Page 8 of When Stars Fall

“What about your parents?” Someone had to be looking out for them.

My parents insisted I get an education—anything useful—before moving to Los Angeles. Massage therapy has proven to be a good choice. Until I landed the leading role in this drama,Love Letters from Spain, opposite Wyatt, I gathered massage clients in between auditions for movies, TV, and commercials, while taking some smaller parts in whatever I could get. Massage offered a flexible schedule and decent money. At the end of this film, I might have to rebuild my clientele, but this role and paycheck could be the start of something. My agent is convinced this will be my big break. Massage was always plan B.

“My parents tried, I think. Sooo long ago. Too many other people around me saying yes for their voices to matter much.” Isaac waves a dismissive hand. “I’m fine.”

A layer of dark stubble covers Wyatt’s jawline, and the urge to run my hand along his cheek seizes me. He catches me staring at him and winks. Another blush rises in me. At this point, he’s going to think my natural complexion is deep pink and that I’m a terrible actress, but embarrassment is a tough emotion to fight or fake.

“My parents tried to get me into rehab. I had myself emancipated. Wanted to take my younger sister with me, but that didn’t work out.” Wyatt raises his hand to the limo entering the lot.

“Oh.” The ground vibrates under my feet. Loopy—I’m feeling loopy. Not quite right. I’m familiar with weed but I’ve never done so much of it. “Emancipation seems . . . excessive.”

Wyatt glowers. “Drugs or my parents—choice seemed easy. One of those things was always there for me when I needed it.” He ducks into the vehicle, followed by Isaac.

I hesitate at the door, scanning the others still waiting. The limo is big. “What about everyone else?”

“Cabs,” Isaac says. “They don’t have enough money for rain.”

Something about that doesn’t seem right to me, but I’m not in the frame of mind to argue. I give a self-conscious wave to everyone before the limo driver closes the door behind me. I think I might be an asshole for leaving them standing there.

“Is that normal?” We streak out of the parking lot.

“No.” Wyatt fishes a small vial out of his pocket. “Normally we would have piled a bunch of those models in here too. Some hot extras. I resisted. You’re welcome.” He gives me a sideways glance as he opens the bottle. He taps out and divides the white powder. With a finger covering one nostril, he snorts a row and then Isaac does too. Isaac stares in silent question at Wyatt, but he shakes his head.

“Nah, man. Buzzed, not annihilated. I told you, I don’t want Ellie getting fired.” He shuts down Isaac’s unspoken suggestion.

“Why wouldyoudoing drugs getmefired?” I clutch my purse in my lap. They seem to be fine. Maybe I would be too. I should try a line to shock them. Except I need this job. I’m not sure what’ll happen to me if I try cocaine and my brain goes wrong. Isaac said he’d cover for me, but I’m not sure how much he’s prepared to hide if I go off the rails.

Isaac laughs—a deep, hearty, drug-fueled sound. “Why would drugs get you fired? ’Cause Wyatt is a beast and comes up with all kinds of bad ideas when he’s lit.”

The intensity of Wyatt’s blue-green eyes when they meet mine makes Isaac’s comment ring true. He hasn’t asked me to do anything, and I already think I’d do everything he asked. Those eyes. They make my dark brown ones seem dull and boring in comparison.

“They’re real.” Wyatt winks.

“They’re such an odd color.” Something in them tugs at me, yanks me under. I am so focused on figuring out his allure that I don’t notice how much closer we’ve gotten. We haven’t filmed any scenes together yet, only had table reads and walk-throughs.

His lips quirk up, and my gaze is drawn down. They’re the perfect mix of firm and full. A little closer and I could touch mine to his. A taste.

Isaac clears his throat. “You two will be practicing your love scenes off camera before you know it.” Another flash of bright-white teeth.

The bubble bursts, and I sit back. “You have to admit, his eyes are amazing.”

“You should see his other body parts.” Isaac puts on a falsetto voice. “He’s simply to die for.” From the cooler in the armrest, he removes a beer.

There’s a cooler stocked with beer in the armrest.The opulence is astounding.

“Sexiest Man Alive last year. Who crowns a twenty-five-year-old the sexiest man? They must have been desperate,” Isaac teases.

Wyatt swipes the beer from Isaac’s hand and downs half of it. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”

Isaac digs out a second bottle without missing a beat. His dark brown eyes meet mine, and they sparkle with amusement. “The three of us are going to light this town on fire. You’ll see, Ellie. You’ll see.” He passes me the opened beer.

I take it with an answering flare of delight. As long as we aren’t literally lighting the town on fire, that sounds amazing. Pictures and gossip columns of their exploits, the people they’ve dated, the famous friends they have, float to the surface of my memory.

“A beer drinker?” Wyatt gives me an appreciative glance.

“Not too much I won’t drink.” I take a long gulp.

“Remember she said that.” He points his bottle across the limo at Isaac.

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