Page 76 of Beyond the Bright Lights

I don’t get a break from filming for at least an hour, and I only have about ten minutes before I’m due back. I find Lana in the school’s greenhouse behind the building, where she’s been since storming off set. Thankfully, Eloise followed her and texted me updates, which I read in between takes until Jensen took my phone away, since I’m not allowed to have it while filming scenes.

Lana sits on a concrete bench, tossing flower petals onto the ground. Colorful petals like the ones in front of her bar and tattooed on her arm.

“Hey,” she says quietly, either sensing me behind her or hearing me walk in.

“You okay? You didn’t come back.”

She shrugs, and I swear if she keeps doing that, I'm going to follow through with that punishment I wanted to give her the first night we made love. Still, I don’t think she’s ready for that side of me yet.

“It was too weird.”

I sit beside her and take her hand, kissing her knuckles and flipping it over to kiss her wrist.

She finally looks at me, her eyes faded. Tired. “I don’t think I can go back. Not today, at least.” She brushes off the petals gathering on her jeans before turning to me on the bench. “Since Rebecca didn’t include my pregnancy in the book, watching the scholarship scene almost felt ingenuine. In reality, Tyler telling me he got the scholarship was more emotional, a relief, because it meant we were going to be together when the baby was born.”

“Did you want the pregnancy included? In the book or the movie?”

“I . . .” She sighs with her entire body, and if I could leave set and take her home, so we could cuddle (or fuck if it meant making her happy) for the rest of the day, I would. “When she was writing the book, no. I felt it was too soon. Too personal to include, only because a part of me felt ashamed.”

“For getting pregnant in high school?”

“Yes, but also for losing the baby.”

She winces at whatever my face is showing.

“I know that’s ridiculous, but back then, women who suffered miscarriages faced a stigma. It was a taboo subject. It still is. I realize now that sharing the story of our failed pregnancy could have helped other women, other couples, going through this trauma. I was selfish, and now I regret not asking Rebecca to include it.”

Before I can respond, a frantic production assistant bursts through the greenhouse door. “Mister Andrews, um, the reset is finished, so they need you back on set now.”

“I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“I—”

“Five minutes.”

“Okay,” the mousy woman says and backs out slowly.

“And what do you have planned for the next five minutes?” A smile spreads across Lana’s face.

“Don’t tempt me, donut.”

“You’re really going with the donut nickname, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Don’t you think it’s cliché to name a fat girl after a pastry?”

“You know exactly why I call you donut.”

She bites her lip and blushes, perhaps letting those sweet memories of me tasting her cunt replay.

“I hate it,” she lies.

“Would you rather me call you Lana Banana?”

“I swear I will punch you in the dick.”

“You like my dick. You’d never hurt it.”

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