Page 30 of Director's Cut

Charlie peeks in from the kitchen. “If you mean her clothes, she does half her Insta pictures looking like that!”

There’s no way to properly capture the pure, unfiltered shock on Maeve’s face as she makes eye contact with Charlie in all his shirtless glory. Her gaze flits between me and Charlie anxiously. She’s probably processing a million things at once. And I shouldn’t laugh…

“I have a live-in himbo,” I blurt.

Charlie’s mouth opens into a little insulted O, and Maeve bursts out laughing.

“I’m her best friend and a working actor,” Charlie says. “And in case you were too drunk to remember, I drove you two home last night.”

I hand Maeve her wallet. “His show got canceled, so we’re doing some TLC. And also we fake dated for like three years to appease my old manager.”

Charlie rolls his eyes. “She’s sensationalizing it. We knew each other in high school.”

Maeve still looks confused. “Oh. Okay, so he’s not…”

Charlie and I exchange a look.

“Oh, no, I’m gay. We’re totally platonic,” he says. “We’ve only been naked together once.”

All the blood in my body freezes. Maeve blinks a little more rapidly.

“No, like, we took a shower together once,” Charlie says, which is really not helpful. “Because we had to. She was drunk and threw up on both of us.”

His lease is ending. Right now.

“Thank you for driving us home, by the way,” Maeve adds. “I wasn’t that drunk last night. Like I—I recognize you. You just didn’t mention you two lived together.”

I turn to Maeve. I give up. I’m probably bright red right now. “Yeah, so if there isn’t anything else you need…”

“No, wait!” Charlie says. “Val talks about you so much—”

CHARLIE!

“And I’ve been dying to actually talk to you.” He looks down at his chest. “I can put a shirt on; hold on. Stay for breakfast.”

Maeve looks between Charlie and me. Her gaze lingers on me, an eyebrow raised as if asking if he has any authority in this household.

“Yeah, why not,” I say.

Charlie leans in to me as I brush past him. “I’ll say I have a business call,” he whispers.

We have breakfast out on the back patio. It’s a high-visibility day, and I can show off the view I was bragging about last night. I catch Maeve’s smirk as Charlie and I set down our health food.

“It’s not vegan,” I say.

Maeve is clearly not vegan; I watched her eat a burger last night.

Charlie lifts his smoothie glass. “The smoothie is, though.”

Maeve isn’t even paying attention to our banter. She puts the metal straw into her mouth without looking, gaze fixated on the view of LA. Those brown eyes are a little watery, her expression soft. Contemplative or in awe, I can’t really decide. In movies, it’s the kind of look we’re supposed to give people we love.

The sun paints her features in its light. Her profile is silhouette-ready, and I can see the bumps of her knuckles as she holds up her chin, the blue of my pool reflecting in her eyes like a photo. And not that I love her, but I wouldn’t mind spending a few hours capturing the way Maeve looks right now.

“Good?” I ask. It doesn’t really matter what I mean.

Maeve shakes her head a little to break her trance. Her gaze turns to the smoothie, then back to the view. “Yeah, both are amazing.”

Charlie looks between Maeve and me, grins at me, takes his plate, and leaves.

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