Page 26 of Lucky Night

Jenny?

Hmm? Oh. Yeah. She’s still scrolling. We’ve been on a bunch of Zooms throughout the whole development process, but this was the first time I met him in person. He seems…nice. Friendly. He’s smart, and—

He hit on you, he says.

She looks up, startled. What?No!

Holy shit, you’re blushing! He came on to you, didn’the?

Of course not!

He waits.

Maybe a little, she confesses.

Ha! She’s so easy to read sometimes.

I don’t know! she cries. Maybe he’s just really affectionate. I’m terrible at reading romantic signals.

I’m not. Tell me how he acted, and I’ll tell you whether he wants to fuck you.

Fine, she says. All week he kept coming up tome—

He definitely wants to fuck you, he says.

You’re so funny.

I need to see what this guy looks like. He reaches across the nightstand for his own phone. He’s picturing a bear of a man, in one of those cargo vests directors seem to love. He types the title of her first book, and Juan Pablo…

What’s his last name?

Nick, don’t.

I just want to see him!

She sighs. Torres.

Torres,he murmurs as he types. Grizzled, probably. Always squinting into the distance, framing things with his thumbs and forefingers. Not without a certain amount of Latin machismo, which can be compelling, but between the salt-and-pepper stubble and the big gut, there’s no way Jenny would—

His search returns photos of a sultry young god.

He turns the phone to show her. Is that him?

She comes back to the bed, leans in. Yep.

This guy’s a director? How old ishe?

He turned thirty last week. We had a party for him on set.

She helped throw a party for the birthday boy. How jolly. He swipes to enlarge a photo of Juan Pablo on a red carpet. This looks retouched, he says.

She leans closer. No, it’s pretty accurate.

Those shining teeth. Those cheekbones. There’s no way the guy actually looks like this. Where’s he from, he says, Mexico?

Spain.

Barely speaks English, I suppose.

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