Page 24 of Sidelined By Love

I snag my phone as I stumble through the house, Bronco hot on my heels. I’ve given up hunting for his leash in the pre-dawn hours and simply open the front door for him. He doesn’t so much run onto the front stoop as he waddles, nudging my leg with his sizeable hindquarters.

Rude.

Closing the door behind me with a soft click, I tiptoe behind the dog, who is immediately enamored with the crunchy orange leaves dotting the lawn and sidewalk. Each crackling step makes him jump and look behind him.

“It’s just you.” I refrain from calling him an idiot. Barely. And only because I’m more curious about Cyndi’s text than I am interested in insulting Nan’s companion.

Just emailed you the script sample for auditions.

It’s good.

I flick it open, holding my breath as I skim the lines.

It is good. Really, really good. There’s a reason that Caro heard the buzz about this project all the way in the hair and makeup trailer.

I check on Bronco quickly—he’s fine—before diving back into the pages. The thing about this script isn’t just the story or the dialogue though. It’s the way Evelyn Simpkins is somehow teacher, aunt, and big sister rolled into one. It’s the way she’s fiercely protective of her towering linebackers, standing up for them against a school district that wanted them to quit and neighboring communities that wanted them to fail.

The scene ends on a cliffhanger, and I grumble at my phone. I won’t get more unless I get the part.

I text Cyndi the only question that seems to matter.

Did you get me an audition?

Three little dots appear on my screen. Then disappear. I hold my breath, waiting for her to respond. Nothing.

“Come on, Cyndi. Make this happen. For both of us.”

Bronco barks in my general direction but clearly doesn’t care about my internal struggle. He just wants my attention.

Not likely.

Suddenly a response pops up.

The director said he MIGHT meet with you. But only if you can fit into his schedule.

Yes! Name the date.

I’ll text you when it’s confirmed.

I can’t help but do a little jig. There’s still hope. Only a thread. But it’s something.

Thank the Good Lord above!

I’m dancing in a circle, heady from the good news and the motion, when I hear a familiar snicker from the jogger on the sidewalk. By the time I stop, my head is spinning and the snicker has turned into a full-blown laugh.

“Trying to dance away a nightmare?”

I squint at Grant, but not even his teasing can dampen this good news. “Quite the contrary. I’m celebrating.”

“Ah.” He adjusts the squirmy dog tucked in his arm, and I recognize Rico’s face when it pops out. “Do share.” The skin on Grant’s face and neck glistens underneath the streetlight, and his chest rises and falls in quick succession. He’s traded in his usual T-shirt and running shorts for a long-sleeve white shirt and black sweats, and he wheezes like he’s moving faster than usual.

Or maybe he’s excited to see me.

Doubtful.

With a fling of my cape about my shoulders, I shake my head. “Sorry. It’s top secret.”

“Seriously? I won’t tell a soul.” Grant holds up three fingers in a mock scout salute. Then he runs his hand across his jaw, ending with a little pinch of his chin.

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