You Had Me at Hola(29)

“Probably for the best,” she said, then gestured at the small sofa. “Can I sit?”

He nodded, but a sinking feeling dragged at his gut. He had some idea of what had brought her here. It wouldn’t be the first time a female costar had proposed this, but it would be the first time in a long time he’d be tempted to say yes. Ever since Yadiel had been born, he had a strict policy against hooking up with costars. He’d tried dating with the intention of a relationship, but it had always gotten too complicated, and he’d finally given up. There was no room in his life for romance. Only the on-screen kind.

Although as Jasmine settled herself onto the sofa and crossed her long legs, he wished . . .

For something he couldn’t have.

“Are you going to sit down?” she asked.

“Ah, sí.” He perched on the rolling stool in front of the narrow counter.

“You disappeared pretty quickly,” she remarked.

“I had to make a phone call.”

She nodded, like she was waiting for him to offer more information, but when he didn’t, she went on.

“There’s something I wanted to propose—”

“Jasmine, I don’t think it’s such a good idea for us to—”

“You don’t want to run lines together?” Her eyebrows dipped with hurt.

He blinked. “Run lines?”

“Yeah. You know, practice memorizing our lines?”

“Of course. I mean, yes, I know what—”

“Why, what did you think I was going to—”

Carajo, he’d really stepped in it now. The back of his neck burned with embarrassment. “I thought . . . never mind.”

Her eyebrows arched. “Well, now you have to tell me.”

It was going to sound horrible, but she pinned him with such a direct look, he couldn’t think of a lie. “Ah, I thought you were going to . . . you know, suggest we . . .”

“What, sleep together?” she said, at the same time he said, “Practice kissing.”

Jasmine shot to her feet, then froze. “Wait, what?”

Ashton rubbed the back of his neck and wished he really could disappear. “I thought you were going to say we should practice kissing since we did such a terrible job of it today.”

She laughed. “No. I mean, yes, we did, but obviously that wasn’t going to be my suggestion.”

He gave a rueful smile. “Seventeen takes.”

“Exactly. I mean, that’s just embarrassing.”

“I was thinking the same thing before you got here,” he admitted. “It’s totally embarrassing. I keep waiting for someone to bust in and revoke my Romantic Hero Card.”

Her face broke into a grin. “Oh, stop.”

“Verdad. That’s who I thought was knocking.”

She laughed full out, and he was struck again by her beauty, but also her openness. He was seeing the real Jasmine.

And he liked her.

No hay lugar en tu vida para ella, he reminded himself.

Still chuckling, Jasmine resumed her seat. “I’m sorry I accused you of accusing me of trying to proposition you. And I agree, we shouldn’t practice kissing without Vera. But I do think she’s on to something.”

“Oh, yeah?” He couldn’t help smiling. “Which part? Vera has a lot to say.”

“The communication part.” Jasmine worried her lower lip with her teeth and Ashton wished she’d stop. It was too enticing. “I just . . . I feel like we don’t know each other. And you can’t tell me you don’t think it’s affecting our performances.”

“No. I can’t.” The words well enough echoed in his head.

Jasmine opened her shoulder bag and pulled out a script. “I brought episode four with me,” she said. “We should talk about the scenes we’re about to shoot, but I also think we need to debrief that terrible kiss.”

“It was pretty bad,” he agreed, then rushed to clarify. “Not you. But the whole thing . . .”

“We could’ve done better,” she finished for him, then let out a breath. “Okay, communication time. I’ll start by admitting that I was a little preoccupied.”

“Preoccupied?” he prompted, eager to hear what she meant.

“Well.” She shifted on the sofa like she was nervous, and her gaze darted away from his, ping-ponging around the room. “I can’t help feeling . . . like you’re mad at me.”

His brow creased. She thought he was mad at her? “What would I have to be angry about?” he asked. “If anything, you’re the one who should be mad at me for dumping an iced coffee on you.”

She grimaced. “Yes, that was very cold. But you always run off after we’re done filming, and never go out with the cast, so I . . . I thought it might be because of me.”

She sounded so unsure and sad, he rushed to reassure her. “Jasmine, te lo prometo, no estoy enojado contigo.”

When her brows drew together, he repeated the words in English. “I promise, I’m not mad at you.”

She dropped her gaze. “You’ve probably guessed that I can’t speak Spanish. Or at least, not fluently.”

“That did occur to me,” he said gently. “The audience won’t be able to tell, though. You’re doing great.”