Page 63 of His Leading Man

Despite Marla’s best efforts, they shot the scene in one take. When Nina called, “Cut!” for the last time, Drew finally grinned, and the crew broke into applause.

Steve had just enough time to turn to his mother and say, “Youare amenace,” before Drew threw his arms around his neck and planted a showy, affectionate kiss on his cheek.

All things considered, Steve didn’t mind the catcalls. He settled his hands on Drew’s waist. “This suit is hideous. Where did Will get this thing?”

Drew made a face. “I don’t know, but it itches.” He glanced up over Steve’s shoulder and lit up a little more. “Marla! I didn’t know you could sing. That was incredible. You almost got me.”

“I will next time,” she promised, using the height from the riser she stood on to swoop down and deposit a lipstick kiss on Drew’s cheekbone. “Don’t think you’ve won!” She glided off, presumably to be cut out of the jumpsuit.

With a bemused smile, Drew met Steve’s eyes. “I’m a little concerned she’s going to show up at every set I work on from now until the game is over.”

“Probably only the ones that film on American soil.” Steve patted his upper arms. “Come on. I hear the hotshot producer’s throwing one hell of a wrap party.”

THEwrap party took place at a cute Greek restaurant owned by one of Nina’s friends. In honesty it wasn’t that fancy—no themed decorations, no red carpet, no black-tie dress code. Just the cast and crew, a sprawling buffet to send everyone into a food coma, and enough champagne to keep them buzzed until the wee hours.

Steve had fun, but by midnight he had reached social saturation and just wanted quiet and space. About fifteen minutes after he started contemplating how to make a graceful retreat, Drew caught his eye across the room and tilted his head, and Steve nodded in relief.

It was tough to slip out of a party with the second-most famous person in the room, especially when he’d had a little too much ouzo. Fortunately Steve’s mother had joined the house band for a rousing rendition of “A Little Less Conversation,” so everyone was distracted. Especially the guitarist.

“Is she gonna…?” Drew had asked earlier in the evening, when the band had just gotten started.

Steve followed his gaze. “Oh, probably.”

“Huh.” Drew watched them for another few seconds. “Well, he’s cute. Good for her.”

The car service dropped them in front of Drew’s building, where Tara, the night-shift doorwoman, greeted them. “Hey, guys. Good night?”

“Good night,” Steve confirmed, and then had to reach out and grab Drew’s arm as Drew stumbled over nothing and almost took a header into a pillar. “Maybe too good, for some of us,” he amended, sliding his arm around Drew’s waist.

Tara clucked in faux disapproval. “You want me to send up some Gatorade?”

“Got some in the fridge already.” The perks of having a PA, Steve thought. Or at least of Drew having a PA. “Thanks, Tara. Have a good night!”

Drew grinned as he waved, wide and unfettered as only a very happy drunk man could be. “Bye, Tara!”

It took him a moment to get his elevator key into the slot. But then they were moving, finally. Soon Steve would be home—

He caught himself before he could finish the thought. He didn’t live there. Honestly it was beautiful but not to his taste, so he wasn’t even sure he wanted to. But home?

Home was wherever he and Drew could be alone together.

He was still chewing on that when Drew got the apartment door open, crossed the living room, and collapsed in one of his weird modern armless chairs. They’d left the curtains open, and Drew swiveled to take in the city at night.

He sighed contentedly, and Steve took a right into the kitchen for the Gatorade. Drew was bad enough at mornings even when he wasn’t hungover.

“You know,” Drew said when Steve returned, “the only thing I’m gonna miss about this place is the view.” Then he paused and added, “Okay, and the shower.”

Steve passed him the bottle and took a seat on the couch. “You’re selling?”

Drew cracked the top open and drank a few deep sips before replacing the cap. “I always wanted a place like your mom has, you know? Somewhere real, with space that’s not just for the sake of luxury. A yard, a fence, a pool, a dog. A house that occasionally needs a new roof or new windows or whatever, but it’s still your house. I don’t know. Does that make sense?”

Steve thought for a moment. “You could just have the place redecorated,” he said. “Put some of yourself into it this time.”

“See, that’s the thing.” He stood again, walked over to the window, and tapped on the glass. “When I bought this place, it was right after my breakup with Corinna. I’d decided to lay off relationships, so I was only thinking about me. And despite all the space, it feels like that’s all there’s room for here.

“But I was kidding myself about what I wanted.”

Steve didn’t want to read too much into anything he said. Not when he was who knew how many shots of ouzo in. But his heart beat a little faster anyway. “So what are you saying? You’re gonna go buy a house in Beverly Hills?”

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