Page 2 of One Life to Loathe

“I’m sorry,” I said dumbly. I was still standing.

“Whatever.” He shifted so he could grab the two pieces of the seatbelt and fasten them around his waist.

Slowly, I sank back into my seat. “I didn’t realize what you were actually saying to me,” I admitted.

His forehead creased, but he didn’t respond.

“I thought you meant I was in your seat,” I offered. It was obvious I was making things worse, but I couldn’t help myself. “I just got confused.”

“Well, then perhaps you should have a parent or guardian fly with you,” he barked. “It’s not rocket science.”

My lower lip came out to play as I crossed my arms over my chest. The warmth I’d momentarily felt when he pressed his body against mine had been replaced by the frigid tundra of the Arctic. This was not a friendly man, which meant the flight from Los Angeles to Boston—all five and a half hours of it—was going to be unpleasant.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated, hating myself for apologizing yet again. It wasn’t as if I’d kicked his puppy.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he focused on the flight attendant, who was returning with my drink. “I’ll have a vodka and soda,” he said before she could ask what he wanted.

“Certainly.” The smile she graced him with was much friendlier than the one I’d gotten. “Here’s your rum and Diet Coke.” Her upper lip curled into a sneer, but I did my best to ignore it and snagged the cup from her instead.

“Thank you.” I sipped the drink. It was bland and mostly flavorless. That was better than the alternative, though.

They were preparing to close the front door, which meant boarding was over with. At least we would be in the air soon. Then I could pretend to read a book or something. Anything would be better than sitting in my seat and being hyper aware of the douche canoe sitting next to me. Despite those darkthoughts, I risked a glance at him. He was not looking back at me, so I could stare as hard as I wanted.

He had cheekbones carved out of granite, plump lips, and a slight scar above his left eyebrow. He also looked familiar. Why, though? Los Angeles was not one of those cities where you bumped into someone you knew whenever you headed out on an errand or a casting call. Everybody was nameless and faceless unless you were a big celebrity or made plans to rendezvous with friends. This guy definitely wasn’t a friend and yet…

Things clicked into place out of nowhere. “You’re Leo Powell.” I hadn’t realized I was going to say it out loud—or with quite as much gusto—until the words were already out of my mouth.

Very slowly, very deliberately, he tracked his eyes to me. “Why don’t you scream it next time,” he suggested dryly. “I don’t think the people in the back row heard you.”

I refused to let his tone get to me. I was too excited. “We’re working together. OnEvermoreI mean. I’m one of the stars. Well, I’m one of the people on the show. I’m not really a star. I hope to be a star of the show, but I haven’t earned that yet. One day, though.” I crossed my fingers, kissed them, and raised them in the air.

Leo watched me babble, then shook his head. “Geez.” He looked up when the flight attendant returned with his drink. She was all flirty eyes and pouty lips, but he didn’t react all that nicely to her either. “Thanks.” He took the cup and downed half of it. “I’m going to need another.” He cast me a pointed look.

“Of course,” the flight attendant said, obviously taking pity on him. “We’re taking off in a few minutes, though. I’ll make sure I grab your drink for you the second we’re in the air.”

“I guess that will do.” Leo didn’t look as if he believed that, but at least he wasn’t pitching a fit. Given his reputation—it wasn’t good—he was known as high-maintenance and low-reward. Almost a decade back, when he’d been in his early twenties, he’d been cast in a huge action movie and everybody said he was going to be the next Tom Cruise. In short order, he’d been arrested for a drunken disorderly in downtown Nashville, where some of the film was being shot, and he’d made a big deal on social media about what a jerk the director was. To absolutely nobody’s surprise, most of his performance had ended up on the cutting room floor. He’d responded with depth and maturity.

I’m lying. He responded like a freaking donkey and melted down on camera about only having seven minutes of airtime. Ever since then, he’d been getting the Mel Gibson treatment. Occasionally, someone would take a chance and cast him—Hollywood loved little more than a comeback story—but most of his roles were forgettable … if not laughable. I still didn’t understand why he’d taken the role in the movie where it pitted cavemen against aliens.

When Leo kept his focus on his drink, I realized he thought the conversation was over with. Despite myself—I was a people pleaser most of the time—I couldn’t do the smart thing and let the conversation fall by the wayside. I was too annoyed. Plus, we were going to be sitting next to each other—nobody else to talk to—for five hours. Surely he couldn’t ignore me the entire time.

“I’m Samantha Summers,” I volunteered. “I’m the main witch on the show.”

Leo downed more of his drink but didn’t respond.

“Since you’re going to be the main vampire, and we’re supposed to be love interests, maybe we can use the time on the flight to get to know one another.”

Leo cocked the eyebrow with the scar. “And why would I want to do that?”

“Because the show will live or die on our chemistry,” I replied. It took everything I had not to reach over, wrap my fingers around his neck, and squeeze. I was a sunshine girl,though. I had to be. Otherwise, I would’ve given up on acting when I got my last big break onGeneral Hospitaland they recast me four episodes after I started.

“I like how you think I care about that,” Leo said on a harsh laugh. There was nothing pleasing about his face now. He was just a sourpuss with a nice body.

“Shouldn’t you care?” I challenged. “I mean … we both need this show to do well. Why wouldn’t you want to put actual effort in to make sure that happens?”

Leo’s expression shifted. That didn’t make it better than his previous expression. No, now he almost looked as if he wanted to pat the top of my head and say “there, there” while gracing me with pitying looks. “It’s a television soap opera,” he said.

“I’m well aware of what it is.”

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