Stars in Your Eyes(19)

I raise an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“You’re amazing.”

He still won’t look at me. It’s a little hard to figure him out right now. Is he actually starting to flirt with me?

I rub an impatient hand through my hair. “You’re not as bad as I thought.”

He looks up, surprised.

“I misspoke. At that interview, I mean. I shouldn’t have said you have zero talent without giving you a chance.”

“My table read was pretty bad,” he admits.

“Yeah, it was. But you came on a full two months after I did. I had a chance to get to know Quinn more. You’ve still got some areas to work on, sure,” I say, “but I wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

He looks pleasantly surprised. “Thanks, Gray.”

We’re quiet. I can see outside that there’re a few guys with cameras, snapping away. Mission complete.

“Can I ask you something?” Mattie says. He’s even more nervous, playing with the napkin on the table.

“Sure.”

“Do you have—um—any advice for me?”

“Advice?”

“Tips,” he says. “To become better.”

To be a better actor? “Well, the one thing that’s struck me is that you hide what you’re really feeling.”

“What do you mean?”

“You always have on this smile. If you got in touch with your true emotions more often, instead of trying to be positive all the time, you might get realer with yourself. Authentic. That’ll let you express more emotion at the end of the day.”

He doesn’t say anything to this. I can’t tell if he’s peeved that I basically called him fake, or if he’s taking it in. “Yeah,” he finally says. “I think I know what you mean.” He nods, meeting my eye. “Thank you.”

Huh. Wasn’t expecting that reaction. There’s more, I can tell—something he’s thinking, maybe on the edge of saying, but he changes his mind and picks up his glass of water. There’s no point in staying here much longer. Dave’s revised schedule will have us announcing that we’re officially boyfriends in a few weeks. This was the easy part. That’s when the real work will begin.

More cameras click. Some heads are turning. So much attention, so many whispers. Mattie squirms.

I smirk. “You’re an actor, you know,” I tell him. “You might want to get a little more comfortable with the spotlight.”

He scratches an ear. “I’ve always hated being the center of attention.”

I almost laugh, before I realize he isn’t joking. I want to say something sarcastic. Maybe this isn’t the best industry for him. But I don’t know. I feel a little bad for golden boy. I’m not bad with the spotlight. I’m used to it. But I’ve had my days, too, when I can’t stand being around so many people, watching my every move.

“Wanna get out of here?”

“And end the date? Dave said we should be together for at least two hours. Make it look like we’re having a good time.”

“Yeah, well. We’re not having a good time. Might as well hang out somewhere else.”

He looks like the brainiac A+ student who was just offered pot by the bad boy behind the bleachers. “I don’t know.”

I roll my eyes. “Come on, Matt. Fuck it. Let’s go.”





Mattie




I think Gray might be taking me on his idea of a good date—not that we’re actually on a date. It’s not hard to remember that. Gray barely talks to me in the car, except to grumble that the food at the restaurant is shit. He drives me to a taco truck about fifteen minutes away, across empty avenues and boulevards, beneath underpasses and past the glimmering glass of shops and restaurants, the expected avenues lined with palm trees.

It’s chillier now that it’s night, open windows letting in a cool breeze. I have no idea where we are when we reach a parking lot that’s empty except for a couple sitting at a bench. After placing an order for sweet potato and plantain tacos, we sit on the edge of the sidewalk and—

“Holy God.”

He smirks. He can be so smug. “Yup.”

“How is it so juicy?”

“I know.”

We finish eating in silence. Gray dusts his hands off. “You have tacos in—Georgia, right? That’s where you’re from?”

I stare at him, not sure if he’s joking. “What? Gray—yes, of course we have tacos in Georgia.”

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t know. It’s the South. All I ever hear about the South is that there’s a shit ton of racism and anti-gay churches and shit like that.”

“How does that translate into no tacos?”

“Fuck, Matt. I was just messing around, okay?”

I squint at him, not sure if he was really kidding or not. “Besides—I mean, yeah, there’s racism and homophobia, but just like anywhere, right?”

“Sure. It’s not as bad here, though.”

I’m not so sure about that. I haven’t dealt with anti-gay slurs since I arrived in LA, but maybe it’s because I’m working on a set every day for a gay romance film. Besides that, there’s definitely racism here. It’s just the kind that’s hidden behind smiles.