Free Costars (New York City Bad Boy Romance) by Claire Adams

or are we going
to keep going back and forth on this until the weekend’s over and we’re out of time?”
    “Actor’s hats?” she asks.
    “I was trying to speak your language,” I
answer.
    I’m actually not entirely sure what that
means.
    “So, Damian,” she says with a bit of a
blush.
    “Yeah?” I answer.
    “You wanted to just start, right?” she
asks, already breaking character.
    “Yeah,” I tell her.
    “Okay,” she says, “sorry.”
    “Don’t worry about it,” I tell her.
    “So, where would you like to go to dinner
tonight, dear?” she asks.
    “Just for the record, we’re not an old
couple,” I tell her. “You can talk to me the way you normally would, just
pretend that you like me a little more than you do and we’re good.”
    She shoots me a quick glare, but shakes it
off.
    “Ah…” she says, shaking out her arms and
hands, her eyes closed. Her fingers close into her palm and she opens her eyes,
saying, “You hungry?”
    “A little bit,” I answer. “I could
probably eat. What are you in the mood for?”
    “You always do that,” she says. “You
always put the decision on me, but if it’s not exactly what you want, you
just—”
    “Emma?” I interrupt.
    “Yeah?” she asks.
    “We’re not a dysfunctional couple,
either,” I tell her. “We’re just two people getting to know each other in this
new way.”
    “I still don’t get why we’ve got to spend
so much time making out,” she says.
    “Really, that makes me feel very good
about myself,” I laugh. “I feel very attractive right now.”
    “It’s not that,” she says. “I just have a
hard time believing that we’re really going to make all of this progress over
the next few days and that it’s actually going to stick.”
    “Well, we’re obviously going to have a few
make out sessions in my trailer when we get back in town,” I tell her.
    She sighs.
    “All right,” she says. “If this is what I
have to do for my art, then I’ll do it.”
    “That’s the spirit,” I tell her. “Now undo
your top button.”
    “What?” she screeches.
    “So far,” I tell her, “you’re not even
convincing me that we’re in a
relationship and I’m pretending right along with you.”
    “How does that translate into me showing
more skin?” she asks.
    “Glad you asked,” I tell her.
    “Oh God, here it comes…” she groans.
    “When a man and a woman are going from
being single to being in a relationship, there are a few things about not only
their mannerisms, their mood and general demeanor, but there are changes to the
way they look as well,” I tell her. “Women will often show a little more skin
around their new beau, while men tend to walk with their shoulders back, more
confidence.”
    “Have you ever noticed how, in every
possible situation where men and women have to do something, the men always
have it easier?” she asks.
    “Yeah,” I answer. “I have, actually.
Doesn’t really seem fair. Anyway, so I want you to think back to the first
couple of weeks with your last boyfriend. What changed?”
    “I don’t know,” she says. “I guess I spent
a little more time on my hair.”
    “Great,” I tell her. “Get back in the
bathroom and work on your hair a little longer.”
    “Excuse me?” she retorts in a tone that
tells me that I’ve crossed some line.
    “I’m telling you to do the things that you
would normally do if we were actually in a new relationship,” I tell her.
“There’s no reason to get all pissy about it.”
    If I’d avoided use of the word pissy , I probably could have gotten through that all right.
As it stands, though, it takes me a good twenty minutes to talk her into
listening to me again.
    “I’ll tell you what,” I tell her finally,
“why don’t we take the next hour to go over things that we do ourselves at the
beginning of a new relationship and see what we come up with. I, for one, start
shaving twice a day rather than once, so I’m going to go in the bathroom