“Could you?”
He shrugged, feet pounding the treadmill belt in a steady, metronomic rhythm he found so calming. “I’d sat in a saddle a few times, but I was not, by any means, a cowboy. Saying I could ride was a total exaggeration, and let me tell you, that horse knew it.”
She laughed. “But you’ve played other roles that involved horses, right?”
“Well, yeah. After that, I figured I’d better learn to ride for real.”
She gave him a sly look. “My cousin Michelle liked the show where you were a sheriff.”
“Las leyes del corazón y la insignia.” He inclined his head. “That one is a fan favorite.”
She tapped her chin. “I don’t think I’ve worked with any horses. But my storyline on The Glamour Squad involved a poodle, and I had a recurring role on The Young and the Restless that required me to hold a hamster.”
Ashton shook his head. “I can’t imagine playing the same character for decades,” he said, thinking about the English soap operas that ran for generations. He wanted to challenge himself, to improve his skills—but more than that, he wanted the recognition that went with it.
Jasmine shrugged. “It’s good, steady work. Viewers get to watch the characters grow and develop over time. They become familiar.” She shot him an exasperated glance. “Are you really going to keep running while we rehearse?”
“Ah, no.” But he didn’t stop. Running was the only thing keeping him from embarrassing them both. He’d managed not to sprout an erection while filming their make-out scenes together, but something about her bouncing around in spandex was really doing it for him. “What else happens in this episode?”
Jasmine skimmed through the pages as she walked. “There are some scenes where Victor struggles to record new music. Carmen has a heart-to-heart with her father about the family legacy, and Victor auditions for the dance show producers. But he doesn’t get picked.”
“Poor Victor. He’ll be crushed.” Ashton could relate. Even though it came with the territory of being an actor, it sucked not to get the part.
“It looks like the show’s producers think he’s too unreliable—thanks to canceling the tour—so they don’t accept him.”
“Luckily he has Carmen to comfort him.”
“Yes, but she’s Carmen, so you know she’s going to make it a teachable moment.” Jasmine reached over and tapped the rolled-up script he’d stuffed into the drink holder. “Ready to start?”
“Um, sure.” Ashton lowered the speed on the treadmill and wiped his face with a towel. He had to get his desire for her in check. Thank god this episode required less touching.
When he lowered the towel, he caught sight of Jasmine’s face and rushed to pause his treadmill.
Eyes wide, jaw slack, she stared at the wall-mounted TV in abject horror. Ashton reached over to shut off her machine before she tripped, then turned to see what she was looking at.
Puñeta. That pendejo McIntyre filled the screen, leaning in to talk to a very pretty, very young-looking entertainment reporter. The sound was off, but the closed-captioning appeared at the bottom: So, McIntyre, tell us about your new girlfriend. A second later, Jasmine’s face appeared in a box in the corner, next to a photo of another woman who shared an uncanny resemblance.
Before Ashton could say a word, Jasmine scrambled off the treadmill and dashed over to the TV. With desperate movements, she ran her fingers over the edges, probably looking for an off button. When she didn’t find it, she reached behind the TV and yanked the plug. The screen went black.
Breathing hard, she kept her back to him, but Ashton could see her stricken expression in the mirrors.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice hoarse. “But that—”
“I know.” Ashton got off his treadmill and went to stand next to her.
When she didn’t move, Ashton placed a hand on her shoulder and gently led her to the weight bench to sit. Then he retrieved her water bottle and brought it to her. He sat next to her while she took a long drink.
When she finally lowered the bottle, her expression was bleak.
“Can I tell you the worst part?” she whispered.
He would have given her anything she asked for in that moment. “Dime. I mean, tell me.”
She swallowed hard and hunched her shoulders. “I don’t even think I liked him that much. I just . . . wanted to be liked. And I thought he did.”
Ashton’s heart broke for her. What could he say to that? More than anything, he wanted to take her in his arms, to comfort her. But they weren’t close like that. Victor and Carmen were, but Ashton and Jasmine weren’t.
Still, she’d just revealed something big, and he needed to respond. I like you was on the tip of his tongue, but instead, he took her hand and just held it. When her fingers tightened, he stroked her knuckles with his thumb.
She gave herself a little shake. “My cousins want me to move back to New York. Because of all . . . that.” She gestured at the blank TV screen with her free hand.
“You grew up here, right?”
She nodded. “Most of my immediate family is here. My grandparents on my mother’s side live in San Diego, but the Rodriguez side? They’re here. New York is home.”
“But you live in Los Angeles now.”
“It’s where the soaps film, but I dread going back.” She gave a sad little shrug. “The traffic, the stress, the fake friends . . . I don’t even know which of my so-called friends took money in exchange for giving anonymous statements to the tabloids—multiple people, I suspect, probably even some of my castmates on The Glamour Squad. How do you know who to trust after something like that?”
“No sé,” he said. “Yo sólo confío en mi familia.”
Her forehead scrunched, like she was trying to translate in her head. “I only . . . something . . . in my family. Sorry, I don’t know that word. Confío.”
He gave her hand a squeeze, then let go. “Trust,” he said. “Confiar means to trust.”
She nodded, and the hand he’d just released clenched into a fist.
“I hate LA,” Ashton said, trying to lighten the mood. He stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. “Do I want to work in Hollywood? Absolutely. But I don’t think I could ever live there full time.”
He didn’t mention that he didn’t want his son growing up there. Or that California was too far from Puerto Rico.
He didn’t say any of that, which wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was that he wanted to. He wanted to open up and confide in Jasmine. He suspected she’d be a good listener. But then she’d look at him with compassion in those stunning eyes of hers, and he’d be lost. And he couldn’t afford to lose himself when his whole family relied on him to stay strong.
Instead, he just said, “Let’s rehearse. And you can show all of them how wrong they are about you.”
“Thank you.” Her smile was sweet, but sad. “I mean that.”
As they returned to the treadmills and picked up their scripts, Ashton wondered what it would be like if they were two different people in a different situation. If he were just a single dad who didn’t have to worry about keeping his son’s existence a secret, and if Jasmine were just a woman who didn’t have national media attention focused on her.