Kye’s eyes seek out mine, cling there for two heartbeats, and then flash past my shoulder. He grabs my bicep and yanks me towards him. I gasp as my lips smack against the firm warmth of his upper torso. He quickly steps backwards, putting space between us.
‘Shit, sorry, boss, almost took you out again, didn’t I,’ Avalanche moans behind me, giving my back an apologetic pat.
‘It’s all good, lovely,’ I say to him, slinking away to safety. ‘Keep working on those spins.’ This time, I don’t overdo the praise and instead call out for everyone to change partners.
Kye turns towards the nearest person to him—Snuggles.Oh god, if she tries to hug him, he’ll probably spontaneously combust.
I subtly eye them until Usher strides over to me, grinning with two hands held out. With a broad smile, I accept his invitation and fall into step with him, but after a few rolls, turns and pops, I feel a bit off-kilter, like our chemistry is wrong. When I go to swivel left,Usher turns right, and we laugh awkwardly before coming back together for another go.
I cast Kye a sidelong glance, expecting to find him frustrated with the ever-struggling Snuggles. But he’s carefully explaining the slow-motion walk to her. To say that Groucho looks warm and friendly would be majorly pushing it, but he is being patient and gentle. I would almost go so far as to say he’s beingnice.
I can’t help but notice Snuggles’ eyes drifting across Kye’s face, a blush climbing over her cheeks. Smooth slow-motion walks aren’t easy to master, and she clutches onto his arms for support, her tight black curls bouncing around her shoulders as she belly-laughs.
Kye doesn’t combust. He doesn’t smile either, but something is happening to his face that I can’t quite tear my eyes away from. The line that appears to live between his brows—the hardness that casts a dark shadow over his expression—is softening.
His rich-brown eyes dart to mine and seep into my stare.
Time freezes. Bends. Warmth flutters up the back of my neck.
Then, he pulls his gaze away from mine.
CHAPTER 3
Kye
I’ll admit, I’m not a fan of happy-go-lucky types. You know, the ones who think everything can be fixed with a glowing smile and a bright-eyed pep-talk, like Evie Scott. All that whooping and chirpiness, praising the hopelessly uncoordinated … Her upbeat energy doesn’t flag once in her hour-long classes. Even when I gave it to her straight about her audition—shewasterrible, there’s no denying it—her wide smile only faltered for a split-second. Jesus, could she be any more naïve? With a face and body like hers, that’s a seriously dangerous combination. If this was the 1940s, she’d be lured in by a Hollywood mogul and ruthlessly exploited in soft focus until she died of an overdose.
Austin’s thigh nudges mine beneath the conference table. ‘What do you think, bro?’ His sleepy eyes blink at me.
I glance at him, then at the fourteen other actors and producers dotted around the stark-white boardroom of Village Pictures, a space better suited to spreadsheets and budget meetings than creative discussions. Those who aren’t frowning down at their scripts are watching me expectantly—even Evie, three seats to my left. She’s gone with a different look for today’s script reading—dark, smoky eyes and glossy lips—but even with all the makeup, she still looks bafflingly wholesome …
Kye. You’re staring.
I angle my ear to Austin. ‘Give it to me again,’ I say, to cover that I wasn’t listening.
‘Do you think the line gives away too early that the farmer wants to fuck the dance teacher?’
The biggest reaction that Austin gets for dropping an F-bomb in front of twelve-year-old Marcia—who’s here to play the mute daughter—is a couple of held breaths, one of which is Evie’s. Despite Austin’s absence from the local film industry in recent years, he’s still much too famous to be criticised, even by his so-called peers.
After pinning him with a subtle ‘pull your head in’ look, I re-read the line he’s underscored with three hard strokes of ballpoint pen.
JAMIE
The strange thing is, it’smybreath that’s taken away whenyou’rethe one dancing.
Christ, this is corny.I scowl in the direction of Jakob, the head screenwriter, who’s scratching his chest with his meaty fingers. It’s practically snowing in here with the air-conditioner cranked to an unhealthy chill, yet his bald head glistens with sweat.
‘Yes, I think the line is too strong,’ I say, not bothering to lower my voice. ‘In fact, the whole script feels a bit heavy-handed if you ask me.’
‘He didn’t ask you,’ Jakob snaps at me. ‘We’re only discussing the line.’
‘Which is, as I said, a bit heavy-handed,’ I retort. Jakob huffs and glowers at the ceiling. I get why he’s annoyed by my criticism. I’m not a writer or even a cast member. I’m only here because Austin requests his manager’s presence at everything, and Austin’s word is gospel.
‘Of course the farmer wants to fuck her,’ Buzz cuts in, and Marcia’s eyes widen. Buzz waves a hand at Evie. ‘Lookat her.’
My lips part as Evie glances down at her script, her hoop earrings brushing against her scarlet skin. Austin spins his pen in his fingers and gazes at the wall clock like it’s the only thing that can save him.
Buzz fists a clump of his poodle hair. ‘How about we change it to something like: “I love how you dance like no one’s watching.”’ He sits up with a start, his eyes growing round. ‘We could shoot it from outside, through the shed’s dusty window, as if a silent, unseen observer—perhaps one of the farmhands—is indeedwatchingthis conversation play out.’
