Page 98 of Say It Again

Who wouldn’t fawn over them? They looked perfect together. Perfect. Both tall and elegant. Two put-together A-list actors in a movie where Daniel was an extra, standing on the cold sidewalk looking in. He could look but not touch.

Aaron waved the laptop in the air and tipped his head toward the door, like Man, wish I could stay, but I have soooo much work to do. He and Striking Guy exchanged wistful smiles as he left. Wish I could stay. At least I’ll get to see you later.

Once outside, Aaron’s smile vanished as he locked eyes with him, risking a quick glance at the window. “Walk,” he whispered. “They can still see. Walk to the car ahead of me.”

Daniel didn’t budge, but he didn’t know why. “Who’s that guy?”

“That’s Marco,” Aaron whispered. “Walk, please.”

“What?” Daniel’s eyes widened as disbelief cluttered his intellect. “That’s Marco? That’s who you’ve been spending all of your time with? And staying the night with?”

Aaron’s gaze sharpened a touch. He suddenly dashed past him until he reached the end of the window, shielded by brick. Then he gestured hurriedly for him to follow, but Daniel shook his head.

“Well, no wonder you don’t want to come home.” His breath was starting to swell, but was it anger? No. Desperation? “He’s so charming. The caliber of character you must possess. So well-spoken. He’s stunning, Aaron. You didn’t mention he was stunning.”

“Daniel,” Aaron hissed. “I’m asking you to please walk. Get over here.”

Daniel’s gulp was about as dry as it could get as he gazed into the restaurant. If that was Marco, then that was everything he wasn’t. In a few ill-starred seconds, he’d discovered his personal antithesis: prestigious, smart, composed, and elegant. But probably most importantly, rich. “What do you admire about him?”

“What?”

“That’s what you said. That you admire him. What does that mean? What do you admire so much?”

“Fucking walk!”

Daniel stared helplessly at Aaron, his insecurities, the dreadful creatures they were, starting to scratch at him with their claws. “No.”

“What?”

“Come get me.”

Aaron looked like he didn’t know what to do, his eyes huge and his mouth opening and closing the way it was.

Daniel swayed side to side, stealing glances at Marco. He and the woman in the cream suit had an unobstructed view of him if they wanted it. He hoisted his chin. “If you don’t have feelings for him then it doesn’t matter if you lose him as a client. So if you want me, come get me.”

“I can’t even believe—you are putting me in an impossible situation right now,” Aaron whisper-shouted. “Get. The fuck. Over here.”

Daniel was a little out of control of his body, his head shaking all on its own the way it was and his heartbeat rapid enough to throb the back of his throat. He’d never wanted distance from Aaron before. Distance meant he wasn’t going anywhere with him. Certainly not home and certainly not to cuddle. Distance meant that maybe everything was not fantastic.

He bounced on his heels until he’d summoned the nerve to split in the opposite direction.

“Daniel!”

Distance meant he was going dancing.

THE MUSIC sucked. The air in the club sucked too. Like stale and dingy house vodka and cigarette smoke leftover from the 1990s. Daniel tried to dance. He tried to shut his eyes and let his body get lost in a parade of bass, but the guys. Ugh, the guys. Every few minutes, someone would fondle his stomach, face, or hips. One guy even tried to haul him into a “kiss.” Which was more like a wet assault to his cheek. No one would bother him if Aaron were here. Probably because they’d be all over Aaron instead.

Whatever. He shoved his way toward the bar. He needed a drink.

Unfortunately, the bar, a stupid-busy horseshoe-shaped cluster, was the kind of place where he wasn’t nearly tall enough to be noticed. If Aaron were here, they’d get a drink right away. If Aaron and Marco were here together, people would line up for the chance to buy them a cocktail, wait their turn for an autograph from the two A-listers. They’d kiss for the cameras, and Aaron would flip it: We have to promote the movie, sweetheart. You know, the one where you’re an extra?

Daniel smeared his hands over his face hard enough for it to sting.

“Daniel Greene,” someone said from beside him in a deep British accent.

Daniel snapped his arms by his sides and focused his vision. No, it wasn’t just anyone with a British accent, polar-white smile, and fanned peacoat that he wore like a cape, and why would it be? So not only was he clashing with Aaron and involuntarily sober, but now he was standing next to Yellow Jacket. And involuntarily sober.

“Don’t you look lovely,” Corey said, making a show of examining Daniel’s backside. “How’s the studio purchase coming?”

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