“I did mean it,” Matt says.
I can’t think of anything to say to that, so we fall into silence again.
*
The car slows to a stop outside of the Beverly Hilton and we step out, doors shut behind us. It’s showtime. We’re immediately greeted by someone who directs us forward, and ten camera flashes go off every second, so many cameras that it’s hard to tell if they belong to paparazzi or news reporters or fans from behind the barricades—and we’re not even on the red carpet yet. I force on a casual smirk while Mattie’s face immediately glows with a smile. I put my hand around his waist, and he puts a hand on my back, and minders guide us down a lane separated by velvet ropes. We haven’t been nominated for anything, but we’re still getting a shit ton of attention, people calling our names, asking questions, someone even shouting at us to kiss each other.
We’re led toward a partition, where Audrey’s been waiting with Matt’s manager under the big tent. Other actors, musicians, and stars mill around with their entourages, fluffing out dresses and brushing off invisible lint from shoulders and giving each other air kisses. Audrey gives me the same thin-lipped glare I’m used to getting from her, as if she’s trying to telepathically send a message: don’t fuck this up, Gray. We’ve worked together for the past three years now. She’s the manager I’ve had the longest, by far, since the others tended to drop me after a few months. I don’t know what the hell my father’s paying her to stick with me.
Matt hugs Paola, because of course he does, and his eyes shine with excitement as minders direct us to the edge of the carpet. Our managers speak to some reporters, handing them tip sheets, and Matt and I are asked to step forward separately. I stand in front of the GLAAD backgrounds, turning one way and the other with my usual smirk. Matt does the same, following me up the carpet with a dazzling smile. We answer questions all the while.
“How’s the filming of Write Anything going, Logan?”
“Better, now that I’m in love with my co-star.”
“Logan, what is it like working with your boyfriend on set?”
“It makes our jobs easier, having the roles of characters who’re in love.”
“Mr. Gray,” one reporter calls, “I can’t help but feel that your responses to these questions are a bit practiced.”
I stop posing. “What?”
The reporter continues. “There’ve been suggestions that your whirlwind romance with Matt has been a little too convenient, given that you began to date each other just as interest in the film was slipping. What’re your thoughts?”
I freeze. I shouldn’t. I need to be on my game, and Dave had prepped us to respond to questions like this, too, in case they came up. I should know what to do, but the words dry in my mouth. I usually have my lines memorized better than this. A few glances are exchanged, a few more photos taken. I swallow and look at Matt, who has been watching. He walks over and takes my hand. I wasn’t expecting to actually feel comforted, when he glides a thumb over my knuckles.
“We’re celebrities,” Matt says. “There’s always going to be speculation. Questions about why we’re together and whether what we feel for each other is real. But I know what is true. I love him.”
Maybe it’s because I’m getting to know Matt more that I recognize the clench in his jaw, but only for a moment. A guy like Matthew Cole has to hate lying to the entire world like this. I squeeze his hand gratefully for saving my ass, but he doesn’t acknowledge me. We’re asked to take the last few shots together. He practically shimmers.
I don’t know what possesses me to say it. It’s been on my mind for the past few days, and it comes out with no warning now. “I’m sorry,” I mutter, leaning in closer. “If I hurt your feelings, I mean, in the hotel the other night.”
“Probably not the right time to talk about this, Gray,” he whispers back. He meets my eye, grins, then leans up. I swallow, but I can’t hesitate too long—I lean down, too, and kiss him. I would’ve thought that after making out with him for hours I would be tired of it, but the kiss sends a familiar spark through me, and I feel myself leaning closer to keep kissing him, keep touching him, even with so many people watching—but he pulls away, threading his fingers through mine.
We walk up the path, still holding hands, until we reach the front doors that lead to the hall, round tables set up with water glasses and flowers. The room is dark, even though the stage is lit up. Matt slips his hand out of mine, and under the cover of darkness, he stops forcing himself to smile at me every three seconds. It’s embarrassing to admit to myself, but I want him to smile at me again. I want to go back to acting like we’re in love.
“I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings,” I mumble.
“Time and place, Gray.”
“Fuck time and place,” I whisper, leaning into him. “I’m trying to have a real conversation with you.”
That was the wrong thing to say. He turns, glaring, like he doesn’t give a fuck who sees or hears now. “No, that’s what I was trying to do, Logan. I was trying to be real with you, and you—”
He cuts himself off, like he suddenly remembers himself. It was nice to see some anger from him, but I don’t think he agrees. He stares forward at the stage expressionlessly, his face only lighting up when a woman taps him on the shoulder and says how much she loved him in Love Me Dearly. He thanks her, and when she leaves, his expression falls again.
“I was just trying to protect us,” I tell him. “Something like this…It can get confusing.”
“Are you confused?” he asks. “Because I’m not. I wasn’t, anyway, before…” He sighs. “Forget it. I don’t want to talk about this right now.”
“I do. I’m tired of this awkward tension between us.”
“You probably should’ve thought of that before you treated me like shit,” he says, “at the hotel room, at the table read, and in that fucking interview.”
Matt stands up with no warning and pushes the chair in.
“Where’re you going?”
“Bathroom.”
And he leaves without another word.
Mattie
I hurry down the hall and to the bathroom, swinging the door open and shut behind me. It’s a private bathroom, flowers everywhere, even a couch along the wall. I grip the edges of the sink and breathe as I stare at myself in the mirror.
I shouldn’t have stormed out like that. Who knows if someone was watching, even listening to our entire conversation? But I couldn’t stand being with Logan another second. His apologies—God, it’s hard to believe anything with him right now, and it hasn’t helped that I haven’t been able to look at him all night without remembering the scene we shot yesterday. I could feel Logan glancing at me throughout the entire car ride, watching me like he was thinking of the scene, too. I wasn’t sure if it was just my imagination, that I could practically feel his desire radiating from his skin. I had to keep shifting to hide my lap. It’d been torture, the hours of scripted foreplay without touching him the way I wanted to.