Page 17 of Burn the Script

“You’ll be the first to know,” I say.

He jams the pen in a mug packed with other pens, and the expression on his pudgy face softens as he switches from manager to friend. He’s known about my sexuality since the beginning of our working relationship, and he’s been a supporter of me and Miguel from day one.

“Hope everything works out this time, bud.”

“Thanks. Me too.”

We end the call as the car enters Austin traffic, the only sight I’ve seen in the city besides the studio lot and the neighborhood where Maisy and I are staying. She won’t be home until this evening, which means I’m walking into another empty house.

I sink lower in the seat and massage my temples. An afternoon alone could be good for me. I’ll use the time to meditate and strategize. The coming days will be hectic as we prepare to start filming on Monday, and I need to stay on top of my game if I want to succeed at juggling two lives. Although I should be good at it by now.

8

MIGUEL

THEN

February, Year One

I was convinced Graham slipped me a love potion on our first date. Why else would I show up at his house three nights a row? An alternative explanation was that he showed attentiveness and kindness, and he hadn’t made a single judgmental comment about me. And I was curious to know if he was genuine.

I watched him through the windows as he darted around the kitchen, preparing our cocktails. We had already established an after-dinner routine. Biting my lip to stifle a smile, I turned toward the flame in the fire pit. Chilly air nipped at my ears, but cashmere and Graham’s pleasant company kept me warm.

His spacious balcony with a modern, cozy aesthetic was a stark departure from the antique nightmare going on inside. The house had good bones, built in the 1970s, if I had to guess, but it needed lots of updates. And the broken, creepy merman fountain in center of the driveway needed resuscitation or a burial.

The backyard would be a nice final resting place. I had never seen the hills from an insider’s vantage point. There was a sense of isolation, despite the other homes lit up throughout the canyon.

News of the pop star living next door still shocked me. His fake girlfriend. Graham’s loyalty to her was sweet and endearing, but what would happen to their faux fairy tale if I stayed in the picture? Would he end the ruse with her and put us all at risk of exposure? Or could he be content with keeping me a secret while he lived in the spotlight with someone else?

His fame scared me. If news of us got out, the comment sections would be brutal. His fake relationship could work in our favor, but too many factors remained outside my control. I wasn’t comfortable with unknowns and what-ifs. I needed facts, assurances, safety nets⁠—

“Okay, I’m back. Sorry that took so long.”

The breathlessness in Graham’s voice drew my gaze to his mouth. His face was a safe zone. The danger zone was everything from the neck down, namely the partially unbuttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, loose-fitting jeans, and bare feet.

“Aren’t you cold?” I asked.

“Not really. My body runs hot, and I’ve been busy working on this.”

He set a charcuterie board of seduction on the coffee table. My mouth watered, already tasting the assortment of cheesecake bites, chocolate truffles, and strawberries dipped in yogurt.

“Your flirting game is weak,” I said, lying through my teeth.

“I’ve leveled up from flirting. This is called wooing.” With a wink, he handed me a crystal tumbler from the tray. “One top-shelf whiskey sour for the most beautiful man in the bar.”

I rolled my eyes, but the motion felt involuntary, like I was about to faint or have an orgasm because he added six cherries to my drink instead of the usual three. “You’re ridiculous. I’m an average-looking guy with an average life.”

“You’re the furthest thing possible from average, Miguel.”

Two chairs and a sofa were available to choose from, but he settled next to me on the loveseat, holding his glass steady on one knee. I moved a little closer but not close enough to call it snuggling when he draped arm behind my back.

“I’m not usually this forward,” he said, chuckling at the doubtful glance I cast his way. “I’m serious. I won’t lie to you; there have been a few discreet hookups over the years, but I’ve never brought someone home or let them peek behind the curtain. It’s a risk I couldn’t afford to take and one I wouldn’t take until now.”

“Why me?” I shoved a truffle in my mouth. The raspberry créme inside it melted on my tongue and kept me from spewing all my flaws.

He shifted, opening his body to me as our thighs pressed together. “We only spent, what, half an hour on the beach that morning? I haven’t stopped thinking about you since.”

If he could read my thoughts, I would’ve dived into the pool to fight off a case of nervous sweating while he ran for the hills. Confident guys like him weren’t supposed to be interested in high-maintenance, insecure people like me. At most, I was a mild and temporary fascination for men, given my temperamental personality and unique style of dress. Graham made me doubt that theory.