Page 17 of Hot Set

Right. I nodded like I’d been deeply concerned, but really, I couldn’t help but think how casually nice it had been having him be so close to me.

The evening wore on, as we all contributed notes on pages of script. At the end of the night, we pulled the script together and read through it. The plot sounded like it was pulled from a troll fic online. There was no way anybody could possibly take this seriously, but it was certainly entertaining. And that was the point of movies, right?

As the night dragged on, people slowly filed out, Bioncia first, then Celeste. Scott and Seth left shortly after. Brandon seemed oblivious to it all. He kept working, seemingly determined to soldier through the night with the help of caffeine and sugary confectionaries. I stifled a yawn and stretched before sprawling over on one end of his sofa.

A sharp series of bird-like chirps filled the air. I frowned and tipped my head back, searching for the sound.

“My phone,” Brandon said.

“Did someone forget something?”

Brandon looked at his phone and shook his head. “It’s my father,” he replied.

Hisdad? “It’s like…” I trailed off, searching for a clock. “Late. Really late.”

“Five-thirty,” Brandon said. “It’s not unusual. That’s when he gets up to go jogging in the mornings. Normally, I’m up weight-lifting this early, anyway.”

I frowned. “That’s got to be annoying, though.”

His phone beeped again.

“It is,” Brandon replied, “But I guess I kind of had this coming. I keep avoiding him, so I suppose his new approach is to get me when he knows I’m not working.”

“Technically, youareworking,” I said.

“Yeah, but it’s not the same as being at the set,” Brandon said.

Another text alert. God, Brandon’s dad must be obnoxious. I vaguely remembered Seth saying something about Brandon’s dad wanting him to join the family business, but this seemed like a bit much.

“Tired?” Brandon asked after a few minutes.

“A little bit,” I said.

I wasn’t looking forward to the drive home after a night of work, at any rate. I stifled a yawn.

“You don’t have to go tonight,” Brandon said. “You could sleep over if you want.”

I tilted my head and considered him. Brandon was still hunched over his stack of papers, a pen cap clenched between his teeth. I watched his red pen move across the page, its faint scratching lulling through the air. He really was invested in all this. That was admirable. Despite his alleged lack of direction, Brandon had an ambition that I never had.

Another text alert.

I sat upright and stared at Brandon. I was so tired, and because I was tired, I was thinking very bizarre things about Brandon. Maybe it was because Ididn’thave any friends. He was just a man; that was all, and attractive, although anyone with eyes could see that. I shook my head and buried my face beneath a couch pillow.

“Is the script so bad you’re going to smother yourself to death?” Brandon asked.

“No,” I replied, my voice muffled.

Another text and a sigh. “I have to take this,” Brandon said.

No kidding. I heard the slap of Brandon’s feet on the hardwood floors as he walked away. “Hey, Dad.”

I sucked in a deep breath and tried not to listen in. Sure, Brandon hadn’t told me not to or anything, but I would’ve felt of weird eavesdropping. I tried to tune it out by thinking about the script and Brandon’s apartment.

“I know, I know,” Brandon said. “I’ve just been working really hard on this—”

I sat upright and removed the pillow from my face. When I peered over the sofa, I found Brandon pacing around in the kitchen. He looked like he was halfway to creating a furrow in the tile floors.

“I just don’t have time right now,” Brandon said.

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