Steve did too.
“I think,” Drew said, “that in the movies, this is the part where we split dessert.” He opened the takeout container and tucked the lid underneath.
The scents of chocolate and marshmallow assaulted Steve’s nose, and his mouth watered. Suddenly he was hungry again. He dug their plastic forks out of his jacket pocket. “Cheers.”
Drew took one, a bit awkwardly, with his left hand. For a second Steve was confused—and then Drew’s other hand covered his on the bench.
Oh.
Steve turned his hand palm up and laced their fingers together. His ears were hot with pleasure.
They didn’t let go even after the last bite was gone. Somehow, that made it all the sweeter.
Chapter Eleven
DREWflopped down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He’d pried his feet out of his uncomfortable shoes, hung up his tux for Jorj to take to the dry cleaner’s, and showered off a layer of Hollywood shine and hair gel. But he couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off his face.
He was probably being ridiculous. All that time together, getting to know each other, learning each other’s secrets, and they hadn’t even kissed. Yet somehow it still felt like the most intimate date Drew had ever been on. Then again, he’d already admitted that he’d been doing it wrong for most of his life. If it took going slow to get it right, he’d go slow.
Even if the memory of Steve’s body against his own, as the night drew to a close and they decided, on a whim, to dance to the music drifting in from the front lawn, made him want to skip ahead. Steve was just a hair taller than Drew, and broader in the shoulders. “This reminds me of my eighth-grade dance,” Steve had snorted as they tried to work out who would lead.
Drew didn’t have an eighth-grade dance. It was nice to get to experience some of what he’d missed. He laughed and took Steve’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Maybe if we….”
They didn’t have much of a shot at theDancing with the Starstitle, but there was no one there to judge, and Steve fit too well against him for Drew to care that they were just making slow circles in their jellyfish spotlight.
By the time he dropped Steve off, he felt like he was walking on air. Steve didn’t invite him upstairs, but that seemed right. Instead he thanked Drew for a nice time, his eyes laughing all the while at the cliché, and then leaned in and kissed his cheek.
It was stupid, but Drew could swear he still felt the subtle brush of Steve’s day-old stubble.
When he drifted off to sleep, he was still smiling.
“CUT!”Nina called for the twelfth time on the same scene, and even Drew, who prided himself on his professionalism, had to groan.
“This scene isn’t working,” Steve said, stating the obvious.
It really wasn’t, and Nina’s grandkids and the handful of other extras were getting restless.
“If it doesn’t work, maybe it needs a rewrite,” Nina suggested. “Anyone know where we can find a script doctor?”
“Ugh.” Steve grimaced and his cheeks went crimson. “Sorry, everyone. I’ll fix it.”
Drew wanted to comfort him. Sometimes scenes didn’t work the way they’d been written and you just didn’t find out until you were shooting. That happened when you added more than one human element. It wasn’t his fault. “Maybe we can take fifteen?” he said. “I’ll work it out with you.”
“Please,” said Marley, the eight-year-old.
Drew choked on a laugh.
“Make it an hour and get something to eat.”
Excellent.
They grabbed pens and a couple extra copies of the script from a gopher and made for craft services. “So. Where are we going wrong?” Drew said, shoving a rolled-up script into his jeans pocket. Hopefully Will wouldn’t disembowel him for the wardrobe offense.
“I’ve got a couple ideas.” Steve handed him a plate as they perused the day’s offerings. The potato salad looked promising, but Steve bypassed it in favor of the pasta. “Let’s sit down and I’ll go over them.”
They picked an out-of-the-way table and set their trays down. Drew slid his potato salad across the table. “Is there dill in this?”
Steve stabbed a potato and popped it in his mouth. He shook his head.
