Page 31 of Hot Set

“But mostly, I don’t like the thought of everyone here having to work harder to compensate for me leaving. Remember when Caitlyn…” Alex trailed off.

When Caitlyn left.Of course, I remembered. That was the reason we’d been in my apartment. Alone. I sighed. “Yes, I remember Caitlyn quitting, how can I forget?” I said, trying to steer us to safer territory. “Seth complained about it for days.”

Alex’s lips quirked into a grateful smile. “I don’t want Seth complaining for days about me,” he said.

“Seth wouldn’t. I’d take the blame for not hiring a replacement,” I replied.

Alex shook his head and slowly stood, evidently having decided that this battle wasn’t one worth pursuing. “Just think about it, okay?” he asked. “I know it’s impossible to know if I’ll get the job, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

“I know that,” I said.

“But will you do it?” Alex asked.

I smirked and shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not,” I said.

Alex laughed. “I have to head home,” he said. “I know it sounds sad, but my mom will worry if I’m not in when I said I’d be.”

“That doesn’t sound sad at all. It sounds like she really loves you.”

“She does,” Alex said, pulling out his phone. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“All right.”

Alex waved once more over his shoulder before walking off, his fingers moving quickly over the touchscreen of his phone. Probably texting his mom. I shook my head and looked down at the script once more. Maybe if I stared at the script enough, it would magically begin writing itself.

It didn’t.

After a few minutes, I gave up and left the marked-up script in my chair. It would be there in the morning, and maybe in the morning I’d be able to focus on something besides Alex’s smile.

Chapter eleven

Alex

Morning brought a strange sort of order to the world. No matter how the day before had gone, there was always something comforting about waking up in a familiar place. There was something magical about how nice my bedspread and sheets felt in the morning and something safe about the scent of syrup and bacon drifting through the air.

My mom stood before the microwave, waiting for it to warm a mug of water, so she could make her morning tea. “Are you going in today?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I replied.

I immediately thought of Brandon’s blue eyes, so hauntingly focused on my face the night before, and warmth rushed to my face. I dug around the fridge for the English muffins and hoped that if Mom noticed my face, reddened with embarrassment, that she’d have the grace not to say anything.

“What areyoudoing today?” I asked.

“Going to the craft store,” she replied. “I think I’m going to take up crochet. I saw the most incredible blanket on Pinterest.”

My poor mother. She was the queen of unfinished projects.

I grabbed a muffin and tore a bit out of it, drawing a scowl from her. “No time to sit down and eat?” she asked.

“I’m afraid not,” I replied. “I like to be on set bright and early. It’s good practice for the FBI.”

“I really thought you’d spend your life doomed to work the third shift,” Mom replied, “As much as you hate mornings.”

“Not all of us can naturally wake up at four,” I said.

“I didn’t either until I hadyou,” she said.

I laughed. “Are you blaming me for something I did as a newborn?” I asked.

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