Page 18 of Steamy on Set

He bursts out laughing, and I follow suit. Soon, we are both doubled over fighting for control. It could be the situation, or the start of the mania setting in, but we don’t stop. When we finally get it together, we look at each other for a moment.

“You’re right, it could be worse,” he says, stretching his legs. “We could also have to pee.”

“Or it could be the end of the day, and no one is around.”

“Or we could have not eaten anything today, and be starving.”

We go back and forth sharing worse case scenarios, and that seems to put us both at a little ease.

“This is what I get for being nice,” he says.

“No good deed goes unpunished.” I take the ponytail holder from my wrist and pull my hair into a bun, feeling hot. It doesn’t seem like air is circulating in here, as there is no buzz or whooshing sound coming from the vent.

“So how long do you think it will take for someone to find us?” he asks.

“A couple of hours give or take, depending on when Mira decides to come looking for me.”

“Great, what are we supposed to do until then?”

Ignore each other most likely. I just shrug. We stay silent for a few minutes, until he breaks it.

“Where are you from? Unless you’re from here.”

My nose scrunches and my lips pucker. In what world would we ever have a normal conversation?

“Come on, we’re going to be stuck in here for a little while, we might as well pass the time,” he says.

“By talking to each other?”

“I’d rather play games on my phone, but I figured it’s better to save the battery so we can keep track of time.”

I look him up and down, and he opens his palms up like he’s opening the door to his civility and showing it to me. I don’t believe he’s capable of a polite conversation, but even if we fight the whole time, it’s better than feeling the minutes painfully tick away.

“I’m from San Francisco.”

“That makes sense.”

He’s already starting us off on the wrong foot. I open my mouth to argue, remembering our first conversation when he throws his hands up in surrender.

“I just mean you look expensive.”

I raise one brow.

“Not in a bad way. The Bay is one of the priciest cities in America, and you dress like you are wealthy enough to afford to live there.”

Deciding to take this as a compliment, I let it go.

“Where are you from?” I ask in return.

“Chicago.”

I look at him to see if I can see traces of his hometown too. But I don’t know enough about the city to judge it based on how he is.

“Home of the best pizza, right?” I try a smile and find that he gives me one back.

“You know it.”

He goes on to tell me about some of his favorite places, and I in turn talk about the restaurants I love back home. Soon we are trading pieces of ourselves that allow me to see him in a different light. I still don’t like him, but maybe he isn’t as one-dimensional as I thought.

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