here.”
“Oh, so you’re Birdie’s costar in the movie, right?” Sam continues to play dumb, and Andrew just nods.
“I sure am,” he says with a big smile. “I just stopped by to bring her some coffee and say hello. And now, I shall be on my way to get ready for our next big scene together. I believe it’s Scene 33?” He feigns uncertainty. “Is that right, Birdie?”
I just glare at him, which only makes his smile grow.
“See you on set, sweetheart,” he says, and then, after flashing a little wink in my direction, he turns on his heel and heads out of the tent.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Samantha says and lets out a little wolf whistle as she sits down beside me. “Andrew Watson is even more attractive in person. Which is saying a lot because he is always fuckhot in magazines and shit.”
“Too bad he’s an asshole.”
She eyes me knowingly. “A fuckhot asshole who brought you a coffee.”
“Yeah.” I snort and make a point to toss said coffee into the trash can behind our table and take a sip from the fresh one she just brought over. “He probably poisoned it or something.”
“Man, you really don’t like that guy, do you?”
I shake my head and start spreading butter on my baked potato. “I pretty much loathe him.”
“What’s Scene 33?” she asks and takes a bite of strawberry yogurt.
“God, don’t remind me.”
“What? What’s wrong with that scene?”
“It’s a sex scene, Sam. A freaking sex scene between Arizona and Cal.”
“And that’s the next scene on the books for today?”
“Yep.”
“Oh boy.” She bites her lip to fight her laughter.
“Do tell why you’re one freaking breath away from laughing your ass off.”
A snort escapes her nose. “Aren’t male actors supposed to, like, wear something called a merkin over their junk during sex scenes?”
“A merkin?” I question. “What is that? Some kind of penis mermaid tail?” Cheese and rice, now I’m going to be picturing a penis soldier in a seashell bra.
She cackles. “Lord, I wish. I’m pretty sure it’s basically just a piece of cloth to sort of hide the goods, but it doesn’t really hide the goods.”
“Oh my God,” I whine. “Why would you put this in my head right now?”
She shrugs, and I glare. “Just eat your stupid yogurt.”
Andrew Watson and his size thirteen penis in a merkin?
Maybe I should’ve drunk the coffee he brought me…
A little poison never hurt anyone, right?
I am a confident, sexy, empowered woman who is about to roll around in a bed in front of a whole bunch of people in just a pair of nude panties and a barely-there bra, and I’m perfectly okay with this.
Or at least, that’s what I tried to tell myself the instant I had to remove the robe that was covering my body and step on set.
Frankly, all thoughts of empowerment and confidence went straight out the damn building the instant the cool air hit my exposed skin.
But it’s going to be okay. I can do this. I can film a sex scene.
And it’s not like I’m filming a sex scene for a freaking porno; it’s for a Hollywood film, and the damn thing even fades to black before it gets too frisky.
Yes. Yes. You can do this.
“Okay, Birdie.” Howie directs me toward the sprawling bed on set and gently instructs me with his words on where he would like me to begin for the first few lovemaking action shots.
A little to the left. A little to the right. An elongated neck. A slight curve to my spine.
My nerves make it impossible for me to do any of it smoothly, but Howie stays patient and continues to guide me with encouragement and lack of judgment.
He gets it. I can see in his eyes that he gets it. And he’s doing everything in his power to make me comfortable.
“That’s perfect, Birdie,” he says and offers a kind smile. But when he glances over his shoulder to look for my costar, it seems the man of the hour is nowhere to be found. “Where the fuck is Andrew?” Howie questions and turns on his heel to stride out of the shot and toward his director’s chair. “He should’ve been here fifteen minutes ago.”
“I’m not sure,” Serena responds with a shrug. “He knew we were starting at two o’clock sharp.”
“I’m here! I’m here!” Mr. Hollywood himself comes striding toward us with a big ole grin etched across his lips. “My apologies for my tardiness.”
“You’re fifteen minutes late,” Howie snaps, irritation evident in his