When we get to my room after riding together off set, Logan walks in and looks around curiously. I awkwardly hover in the kitchenette area. “Do you want something to drink?”
He sits on the couch, making himself comfortable. “Got any bourbon?”
“No. I’m sober.”
I don’t know why I told him that. People usually judge me the second I say it. They get tense, as if they think that I’m an alcoholic, which makes them uncomfortable, or they think that I’m boring, or—even worse—they think I’m judging them for drinking alcohol, when the truth is, I don’t care. I’m sober because I’ve never liked the taste of alcohol, and because, while I want to find freedom, I don’t like the idea of it happening because of something outside of myself. I don’t want to feel free because I have a drink. I want to feel free because of who I am: uninhibited and unafraid.
As expected, Gray raises a judgmental brow at me, but he doesn’t say anything. “Let’s just get started.”
Gray says he doesn’t need his copy of the script, but I grab mine just in case. “Which—ah—scene should we run?” I ask, unable to look up as I sit opposite him. We’re inevitably going to have to make out with each other, in front of Dave and the entire crew. Maybe it would be better to get that fear over with now, before I have to perform it in front of a camera.
But Logan seems oblivious to my thoughts. He leans back in the couch. “Tomorrow’s scenes are in the office.”
Scott’s character introduces us. We—Riley and Quinn, I mean—agreed to work together on a book without meeting each other or even knowing we would be partners, and, well, the first impression really wasn’t the best at the house party.
I take a moment to sink into character. I glance at Gray. His eyes are closed. Probably doing the same. Or maybe not. Maybe he’s going to run through the lines half-asleep.
“It’s really nice to meet you, Quinn.” A sarcastic line, since the first moment I actually met him was when he was telling me my books are complete shit.
He peeks an eye open at me and says, voice dripping with derision. “Charmed.”
I remember with a flinch the interview Gray had given. It wasn’t my first impression of him, but it colored a lot of our first moments together. He apologized, but some of that anger and hurt is still there.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Did I do something to offend you?”
He sits up now with a smirk. “No. But your books did.”
We both leave a breath for Scott’s voice: Quinn!
Quinn is supposed to be drunk. His words slur. “What? I told him the same thing last night.”
“How, exactly, have my books offended you?”
“By being total garbage.”
“I didn’t realize I would be asked to work with someone homophobic, Mr. Powers.”
“Oh, no,” Quinn laughs. “I’m gay, too. Why do you think they paired me with you?”
“Then what’s your problem?”
“There’s no soul to your work. It’s painful to read. Even more painful to realize I actually have to write a book with you.”
These lines hit a little harder than I was expecting them to. It feels like Logan is talking to me about my craft as an actor, and why he went out of his way to show that he didn’t respect me in that interview.
“It isn’t too late, you know,” I tell him. “You could always back out of the contract.”
Gray doesn’t snap back with Quinn’s response. His gaze reminds me of the way he watched me at the table read: calculating and judgmental.
I squirm under his stare. “What?”
“You sound like you’re giving your best friend financial advice.”
Ouch. “I was trying to sound sarcastic and upset.”
“I know. You failed.”
“Thanks for the honesty.”
He tilts his head as he scrutinizes me. “Do you ever let yourself feel angry?”
The truth? “Not really. No.”
He frowns. “Why not? Do you think it’s wrong to be angry?”
I hesitate. Do I? It’s true that I feel shame at the thought of being upset. These aren’t very positive emotions. They’re unprofessional and messy and imperfect. I’d rather pretend I don’t feel anything at all than give in to anger. “I think I have a hard time feeling all emotions, not just anger.”
“Why?”
Gray watches me like I’m a puzzle he wants to figure out, with that same dissecting stare. I feel awkward, but I know getting to the root of this issue will ultimately help my acting—and help the film. “My dad. I had a lot of feelings as a kid, and he always shamed me for that.”
“Daddy issues, huh?” Gray says. “Who in this city doesn’t have that?”
I look up at him and wonder if he includes himself in that category, but I don’t have the courage to ask.
“Can’t use that as an excuse for the rest of your life. Come on, Mattie,” he says. “Get mad.”
“I’m not sure I know how.”
“Who pisses you off the most?”
“Right now? You.”
“That’s fair,” he says without flinching. There’s something about the way he’s watching me now—carefully, curiously. “What pisses you off about me?”
I bite my lip. “I don’t know. I guess I’m jealous.”
“Jealous?”
“Not just of your acting, though I envy that, too. I’m jealous that you do whatever you want, whenever you want, not caring about what other people will think or say—even if people will hate you for it. It doesn’t seem fair,” I tell him, a small laugh escaping, though it sounds bitter even to my ear. “I follow all of the rules, exactly the way I’m supposed to, and you…”
He’s still staring at me with that look. He doesn’t answer for a while. And then he says, “Maybe you just need someone to help you break the rules.”
I’m not completely sure what he means by that, but I think I have enough of an idea. My skin gets hot. He meets my eye like it’s a challenge, not blinking or looking away—and then he smirks, like it was just a joke. Right. Why would Logan Gray be interested in someone like me?
“At Alli Mai,” I start, then pause, struggling to gather my thoughts. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About authenticity, I mean.”
“Yeah?”
“Well, to be authentic,” I say before taking a deep breath, trying to push the words out, “I have shame about a lot of things.”
He squints at me. “Like what?”
God, this is so embarrassing to admit. “I’m ashamed that I’m gay.”
He raises his eyebrows, and I wait for the barrage of judgment. How can I be ashamed of my sexuality? I’m the queer lead of a queer movie, one of the most beloved openly gay celebrities.
Logan still doesn’t say anything, and I feel the need to cover up the silence. “I know,” I say, forcing a laugh. “I’m a total fraud.”
He frowns. “That isn’t what I was going to say.”
That’s surprising. “What were you going to say, then?”
Logan looks away. “Just that I’m sorry, I guess. That sounds hard.”
I blink and look away, too. “Oh.”
“Why do you think you’re ashamed?”
“My dad never accepted me the way that I needed him to.”