Page 76 of The Publicity Stunt

“Could be better!” Markus yells back, his voice booming through the dank and musty air. He picks up his microphone and positions it over his mouth. “All right, guys! Let’s go again!”

Poor Parker.

He pulls himself out of the pit, dusting the front of his sweatpants, and jogs over to the metal ladder, making his way up.

“Roll camera!” The cameras point upward and a second later, I hear the clapper. Parker leaps off the edge and lets himself fall into the pile of rocks. Jeez, that has to hurt.

As he steps out for the millionth time, I bring my hand up to the side of my neck and all of a sudden, his eyes flick to mine. My face heats up.

Fuck.

I don’t even know why I do it, but I instantly look away.

“Chere!” he calls. “Wait for me! I’ll be done in an hour!” Without waiting for a response, he goes back to climbing up the ladder like it’s the most normal thing in the world. To him, it probably is.

At precisely seven, Markus yells out a much-awaited “Wrap!” Parker steps out of the pit and makes a direct beeline toward me, drops of sweat beading down his torso.

“Hey,” he says, ruffling the top of his damp hair. “How was that?”

“Hm?”

“The shot,” he clarifies. “Was it good? Bad?”

“Oh,” I stammer. “Oh, yeah. Quite impressive.”

Tilting his head to the side, he smiles, and I feel like I could fly. “The bruises were worth it, then,” he says and since I spent the better part of my evening gawking at him, I let the flirty one-liner slide.

“Are you going home any time soon?” he asks.

“Probably. Why?”

“I want to show you something.”

“Show me something?”

“Let me grab a change of clothes.” He wipes a few wet curls off his forehead. “Meet you out here in ten?”

“What exactly do you have in mind?”

He shrugs and backs away slowly, making a short clicking sound with his tongue. “You’ll see.”

ChapterSeventeen

Present Day

APRIL

Ihaven’t said a single word since we got up here. Partly because I don’t know what to say, and also because no words in the dictionary could ever do this view justice.

“How have you lived here ten years and never done this?” Parker says.

I rest my weight back against the concrete ledge, silently taking in the Manhattan skyline: the tapering glow of Times Square, the bright blue tip of the Empire State Building, and the tiny specks of light reflecting off the Hudson like a million fireflies.

“Venture out to an abandoned rooftop after sunset?” I look at him. “Don’t be silly. I do this all the time.”

Parker laughs and takes two beer cans from his duffel bag. “Want one?”

I look at him, then at the two cans of Budweiser he’s holding, then back at him. “Do you always carry beer in your bag?”