Page 55 of His Leading Man

In the afternoon the light changed, so they moved to a parking lot a few streets over to shoot some of their scenes evading the police. The sun beat down until the pavement shimmered, and even Drew’s hair, coaxed into the perfect shape by Chantelle and held there with industrial-strength product, wilted. Between the borderline stunt work and the heat, Drew sweat through his wardrobe three times and had to swap his clothes for identical ones.Andthe caterer ran out of Perrier, and apparently nobody in this town stocked it.

By the time filming wrapped for the day, he was officially in a mood. But he couldn’t even stalk off to sulk, because the hotel was still booked and he was sharing with Steve.

Who also looked hot and grimy and sweaty, and not in the fun way. Drew should’ve been ogling, with the way Steve’s shirt stuck to his body.

Maybe today just sucked.

Steve wiped his face with the towel a PA gave him and glanced at Drew. “You want first shower? I can take Rita to Mom’s and clean up there.”

Drew softened. What the hell was he so annoyed about? “I don’t deserve you,” he said, sagging. That shower was all his.

“Nope,” Steve quipped. He leaned in and bestowed a sweaty kiss on Drew’s cheek to a smattering of catcalls and offered a slight smile. “See you later.”

THEshower helped. Sort of. Hot water always felt good, and this hotel seemed to have a bottomless supply. But no amount of fancy soap could wash away the grit on the inside.

God, that was dramatic. He should leave the fancy words to Steve.

After the shower he left the towel wrapped around his waist and lay down on the bed and did something he never did.

He googled himself.

The grit on the inside got grittier.

None of the press was even particularly bad. By all accounts most media outlets thought his relationship with Steve was adorable. The original article Alan had sent him accompanied a production still of the two of them in character juxtaposed with the one that had hit the tabloids. In the new one, Scotty was leaning in, essentially batting his eyelashes at Morgan, all part of the attempt to convince him to join his harebrained scheme. The angle flattered Drew, but itilluminatedSteve. He looked like some kind of modern prince that Knight Drew was pledging allegiance to. Which was maybe why one of those sites named Steve “Hollywood’s heir apparent.”

Sensationalism was their job, but Drew thought that was maybe taking it a bit far.

He must have lost track of time, because the next thing he knew, the hotel door opened and Steve came in wearing running shorts and a T-shirt and that Leafs hat Drew supposed was going to become part of his everyday dodging-the-press getup.

“Uh,” Steve said, raking his gaze over Drew’s body—the towel had slipped a little—before he remembered himself and shut the door. “Hey.”

Drew sat up, twisting kinks out of his neck and shoulders. Lying like that had been a mistake. “Hey.”

Steve looked pained. “Can we talk?”

The bottom dropped out of Drew’s stomach. In his experience those words never preceded anything good. For a moment he had a flashback to the first time someone broke his heart, to feeling used and discarded and alone.

But no. Steve wouldn’t do that to him, and certainly not this soon after going through the wringer to come out. Real relationships involved talking, even about hard stuff. “Should I put pants on for this?”

“If you want.” Steve rubbed his hands on his shorts, scratched at his arm, ran a hand through his hair, then caught himself and folded his arms. “I… are you mad at me?”

What?Drew opened his mouth to respond that no, of course he wasn’t mad—but then he thought about it. He had been acting like he was mad, hadn’t he? He’d been short with Steve all day. He’d been glad to have time to himself when he should have been jumping at the chance to spend more time with Steve in private. And he did feel… resentment… toward Steve. Which didn’t make any sense, because Steve hadn’tdoneanything.

Or had he? He’d let the press into his life. He’d given an interview with Drew. And now he was getting attention—from everyone. Drew’s parents. Leigh. The media. More attention than Drew.

God damn it.

Drew groaned and picked up a pillow, which he proceeded to groan into, long and loud. “I’m notmad,” he said when he finished. “At least not at you. Or at least not for anything that’s your fault. I’m just a giant diva.”

Steve, quite understandably, just stared.

With a sigh, Drew admitted, “I’ve been grumpy all day and I couldn’t put my finger on why, but when you brought it up… I’m jealous about how much everyone’s talking about you. Which is stupid and ridiculous, and you don’t evenlikethat they’re talking about you. I know that. I just… I’m not used to being with someone more famous than me. I need to check my ego. Sorry.” Then something occurred to him and he narrowed his eyes. “Wait, areyoumad atme?”

The color drained from Steve’s face and his mouth dropped open a fraction.Gotcha, Drew thought. “No!”

Liar.Steve wasn’t that good an actor. At least when he wasn’t on camera. But Drew had more sense than to say so out loud. “You want to try that again? One more time, with conviction?”

Steve set his jaw. “I’m not mad!” he practically shouted, which wasn’t any more convincing. He must have realized that, because his shoulders slumped.

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