Spoiler Alert (Spoiler Alert #1)(10)
His fellow cast members would likely feel betrayed too. Same with the crew.
He should give up his fanfic alter ego. He knew it. And he would, he would, if only the writing didn’t mean so much to him, if only the Lavineas server group didn’t mean so much to him, if only Ulsie—
Ulsie. God, Ulsie.
He wanted to meet her in person almost as much as he wanted a clear path forward in his career, in his public life. Under the circumstances, though, that was never, ever going to happen. So he would appreciate what they could have. What they did have.
And what they could have, what they did have, he wasn’t giving up. Contract violation be damned.
After deleting R.J. and Ron’s email, he ignored the rest of his inbox and checked Twitter instead.
His notifications were bristling with commentary on the photos Vika had posted of him overnight, complete with multiple references to him as a dirty boy. There were a few pleas for retweets and birthday wishes, as well as some impressive examples of fan art.
Nothing he either needed or intended to answer. For the most part, he used this account entirely for the sake of publicity, retweeting especially flattering pics and alerts for con appearances and upcoming episodes. Occasionally he responded to one of his Gods of the Gates costars’ tweets, but that was about it. Keeping up the Well-Groomed Golden Retriever act was tiring enough in person; he had no intention of continuing the performance on the internet unless absolutely necessary.
His real online life happened on one site. Okay, two sites: the Lavineas server and AO3.
Ulsie hadn’t responded to his DMs yet. Dammit.
He could wait a few more minutes before giving up and getting breakfast, though. With a sigh, he scrolled back further through his Twitter notifications, until he reached ones from an hour or so ago. Then he hesitated when an odd word caught his eye.
Hoifer. No, heifer.
Heifer?
Frowning, he paused. Read the actual tweet.
It was connected to a photo of a curvy, pretty redhead cosplaying Lavinia. She’d apparently posted the pic in response to the official Gods of the Gates Twitter account’s request for images of fan costumes. Then some prick had attached his own commentary to the redhead’s tweet, comparing her to a farm animal.
He’d tagged Marcus too, inviting his favorite actor to join in the hilarity at the very idea that a woman like—Marcus checked her Twitter handle—@Lavineas5Ever could ever imagine herself capable of portraying Aeneas’s on-screen love interest.
She hadn’t responded, but other fanboys had piled on afterward, and shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
He couldn’t just ignore this.
He wanted to respond: She’s lovely, and I don’t want to be an asshole’s favorite actor. Stop watching Gods of the Gates and go fuck yourself.
His agent would keel over dead. The showrunners would explode. His carefully crafted persona would fracture, maybe irreparably, in a completely uncontrolled way.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, then pinched his forehead between thumb and forefinger as he thought hard.
Minutes later, he dictated his actual response. I know beauty when I see it, probably because I see it in the mirror every day. @Lavineas5Ever is gorgeous, and Lavinia couldn’t ask for a better tribute.
He tried to leave it there. He really did.
But Jesus Christ, this guy was a total dick.
Come on dude, @GodsOfMyTaints tweeted moments later. Stop the hippocritical white knight shit, like u would ever let yourself get within 15 feet of that cow.
The shitstain had left poor @Lavineas5Ever tagged in his tweet, and Marcus hoped to fuck she’d muted this particular conversation long ago. But in case she hadn’t, he couldn’t leave it there. He just . . . couldn’t.
With a click of his mouse, he followed @Lavineas5Ever. Which made her one of only 286 people he followed, all the rest of whom were connected to the movie and television industry in one way or another. A quick glance at her profile revealed she lived in California. Convenient, that.
He couldn’t DM her first, since she didn’t follow him. Which was fair, since he wouldn’t follow an account as uninteresting and useless as his, either.
Over two million people did follow him, however. He sincerely hoped any other assholes among those followers saw his next tweet.
I’m no white knight, just a man who likes a beautiful woman on his arm. When I get back to California from filming, @Lavineas5Ever, will you please have dinner with me?
Then he sat back against his headboard, arms folded across his chest, and waited for her response.
*
April blinked at her laptop screen.
Yup.
Marcus CasterRupp had definitely asked her to dinner.
Marcus. Caster. Hyphen. Rupp.
Not to repeat herself, but: Holy fuuuuuuuck.
The dude had graced countless magazine covers, biceps flexing. She saw him on her television screen every week, and had saved more than a few photos of him to her hard drive.
And he’d just . . . asked her out?
Wow. Wow.
If she were being picky about which of the Gods of the Gates actors she’d want to date, if only for a single evening, she’d definitely have chosen the guy who played Cupid, Alexander Woodroe, instead.
But CasterRupp was hot. No doubt about that. Not ridiculously muscular, but tall and lean and undeniably strong and fit. She’d been known to sigh over close-ups of his thick, veined forearms before, not to mention gifs of his first love scene with Dido, because damn. That ass. Round and working and . . . delicious.