Page 62 of One Life to Loathe

“Whatever.” I shook my head. “I have to go get ready.”

“Me, too.” He headed for the door at the same time as me.

Like an idiot, I increased my pace so I could beat him there. He did the same because we were nothing if not mature. We collided with each other when we both tried to be the first outside.

“You could be gallant,” I snapped as I struggled against him. “Ladies first.”

“Oh, no.” He shook his head. “I want to make sure you’re treated as an equal. No deferential treatment simply because you have ovaries.”

I managed to squeeze out in front of him, and the look of triumph I shot him should’ve been embarrassing. It wasn’t, though. I was breathing hard, my eyes were wild, and what I wanted more than anything was to climb him like a tree again.

He met my hungry gaze with one of his own. “I guess this is goodbye for tonight,” he said primly.

“Yup.” I was not going to let him know he was getting to me. “I’ll see you tomorrow … probably.”

“We shoot together, so that seems likely.”

“Uh-huh.” My hands were itching to touch him now. “So … um … I should go.”

“We’re going to the same place.”

“Right.” That did not bode well for my hormones. “I guess we should get going.”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

17

SEVENTEEN

Sabrina was an idiot.

That was the kindest word I could think of to describe her.

When I met her in the lobby, she was wearing a skirt that was so short I was afraid I would see something obscene if the wind hit her just right. She was the type who eschewed underwear because she thought it made her dangerous and cool. Despite her assertion that she wasn’t interested in anything serious, she was very obviously lying. How did I know? It was written all over her face.

To someone like Sabrina, I was the perfect mark. There was interest in seeing me rebound—everybody was always talking about my potential—and I was the sort of story that would make for big headlines if I could get my act together. I was still young enough to hit it big, and my background meant that I was interesting.

Sabrina, as an up-and-comer, would happily latch on to my coattails for the ride up. She would be the perfect partner for two to three years as I made the rounds. Then she would cause some sort of drama and break free of me, which would allow her to usemy head as a stepping stone on her way to five years of leading lady status.

I’d seen it all before. I wasn’t interested in it happening here.

In truth, I had no idea why I’d said yes to her invitation. I’d noticed her watching me on the set from the first day. You could practically see her doing the math as she worked out her plan. Even if she wasn’t the type of person who wanted to use me, however, the simple fact of the matter was that she wasn’t my type.

She was too young to have any life experience. The worst thing that had ever happened to her was the summer job her parents made her get when she was sixteen. It was at Taco Bell, and she still wasn’t over the shame. Those were her words by the way. She said that was the worst thing that had ever happened to her. If she knew the worst thing that had ever happened to me—or cared to really wrap her head around it—she would freak out.

It wasn’t just the age difference, though. If she wasn’t the worst person in the world—an exaggeration, but a fitting one—there still wouldn’t have been a spark. Her smile didn’t light up the room. Her laugh didn’t make me go warm all over. Her butt didn’t make me hard.

In a nutshell, she wasn’t Sam. That meant every word out of her mouth made me want to throw my drink in her face. Or, at the very least, get up and storm out of the bar.

I was trying to grow, though. I was trying to make this the project that catapulted me back to where I knew I belonged. Therefore, I listened to her. Or, well, at least feigned as if I were listening to her.

“Personally, I think they should’ve gone younger for the main witch,” she said as I played with my straw wrapper. “It only makes sense that a vampire would be turned on by the prettiest witch in the coven. They were insistent that your love interest beolder, though.” Sabrina’s frown told me exactly what she thought about that decision.

“I think they made a good choice,” I said before thinking it through.

Sabrina snorted. “Oh, right. Go ahead and toe the line. I get it. We need the good press. Sam is too old, though. In five years—if this show carries on that long—she’s going to look like your grandmother.”

I didn’t mean to glare at her—no, really—but I couldn’t stop myself. “I’m older than her by two years.”

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