My chin came back in surprise. “How do you know my name?”
“Lucky guess,” she said quickly, but then grabbed my elbow and started leading me down the hallway. I followed her through the maze of the soundstage. It looked similar to the lot I worked on, but there were differences. Different pictures hung on the walls, different people roamed the halls, different offices with different people. She led me on set and my mouth gaped a little. Even though I was in the business, even though I’d worked on movies, television, music videos, I never got tired of seeing a set in person. Something about a soundstage with the lights off, set unlit, almost like a page in a book not being read, gave me goose bumps.
“He’s got to be on set in a few minutes, but I’ll see if I can track him down.”
“Um, okay. I don’t want to get him in trouble. I can come back later.”
“It’s fine,” she said, leading me back into a hallway, then turning into the first door on the left. Once inside I was overcome by his scent. It had to be his dressing room. It was almost annoying that my nose could identify him. It smelled spicy and clean, warm. Like Riot. I realized that, if given the opportunity, I could probably identify his smell in a blind nose test, and that was pitiful. “Wait here. I’ll go find him.”
“Wait, no, it’s okay,” I said to vapor as she disappeared down the hallway, walking faster than I thought was necessary, with purpose. I took a moment and slowly turned, looking around the room, trying to take it in. My eyes drifted from the couch against a wall to the brightly lit vanity, to the old-school coatrack with a familiar leather jacket draped over it. I knew if I walked to the coatrack I would not be able to keep myself from burying my face in his coat. So I didn’t move.
I saw a pair of Converse sitting on the floor under the vanity and I smiled, thinking about how I loved him in those shoes. He wore them almost ironically. He wasn’t trying to be a hipster. I knew he was trying to put off more of a rebel vibe, but he’d fallen victim to the hipster movement. He wore them before it was cool.
I heard loud, running footsteps coming down the hall, and my head snapped to face the doorway. When Riot appeared, hands braced against the doorframe, breathing heavily, a gorgeous and familiar smile across his face, my heart started beating triple-time.
“You’re here,” he said, panting.
I nodded, stuck standing still in the middle of his dressing room. My eyes took a moment to travel up and down him, taking stock of him, and my heart wondered if he was real, if he was truly just standing feet away. If my heart were in charge, my arms would be around his shoulders, my face buried in his neck. But my brain was currently in charge, so my eyes were the only part of me allowed to move.
His hair was still dark, styled a little differently, shorter on the sides but longer on top. He wore a black fitted t-shirt, tight in all the right places, all of which my eyes found. He had on faded jeans with a police badge clipped to the belt. Obviously, he was in costume.
“Hi,” I said when my eyes were finally done taking him in. I couldn’t move, couldn’t find the way to make my brain communicate with my body, which was probably good. I wanted to run to him, run my hands over him, press myself into him, and take everything from him I’d been missing for so long.
“Hey,” he said with a lopsided grin. “You get my note?”
“Yeah,” I said, a smile finally sprouting, taking root, lighting me up.
“Good.”
I startled when I heard, “Riot Bentley, Leah McCann, call to set B, three minutes.”
“Shit,” he murmured, but then he moved and was right in front of me, hands on either side of my neck. “I’ve got to go. I’m filming a scene. Can you wait? It might be a while.”
I looked at the clock above the door and determined I had nowhere to be. I was technically done for the day and didn’t need to be in the studio. I had my laptop and I could work in his dressing room.
“I can wait.” His eyes lit up at my words and then they drifted down to my lips. My breath caught and his hands tightened just slightly, making my eyelids flutter. He couldn’t kiss me right now; it was too soon. But knowing he was thinking about it, well, that was amazing. “Can I work here? Do you mind?”
“No,” he said, giving me one last gentle squeeze then moving away. “Make yourself at home. Do you need anything?”
I needed so much. But I managed a simple, “No, I’m good.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“I’ll be here.”