He did, though, and when he opened his eyes again, Drew saw Morgan’s years of careful repression layered over them.
Good.
Drew reached behind his neck, and his eyes widened, but he didn’t resist.
Drew kissed him—except he didn’t really. Scotty wouldn’t kiss Morgan for the first time the way Drew kissed Steve, easy and passionate and casually intimate. Scotty had only just realized he wanted to kiss Morgan at all. It was all impulse, no substance, with little beneath the surface except the shock of his own discovery. A hard press of lips, and then a pause as Scotty realized what he was doing. Enough time for Morgan to telegraph to the audience he wanted more.
The second Steve’s posture relaxed into Drew’s touch, Drew broke away.
“Okay,” Steve said a second later. “Okay. I get it. Not romantic.”
“Nope.” Drew took a step back and straightened Steve’s shirt. Not too bad. He might even escape without Will’s interference. “And for future reference? It gets exponentially less sexy with each take.”
“Can’t wait,” Steve deadpanned.
Of course, they still had to do it in front of people.
They walked back to set shoulder to shoulder and found their marks. Nina raised an eyebrow, but Drew just shrugged her off. Time would tell if their break had made a difference.
This time they nailed the blocking… right up until Drew tugged Steve a little too hard and their foreheads knocked together. Ow.
He stared at Steve from half an inch away, daring him to make a comment, half a second away from laughing at the futility of the whole thing.
Then the corner of Steve’s mouth quirked up, close enough Drew could feel it, and he planted a showy, unsexy kiss on Drew’s lips anyway.
Someone catcalled, and there was a smattering of laughter and applause. Eventually Steve pulled away and bowed, his cheeks and ears red.
“Cut,” Nina said for the zillionth time, but she was laughing too.
“Writers and their ad-libbing,” Drew faux grumbled, jabbing Steve with his elbow. Steve smiled back, a little green but okay, Drew thought. Baby steps. They were going to be fine.
THEkissing scene needed only one more take, but sadly, the day’s trials didn’t end there. Drew spent half his time between shots on the phone, trying to sort out the dog situation. They had only rehearsed about half of what they’d moved up to shoot today, and it showed in the number of takes needed for each scene.
Steve’s mood grew progressively more sour as the day wore on. Drew watched it happening, figured he was part of the problem, but he couldn’t do anything about it.
It was sort of a theme for the day.
He’d returned Grace’s call to have her contact a few other animal talent agencies and see if anyone could help them out. So far no luck. They were filming the scenes they could, but Drew was starting to worry. They couldn’t finish the film without a dog. At least not without yet another major rewrite. Until they figured things out, spirits were low and tensions were high, and Steve withdrew into himself a little more every time the cameras stopped.
Drew figured he’d done something wrong, but he wasn’t sure exactly what or how to fix it.
By the time the afternoon light had faded enough that they had to call it a day, Drew was concerned. “Drive back with me in the Rover?” he asked, motioning to his vehicle, which they’d parked down the street several blocks from where they were filming.
Steve nodded wordlessly and followed him back.
But once they were inside, Drew didn’t put the car in gear right away. He started the engine to run the air conditioner, thankful he’d found a spot in the shade, and waited for words to come—his or Steve’s, he wasn’t sure.
His own came first. “Are you mad at me?”
Steve raised his head and met Drew’s eyes for the first time off-camera in what felt like hours. “What? No.” He seemed genuinely surprised and alarmed Drew would think so. “No,” he repeated. “I’m just… thinking, I guess. I’m not mad, I promise. I’m in my head a little.”
Drew had a feeling Steve was holding back, but he didn’t think the car was a good place to push. Besides, the cast and crew had booked a local restaurant for dinner. They’d feel better after they ate. At least he hoped so.
They drove in silence back to the hotel, and Drew handed over the keys to have the Rover valeted. Steve followed him out of the car, still lost in his own head.
And then a shiny black BMW X6 squealed into the parking lot.
There was only one valet attendant, which was probably a blessing, because it meant only Drew and Steve were there to hear when Marla Stone stormed out of her car, slammed the door, and half shouted, “I’m going to sue that limp-dicked, hairy-assed little weasel!” gesturing at the sky the whole while.
