Page 95 of Enemies Off Camera
Jaxon dives, pushing past the last line of defense. He hits the grass, rolls, bounces up like a bolt of lightning, ball in hand, knees pumping as the rest of the team collapses onto him in celebration.
The screen flashes:TOUCHDOWN.
The stadium explodes with sound.
My dad is howling. Trey, Linda, and Bloom are screaming, and I can barely keep from falling to my knees. My hands cover my mouth. My whole body is shaking.
The team rushes to line up and spike the ball.
The clock is running out.
Game over.
We won.
And then I see him.
Jaxon is breaking free of the celebration, running—limping just a little—right to me. He’s dodging the press, his teammates, anyone who tries to stop him.
I lean over the edge of the stands.
He reaches up, pulls me into his arms.
We’re kissing. Holding on for dear life.
“We won!” I shout, laughing, near tears.
“We won,” he says again, breathless against my mouth.
And we did. We really, truly did.
EPILOGUE
Three Months Later
Ihate these scenes—the ones I have to play with Blaine. Sorry… Toby Lane. To this day, I still don’t understand what’s wrong with Blaine Bello. What are we, in the 1950s? When actors had to contort themselves to fit narrow-minded ideas of what made someone "acceptable"? I never realized how much not being his real self had affected Blaine. It might explain why he burns down every relationship he touches.
"This is my family’s company..." I lean in, frowning hard. "My father’s legacy. You’re just some guy who showed up out of obscurity, and now you think you can call the shots? Bullshit."
By the end of the line, Blaine and I are practically nose to nose.
He slowly leans back, snorts viciously, and snarls, "Whatever this tantrum is, it’s going to get you nowhere."
I grunt. "It’s not a tantrum, Peter. It’s not even a warning. I’m telling you: get in your spot" —I point to the floor— "and know your fucking place."
His eyes go glassy and crossed, staring daggers at me. That’s exactly how it’s written in the script.
"And cut! Let’s take five."
"He’s here again?" Blaine says, instantly, glaring over my shoulder.
I turn to see Jaxon standing near the director’s monitor. He flashes me a thumbs-up and a wink. I return the gesture.
"This isn’t a football game," Blaine mutters.
"Oh, grow up," I sigh.
Rumor is, Blaine’s days are numbered on this show. Between the bad behavior and the trail of broken hearts he leaves in production, no one’s surprised. Lately, he’s taken aim at his next target, another intern barely out of college. But when Jaxon shows up, he gets extra pissy.
