Page 24 of Out of the Gold

“He’s nice,” I say as I tie off the bottom of his right leg. “There. I think you’re done. Take a spin.”

He complies and I study his lithe body movements. I intertwine my fingers and pulse them to get the circulation going. “How’s that feel?”

“Good.”

On my feet, I pass him the gloves while continuing to work out the kinks from my own hands. Chase’s admissions are softening my opinion of him. I make quick work of getting him into the rest of his costume and soon I’m back on the set, sitting next to Judith and Helene.

Noble calls for quiet and the actors begin the scene. Chase’s love of the theater replays in my head, which explains why he tenses whenever a new movie role is proposed. I slip my hand into my essentials tote and find my cell. While the scene is being filmed, I click onBackstage, a Broadway-based site that lists auditions for all the shows. For my own edification, of course.

When shooting finally ends, I trudge back to the trailer. I want to do some yoga and take a long, hot bath. But first, I get to rip Chase out of the superhero costume. I open the door to silence. Must’ve beaten Chase here—he must be with someone in the cast. Probably Jessa.

When I get into the main part of the trailer, the bathroom door opens and Chase walks out, his bodysuit unsnapped. Startled, I say, “You’re here.”

His blue eyes laugh at me. “Who were you expecting? Christian Bale?”

“Ha-ha. Very funny. I thought you were, ah, visiting with someone.”

He reaches down and starts to pull up the bodysuit. I rush to his side and help rid him of the spandex. Success means I hold the bodysuit while he strips off the wet undershirt.

He takes aim and tosses the damp shirt into the garbage. “Two points!”

“You’re in a good mood.”

“It was a fun day on the set.” He sits and removes his boots, tossing the socks into the garbage as well.

I go into the top level of my design suitcase and pick up a pair of scissors, opening and closing them. He flinches once.

While I focus my efforts on cutting him out of the leggings, I debate telling him about the open auditions I happened to notice onBackstage. With his left leg cut open, I move over to the right.

Should I tell him? Theywereannounced for anyone to see. I glance at his strikingly handsome face, the cleft in his chin seeming more pronounced. I swallow. “You know, I saw something that might interest you.”

His right leg cut open to mid-thigh, he takes over and rips the material off his body. “What’s that?”

I ball up the ruined leggings while he heads to the back of the trailer. “I’ll show you when you come out.”

He disappears into the bathroom and I pick up my cell, pulling upBackstage. Within a few minutes, he comes out wearing a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. His cologne—a light grassy smell—is inviting.

I search my scent inventory. “That’s Tom Ford, but I can’t place the line.”

“Grey Vitiver.” He runs his fingers through his hair, styling it into a messy look.

“That’s right,” I muse. Shaking my head, I hold my cell up to him. “Thought of you when I saw this.”

He takes my phone from me. “Hamlet 2.0?”

A tingling sweeps up the back of my neck and across my face. I force myself to pack up my design suitcase, making careful note to put everything back in the right spot. Why did I show him my cell? With each quiet moment that passes, I heap more criticism on myself. When he remains silent, I walk over to him, intending to rip my phone out of his hands. His expression stops me cold.

Longing.

Desire.

Futility.

He settles on a mask of indifference and returns my phone. “Thanks. I don’t think Broadway is ready for all this.” He waves at his body.

If I hadn’t seen his first few emotions, I would leave him alone with his cologne. But it’s too late. I saw them. “It might be interesting for you to diversify your résumé.”

“Leading men don’t diversify.”

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