Page 73 of Romance Is Dead

I sighed, ready to give her the same spiel I’d been telling myself all day. No matter how earth-shattering the orgasm had been, I was in no position to get involved with anyone. No matter how magical his hands and mouth felt against several different parts of my body.

“I’m just saying,” Mara continued, “that friends with benefits rarely works without someone catching feelings.”

“You were the one who told me to do it! The whole Ashton Kutcher and Natalie Portman thing!”

Mara stared at me blankly. “Quinn, that’s a movie.”

“Oh my God.” I rubbed my temples.

“I’m just saying, you should see how it goes.” She held up her hands in surrender. “That’s all.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You don’t have feelings for him?”

“I. . .” I wanted to say no. But there was something else stopping me, an inkling that if I went any further with Teddy—if whatever was brewing between us continued to develop—that I wouldn’t be able to put a stop to it. Because I hadn’t just spent the last twenty-four hours thinking about the amazing ways he’d made my body feel. I was also remembering the way he’d reached for me as I was about to tip over into ecstasy—the way he’d gripped my hand like he was holding on for dear life and whispered, “Stay with me.” The way we’d sung together in the car. The way he’d taught me how to breathe and stop the panic that took over my body the day Brent died. I’d felt so secure, so taken care of. So safe.

I thought hooking up with him would get it out of my system, but deep down I suspected it had done the opposite.

“No.” Even I had to admit it sounded unconvincing.

Mara stared at me closely as she reached for the setting spray. “Alright. But you can’t run away from love forever.”

Chloe and I were killing it.

Everything cluttering my head had cleared as soon as the cameras started rolling. The two of us nailed shot after shot, and even Natasha couldn’t find anything to nitpick—which was really something considering the mood she’d been in since the representatives from the production company had shown up to start their investigation.

In the scene, our characters are searching for an old book that holds the secret to defeating the witch once and for all. It had all my favorite components: snappy dialogue, creepy atmosphere, intense lighting, and some good old-fashioned gore.

“What’s that?” The cameras pulled in tight as Chloe pointed to the ceiling, trembling.

Slowly, making sure Natasha had enough time to get the shot, I tilted my head up toward the dark ceiling of the library, my eyes creeping up the shelves as candlelight sent shadows flickering across the dusty books. For a moment, I acted like I saw nothing. But then, a crew member perched high above on a ladder dripped something from a syringe and it landed squarely on my cheek. A single drop of blood. Next to me, Chloe had the same red liquid dribbling onto her hair.

And then, the ceiling caved in—sending a dead body plummeting onto the floor.

Not really, of course.

The set crew had rigged a false ceiling that could hold a fake dead Brent along with copious amounts of corn-syrup-based blood that would come spilling out. And it worked, magnificently. All the camera caught was the illusion of the ceiling collapsing under the weight of a corpse, miraculously on the first take.

I waited a beat as the camera lingered on the body. And then I filled my lungs and screamed, loud enough to make my throat ache in protest. Loud enough to fill the room with its shuddering vibration.

“Cut!” Natasha popped up from behind the camera. She looked tired, worn, but vaguely pleased. “We got it.”

Grinning, Chloe held up her fist. “Nailed it.”

Catching my breath, I bumped my fist into hers. “You were fantastic. You’re bringing such an interesting edge to your character.”

“You think so?”

“Definitely.” I reached for a towel provided by one of the PAs and wiped the fake blood off my face. “I loved the way you play up her ditziness, but at the same time you can tell there’s a deeper side to her. So layered.”

She beamed. “Thanks! I was trying to channel your performance inSchool of the Lost, when you played the demon cheerleader.”

I was surprised she knew that one. It was the second movie I’d ever starred in, and while reviews had been good, it hadn’t exactly been a blockbuster at the box office. Although maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised—over the past week, Chloe had consistently proven she was a true lover of horror, and talented to boot. If this movie succeeded, she might be the perfect person to take my place in Hollywood.

“You know what, I can see that.” I ran the towel down my neck, knowing I would need an extra-long shower later to remove all the prop blood. “We should get coffee before you film your last scene. I’d love to stay in touch.”

“Definitely! I’ll text you.” She smiled and bounced away, likely eager to get out of her bloody costume.

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