Текст книги "Love Unrehearsed"
Автор книги: Tina Reber
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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 27 страниц)
Chapter 10
React
“Cut. Ryan, you need to drop your arm a bit. You’re casting a shadow on Nicole,” Jonathan instructed, sounding irritated. “No, that’s still not working. We need to adjust the lighting. She’s got a dark shadow running right across her face.”
I watched the gaffer make a slight adjustment to one of the towering lights near the large bed, and was thankful for the momentary reprieve.
An hour ago, that naked body was between my thighs, loving me. Now Ryan was carefully seated between Nicole’s bare legs, nothing but flesh-toned merkins keeping their bodies from actually touching.
Ryan and Nicole were holding light conversation while the lights were adjusted around them, but the sight of him lying on top of her was almost too much for me to take in. Like a sick, masochistic voyeur, I stood there, watching. Watching my fiancé slip his lips over another woman’s body every time the director called “Action!”
I knew it was fake, completely staged, but still.
Ryan pressed Nicole’s hair back from her face, gazing at her before crushing his lips down on hers. She gasped and the sheet that barely covered them rose and fell with the roll of his hips.
Slight tremors vibrated up through my shoulders. Instantly I was torn from the spot and pulled back in time, recalling every ounce of pain I felt when I walked in on my ex-fiancé, Thomas, grinding his naked ass into that emaciated slut, Cheryl Regan, with painful clarity. The overwhelming anguish blasted uncontrollably like lightning into my chest.
I had sworn to myself that day I had caught Thomas, made the most sacred of vows to the sanctity of my own soul, that I would never, ever allow myself to be hurt like that again. To step anywhere near a man who was capable of eviscerating my heart.
Loving someone should never end in all-consuming devastation.
But time and time again I set myself up to be ripped to shreds. And here I stood, torturing myself all over again watching this charade.
Certain moments were tolerable: those when filming had halted and Ryan and Nicole weren’t all over each other. But the moment the cameras were rolling, my hands tightened into fists and I wanted to puke craziness.
I knew Ryan was uncomfortable with my presence, peering at me through worried eyes every spare moment when his pretend make-out session wasn’t being carefully orchestrated. Still, it wasn’t enough to end this insanity.
I don’t care how other women would handle watching their man fake sex with another woman; I twitched when Jonathan yelled “Action!” yet again.
Ryan’s mouth on her jaw, her lips, grinding her into the bed like he was actually fucking her looked so real that the heartache seared its way up my throat.
It’s pretend. It’s fake.
The sheet covering them slipped and a good sliver of Ryan’s ass was now in full view. No matter how many times I repeated my mantra it still didn’t keep the bile from rising up.
I could see Ryan desperately trying to reach that detached mental space he needed to go to to pull this off. He needed to be “in the zone,” so to speak, where he wasn’t Ryan Christensen anymore. The place where his character persona, Chase Sheffield, took over and deviant actions became inconsequential.
God, could I do this again? Could I actually be secure enough in my heart and mind to deal with the knowledge that there would be more times like this in my future? More fake love scenes and more intimate touches shared between my lover, my husband-to-be, and random sculpted actresses? Would my eventual marriage become yet another Hollywood divorce?
It’s one thing to be married and trust that your spouse never cheats on you. It’s another when scripted fake make-out sessions are part of his career, and you know with absolute certainty that moments like this will reoccur.
For a brief time I carried this man’s baby in my womb. If we ever have children, I’m not going to be able to stand here and supervise his pretend sex each and every time. Knowing how easily a moment like this could get way out of hand, leading to a connection with another woman.
One day I’ll be pregnant—large and round, uncomfortable. One day sex won’t be a priority; feeding and caring for an innocent infant will be. Staying home to raise a family with some sense of normalcy will be. Will Ryan be able to control himself and know in no uncertain terms where the lines of acting and cheating are firmly drawn? So many unanswered questions.
Ryan clasped hands with Nicole, raising their entwined fingers over her head—a move that I thought was reserved for our lovemaking sessions only. The sense of betrayal that came from it pierced into my heart like a hot knife and I had to consciously stop the whimper from breaking free.
Jonathan had called “Cut!” and Ryan and Nicole were listening to him intently. I couldn’t look at Ryan anymore—not in the eyes, anyway. My focus landed on everything else—the towering lights, the black cords snaking across the floor, the black screen blocking shadows from forming, the khaki cargo shorts the boom operator was wearing.
Thousands of movies, thousands of onscreen kisses. Jake Gyllenhaal’s kissed a lot of girls. I love his movies. When he filmed with Anne Hathaway—that sex looked real. They both were this naked, too. And that girl in Prince of Persia—Princess what the hell was her name? Jake kissed Heath Ledger, too. Several times. Damn, that was hot. But they were acting. Making a movie for our enjoyment just like this. I wonder if these things are why he split from Reese Witherspoon all those years ago? And after all of this time, he’s still single. Maybe he wanted to—A firm hand clasped my shoulder, startling me.
“You okay?” Mike asked quietly. His worried expression wasn’t helping.
Damn, how I wished my defiant bottom lip would keep from quivering. I gave him a noncommittal shrug.
“He loves you, you know.”
I bit that traitorous bottom lip of mine hard, trying to find that place in my brain where I could be nonchalant, cool and so whatever—it’s just another day in the office for him—no biggie with all of this.
I turned to look up into Mike’s eyes. “I know.”
“Doesn’t make it any easier to watch, though, does it?”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “No, it doesn’t.”
Mike sighed. “It’s pretend, Taryn. In this business, actors treat kissing like it’s nothing more than giving someone a handshake,” he said in a hushed voice.
I glanced back at him to see if he was actually serious with that line of made-up bullshit. Somehow I couldn’t equate it so benignly. I kept my voice hushed. “It’s the temptation I worry about, Mike. It’s one thing to admire the apple on the tree. It’s another to take a small taste and tempt yourself with thoughts of what you might be missing.”
“True, but you can’t condemn him for having this be a part of his job. Temptation is all around every one of us, Taryn. Even you are not immune and yet he trusts you.”
I knew I had to learn to deal. It was just a harder concept than I thought, bordering on insurmountable.
“I’m not condemning him, Mike. And I do trust him, but I can tell you that if the situation were reversed, he’d be livid right now.”
Mike scraped a hand over his head.
“Sorry. I’m trying, Mike. Really I am. But I can’t say I’m all right with watching the man I love be so intimate with someone else, fake or not.” I tilted my head in Ryan’s direction. “How would you feel if that were your girlfriend beneath him?”
Mike’s eyes darkened. “I’m not going to lie. I’d probably hate it just as much as you do right now. But I’d also try to remind myself that it takes more than a few hours of filming a fake love scene to build the kind of relationship that you and he have.”
Mike’s penetrating gaze silently shouted, Think about that one, sweetheart.
Filming halted for a ten-minute break. Ryan was still tying the belt of his robe as he rushed over to me.
Silent words passed between him and Mike as he grabbed my hand and hustled me away. We found a private corner and Ryan immediately pulled me into a tight embrace.
His hand held my head to his chest and I couldn’t help but tremble. He kissed my hair and my forehead over and over again.
“At least you get to keep your clothes on in this scene.” I couldn’t stop myself. I was trying so hard to be cool about things, nonchalant and teasingly playful even, but the bitter tone I thought I had under control kept rolling out with my words.
Witnessing a mostly naked Nicole writhe like a wanton whore under my very naked fiancé continued to twist poisonous thoughts around in my head. Ryan didn’t know it, but at 3 A.M. I slipped out of our bed to have a private crying session in the condo’s kitchen.
Agonizing pain from the paranoia of Hollywood and fame separating us one day squeezed my heart again. Besides John Travolta and Will Smith, I could not think of any other famous couples who stayed together for the long, long haul. Even the best poker players wouldn’t bet on those odds.
Ryan leaned over and gave me a quick kiss after we departed out of wardrobe. He draped an arm over my shoulders. “I like this jealous side of you. Makes me feel wanted.”
He had no idea how close I was to freaking out. “You having fun torturing me? I don’t care what you say. Pretend or not, a kiss is still a kiss, especially those designed to sell the illusion for all it’s worth.”
Ryan frowned at me and took my hand. “I told you she tasted awful. There was absolutely nothing about that entire experience that even came close to pleasure.”
Yeah? What happens when the next one doesn’t taste so bad?
Several crew members hustled past us so I kept my voice low. “Well thank God for that.” I laughed at the absurdity, trying to cover up how territorial I was feeling with humor.
He took a long drink from his bottle of water as we walked to the large catering tent. “I know it bothered you to see me doing that sort of stuff with someone else. I don’t know what else to say besides ‘I’m sorry.’ In time, you’ll get used to it. Or you won’t.”
I zipped my hoodie to block the chill. “‘That sort of stuff’ meaning grinding Nicole into the bed as if you were trying to fuck her clear through to the other side of the mattress ‘sort of stuff’? Yeah, that was beyond painful, fake or not.” A frustrated tear formed in the corner of my eye and I swiped it away quickly, hating that my lack of emotional control just flew out of my mouth.
Ryan stopped abruptly and spoke to Mike. “Can you give us a minute?”
“Sure.” Mike folded his arms across his chest and turned away to give us privacy.
Ryan pulled me off to the side behind some equipment. “Sweetheart, come on. I know it was hard for you to watch. God, I’d never do anything intentional to hurt you like that. I wish you’d realize that there is absolutely no reason for you to feel sad or threatened.”
“I know. I’m sorry, Ryan. I don’t mean to be . . . I’m trying. I really am.” I couldn’t stop the flood of emotion once the damn had been breached. I knew I was being irrational, but I was also willing to bet that most women would go a little crazy after watching their lover fake-fuck someone for several hours.
“You have no idea how hard that was for me. I wonder how you would feel if you had to watch me like that with another man.” I shrugged. “Maybe you’d understand then.”
The glare I received was deadly. “Since you’re not an actress, that scenario better never happen, or you and me . . . we’ll have serious problems.”
I knew I was potentially instigating an argument, but I didn’t care. “Why? Does the thought of seeing me being intimate with someone else make you jealous?”
Ryan’s nostrils flared, a telltale sign he was getting pissed-off, too.
“I’m trying to be confident and secure, Ryan, but it was a new experience and I can’t help but feel betrayed. I am not used to having to share my fiancé, fake or not. It was hard and I thought . . . ah, forget it.”
“Wait, what? How the hell did I betray you?”
I planted a foot. “You did the hand thing with her,” I growled.
“What?”
“When you were . . . you wove your fingers with hers and did the over-the-head thing. I thought . . . I know it sounds ridiculous, but I thought that was mine. Ours. I guess I was wrong.”
“What are you talking about?”
“With Nicole . . . you did the hand thing with her.” I raised my arm up over my head quickly to demonstrate. “I thought that was something you only did with me. When you make love to me, you always tie our hands together. I thought it was special. Mine. Sorry, but it hurts to find out it wasn’t.”
He looked at me like I had lost my mind. Maybe I had. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Forget it. I don’t expect you to understand.”
He groaned. I knew I was frustrating him but yeah well too bad. I had old wounds that left deep scars, too—reminding me never to be foolish with my heart again.
Ryan seized my arm when I tried to wave off the last five minutes. “You’re upset because of the way I held her hand?”
I tried to shrug it off. “Whatever. Apparently it doesn’t mean anything to you, but it meant a lot to me.
It’s like you make us one when we have sex. I thought it was special.” I bumped a small rock with my foot. “It’s not special anymore.”
Ryan cursed low. “Oh, babe. I’m sorry. I didn’t think of that. I didn’t realize.”
“Well, now you do,” I murmured.
He frowned at me. “Tar, despite what you think, it was physically and mentally painful for me to do that in front of you.”
I could hear the sincerity in his voice. I knew he really didn’t mean to hurt me.
“I saw the look on your face,” he went on, “and I thought to myself, what if this is the moment that breaks her. What if this is the thing that causes her to bolt. I know you keep thinking that I’m going to fall prey to the Hollywood cliché. That kissing some fucking actress is going to be the final straw that brings the house down. But babe, do you ever consider what I’m feeling? How fucking paranoid I am that the only woman I’ve ever loved is going to run screaming for the hills because of what I do for a living?”
I shook my head. “Never. You’re not the only one who pledged forever here, Ryan. I will keep on fighting for us no matter what.”
I looked him right in the eye, feeling like shit for not seeing his side. “Seeing you like that with someone else made me a little crazy. I think I can handle the kissing. Yeah, I’m pretty sure I can, just please give me a chance to get used to it and I . . . No, I’m positive I can deal with it, but the total nakedness and boob touching and the fake sex? I’m sorry but that—that was just too much for me.”
“I hated it, too.” He took a deep breath, and then nodded, seeming to make some silent decision.
“That’s why I wanted you there, Taryn. You know it’s fake because you watched it get set up.”
Ryan pulled me into his chest and rubbed his lips over my hair. “One good thing, though, is that I know you’re truly here for me. It just confirms how right this is.”
The tip of his nose brushed against mine as his hand threaded into my hair. Ryan kissed me softly—just a few feather-light touches, before nudging my lips apart with his tongue. I could feel both our desperation and our desire, fueled by the wetness of our mouths and the necessity to convey unspoken messages.
He bit my bottom lip gently, forcing us to stop, then rested his forehead on mine, calculating his next sentence while scanning my eyes for a reaction. “In there, in front of the camera, it means nothing. This, us, this is what’s real.”
“I know,” I whispered, drifting my hand across his shoulder.
“Do you remember when I told you about the girl I used to date, Brooke—the one who came to Maine when I was filming the first Seaside?”
I remembered. The girl he told me about who wanted his agent more than him.
“I was filming a scene where I had to kiss Suzanne and instead of Brooke getting jealous or mad she actually critiqued my performance.”
“So?”
“So . . . I’m wrapped so deep in you that something like how I held Nicole’s hand hurt you. I’ll never do that again now that I know. But I told you I would be envisioning making love to you to get into character.”
I closed my eyes and felt the softness of his face on mine. “It was very convincing.”
He nuzzled his face on my neck and I could feel his regret. It was almost tangible. “It was hard. She really did taste awful. Like, I don’t know. It was just bad.”
I noticed his hesitance, as if he were keeping something from me. “She’s lucky I didn’t kill her like I wanted to,” I said. “You’ll probably get her head cold now.”
Ryan rolled his eyes at me but offered no more on the distaste she left behind. “I really do like this jealous side of you. I have no doubt that your love for me is real.”
I clutched his arm harder. My love for him ran bone deep.
At the end of the week, we were back at the cavernous soundstage, my initiation into a higher level of trust with my fiancé behind us.
Ryan spun on one leg and kicked with deadly accuracy, planting a heavy black boot directly into the chest of the evil villain, Victor Mordorf, sending him hurling through the air. Stunt actor Timothy Hughes landed on his back; the specially designed dining table buckled underneath his crashing weight and folded in half. And then Jonathan yelled, “Cut!”
Next take, Ryan grabbed the front of Victor’s shirt, swinging several right-handed punches. I felt my breath hitch, my pulse quickened, as a twisted attraction in seeing my fiancé kick ass like some barbaric he-man sent intense arousal through my veins. The early morning weight training combined with his rock-climbing instruction was turning Ryan’s body into even more of a chiseled pack of muscle. And at this moment, that muscle looked very lethal—and sexy as hell.
I winced as Ryan performed his own stunt, taking a calculated fall from a return blow to his face. I was so worried about him taking these risks but at the same time I knew he was loving every minute of it.
Ryan tore the string of Christmas tree lights off the fake fireplace mantel on the set, lashing Victor Mordorf to the high-back chair in his parents’ supposed dining room. Anger and hatred rolled and coiled off him as he tied the newly bloodied, dazed actor, wrapping the last two feet of cord around the actor’s throat. Ryan recited his lines, spitting fine mists of fake blood from his lips as he delivered his threats.
Seeing Ryan like this, full of icy hatred and raw emotion, snarling as he bound his captive securely, both fascinated and terrified me. Ryan wore a horrifying mask of bloodlust, letting go of his reserve and completely saturating himself in the role of Chase Sheffield’s tragic life of death and redemption. This is what acting is all about.
It was through our role-play run-through of this same scene in our condo last night that we determined Ryan’s approach to binding someone to a chair with Christmas lights had to be executed in very specific steps. No one really considered how difficult it would be to tie a string of decorative lights into a knot.
Ryan brought this up with Jonathan and the stunt coordinator, Paul Rothham, resolving the choreography before cameras started rolling.
Fortunately Ryan left out the part where he tortured the shit out of me with his tongue and gave me two incredible orgasms while I was tied securely to a chair with thirty-five feet of borrowed lights from the props master. Those were private details from our rehearsal that no one else needed to know. A grin formed on my lips as I recalled the pricks of painful pleasure the lights made biting into my skin and how being bound and restrained heightened every touch. Yes, I’d like to do that again, please. Very soon.
I listened to the dialogue carefully. Ryan didn’t want to ad-lib in the middle of the scene, so he had approached the script supervisor earlier with the changes we had worked through last night. I was surprised that she and Jonathan approved them. The cadence of the original threat was off, but with the new changes, they flowed and were even more ominous. It just fit better with Chase’s natural reaction in the scene than what was originally written. Ryan delivered it with a master’s ease.
“And cut!” Jonathan pulled the headphones off, circling them around his neck. He patted Denny once on the back as he backed away from the enormous camera and then turned to me, wearing a broad smile and giving me a thumbs-up. Everyone looked extremely happy with the shot.
I abruptly sat up in my chair. Yes! He nailed it!
Jonathan called Ryan over to the monitors. We watched the scene on the playback reel. “How did that feel, Ryan? You happy with that one?”
Ryan rested his hands on his hips and blew out a relieving breath, staring intently at the small screen.
It’s amazing to see what forty-nine seconds could capture. He turned to face me and we gave each other a high-five.
Jonathan beamed, shaking his finger in my direction. “She’s good! Real good! You marry this one and never let her out of your sight!”
His comment surprised me. “What did I do?”
Jonathan admonished my question with a conspiratorial look. “What did you do? Ryan gave credit where credit was due, my dear. You have a hell of a keen sense for script analysis and direction and you just made that scene a hell of a lot better.”
Oh shit. “But Ryan and I rehearsed . . . I only suggested . . .”
Ryan shut me up with a quick kiss followed by a playful crack on the ass. “That’s where I’m carving my initials later,” he growled privately to me.
Jonathan was ecstatic. “Maybe one of these days we’ll get to see what kind of performance you inspire him to give when you’re standing on the opposite side of the camera, hey, Taryn?”
I adamantly refuted his comment. Ryan, however, seemed to rather enjoy that idea.
“Never say never,” Jonathan advised. “And don’t think your little rehearsal with him the other day went unnoticed. I think you’d be a natural.”
I held my hands up to stop his line of thinking—immediately. “Oh, no. I’m only here to watch.”
“Well, I’d have to argue that,” Jonathan continued, turning to Ryan. “Would you be opposed to us using Taryn in the nightclub shot? I think she’d be a better fit.”
I shook my head so quickly, the blood sloshing in my brain made me lightheaded. Standin was one thing; to be on actual film was another.
Ryan leaned closer. “Which shot?”
A ripple of shock rolled through me next, watching Ryan actually ponder this idea with keen interest. I thought for sure he’d be against it.
When their discussion ended and the attention turned back to me, I had to take a stand. “No. That’s okay. I’m very flattered by your offer but I’m fine right here, staying way out of the way.”
Ryan’s encouraging grins and nods weren’t helping, gesturing with pinched fingers that I’d only be in the shot for a smidgen.
“Nonsense,” Jonathan said firmly. “I have Ryan’s permission, so you must do me the honor of one small cameo.”
That one small request generated a flurry of activity. When the time came, I was swept off to wardrobe, where I was fitted with a pair of ass-hugging jeans and a really cool white flouncy halter top with tiny brown beads that nestled near my exposed cleavage. Instead of me wearing a bra, flesh-toned adhesive lifts were added under my breasts to give them more support. The likelihood of my breasts getting some quality onscreen time seemed to multiply exponentially.
After my makeup was applied and hair fussed with, it was off to the set. Tonight we were on location, having taken over a bar/nightclub outside of Vancouver to film in.
My job? To be part of the background. I hoped to hell I’d be able to blend with the other extras in the scene. The bar was supposed to be packed and Ryan had to squeeze through the crowd to make his next mark. I was one of the bodies he had to squeeze past—that was, until another assistant director told me the plan.
I was introduced to several other extras that I would be standing next to for the shot. We were just a bunch of girls supposedly standing around, swaying and grooving to the music. Problem was—there was no music. Actually the crowded bar filled with a ton of extras was rather quiet considering. The soundtrack would be overlaid in postproduction.
It felt weird to stand there pretending to dance and look sexy in silence. Some sort of liquid sheen was sprayed on our exposed skin to make it look like we were all hot and sweaty. It made my bare arms glisten.
We did a walk-through rehearsal; Ryan had a shot coming into the club, cameras followed him through the crowd, he had to squeeze past me, and then take his final place at the empty seat at bar.
Actress Morgan Harper, who was playing the deceased sister of Ryan’s character, Chase Sheffield, was dressed exactly like me; the costumes were identical. Ryan/Chase was to have another ghostly vision of his sister.
An enormous camera was pointed at me, and as I studied the ominous black lens that would capture me making a complete ass out of myself, the realization of me actually being in a movie pricked at my nerves. My slightly elevated pulse broke out into a full gallop. I might as well have been running in knee-deep sand on the beach for how hard my heart was pounding in my chest. Holy shit.
Calm down. Remember your instructions. Smile coyly. Eye contact with Ryan for a count of five, then look back to the brunette whose name totally escapes me right now. I can do this. I can do this. What the hell is her name?
“Cue background; action background.”
Before I could entertain additional panic, it was over. I think I smiled coyly—however the hell “coyly”
is supposed to look. I hoped I didn’t look away too soon.
Ryan was cool and professionally distant. He showed me no special favor, no separate inappropriate acknowledgment while we were filming. I could have been just another off-the-street extra as far as anyone could tell. That was fine by me; I didn’t want a fuss.
Without the extraordinary media hype and devoted fan adoration elevating his status, Ryan was just a regular guy; sweet, caring, humble, funny—trying to do his best being an actor. He was so in his element here. My heart rate stabilized under the surge of love and pride I felt for him and I breathed easier in his calm.
“But I would grab her with my right hand,” Ryan stated as we did another walk-through. His hand was sealed around my upper arm.
“Do you want me to flinch or . . . ?” I asked, as we continued to work out all of the little details.
Within a few minutes, my big film debut was over and I was moved out of the shot so Morgan could take my place. I found an open space off to the side to watch Ryan continue on without me.
“You can relax now. You did really good, by the way.”
I looked over my shoulder, not recognizing the male voice.
“I don’t think we’ve ever met. Hi. I’m Aiden.”
I blinked several times, toggling my eyes between the large-veined hand he extended toward me and the rest of the man standing before me. His hair was styled and colored exactly like Ryan’s. He even wore the same clothes Ryan had on. The resemblance was freakishly uncanny, although Ryan had much nicer eyes and was a hell of a lot better-looking than this attempted copy. Regardless, sheer fascination had me staring.
“I’m one of Mr. Christensen’s stunt doubles. I don’t bite.”
“Hi. Sorry. I’m Taryn.” I reached to shake his hand, thankful that he didn’t manhandle me. I noticed Nicole Devin walking toward me rubbing her nose, but she stopped to speak to someone else.
Aiden pointed his chin toward the camera. “I was watching. From over here you looked like you did a great job.”
His compliment seemed genuine. “Thanks. I hope I didn’t screw it up.”
When Aiden smiled, two tiny dimples formed in his cheeks. “I think you did just fine. You looked like a pro.” He offered me a cup of water, which I politely accepted. “Was that your first time?”
I took a sip and nodded.
“I guess you got pretty lucky then—getting chosen for that spot. You’ll definitely be in the final footage. Not many extras get to claim that much face time.”
I shrugged. “Guess this is my big claim to fame then, huh?” I joked.
“I’m sure you’ll get a lot of mileage out of this with your friends, too. You should be able to milk this one for months.”
Visions of Marie and Tammy hugging me into a choke hold made me laugh. “I think you’re right. My friends will definitely torment me for a long time over this.”
I noticed Aiden’s eyes dip down and linger on my chest while a sliver of his tongue swiped his lips, gazing with an apparent hunger to breastfeed. Yeah, I know. No bra and it’s cold in here. I quickly crossed my arms over my chest.
Aiden shook his head infinitesimally, as if my gesture broke the spell to draw his attention back to my eyes. “Hey, he’s coming this way. Do you want me to ask him for an autograph for you? Maybe we can get him to pose for a quick picture. That ought to hold your girlfriends off for a little while. I hear he’s a nice guy.”
A tiny laugh of absurdity slipped out. This guy has no freaking clue who I am, does he? I guess it doesn’t matter to him because he’s mostly just staring at my boobs.
I glanced over toward Ryan, noting his look of displeasure before he stopped to engage Paul, the stunt coordinator. Paul removed his baseball cap and was scratching with one hand and pointing out maneuvers with the other. “No, that’s okay. I don’t want his auto—”
“So . . . Karen. Are you from Vancouver?” Aiden interrupted, motioning toward the ground as if to accentuate that we were actually standing in Vancouver.
“No. Ryan’s my—”
Paul waved his hat and Aiden heaved his body away from the wall. I doubt he even heard a word I said. “Shit. That’s my cue. Time to go to work. I hope you don’t run off anywhere.”
Before I could say anything more, Aiden trotted away, glancing back at me briefly.
I found a discreet place off to the side where I could watch the rest of the filming. As per the script, a barroom brawl ensued. Even though Ryan filmed most of the live action, Aiden handled the more intricate stunts, like having chairs slammed down on his spine. I was glad it was his body taking the abuse and not Ryan’s. I had other plans for Ryan’s body, and they didn’t include patching cuts or watching him writhe in pain all night.
