Stars in Your Eyes(26)

“Daddy issues, huh?” Gray says. “Who in this city doesn’t have that?”

I look up at him and wonder if he includes himself in that category, but I don’t have the courage to ask.

“Can’t use that as an excuse for the rest of your life. Come on, Mattie,” he says. “Get mad.”

“I’m not sure I know how.”

“Who pisses you off the most?”

“Right now? You.”

“That’s fair,” he says without flinching. There’s something about the way he’s watching me now—carefully, curiously. “What pisses you off about me?”

I bite my lip. “I don’t know. I guess I’m jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Not just of your acting, though I envy that, too. I’m jealous that you do whatever you want, whenever you want, not caring about what other people will think or say—even if people will hate you for it. It doesn’t seem fair,” I tell him, a small laugh escaping, though it sounds bitter even to my ear. “I follow all of the rules, exactly the way I’m supposed to, and you…”

He’s still staring at me with that look. He doesn’t answer for a while. And then he says, “Maybe you just need someone to help you break the rules.”

I’m not completely sure what he means by that, but I think I have enough of an idea. My skin gets hot. He meets my eye like it’s a challenge, not blinking or looking away—and then he smirks, like it was just a joke. Right. Why would Logan Gray be interested in someone like me?

“At Alli Mai,” I start, then pause, struggling to gather my thoughts. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About authenticity, I mean.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, to be authentic,” I say before taking a deep breath, trying to push the words out, “I have shame about a lot of things.”

He squints at me. “Like what?”

God, this is so embarrassing to admit. “I’m ashamed that I’m gay.”

He raises his eyebrows, and I wait for the barrage of judgment. How can I be ashamed of my sexuality? I’m the queer lead of a queer movie, one of the most beloved openly gay celebrities.

Logan still doesn’t say anything, and I feel the need to cover up the silence. “I know,” I say, forcing a laugh. “I’m a total fraud.”

He frowns. “That isn’t what I was going to say.”

That’s surprising. “What were you going to say, then?”

Logan looks away. “Just that I’m sorry, I guess. That sounds hard.”

I blink and look away, too. “Oh.”

“Why do you think you’re ashamed?”

“My dad never accepted me the way that I needed him to.”

“Right. Conservative Christian and thinks it’s a sin.”

I’m surprised he remembers our conversation over tacos. “Yeah. Exactly.” I’m not comfortable with the spotlight on me, so I shift it to him. “What about you? Did your parents accept that you’re bisexual?” He’d told me how the industry rejected him, but he never spoke about his parents.

“I don’t know if my mom accepted me. We never spoke about it. She has to know by now, right? My dad—not as much,” Logan says. “But not because he thinks it’s wrong. He was more concerned about the money. If I was going to lose out on work because I’m bi, if people wouldn’t want to support his productions because of me, that kind of shit.”

“Your dad didn’t accept you, too, but you’re not ashamed of being bi.”

“No, I’m not,” Logan says. “I spent too much energy not giving a fuck to care about something like that.”

And that—yes, that’s what I’m jealous of, what I wish I could figure out for myself.

“What’re you going to do?” he asks me.

“About what?”

“The scenes with you and me.”

My entire body burns. My throat closes up. “I think I was kind of hoping that those scenes would help me, actually,” I say. “Help me work through the shame, I mean.”

“It’s funny that Riley’s struggling with the same shit,” he says.

“That’s another reason why I was excited for the role. I hoped that Riley figuring out how to let go of his shame would help me figure out how to get rid of mine, too.”

“Acting as therapy. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

He eyes me, as if he’s started to imagine the scene, specifically, that he’d mentioned—as if maybe he’s considering suggesting that we practice that scene after all, to help me shake the shame and the obvious nerves beforehand. I hope I don’t regret telling him the truth. I hope he won’t use this against me.

“I should try to get some sleep,” he says.

“Oh.” I’m surprised—rehearsing with another actor can last hours sometimes—but I don’t want to push and ask him to stay. “Okay. Thanks for coming over to help.” My smile is genuine this time. “You really can be kind when you want to be, you know? You’re not as much of a jerk as you want people to believe.” It’s just another role he’s playing. I shouldn’t be judgmental. We’re all playing roles, aren’t we?