She’s biracial Chinese, so she understands me, but my first one would send me to casting calls for all kinds of ethnicities. In some cases, I’d show up at the audition and be totally mortified, especially since I was still using Rodriguez in my name. I finally put my foot down and refused to go to ‘ethnic’ casting calls unless they specifically listed South East Asian or Latina.”
“What kind of commercials did you do?”
“Oh, lots.” She squinted at the ceiling while she thought about it. “Shampoo, baby diapers, face wash, canned soup. Nothing super embarrassing.”
“My first real role was playing a ranch hand,” Ashton said. “I was twenty-three, living in Mexico, and I told them I could ride horses.”
“Could you?”
He shrugged, feet pounding the treadmill belt in a steady, metronomic rhythm he found so calming. “I’d sat in a saddle a few times, but I was not, by any means, a cowboy. Saying I could ride was a total exaggeration, and let me tell you, that horse knew it.”
She laughed. “But you’ve played other roles that involved horses, right?”
“Well, yeah. After that, I figured I’d better learn to ride for real.”
She gave him a sly look. “My cousin Michelle liked the show where you were a sheriff.”
“Las leyes del corazón y la insignia.” He inclined his head. “That one is a fan favorite.”
She tapped her chin. “I don’t think I’ve worked with any horses. But my storyline on The Glamour Squad involved a poodle, and I had a recurring role on The Young and the Restless that required me to hold a hamster.”
Ashton shook his head. “I can’t imagine playing the same character for decades,” he said, thinking about the English soap operas that ran for generations. He wanted to challenge himself, to improve his skills—but more than that, he wanted the recognition that went with it.
Jasmine shrugged. “It’s good, steady work. Viewers get to watch the characters grow and develop over time. They become familiar.” She shot him an exasperated glance. “Are you really going to keep running while we rehearse?”
“Ah, no.” But he didn’t stop. Running was the only thing keeping him from embarrassing them both. He’d managed not to sprout an erection while filming their make-out scenes together, but something about her bouncing around in spandex was really doing it for him. “What else happens in this episode?”
Jasmine skimmed through the pages as she walked. “There are some scenes where Victor struggles to record new music. Carmen has a heart-to-heart with her father about the family legacy, and Victor auditions for the dance show producers. But he doesn’t get picked.”
“Poor Victor. He’ll be crushed.” Ashton could relate. Even though it came with the territory of being an actor, it sucked not to get the part.
“It looks like the show’s producers think he’s too unreliable—thanks to canceling the tour—so they don’t accept him.”
“Luckily he has Carmen to comfort him.”
“Yes, but she’s Carmen, so you know she’s going to make it a teachable moment.” Jasmine reached over and tapped the rolled-up script he’d stuffed into the drink holder. “Ready to start?”
“Um, sure.” Ashton lowered the speed on the treadmill and wiped his face with a towel. He had to get his desire for her in check. Thank god this episode required less touching.
When he lowered the towel, he caught sight of Jasmine’s face and rushed to pause his treadmill.
Eyes wide, jaw slack, she stared at the wall-mounted TV in abject horror. Ashton reached over to shut off her machine before she tripped, then turned to see what she was looking at.
Puñeta. That pendejo McIntyre filled the screen, leaning in to talk to a very pretty, very young-looking entertainment reporter. The sound was off, but the closed-captioning appeared at the bottom: So, McIntyre, tell us about your new girlfriend. A second later, Jasmine’s face appeared in a box in the corner, next to a photo of another woman who shared an uncanny resemblance.
Before Ashton could say a word, Jasmine scrambled off the treadmill and dashed over to the TV. With desperate movements, she ran her fingers over the edges, probably looking for an off button. When she didn’t find it, she reached behind the TV and yanked the plug. The screen went black.
Breathing hard, she kept her back to him, but Ashton could see her stricken expression in the mirrors.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice hoarse. “But that—”
“I know.” Ashton got off his treadmill and went to stand next to her.