other. She’d started to feel like he was warming up to her—she didn’t think she’d imagined his reaction to her over the mofongo broth—but after that, he’d only looked at her when the script called for it.
Not to mention, their high fives were shameful. If they couldn’t even get that right, how could they convince an audience that they were madly in lust?
And they had to. The show hinged on the rekindling of Carmen and Victor’s romance. If they couldn’t nail that, then what was the point? The show would flop. She’d be back to the dwindling world of soap operas, and it would be another mark against mainstream Latinx-led projects.
Jasmine: I think we’re just not communicating well.
Michelle: “Communicating.” Is that what the kids call it these days?
Jasmine: You know what I mean. We never talk, so of course our characters are going to be weird around each other when it’s time for THOSE scenes.
Ava: Is there one of THOSE scenes? Asking for a friend. Who is me.
Jasmine: I’m not 100% sure. We don’t get the whole season of scripts in advance.
Michelle: What, are they scared they’ll leak?
Jasmine: No, the writers are still working on later episodes as we film.
Ava: I don’t think talking to him is a bad idea. You can get on the same page and agree to work together to make the show a success.
Michelle: LOL “on the same page.” Nice one, Ava.
Ava added a winking emoji sticking out a tongue.
It seemed simple—just talk to him! But Ashton’s behavior stirred up all her old fears of being rejected, and reaching out seemed like the most difficult task in the world. But if they weren’t communicating well, sitting in separate dressing rooms between takes wasn’t going to change that. He clearly wasn’t going to bridge the gap between them, so that meant it was up to her.
Jasmine: All right, I’m gonna do it.
Michelle: Do what?
Jasmine: I’m going to go talk to him.
Ava sent a row of confetti emojis.
Jasmine: Thanks, primas. What would I do without you two?
Michelle replied with a winking kiss emoji.
Taking a deep breath, Jasmine freshened her lipstick, grabbed her script, and left the room.
WITH THE KITCHEN kiss complete, Ashton raced back to his dressing room to check his phone.
After finding a series of text updates—Abuelito Gus was given antibiotics and Yadiel’s wrist was sprained but not broken—Ashton finally relaxed. Everyone was fine.
Except now he had time to think about what a disaster his performance today had been.
Seventeen takes? For a kiss that they’d rehearsed in detail? Ay Dios. He was losing his edge as a romantic male lead.
At thirty-eight, he worried about the gray hairs he’d started sporting in his beard and how much harder it had become to maintain his muscle tone. His skin care and workout routines were already ridiculous; he wasn’t sure what else he could do in those areas, aside from finding a vampire to make him immortal. But if he did that, his grandmother would never speak to him again, so morning gym sessions and expensive lotions were all he had. But what if he was just a pretty face? He knew he had more to give as an actor, but now he was finally being given the chance to prove himself, and he was blowing it.
Jasmine had been amazing, immediately leaping into the emotions of the scene with each take and executing the kissing and heavy petting choreography perfectly. She had to have been getting tired of having his hands and mouth all over her, but she hadn’t let any signs of exhaustion show. Ashton had taken strength from that. But he couldn’t get out of his own head enough to let Victor take over 100 percent. And somehow, it had shown. Ilba, Ofelia, Marquita—none of them could place a finger on what was wrong with the scene, exactly. Just that something wasn’t right.
Ashton couldn’t argue with them. For one thing, he made a habit of not arguing with directors. But since he didn’t know what was wrong, he didn’t know how to fix it. So as much as it wasn’t a hardship to be close to Jasmine—or her hot curves and lush mouth—he hadn’t enjoyed it. It was work. And it sucked to feel like he wasn’t doing well at his job.
Bypassing his new espresso machine for a sweeter option, Ashton popped a hazelnut pod into his dressing room’s single cup coffee maker just as someone knocked on the door. It was so tentative, he wasn’t sure it