Page 75 of No Interest in Love

Auditions always seem to be a bit more grand in my head than they turn out to be. Every time. When I walk into the room, I expect something like a studio. Camera set up, coffee machine, few interns running around. But it looks more like an interrogation room. Long desk in the middle, blank walls, and folders in front of the casting director and producers. There is a camera and, sitting behind it, a girl who can’t be older than eighteen, scrolling through her phone.

And a flat-faced cat.

Staring at me.

“Jason Sterne,” the guy from the other room announces upon my entrance. “Reading for the role of Landon.”

The two men at the table look up briefly and nod, while Carletta looks up and locks eyes with me. She sweeps her long red hair over her shoulder and gives me a no-teeth-showing smile.

I admit…I’mstarstruck. This woman isfamous,has been on the red carpet, won multiple awards, produced, directed, done things I’ve only dreamed about. And Miss Sure Thing is beautiful even in person. Sometimes the camera helps people out, sometimes it doesn’t. Carletta needs no helping out.

But even noticing that and standing with script in hand, I find myself wishing I was back in that crappy motel with Miss Unlikely.

Straightening my shoulders, I put on a signature leading-man half smile and walk up to the table. I shake each one of their hands, nodding and thanking them for the opportunity. Carletta’s small and fragile handshake lingers somewhat before she settles her fingers on the cat. I stay away from the thing. Not allergic, but I’m more of a dog person. Cats are evil.

“Okay, Mr. Sterne, take it from page six, will you?” Mr. Casting Director says, finally glancing up from the paperwork. He gestures to Carletta, and she stands opposite me. “Carletta will read Jessie’s part with you.”

The girl behind the camera hits the record button and goes back to messing with her phone.

I roll my shoulders and blow out a breath. The other producer reads the scene opening, describing the characters, who’ve just wrapped up the day’s work from the “reality show” and are now talking about the aftermath.

My eyes land on Carletta, and I know the first line of the scene. It’s “I’m coming in,” and it’s not my line, it’s hers.

But it’s right then…that the nerves hit.

They barrel-roll in my stomach, making my arms and legs fidgety. My throat goes dry, and I gulp, trying to moisten it, but it doesn’t do shit. I’m used to nerves during auditions. But when I’m in character I push those back. I’m not some idiot who can’t read his lines, but a dude battling zombies, or in this case, a sucker who is falling for the obvious love interest.

But this time I can’t seem togetin character.

Carletta and I are about to do a scene that’s pivotal for the characters’ arcs. I know that’s why they picked this particular scene, because the chemistry and comedy are in equal measures. I can do that. I know I can do that.

I just don’t want to withher.

I shake my head, trying to clear it of the sudden wave of images speeding behind my eyes. Like I’m having my own recap montage of the week, fast-forwarding and rewinding to find that pivotal scene when I tossed the Stinson Approach off a cliff because I found a woman I don’t want just one night with.

But I can’t find it. I don’t know where that pivotal scene is. And it’s making my head spin.

“Hello? Jason?” Carletta sings at me, and I blink and laugh off my spacey moment.

“Sorry.” I clear my throat. “I’m ready.”

Then she transforms right in front of me. From a confident actress to an adorable contestant on a show whom the audience is going to root for.

All I see is a Miss Unlikely.

All I see…is Shay.

“I’m coming in,” she says, pushing open a pretend door and covering her eyes. “Cover up what you don’t want seen.”

And now that I see Shay, letting my character take over seems as easy as breathing. “You can look. But it might ruin all other men for you.”

We go through the whole scene. I’m killing it. I know I am because I can finally draw from a real place. Every time Carletta smiles, I see Shay smiling. Every time she touches my arm, I feel Shay. And when we get to the bottom of the page, Carletta as Jessie looks at me and says, “You said some really romantic things to me out there. I almost bought it.”

“It was for the cameras. You know that.”

“What would you have said”—her eyes drift to the floor—“if the cameras weren’t there?”

And I mean every single word that comes out of my mouth.

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