Geekerella (Starfield #1)(41)

“Spoilsport.”

In the costume trailer, Nicky, the costumes manager, is beating the dirt off Calvin’s costume, muttering darkly. Of course Calvin had to go and put him in a bad mood, so he’ll be in an even worse mood when I tell him that a button’s fraying on my coat. The same button. Again.

“Is this girl anyone I have to worry about?” Gail asks, following me into the costume racks. I decide to wait and tell Nicky about the button tomorrow. I’ll pretend I didn’t notice until then—I’m an actor, right?

“I don’t think so.” I shrug out of the coat and grab a hanger.

Gail’s face scrunches in suspicion. “How’d you meet her?”

I shrug. “The internet?” Sort of true.

“Darien!” she gasps.

“What? It’s cool.”

“It is not cool,” she stresses as I hang up my costume under the nametag FREEMAN, D. “You don’t know who she could be.”

“She’s funny, and nice, and caring.” I unclasp the mandarin collar of my shirt and begin to unbutton it, tugging the tails out of my pants as I think about the girl on the other end of the messages. “And she’s honest. Actually, I think I know her pretty well.”

“Do you two talk about…?” Gail waves a hand around us.

“The costume trailer?” When she gives me a stony look, I grin. “I’m joking. I know what you mean, and no, not really. I mean, she doesn’t know I’m me, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“So you’re lying to her?”

“I’m not lying,” I say quickly. Except now I wonder if that’s true. “She just…she just assumed I was, I don’t know, normal, and I didn’t want to correct her. Don’t give me that look.”

But she’s giving me the eye of disapproval anyway—like she’s my mom or something. Not that I’ve seen my actual mom act like that. I just assume. I shrug out of my shirt, my arm muscles aching from the day’s swordplay. “I will tell her. I mean, someday. I just sort of wanted someone to treat me like a normal person for a while.”

“Oh woe is you being the famous abs-insured actor who wants to be normal.” Gail rolls her eyes. “You’re really in deep, Dare.”

“I’ll tell her,” I assure her. “When it comes up, you know…in natural conversation.”

“No,” Gail says. “You have to end it.”

“End it?” Alarmed, I almost drop my shirt. “Why? That’s not fair!”

“I don’t care if it’s fair. It’s for your own good and you know it.” She looks back at me, her gaze almost entirely steady.

“What are you, my mom? You can’t just tell me who my friends are.”

Gail’s mouth quivers. “If I don’t, Mark will. Dare”—her voice cracks—“I just don’t want any more trouble, you know? No more photos. No more—”

“I know,” I say. “I know, I know.”

I feel horrible, making Gail play the authoritarian. She doesn’t like it and can barely pull it off. On the one hand, I know she’s right, that what I’m doing is stupid and dangerous and can’t last anyway.

But on the other hand…there’s Elle.

“Good,” she murmurs, more to herself than to me, and checks her phone again. “So Lonny’ll be here to pick you up at the front gate. Don’t stand him up.”

“Yeah yeah, roger that—wait, pick me up? What about you?”

Gail squirms, blushing. “Well, I…I’m going, ah, out, and—”

“You’ve got a date!” I accuse. “You’ve got a date and you’re ditching me!”

“Shhhhh!” She slaps a hand over my mouth to muffle the rest of my words. If Mark found out that she was dating while I was on a job, he would flip. Not to say that she can’t, but she shouldn’t during principal photography. “Don’t say it so loud!”

I pull her hand away, grinning. “It’s that gaffer, isn’t it?” When she turns beet red, I laugh. “It’s the gaffer! You traitor!”

“Shush you! Not a word or I’ll—”

“How about this,” I fish my phone out of my jacket pocket and hold it up. “I won’t tell Mark if you won’t?”

I wiggle my eyebrows encouragingly and Gail chews her lip, clearly caught between her loyalties. But apparently whoever this gaffer guy is must be worth it, because eventually she wilts. “This is a bad idea.” She sighs. “But okay.”

After making sure that I’ve got my marching orders for the night, Gail takes off, informing Nicky that I’m in the trailer. Gail, you traitor.

Before I know it, Nicky has zipped over to grab the shirt out of my hands. “You don’t just hang these up!” he screeches—guy’s got a really high voice considering how burly he is. “And where’s your coat? You didn’t get it dirty, did you?”

He snatches the coat out of my hands and holds it at arm’s length. The loose button catches his eye and his mustache twitches. “Putting on weight, are you?”

“No,” I say, stepping out of my pants as defensively as I can. “I mean, if I was, could you blame me? All that protein’s adding up.”