And to my surprise, several women stand there, eyes focused toward our table.
Well, shit, where’d they come from?
“Who in the fuck are you texting with?” he asks. “Does the chick have a magical pussy or something?”
I internally cringe a little at his use of wording to describe the actual woman behind the messages. Especially since she’s the lead female in his movie.
No doubt, Howie wouldn’t be pleased if he knew my current focus has been on the challenging little temptress otherwise known as my costar. Truthfully, he’d probably be pretty fucking pissed. Grass Roots is his baby, and there is a zero-tolerance policy for putting one of Howie’s film babies in any kind of jeopardy.
“It’s my brother,” I lie…again. “I mean, I don’t think he has a magical pussy, but what do I know? It’s been years since we’ve lived under the same roof, and we don’t do a lot of sexting.”
“Your brother is the one who has your full attention in the middle of this fucking club? You really expect me to believe that line of crap?” he asks, narrowing his eyes as the music swells to an oppressive beat. The strobe lights sweep over our booth obnoxiously.
Shit. He has a point, and I instantly start searching for a plausible reason that I’d be texting my older brother in the middle of a nightclub that is chock-full of beautiful female patrons.
“He’s worried about Kelly.” I keep the lying train moving. Choo motherfucking choo! “She’s uh…going through some shit with her job.”
I feel a little guilty for pulling my sister-in-law into my web of bullshit, but whatever. She’s a means to an end, and she’ll never have to know.
“Ah fuck. My bad, dude.” His eyes glaze over with concern. “Is she okay?”
“She’ll be fine.” I wave him off with a nonchalant hand.
Howie nods in understanding I don’t deserve, but I don’t waste any time thinking about it too much.
Instead, I rein in my desire to keep playing with the little Firecracker in my text inbox and send her one final text message.
Me: That’s okay. We’ll have plenty of time to mend fences when we start shooting in less than two weeks. And thanks again for my beautiful flowers, sweetheart.
Firecracker: I have a great idea, Andrew.
Okay, maybe not one final text message…
Me: I’m all ears.
I have to swallow back my laugh when I read her response.
Firecracker: Lose my number.
Me: Like I’d lose my emergency contact’s number. ;)
Firecracker: Oh my God. Go away.
Me: See you real soon, sweetheart.
Birdie
Some of the greatest rewards in life come from doing the things that scare you the most. That’s what my granny used to say.
Today, of all days, I really hope she’s right. I’m sitting at a table filled with some of Hollywood’s most important people, trying to play it cool and pretend I know what I’m doing, but I’m completely out of my element—and terrified.
This is the first official day of filming for Grass Roots, and our director has gathered us all for an early morning table-read before we dive into the meat and potatoes of shooting the first scene.
And the gang is literally all here. Howie King, Serena Koontz, and Nell Franz.
Tawny Rose—who will be playing Delilah, one of Arizona’s best friends.
Johnny Johnston—who was cast as Jude Dean, a man who is close friends with Cal Loggins and will eventually be the drummer in Arizona’s band and a man whose affection for her will be a huge catalyst for Cal.
Along with my other costars, Chris Cowley, Luke Sardini, Olivia Forest, Lauren Baker, and many other actors and actresses who will be a part of this project.
All well-known names in Hollywood.
All people who know what they’re doing, unlike me.
Everyone starts to settle into their seats around the vast table, and I lift the cup of coffee I grabbed from craft services to my mouth with a shaky hand and take a sip.
Jesus. I’m so nervous, and we haven’t even started.
The coffee is hot, too damn hot, and my first reaction is to spew it all over the goddamn place. But the value of emotional self-preservation in this situation is greater than the physical, and as a result, I settle for burning off half my taste buds. If I’m lucky they’ll grow back, and if not, maybe the inability to enjoy anything will do some of the work when it comes to curbing my appetite.
“Hi,” a calm male voice says beside me, and I lift my eyes from the