rising over LA is breathtaking, by evidence of Denver struggling to breathe. Surely that’s the reason. It couldn’t be that I’m making him hike almost three miles in the Santa Monica hills. Nope. Not at all. He bends at the waist and puts his hands on his knees. Okay, maybe it is this hiking thing. Hiking, running … totally the same thing.
We’re both covered in sweat, and my heart pounds. It kinda feels like I need to vomit, but Denver? He looks like he’s ready to collapse right here in the dirt.
“I think I worked out our problem,” I say, panting now that we’re apparently taking a break.
“That you’re an evil bastard and are making me run? Uphill? What is wrong with you? Who hurt you as a child?”
“Our problem,” I continue, “is that we haven’t been onstage for-fucking-ever. Those boy band dance moves were lame, but damn, they burned calories and gave us some muscle definition. You’re skinny fit now.”
He glances up at me, his face all red and splotchy. “Like the jeans?”
“Nooo. One would think you’re deliriously dehydrated. I mean you look fit, but you’re just skinny. Me, I look lazy and overweight, but I have muscles hidden under the padding from my time on the tree farm.”
Denver finally stands up straight. “You’re not overweight, for fuck’s sake.”
“By Hollywood standards—”
“Hollywood standards are ridiculous and impossible to maintain. Seriously, after dating actresses, I can’t be with another person who counts calories and yells at me when they eat a whole chocolate pie to themselves like it was my fault for not stopping them.”
“That was totally that Heather chick, right?”
“You know about her? She and I only broke up …” He looks like he’s trying to remember the last time he saw her. According to the tabloids, right or not, they broke up right before she flew to Atlanta to shoot her next teenage action flick. She’s thirty and still plays a sixteen-year-old.
“It’s been about four months,” I say for him. “I followed that story. She seemed …” I purse my lips, trying to think of the politest way to say it.
“Batshit,” Denver says. “Never trust a Heather.”
“She does seem like the type of erratic actress who lets her crazy flow so she can ‘feel the rainbow of emotions at the drop of a hat.’”
Denver cocks his head. “Did you date her too?”
I laugh. “Nah. Dated one back in the day, though. Remember Beth?”
“Oooh, yeah. She hated me.”
“She hated everyone.”
“Probably because she was constantly dieting and starving. I’d yell a hell of a lot more if I was hangry too.” Denver steps into my space now and lowers his voice. “Which is why you shouldn’t be pushing so hard at this. Exercise is healthy, and that’s great, but please don’t become obsessive over it. I love your body.”
“To be fair, I’m pretty sure you loved it back when I was scrawny like you too.”
He scowls. “Can we stop with the body shaming, please? For both of us?”
An elderly couple pushes past us, and I step closer to him to let them through. It’s a good excuse to press against him. “Just so you know, I’m messing with you, but I’ll stop. I’ll try to stop calling myself names too, but it’s hard when online haters are still claiming I ate the guy who used to be Mason Nash.”
“Fuck them, Mase. They don’t matter. They also need to come up with something more original.”
“What I’m going through is nothing compared to what women get in the industry, but you know what it’s like when something is said about you so many times that you start to believe it. And if Eleven is getting back together—”
Denver throws his hand over my mouth. “Shh, the trees have ears.”
I try to talk, but it comes out all muffled. “We don’t live in Narnia.”
He ignores me. “They’ll tell Harley you’re contemplating coming back, and then he will literally camp on our doorstep until the end of time. Or until we relent and sign to his new label.”
“Okay.” My voice is still muffled, but then he removes his hand. “My point was I will try to stop being so hard on myself.”
“Thank you. Because you deserve better.”
I lean in. “And for the record, I love your body the way it is too.”
There’s the look I wanted. The awe of Mason said something seriously not-straight sounding.
“If we weren’t in public, I’d show you how much,” I mutter. “But we are. So come on. Those sixty-year-olds are beating