“Now read this to yourself and then I want to see you act this out with that emotion you conveyed over losing your alien lover.”
I read the scene over; there were no words, just action. Falling to the ice, leaning against the wall, broken, surveying the winner’s celebrations and then unable to stare at the score.
I recalled Cameron’s expression at his loss, the quiet devastation, the hopelessness, the pain, and on instinct I stood and pushed the chair to one side. I recalled losing Sapphire-Ray in my soap days, I remembered the moment I’d decided to stay in the closet, I pulled the pain and the loss around me like a cloak. And then I fucking acted the shit out of it.
Tears collected in my eyes, unbidden, as I took every ounce of pain I could find and then I slumped to the office floor, staring out at the image in my head of the winners. I brushed away a tear, buried my head in my knees, silent, stoic, then lifted my head and letting a single crystal tear run down my cheek.
River went quiet. It took me a while to come out of the headspace, the feelings inside me so visceral I could imagine Cameron’s loss like my own, but when I did, River gestured for me to sit in the chair, and he had tears in his eyes.
“That.” He pointed a shaky finger at me. “That is what I want. I’ll get a contract to your agent immediately.”
You will? “Thank you, it’s an honor to—”
“Basic SAG-approved fee, but a percentage of takings, I feel like that arrangement keeps my actors motivated.”
Hell, it wasn’t like I needed money, just the chance to become the actor I wanted to be.
Oscar winner. Free to come out. Free to be me.
“Wonderful.”
“Stuntmen will handle most of the skating,” he began, and a huge well of relief opened inside me, along with a stab of regret that I might not need to spend time with Cameron. “I mean the hits to the wall and the hip checks, and the hundred mile an hour pucks to the chest, because we don’t want our actors unable to act. But obviously there’ll be skating from you, action shots, close-ups, and your skating experience will come to the fore there.”
Fuck. There went all my relief.
“Sure, I’m just working with a trainer to polish my moves.” The first part wasn’t a lie. I was working with a trainer, but polishing my moves didn’t cover me falling on my ass.
River Grierson smiled then, so wide I thought his face would crack. “I have some final edits on the script, then my PA will furnish you with the final copy, but I’m so happy to have the Tony from Angel Cove in my next movie.”
“Thank you.”
“Could you sign this for me?” He passed over a still of me and Sapphire-Ray. God, I was only sixteen in that photo, and on the brink of everything. I looked so young, and skinnier. I signed the corner, and he took it back and held it with as much care as he had the script. Who knew my shitty-ass soap days would get me a role as big as the one I was being offered?
We shook hands, and I backed out of the room as if I was leaving a king, and then nearly stumbled over the PA’s desk. She shot me a glance that said she’d seen this a million times. I bet a ton of people fell over after being exposed to River Grierson’s genius.
Then I headed out, and shot a message to Atlas about the contract. He sent me a grinning emoji, along with what appeared to be a peach. Plus the words, you did good. At yoga, talk later.
And then I headed home, and took the longest bath ever, because that was sure to help with the muscles that were beginning to protest what I’d done to them today, and also, yay, bubbles for success!
Whoever said soaking in a bath helped was a liar.
Waking up the next morning was like I’d turned ninety overnight. Even my eyeballs ached, although that could be to do with traumatic crying in River’s office. My watch informed me I had only an hour to get to the rink to meet Cameron, and ten minutes of that was me getting dressed and trying not to give in and go back to bed. I dragged my aching ass into the rink a small part of me hoping that maybe Cameron would be busy and needed the morning off.
“Morning,” chirpy-sexy-gorgeous Cameron said as he strode into the locker room, wearing purple training shorts and a tight T-shirt. If I wasn’t feeling so shaky, I’d swallow my tongue.
“Gah,” I managed, and slumped into the cubby, pulling at my T-shirt with weak noodle hands and trying to get it over my head.
“Uh oh,” Cameron murmured, and went to a crouch in front of me, his hand on my knee for balance. I wanted him to let go of my knee because, shit, it was sore, but I also wanted him to stay right where he was, crouched between my legs, his bottom lip damp where he’d licked it, his eyes full of compassion. “You okay?”
“I’m ninety-three and clearly arthritic,” I whimpered, and he rolled his eyes. “I need to be put down. Find a veterinarian stat.”
“Come with me.” Cameron stood and extended a hand to help me.
“I can’t move. Just leave me here. I’ll be okay. Call my parents and let them know I love them.”
“Oh my god, what a drama queen.” Cameron chuckled and gripped my hands, helping me to stand, and allowing me to lean on him.
I liked leaning on him.
I might stay like this. Leaning on Cameron and inhaling the scent of him and creating little fantasies where he gripped me hard, bent me back, and kissed me.
But no. He had other ideas, shuffling me through a door to an office with a long table and a desk. The table was a low-rent massage space, and when he encouraged me to sit on the edge of it, all I wanted to do was curl up and sleep. He pulled off my T-shirt, eased my pants over my ass and helped me wriggle out of them, plus shoes and socks, then assisted me in lying on my front.
“Where does it hurt the most?” he asked.
Was it wrong to tell him my cock was hurting and that I needed him to start there?
Probably.
“My big toe is okay,” I deadpanned.
“Okay, hang on.”
He disappeared from my side, and then reappeared with a bottle of oil, and my traitorous cock attempted to get a word in, even if I was lying on it. Oil was good.
Oil was fun.
He rubbed oil into his hands, concentrating so hard a small line appeared between his beautiful eyes, and then he smoothed a hand from my shoulder to the base of my spine, stopping just at the swell of my ass.
Fuck. My. Life.
Was he going to pull down my underwear, start to massage my ass, circles that grew smaller and smaller until he had his fingers inside me.
I groaned, my cock erect and ready to go.
Do not mess with the hockey player. Not everyone wants sex when they see oil.
“Okay. Now relax.”
Relax? When my cock was drilling a hole in the thin cover of the table?
So not happening.
Chapter 6
Cameron
Why did this scenario feel so familiar?
Oh right. It was the starting scene of about ten thousand gay porn movies.
Originality—zero. Potential to get clocked in the face—one hundred.
But only if I let my hands wander, which I wouldn’t because this might be a thing a trainer did for his client.
In porn movies yeah.
I blew off that chastising voice that sounded a lot like my older brother for some bizarre reason. Tax lawyers were so dry, and my big brother Lyle was as dry as a fucking desert. Good thing my baby sister Kelly and I were free spirits. We evened out the priggishness at any family meal with my hockey talk and her discussions of her meditation instruction classes. Mom liked to tease that Lyle had been swapped out in the nursery because no one in our clan was so buttoned-up. Mom and Dad had met at school only ten years old at the time, but they’d stayed friends and eventually went to the same college. Mom was a cosmetic dentist, dad a podiatrist. They doted on us but were waiting with very little patience for someone with their genes to make a baby or two.