Page 36 of A Lucky Shot

“C’mon, you know I’m not method. I only need to talk like that when the cameras are on,” he replied with a dimpled grin, and the dialect coach tittered. “But here. What fire’s burning his butt?” he repeated, this time with all traces of his Tennessee drawl obscured behind a bland, mid-American accent, and the dialect coach hummed her approval.

“No fire. He’s just a bit tense.” Cass pasted on a smile and turned to the giant sweetheart towering over her. “I reminded him his crew wasn’t comprised exclusively of mind readers.”

“Cassidy, your voice is music enough to tame the savage beast,” Dawson said, bending the quote. “He’s lucky to have you here.”

That’s me. Making life easier for everyone. Cass shrugged. “I still don’t know why they made you lose the accent,” she said, straightening Dawson’s rumpled lab coat.

Dawson code-switched seamlessly into his character’s voice, posture changing from his easy lean against the props into a rigid stance. “Because Dr. Donovan Rykoff, NASA physicist, is from Washington state.”

Cass shook her head. Early in theatre in high school and college, she had learned she’d never be a triple threat. Singing? A joy. Dancing? Her one true love.

Acting? Her inability to hide her emotions precluded her from ever having more than bit parts. In a high school production, she’d been relegated to the role of Tree Number Two and still managed to sob loud enough to drown out the lead actor’s lines. Admittedly, he couldn’t project his voice to the second row. But still.

“They could have moved the character to Tennessee,” she pressed. “It’s so charming.”

Dawson relaxed back into himself and scuffed his shoe on the set’s concrete floor. “Aw, shucks.”

No one had ever aw-shucked her before. Bex melted into a puddle of starry-eyed goo as she walked by, and Cass grinned at her. The accent was charming, and no doubt Dawson was a good-looking man. In a cute kind of way.

Not in a captivating way, with glacial eyes and a wicked smile. Not in a way that snared her attention whenever they were close enough to share oxygen. She turned to find Josh across the room, eyes locked on her even as he nodded to a grip, and the flutter under her skin surged back.

Maybe they didn’t even need to be sharing oxygen.

“Mrs. Westwood said it was distracting,” he continued, breaking her out of her dangerous train of thought. “Besides, don’t we all put on a face when we go out into the world?”

“Nope,” Cass said, rubbing her hands over the goosebumps that flashed across her arms. “I’m an open book. If I started hiding things, I’d forget who knew what and get in trouble.”

“That’s awfully refreshing. I never really got used to how fake this industry is, you know? It’s nice to meet someone who’s honest.”

“That’s me. Refreshing and honest as a bar of soap.” She shrugged sheepishly. “My mom used to wash my mouth out with soap if I ever cursed or lied. I still feel a little guilty when I see a bar of Irish Spring.”

The corner of Dawson’s mouth curled as he let out a gentle chuckle. “I promise I won’t tell anyone if you let a cuss slip out.”

Stephen beckoned Dawson to join a huddle, and Cass tore her gaze away from Josh, who was absorbed in a new conversation with Brynne. Both focused on the monitor in front of them, neither of them smiling, but it was just a matter of time until he turned those dimples on someone else. He’d given off player vibes the night they met in that theatre’s lobby.

Who knew how many women were currently on the receiving end of those dimples.

“I’m going to start calling you the bomb squad,” Libby said, brushing her hands on her jeans as she walked up. “Stephen said Josh was a little temperamental, but you diffused that whole thing before anyone died.”

“Dawson said I tamed the savage beast,” she said, trying to force a laugh. She doubted anyone could tame Josh. “Did you check out the lineup for the poetry reading tonight?”

“Oh, about that.” Libby’s face etched with a mixture of guilt and anticipation. “An old band Stephen and I used to see is playing downtown. I asked him if he wanted to check it out. For old times’ sake.”

Cass narrowed her eyes at her best friend. “What happened to staying away?”

“It’s no big deal,” she stammered, watching Stephen huddled with Dawson. “You should come.”

Poetry night had been a standing tradition for years. Cass’s shoulders dropped.

No, she shouldn’t come. She’d be in the way. Maybe Raina would show up this time. She was the one who’d started the poetry night tradition, after all.

“No. You two have a good time.”

A group of girlfriends giggled their way past Cass out of the bookstore’s narrow door into the crowded parking lot. She stepped aside to let a cozy couple bump by.

The entire audience at the poetry reading hadn’t been couples and friend groups. It just felt like that.

She could be in a pitiful mood, but she wasn’t. Definitely not. So, what if yet one more ex-boyfriend transformed into Mr. Commitment seconds after they’d ended things. Or if her oldest friend was lining herself up for another heartbreak and ditching her on the path to said heartbreak. Or that she couldn’t even muster the courage to ask a man who was just a friend to spend time with her.

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