“I’m not thinking about his cock. Not much, that is.”
“But enough that you asked him to run lines and not me.”
“Well, he lives with me. And you live an hour away.”
“Excuses, excuses. But why are you meeting him in the park instead of your flat?”
“I wanted to do it someplace with lots of people around, since that’s how the callback will be,” I say. “Lots of people.”
“You creatives are so weird.”
“Says my fellow actor.”
“And this fellow actor thinks there’s another reason you’re meeting him in the park.”
“And what do you think that reason is?” I ask, curious what she’s getting at.
“Hmm. Shall I tell you? I think not.”
“You’re evil,” I say.
“That is true. Have fun with your hot roomie and his hot accent and your filthy thoughts about his royal American cock,” she says. “I bet it’s as big as Texas.”
“Ride ’em, cowboy.”
After we hang up, her words linger—the ones about meeting TJ in the park. Do I have some subconscious reason for meeting him here? If so, I’d quite appreciate it if my brain revealed it to me since Olivia didn’t.
But those thoughts drift away into the afternoon air when I spot a familiar pair of shoulders above a park bench, just like I imagined yesterday when I told him I could picture him on a park bench, reading.
And wait . . . is that one of his new shirts?
Damn, I have good taste, in clothes and men.
TJ looks delicious, and my pulse surges when I get closer to him. He’s reading Murder on the Orient Express. Looks like he’s near the end.
“The butler did it,” I call.
He turns around slowly, a sly grin on—
Holy beardability.
“Did I wake up a week from now, and you’ve got a full fucking beard?”
“It’s just two days of not shaving,” he says. “It’s not a full beard.”
I growl, low and guttural. That scruff. I want to feel the prickle of his beard on my face. My thighs. Everywhere.
“Two glorious days,” I say, then join him on the bench. “That’s like a week-o’clock shadow.”
He rolls his eyes. “You have a thing for beards, manners, and handymen.”
I waggle my brows, owning it. “I do.”
TJ takes a deep breath, a thoughtful-sounding one. “Would it be easier—you know, for this whole roommate-friend thing—if I shaved?”
I slice that horrid notion off at the knees. “Do not ever utter something so blasphemous again.”
“Noted,” he says.
I tap the book. “So, I was right? The butler?”
He tilts his head. “Have you read this?”
I cringe. “Sorry. I should, right?”
“You should. It’s the greatest mystery ever. I won’t say another word, but it’s genius.” He hands me the paperback.
“Are you done with it?”
“I’ve read it five or six times. And yes, I just finished it. Again.”
“That’s quite an endorsement,” I say, taking the book. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“But how do you read a mystery half a dozen times? Does your brain trick you into forgetting who did it?”
He laughs, shaking his head. “It’s not about the ending. It’s about how you get there. Every time, I find new details Agatha Christie planted. With every read, there’s something to discover about how to tell a story.”
That’s today’s reveal from TJ Ashford. I tuck it away for safekeeping. “I’ll read it next. As soon as I finish Rob Lowe’s memoir. I’m listening to that, though. That is, when I’m not listening to your music.”
“You like celebrity memoirs?”
“The dishier the better,” I say, wiggling my brows. “But I don’t just listen for the salaciousness. It’s good character work.”
TJ’s brow knits, and I can tell he’s working out my meaning. “You mean you learn how to get into different characters when you listen to wild memoirs?”
I tap my nose. “Exactly. Learning about all sorts of backgrounds helps me. I’ve devoured stories from Carly Simon, Patti Smith, Steve Martin.” I rattle off the non-celebrity stories I’ve enjoyed, then shift back to his day. “How was your tourist time with a work friend?”
“It was good. Alex and I went to Buckingham Palace.”
“Is Alex . . .?”
“He’s a friend. Born in Kenya, raised in California, just transferred here from our Beijing bureau. Speaks about fifty languages. A real badass. He covers London tech. So, we geeked out as two non-Londoners.”
I hide my smile as best I can. “Cool. The palace is cool,” I say, and I’m not cool at all because I’m so damn happy Alex was not his date.
I hope TJ never dates a single soul the entire year he’s here.
“It is. I like London. I’ve been checking out some fascinating places—Aldwych station, the Hardy Tree, the Greenwich Foot Tunnel—and it’s been great,” TJ says.
I think I understand him more now. I’d bet my callback those places are part of his novel somehow. Maybe he’s writing something about spooky London?
Maybe I can help him with his unsaid dreams. “The city has so many wonderful places to explore. Like Samuel Johnson’s house. The writer. It’s down a secluded alleyway,” I say, then dangle an enticement. “Supposedly, he worked on the dictionary there.” The gold flecks in his eyes seem to dance. “I knew that would hook you.”
“It’s only one of my favorite books.”
“Of course it is,” I say, then cycle through other places he might like. “The Vaults near us are great—right under Waterloo station—if you’re into the whole underground tunnel thing. There’s some cool graffiti down there too. For us artsy types,” I say with a wink.
“Thanks. I’ll add those to my tourist list.”
“I could take you some time,” I volunteer.
“Yeah?” He sounds like he likes the idea.
“Of course. I mean, we can do London and bands and books and clothes.” I dart out a hand and run my finger down the buttons on his shirt. “Nice eggplants, TJ.”
He just smiles. Doesn’t say anything more. But I know he wore the shirt for me.
“Let’s rehearse,” he says.
“Right.” I get down to business. “You have the new scenes I emailed?”
“Got ’em.”
He clicks on his phone and begins. We work through the first two new scenes easily, practicing a few times, then we get to the third.
TJ clears his throat. “So, what are you doing about this last part?” He sounds more nonchalant than I’ve ever heard him.
“Oh, the kiss with Lyra? My robot creation?” I ask, and wow, did my voice just pitch up or what?
“Last time, you said you didn’t do the kiss. The scene ended right before it. But here, it continues. There are a few lines afterward. Do they want you to kiss the actress tomorrow?”
“Yes. I have to kiss the woman they cast as Lyra. They want to know if we have chemistry. But it’s like a tease of a kiss. Full of restraint.”