Geekerella (Starfield #1)(57)

“You sure had the spirit,” comes Jess’s sweet honey-and-salt voice. She hops back onto the set and punches me in the shoulder. “You even looked torn when you said ah’blena. Tell me, were you thinking about not seeing me every day anymore or the absolute sadness that we didn’t make out more?”

I slide on a grin, because she doesn’t need to know. “Maybe a little of both.”

“My word, are you making jokes, Darien?” She puts her hand on her chest, aghast. “What a pity! Maybe we could’ve dated for twenty-four days instead of twenty-three.”

“You couldn’t handle one more day of me,” I reply as she leans against the captain’s command module with me. We stare out at the set, at the crew beginning to wrap up the wires, at the secondary unit getting notes on what they still need to film. Our parts are done, for the most part. Our parts are done in this building, at least. After tonight, we’ll leave this lot and never look back.

She knocks her shoulder against mine. “So how does it feel?”

“How does what feel?”

“To be Darien again?”

I tilt my head. “I’m not sure yet. I’d been waiting to feel like Carmindor for so long—waiting for it all to just sort of click—that I didn’t realize I’ve been him all along.”

“Maybe you were Carmindor in another life,” she teases.

“Maybe. But right now I’d rather be Darien.”

“Yeah?”

I nod. “Because Darien is not on a diet.” Then I lean into her and whisper, “Baaaaccccccccoooooon.”

She laughs and shoves off the control module, gliding off set. Calvin follows her, giving me a congratulatory slap on the shoulder that almost makes me stumble. Who knows. Maybe now that we’re not filming, we’re bros.

The PAs are passing out champagne as I walk off set; one of them hands me a glass on her rotation around the room. Amon, grinning ear to ear, shushes the crowd and does his little director speech. I listen half-heartedly to most of it, my attention roaming across everyone, familiar and not, the crew, the actors, the assistants, the interns.

Amon turns to me, his glass raised. “And most importantly, to our Carmindor, the infallible genius boy that he is. Long live the Federation Prince! Here’s to the possibility of a sequel!”

At that, I find Jess in the crowd and see that her face is impassive, like stone. But then she raises her cup, slowly, and locks eyes with me. Told you, she mouths and winks.

“Look to the stars!” He begins to chant.

Everyone raises their glasses. “Aim!” they cry.

I swallow, raising my glass. “Ignite!” I add, and we cheer to the twenty-three days of hell and then down our champagne.

Once Donna rubs the makeup off me for the last time, I head to wardrobe, where Nicky is busily hanging all the costumes, treating them as delicately as he did the first day on set.

“Darien! You were perfect.” Nicky shuffles up to begin unbuttoning my jacket, but I hold up my hands.

“Actually…” I scratch the back of my neck. “I know this is weird, but I was wondering…”

“If you could have it,” he fills in. He stops unbuttoning and folds his arms. “You know, just because you wear it, it’s not yours.”

“I know.” My cheeks get hot. “I mean, I heard George Clooney got to keep his Batnipple suit, and Ryan Reynolds got to keep his Deadpool…look, there’s just this event coming up tomorrow, and I don’t have anything to wear. So I guess I was sort of hoping you could let me borrow it at least?”

“And never return it?” Nicky looks stricken. I half-shrug, half-nod, and Nicky rolls his eyes to the ceiling with a sigh.

“I’m not a part of this criminal act at all.” He flaps his hands at me to go change. “I must’ve misplaced your costume. Oh woe is me!” And with a groan, he throws his arm over his eyes in a fake swoon.

I thank him—quietly—and promise to get it back to him in a week.

Gail and Lonny find me as I’m tugging on my shirt. I can’t wait until my clothes start fitting normal again and aren’t uncomfortably tight around the chest. I can’t wait to go back to all the familiar comics T-shirts that don’t fit me at this bulked-out size.

“Well?” Gail says. “How is it? How do you feel?”

“I can eat bacon again!” I yell, throwing up a fist. “All the bacon! Bacon or bust!”

“Yes!” Gail cheers. “After your promo shoots, you absolutely can!”

My cries of glee turn into an actual sob. I quickly shove my face into my arm. Thank god it’s just Gail.

She pats me on the shoulder. “I know,” she says. “But you’ll get to have it soon, and then—”

“No.” I swallow and shake my head, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “It’s not the bacon.” I mean, it is but it’s also not. I’m overcome right now with everything. These last few months leading up to the shoot, the mounting pressure, the twenty-three days of high stress and rabbit food and Elle. All of it. “Why does it have to be so hard?”

“Getting a six pack?”

I give her a feeble smile. “I am more than my body, thank you.”

Gail squeezes my shoulder and even though she’s only a few years older than I am, I feel a burst of kidlike affection, like she’s the cool babysitter who lets me stay up late when Mark’s not around.