Page 28 of Romance Is Dead

“It’s not really a family business, it’s—Never mind.” I took a deep breath, trying to push down my irritation that Teddy seemed more interested in my dad than the very real threat of a murderer. “Did you hear me? We have our first suspect!”

“Oh. Right.” Teddy’s eyes refocused. “So. . . what do we do now?”

“We need to talk to him. Or maybe look around the props trailer for clues? What do they do in all those mystery novels you read?”

“Something to make things worse, usually.”

“Let’s not do that. How about you meet me at my trailer later tonight, around ten? We can try to sneak into the props trailer. Depending on what we find, maybe we can track him down and talk to him.”

“Got it.” He gave two enthusiastic thumbs up.

“Actors to set!” Natasha’s voice cut through the house. “Actors, let’s go!”

We peered around the doorway before leaving the kitchen—the last thing I wanted was someone to see us sneaking around and start a rumor about me and Teddy.

The coast was clear.

Moving into the parlor, I passed the Ouija board sitting on the coffee table and my stomach lurched. I’d been so focused on telling Teddy about Scott that I’d forgotten which scene we were filming: the seance scene that culminated in me giving Teddy a lap dance. The one that had resulted in some not-so professional touching, and some very not professional thoughts, the day before.

You’d think I would have realized that rehearsing something meant we’d eventually have to film it, too, but I’d obviously blocked that out.

Natasha wanted to film the dance sequence first, which only spiked my anxiety further. As we ran through the choreography, I tried not to remember the way Teddy’s breath had caught when I straddled his lap, or the way I’d been so tempted to taste his mouth when we drew close.

There was no attraction between me and Teddy, I reminded myself. “My Heart Will Go On” is just a really sexy song. It would make anyone feel like making out.

As Teddy and I hit our marks and waited for Natasha to call action, I tried a new tactic. Every time we got close or had to touch, I would summon the grossest, worst images from my decades of watching horror films. I tried it as we waited for the cameras to roll, focusing on replaying the pea soup scene fromThe Exorcistin my head instead of noticing the way Teddy’s mouth tugged up in a playful smile as we made eye contact. Was he thinking about our rehearsal, too?

Pea soup, pea soup.

“Action!”

I launched into the choreography, this time set to a far more appropriate pop song. When it came time to run my hand down Teddy’s chest, I pictured Jeff Goldblum transforming into a bug inThe Flyinstead of noticing the way Teddy’s pecs felt under my trailing fingers. When I straddled his lap, I imagined the scene fromSawwhen the main character had to use the titular tool to get himself out of his leg cuffs. And when Teddy’s hands circled my hips, ever so gently slipping up the back of my shirt, I pulled out the big guns: anything that happened inThe Human Centipede.

“Cut!” Natasha straightened up, pulling off her headphones. “We got it.”

Thanking the gods above, I jumped off Teddy and rushed off set. I’d managed to film the scene in just one take, and hadn’t fixated on Teddy’s physique—or the way he’d been touching me—once. Nope, I definitely wasn’t thinking about it at all.

Maybe horror was still good for something after all.

Thwack, thwack, thwack.

The knock at my trailer door came just after ten. I padded quickly across the floor, twisting the door’s handle with an almost imperceptible click. Teddy stood at the bottom of the steps, hands clasped behind his back. But instead of blending into the night as we’d agreed upon, he wore charcoal gray joggers, black sneakers, and a bright orange tee-shirt, vibrantly visible even in the pitch black.

“What are you wearing?” I hissed.

He stared at me a moment before glancing down at his shirt. “What?”

I motioned to my own outfit—black shoes, black leggings, and a black crew-neck sweatshirt. I’d debated a black balaclava, but ultimately decided against it.

“We’re supposed to be inconspicuous.” I stared dubiously at his shirt, which was all but glowing in the dark.

“Well, I didn’t have anything black. Besides the shoes.”

“Oh my God, get in here.”

As Teddy hopped up the stairs and followed me back inside, I retreated to the tiny bedroom to rifle through what few spare clothes I’d stashed away for emergencies.

Reaching the bottom of the drawer, the only thing I could find was an oversized black tee-shirt with the silhouette of a cat with a mohawk on it.

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