linebackers, standing up for them against a school district that wanted them to quit and neighboring communities that wanted them to fail.

The scene ends on a cliffhanger, and I grumble at my phone. I won’t get more unless I get the part.

I text Cyndi the only question that seems to matter.

Did you get me an audition?

Three little dots appear on my screen. Then disappear. I hold my breath, waiting for her to respond. Nothing.

“Come on, Cyndi. Make this happen. For both of us.”

Bronco barks in my general direction but clearly doesn’t care about my internal struggle. He just wants my attention.

Not likely.

Suddenly a response pops up.

The director said he MIGHT meet with you. But only if you can fit into his schedule.

Yes! Name the date.

I’ll text you when it’s confirmed.

I can’t help but do a little jig. There’s still hope. Only a thread. But it’s something.

Thank the Good Lord above!

I’m dancing in a circle, heady from the good news and the motion, when I hear a familiar snicker from the jogger on the sidewalk. By the time I stop, my head is spinning and the snicker has turned into a full-blown laugh.

“Trying to dance away a nightmare?”

I squint at Grant, but not even his teasing can dampen this good news. “Quite the contrary. I’m celebrating.”

“Ah.” He adjusts the squirmy dog tucked in his arm, and I recognize Rico’s face when it pops out. “Do share.” The skin on Grant’s face and neck glistens underneath the streetlight, and his chest rises and falls in quick succession. He’s traded in his usual T-shirt and running shorts for a long-sleeve white shirt and black sweats, and he wheezes like he’s moving faster than usual.

Or maybe he’s excited to see me.

Doubtful.

With a fling of my cape about my shoulders, I shake my head. “Sorry. It’s top secret.”

“Seriously? I won’t tell a soul.” Grant holds up three fingers in a mock scout salute. Then he runs his hand across his jaw, ending with a little pinch of his chin.

Maybe it’s my imagination, but I swear I can almost hear the scrape of his fingernails against his five-o’clock shadow. Which should be a nonissue. Except that it makes my insides do a jig all on their own.

Not cool, stomach. Not cool at all.

Despite his unsolicited effects on my internal organs, I can’t keep my smile at bay. “I’m going to get a meeting with the director.”

His smile appears in an instant. “Of the Cortez movie?”

I nod. “He’s agreed to meet with me.”

“Wow. When?”

“I’m not sure. It could be anytime.”

A muscle in his jaw jumps. “And you still want to impress him?”

I don’t care for the skepticism in his tone. “Sure.”

“We may have to up our training sessions.”

“You mean, meet more often?” I wave my hand under my blanket. “Of course that’s what you mean. But can you . . . fit that into your schedule?”

He looks down at the freeloader tucked into his side and stares into the brown eyes nearly popping out of its head. Finally, he nods. “I think I can make it work. We have a bye week coming up, so after Sunday, I have seven days off.”

Some of the guys on the team travel during their bye or hang out with family, but I have a sudden vision of Grant spending a whole week by himself. “You’re not going out of town or doing something special to relax?”

“Nah. Kenna still has school.” He lifts Rico up. “And these guys aren’t going to walk themselves.”

Right. Makes perfect sense. But I still hate the idea of Grant spending the weekdays mostly by himself. Although, if I’m there, I guess he won’t really be alone.

According to Caro, I am pretty great company—and I don’t mind saying I agree with her. .

“That would be great. Really.” Then I remember that he’s doing me a favor. “I appreciate it. Maybe I can spend some extra time with Kenna, too.”

He nods quickly. “So, how’d it go with her the other evening?”

“Oh, she’s great. It was fun.” And I’m not lying. The kid has some skills. They may be a little raw, but so were mine at her age. “She’s going to do great with a little more practice.”

Rico barks, and Grant shifts him to the other arm but doesn’t make a move to continue his run. “You’re not just saying that because I’m helping you?”

“Not at all. She’s better at acting than I am at football.”

His lips twitch, clearly trying to fight off a smile. And failing. “I’m not sure that’s the ringing endorsement you think it is.”

I slug his arm playfully, getting a little yip from Rico for my trouble. Jerking my hand back to save my fingers, I give the dog a stink eye. Then I eye his walker. “You were supposed to say I wasn’t that bad or something.”

Grant lifts a shoulder, tilting his head in that same direction. “My mom taught me not to lie.”