Page 12 of The Actor and His Secret

I turn off the tap and notice just how silent the room is. ‘Again, you’re asking me another question that you could do with answering.’

‘Well,’ the man says, finally tugging his tie off. He pulls it through his collar with careful hands, before discarding it over the basin of the sink before him. ‘Let’s just say, that my responsibilities are fulfilled for the night. Is that something else we share in common?’

He’s not wrong in his assumption. My work was done the minute the red carpet ended, and now all that’s happening is people watching a movie that I’ve screened dozens of times before to get my marketing copy and social media assets just right. There will be afterparties, but Megan and the rest of my friends know full well that I’m not in the mood for a huge crowd of people in a club with pounding music. Not tonight.

‘They are.’

He steps forwards, driven by a confidence I could only wish to have. ‘Then there is nothing stopping either of us from escaping?’

Are you suggesting - ' I venture, hesitant. I’m not normally like this, but the guy is practically arching into me, so there’s a good chance he’s thinking along the same lines I am. 'What I’m trying to say is…Do you want to get out of here? Together?'

Maybe all I need is a distraction. A hot, sad distraction that looks like he could use one too. Something to overwrite the memory of Geoff fucking a twink. Maybe getting railed will wipe that right out of my head, replace it with a good memory for once.

The man looks at me through devilishly long lashes, and the look in his eyes sends heat straight to my core.

'Yes,' he says, licking his lips, the vestiges of panic leaving his expression. 'Let’s.'

6

NIKOS

I sit next to a stranger in a black cab, watching out the window as Central London blurs outside. And I thought traffic in New York City was bad. London takes the cake when it comes to standstill traffic and bad-mouthed drivers.

My initial worry was that the cab driver would recognise me, since my face is plastered on the side of his car, bare chested and with nipples on display as my character rides his dragon. But like the man beside me, the driver doesn’t blink. It seems he’s far more interested in sticking his head out the window and shouting profanities at every car we pass - at a snail’s pace, that is.

‘I’d say we decide on a location, because driving circles around London in a black cab is going to empty our pockets quicker than a shop around Harrods.’

I watch the man in the reflection of the fogged-up window as he speaks. ‘What on God’s green earth is Harrods?’

His pale brow lifts into his hairline, pulling a face of mock horror. ‘You’re American, right?’

‘Is it that obvious?’ I retort.

His laugh is as sweet as honey. I like it. He smells like it too, no doubt the kind of man who wears perfume meant for women - not that I care. I mean, who decided that a man couldn’t wear Ariana Grande perfume if he wanted to?

‘No. I mean - yes. I’m just trying to give you a comparison. Harrods is like one big…mole, like you Americans call it, just filled with designer items.’

‘Mole?’ I chuckle, which soon becomes a belly laugh at the man’s obvious confusion about what has me in hysterics.

‘What’s so funny?’ he asks, his tone an audible version of scowling, crossing his arms over his chest.

‘It’s a mall, not a mole.’

‘Fuck you,’ he says, but with a smile. ‘It’s the accent. I know what it’s called.’

I turn from the window to face him. There’s barely space between us, the glass partition separating the back seats from the driver dripping with the moisture in the air. Is it criminal to use the air conditioning in a car in London? I’m sweating a little, the collar of my shirt sticking to my neck. Part from the heat, but more so from my nerves that the man at my side will finally recognise me.

‘I’m not familiar with the best places to frequent in London,’ I say, offering him a distraction from his obvious embarrassment. ‘You decide. I’m just happy for the distraction.’

I expect him to ask me what I’m being distracted from, but he doesn’t. There’s something easy about his company. I think the fact he helped me navigate an anxiety attack in the bathroom helped break down the barrier between us as strangers. Or the fact we both made a connection from the enjoyment of pocket monsters - now that was a fact I was ready to explore when the time was right. I was a secret nerd, and no one knew it because it didn’t fit with the leading man image.

‘Well, we could hit a club?’

My reply comes out too quickly. ‘No, thanks.’

‘Crowds, oh yeah. I remember. Sorry’

I nod, trying to hide my nerves. I hardly imagine that I could walk into a club in the heart of London and keep up this luck of not being recognised. Being anonymous like this hadn’t happened in so long that toying with the man at my side was a thrill.

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