Page 22 of Hot Set

“Sure,” Seth said, smirking, “To celebrate your successful FBI career. Are you going to go hunt down some serial killers?”

“The art forgery unit doesn’t chase serial killers.”

Seth shrugged. “It’s all the same to me,” he said.

“Besides, I haven’t even gotten the job yet.”

“But you will,” Seth said. “Why don’t you? You should go out and celebrate. How do you feel about pizza?”

I frowned. “Just us?”

Seth arched an eyebrow. “I sort of assumed. I mean, if you want to bring people, it’s fine, though. I just thought it’d be fun. You haven’t been to Bluehaven in a while, so you probably haven’t gotten out much. That’s all.”

He was right about that. I sighed. “That might be nice,” I said.

My momhadjust been talking about how much I’d taken to hanging around the house alone, so this might be a good idea. She was right; I did need to be more social. Not that I was goingto tell Seth I was agreeing to hang out with him because of mymom.

“That could be fun,” I admitted.

I might’ve thought of asking Brandon to go with us, but I couldn’t now. Not after what we’d done. I looked over my make-up for the thirtieth time in the past few minutes and once more resisted the urge to look up at Brandon.

“Great,” Seth said. “Six? If you want, I can pick you up on my bike.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “I’ve never ridden one before.”

Seth grinned mischievously. “Motorcycles are fun,” he said.

Sure, they were. I believed that.

But I thought of Brandon. Some strange and sharp feeling split through my stomach and tangled in my chest. I felt…guilty. Yes.

Like I should’ve told Brandon that I was going out with Seth. But that would be stupid. We were just getting pizza to celebrate an interview. It wasn’t a date, and even if it had been, it wasn’t any of Brandon’s business. So, I shouldn’t feel uneasy at all. I was an adult and could go wherever I wanted with whoever I wanted, and it was as simple as that. Except I felt uneasy anyway.

When I looked at Seth, there was something strangely piercing about his eyes. It was as if he could look at me and read every confused feeling whirling about in my head. I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “Ready to be shot in the face?” I asked.

“Oh, I thought you’dneverask,” Seth said.

Chapter eight

Alex

Following Caitlyn’s disappearance, the set seemed thrown into chaos, as if Caitlyn’s leaving had somehow set off an unstoppable maelstrom. Everything went wrong. I mean everything. Cameras malfunctioned, lights were dropped, the most expensive costume in the entire production had gotten covered in fake blood, and two background artists had quit. I was sure Brandon was freaking out over it. Anyone would’ve been.

And maybe I should’ve been, too. After all, that background artist dropping out meant I’d been taken from make-up and shoved into painting backgrounds. Hopefully, we wouldn't need a costume designer anytime soon because my talents ended with painting, make-up, and memorizing Renaissance artwork. And after everything, I couldn’t think about much except Brandon. A little of Seth, too. We’d gone to get pizza, and it’d been fun; a few drinks in a bar, while a football game played in the background.My stomach churned every time I thought about it. It felt like some strange betrayal of Brandon, and I didn’t know why.

The only thing going for me was that Brandon was busy filming in Manhattan, so he wouldn’t be in for a few more hours. That made him easier to avoid.

A man with dark hair and blue eyes dropped a black, canvas portfolio beside me. With a scowl, he bent down and carefully picked away a few stands of white animal hair.

“Cat?” I asked.

“My boyfriend’s,” the man said. “He was so insistent we get this long-haired, furry demon. And I don’t knowhowit happens, but its hair gets everywhere. No matter how hard I try to keep my portfolio and things away from it, the furry demon still gets to them.”

“That’s cats for you,” I said.

The man sighed and began pulling out his paintbrushes. It was clear from the quality of them that painting was this man’sthing, rather than something he’d been sort of coerced into doing because he’dhappenedto have a handful of college painting classes.

“Alex,” I said, offering my hand.

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