Geekerella (Starfield #1)(47)
I hate that I’m falling for someone I don’t even know.
“WITH THE SOLAR FLUX CAPACITOR BREACHING critical mass, I don’t—I mean, I do—shit.” Calvin/Euci shoves away from me, shark teeth glinting. “What’s my line again?”
I beat his PA to it and intone, “With the solar flux capacitor breaching critical mass, I don’t see any other way, Your Highness.”
Calvin glares at me. “I didn’t ask you. What do you want, extra credit for knowing my lines too?”
I shrug and adjust my collar as he composes himself. The ADR shakes her head, muttering something to the director. Amon nods, checking his watch, before he signals to her again.
“All right, we’ll take an hour. Dinner break!” the ADR shouts at the crew. “And we got barbecue catering tonight! Cal, can you run your lines while you’re at dinner?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters and hops off the stage.
It’s unreal how fast the techs and assistants drop their work and make a beeline for the exit. I sigh, sinking down to the edge of the fake bridge, unbuttoning my jacket collar. The set empties out faster than bleachers during halftime at a high school football game.
A PA comes to take my jacket, but I tell her I can do it myself. She’s older, college age, probably interning for cheap—or no—pay. She thumbs back to the door. “Are you coming to eat at least?”
I give her a thankful smile. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a few.”
When she’s gone, I reach into my jacket and fish out my phone. I’m getting better at hiding it. Not texting as often, doing it on breaks when no one’s watching. It sucks, and I feel like a jerk for not answering Elle quickly. But at least I answer eventually.
Elle 3:02 PM
—Day 2 of Frank the Tank at work is amazing
—He’s such a ham
—[1 attachment]
Elle 4:21 PM
—I think tonight I’ll introduce my friend to the Amara eps.
—Let her cry it out
—Although I’m not sure if she cries
—I mean, I’m going to cry
—Maybe she’s the crying-because-other-people-cry type
Elle 6:32 PM
—Do you ever wonder what would’ve happened if she had never saved his ass?
I smirk, because I know the exact answer to that.
7:43 PM
—He probably would’ve died.
—Also hi Sorry for not replying sooner
—Got in trouble for texting at work
“Oh look, it’s the Ice King doing what he does best—being antisocial.”
The sound of Jess’s voice makes me jump. I shove my phone into my jacket and spin around to face her. She’s changed out of her costume, back into yoga pants and a tank top, her dark hair pulled into a ponytail. In her hands are two plates of barbecue.
I lift a brow. “One of those for me?”
She chuckles, sitting down beside me. “I only share with social people.”
“I’m social enough.”
“You totally aren’t, dude.” She hands me a plate anyway. “How’re you supposed to work the crowd if you’re sitting over in a corner texting all day?”
“It’s not my job,” I argue, taking the plate. It smells delicious. Oh and look—she remembered not to put bread or any sort of carbs on my plate. Only protein and greens. I swear, if I can just have one piece of bread, I’ll never lie about my texting habits again. “And genius sells itself, anyway.”
Jess gives me a look. “Watch out, your ego’s showing.”
“It ain’t easy being me.”
“Hm.” She swings her legs back and forth, looking out over the soundstage. “My agent’s in talks with this indie project,” she says after a moment.
“Oh yeah?” I say through a full mouth. “Whassit ’bout?”
“This small-town girl who lives a double life as a deejay. I read the script and it’s good. It’s really good. And I’d be so good in it.”
“You have the talent.” I swallow my food. “I mean, no one can run in heels like you can.”
“Want me to stab you with one?” she threatens. I raise my hands in surrender. “It’s a good project—small but cool, you know? And I’m a perfect fit for the lead.”
But she doesn’t sound happy about it. I study her for a moment.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Starfield,” she says simply.
“I’m…not following.”
She exhales slowly. “Starfield’s the matter. It’s got this huge following—fans are coming out of the woodwork. Those Stargunners. If they rally around this movie, pay attention to it, make it a success…”
Realization dawns. “If there are Starfield sequels, you can’t do that role.”
“It’d conflict with my contract.” She sighs. “I’m already twenty-two, Darien. And a woman. I know you love this, but my expiration date’s coming a little faster than yours. I can’t waste another three years being a space princess. Space princesses don’t win Oscars.” Morosely, she picks at her food, separating the green beans from the barbecue, her lips curved into a frown. “So much for a springboard. Maybe I should just hope it bombs—oh jeez.” She gasps and looks over at me with wide, apologetic eyes. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that. It was word vomit. I know this is your dream role. I’m so sorry. I suck.”