Page 17 of Steamy on Set

“Ugh.” Stepping back, I press a hand to my forehead.

“Fine, don’t tell me,” he says as he tries to leave.

I watch in silence as he attempts to open the door.

“What the fuck?” He pulls on the handle, shaking the whole thing as he tries to get it to budge.

“We’re locked in,” I say, hysteria creeping into my voice. Out of every person that works on this set, I had to get locked in here with him?

“What do you mean?”

“The statement is pretty simple. We’re stuck in here.”

He turns to look at me, and the horror that registers on his face almost makes me laugh.

“No fucking way.” Shaking the handle again, he braces one foot against the wall while pulling backwards.

“Stop, or you’re going to break it and we’ll never get out.”

“This can’t be happening. Not like this, not with you.”

I snort, and he turns to see my delirious smile.

“My thoughts exactly,” I say.

He starts talking to himself, switching between pleas and cusses. I ignore his meltdown, sliding onto the floor and kicking my heels off. I pull out my cellphone, already knowing the signal in here is shit. Seeing me with my phone, he does the same.

“How are there no bars?” He throws his hands up, and paces like that will make a difference. I scoot back against the wall, resting my head and getting comfy. I close my eyes and try to find my happy place. Seeing me stay calm must piss him off more, because suddenly he’s yelling at me.

“You knew this was going to happen!”

I open my eyes to see him pointing a finger at me, accusing me of I don’t know what.

I look directly into his eyes.

“Yes Errol, I planned for you to find me carrying a bunch of stuff, so I could lure you into this room just so we can be locked in here together. I thought this would be a great place for me to confess my true feelings for you. How else would you know we are meant to be together, other than spending countless hours stuck in a room with me?” I deadpan.

My tone seems to break him out of whatever ridiculous notion he has. His eyes lose their indignation, and in it’s place is a weariness.

Sliding down the wall next to the door, he sits and just looks at me.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Excuse me, you’re what?” It’s official. Hell has frozen over.

“I’m sorry. Obviously, this is not your fault.”

Out of all the barbs we’ve exchanged, this is the one he is apologizing for?

“It’s fine, I get it, this sucks.”

“No kidding, out of all the people who get locked in a room together, it had to be us?” He wipes a hand up and down his face, stopping to rub at his jaw.

“It could be worse.”

“Really how?”

I shrug. “I don’t know, I just thought that would help.”

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