Page 11 of Beyond the Bright Lights

I stand up and walk around the edge of the picnic table. Her body tenses when I lean in, her lips pursing as she fights the urge to step away from me.

Her pride won’t let her.

“Help me become Tyler.”

She shakes her head. “Hell no.”

“Lana,” I say softly. That tough mask she’s putting on falters, but only for a second. I stifle the urge to reach for her again, knowing she'll coil away if I do. “This wouldn’t be for me or for you. It would be for Tyler. Don’t you want the movie to be a success? To be true to his life? His legacy?”

Her eyes fill with tears and that need to hold her grows stronger.

“Fuck you,” she whispers.

I can’t help but laugh. She wants to curse me out and call me all the names in the book because she thinks it will make her feel better—a defensive tactic aimed to hide her grief. A move I've used before.

I expected my laughter to infuriate her enough she’d unleash all hell on me. Instead, she laughs too. God, it’s a wonderful sound. From here on out, my mission will be to make this woman laugh and smile. It won't be easy. She's going to fight me every step of the way.

Why does that excite me?

Maybe because women always fall at my feet. Maybe because no one ever challenges me. Maybe because pain and heartbreak consume my life, and this woman is broken like me.

Could we help each other heal?

“Say you’ll help. Teach me everything about Tyler Taylor. His mannerisms, his accent. Take me to his favorite spots, tell me stories about the two of you.”

She bites her lip, considering my offer, and I almost reach out to pull that lip from her teeth.

Almost.

She lets out a long breath and drops her shoulders. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

She walks past me back towards the bar.

Seriously?

I run and catch her before she makes it to the door. She puts up her hands to avoid running into me. Her palms flatten on my chest and her eyes inch up to my face. She releases a breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her body is reacting to mine the same way mine does to hers. She wants me just as badly.

I’m going to claim this woman right here. Right now. I tilt in and sway slightly because drinking that liquor so quickly after being clean for thirty days went right to my head. Lana must have seen that sway and shoves me away with enough force, I stumble back.

She pushes past me, attempting to leave again.

“Please, Lana, I need this.”

She whips back around, narrowing her eyes at me. “You need this? This is my life, Mylan. You don’t care about me or Tyler. So, why? Why do you so desperately need my help?”

“I’m an actor. Taking on a role means learning the character—”

“Bullshit,” she barks and crosses her arms. My eyes fall to her pushed up cleavage.

She snaps her fingers at me, and I grimace at being caught staring at her breasts during this intense moment.

I sigh and run my fingers through my hair. She's watching me closely, demanding my truth. I hate this feeling. Vulnerability. If I don’t tell her, she’s not going to do it. Then if I do tell her, she’s still not going to want to do it.

I lose either way.

“What someone said in there about me being an addict? It's true. Alcohol, drugs . . . sex.” My eyes pop to hers at that last word, and she tenses. I can only hope naughty visions popped into her head. Focus, Mylan. Stop thinking with your dick. “I checked myself out of rehab yesterday. I landed this role but barely. This is my last chance to save my career.”

She scoffs.

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