Chapter 9

By the time Eliza logged into her computer to talk to Quinoa that night, she still hadn’t quite figured out what had happened with the day’s filming.

Every bit of it had been exhilarating, terrifying, almost mystical at some points, but above allconfusing. Because it had felt real. Not like she’d been on a set with cameras pointed at her.

When Joaquin had caught her a split second after her ungraceful swan dive courtesy of Gizmo, the arms that had encompassed her had warmth. His eyes held a thousand unfathomable mysteries that she hadn’t been able to solve. Or tear away her attention from. He’d fairly vibrated with emotion and tension and when he’d rolled her to the side so he could help her up, a huge rush of disappointment took up all the spaces inside that had been lit by him for a brief moment.

How could any of that be fake? But it had to be. Joaquin Cortez was an actor of the highest caliber. All those people who gave out awards? Blind. Stupid. Clearly the man was the greatest actor of his generation. Maybe all generations. Because he sold it to her every time.

That’s what had made it so easy and natural to roll off lines that she’d completely made up. Self-preservation. She couldn’t let on that he’d affected her. That she’d shut her eyes for all too short of a moment and imagined that the scene was actually happening. That she’d finally gotten a meet cute of her own, literally stumbling over the perfect man whom she’d been destined to meet under the most unlikely of circumstances. Yet fate had pulled it off especially for her. They’d fall in love and get married—and in the world’s worst spoiler alert, she’d already filmed that scene.

Because none of it was real. She was filming a movie.

Years of solo date nights watching every rom-com ever produced had finally paid dividends. The director had been happy. No one had guessed that the reason the scene had worked so seamlessly was because she hadn’t been acting.

Quinoa is typing…

Usually her pulse quickened as the words formed. Instead, an icy blob formed in her stomach that she couldn’t melt no matter what she told herself.

Great. Now she was nervous and upset about having a conversation with the one man she’d always been able to relax with. Be herself. Quinoa was supposed to be comfortable and safe.

Quinoa: Hello darling. How was your day?

Curlgurl: awful.

Quinoa: Your boss is still being a giant pain?

Ugh. How was she supposed to answer that? Yes, most of her interaction with Joaquin was incredibly painful in so many ways, but not because he was being a jerk.

Curlgurl: I mean yeah he’s difficult but this new job is.

What was she supposed to say about her new job? The rules said they couldn’t talk about their everyday lives, and she’d always tried to honor that.

Curlgurl: it’s just not anything like I expected.

That much was true at least.

Quinoa: I hate that for you. I’m sorry it’s not working out. Will you quit?

Wasn’t that the million-dollar question?

Curlgurl:

She stared at the blinking cursor and tried to formulate her thoughts. Quitting had honestly never occurred to her. Maybe Joaquin had uncovered a stubborn streak or something, but she couldn’t stand giving him the slightest idea that she’d cut and run because of him.

He’d just come after her. She still wasn’t sure how he’d talked her into it in the first place. But something about his confession that the kiss hadn’t been in the script…the idea had twisted through her with the warmth of enlightenment. And she had no idea why the point had mattered so much. Possibly because it gave her permission to go off script herself, which had worked out so much better than she’d have ever guessed earlier today. But most likely because she got to carry the knowledge that he’d kissed her on purpose way down deep inside where no one could take it away.

No one had to know that she liked kissing Joaquin Cortez.

Quinoa: Are you still there?

Especially not Quinoa. Guilt pooled in her stomach, which paired nicely with the ice.

Curlgurl: I’m here sorry. I can’t quit. I’m committed to it.

That was innocuous enough of a way to say she’d signed a contract without being too specific and yet still communicated that she honored her word.

She stared at the carefully curated response, and all at once, hated the fact that she had to censor what she said to Quinoa. That was one thing she appreciated about Joaquin—not that she’d ever breathe a syllable of that sentiment to him—she never thought twice about what came out of her mouth around him. She could say and do whatever she felt like, and he never seemed offended in the least, which she still didn’t get.

It was like he completely ignored the content of her words and focused instead on her. Who did that? When she was with him—total exhilaration.

Quinoa: I understand. I appreciate that you aren’t the type of woman who easily gives up when a situation is difficult.

Curlgurl: tell me something good that happened to you today.

It was Quinoa’s turn to pause, and the longer the words Quinoa is typing didn’t appear on her screen, the worse the guilty, icy combo in her stomach sloshed. He didn’t want to cut off her whine-fest if she wasn’t finished because he was a nice man who cared about her.

Curlgurl: it’s okay you can tell me. I’m done feeling sorry for myself.

Was she feeling sorry for herself? That had been true maybe a few days ago, but the scene today had been the most fun she’d had in a long time.

Now that she’d admitted that—strictly to herself, no one else—it was hard to stuff the feeling back into the box. Or the reason it had been so great. Joaquin. One hundred percent. If he got replaced, she’d never be able to film the movie with another actor.

Which meant she’d just lied to Quinoa. No, it wasn’t a big, deliberate fib, but she’d led him to believe that she was a steadfast, honorable person, when the real reason she didn’t want to quit was because she couldn’t wait to find out what would happen in tomorrow’s scene.

Was it so terrible to be entranced by the idea of living out her own rom-com in technicolor?

Quinoa is typing…

She breathed a sigh of relief. He was still her online love, the only man who really understood who she was at her core and liked her regardless.

No. That wasn’t entirely correct, not anymore. Joaquin kind of did as well. Z, he’d called her. Because he saw her as bold and in your face. She’d never thought of herself like that before and really, she wasn’t with anyone else. There was just something about him that brought that out. It was a piece of her that maybe didn’t even exist without his influence. One she liked.

Z. It had flair and mystery. How much of a kick was it to earn that nickname via a Hollywood pretty boy who’d lived on another continent as a child and since then, had done and seen more than any ten people she knew?

Quinoa: I work with a woman who reminds me of you. I don’t know what you look like, of course, but there is something about her spirit that causes me to stop and consider if you might be similar if we were to ever meet.

The ice edged out the guilt in a millisecond as she reread his words. Meet? In real life? That would ruin everything. And yet a part of her latched onto the suggestion anyway. What if Quinoa was even better in person than he was on her screen? More to the point, what if he was as exciting and affecting as someone like Joaquin?

It would be the best of all possible scenarios.

She’d finally have that physical connection she yearned for but had almost convinced herself didn’t matter in the long run.

Curlgurl: maybe we should meet.

Quinoa: Are you sure? We’ve never talked about this before. It’s a very big step.

And with that warning, all of the reasons she’d resisted ever going there flooded back. The odds of Quinoa being perfect in real life were so slim. They’d never be able to go back to their online romance once that cat was out of the bag.

Curlgurl: I mean I’m not saying today or even tomorrow but maybe one day.

That was enough of a commitment to the idea that she wasn’t saying no, and also gave her time to think about it.

Tonight, it was her turn to cut their chat short. It had happened a few times lately but always because Quinoa had a prior commitment due to his day job, and she felt terrible for being the reason this time, but she couldn’t do this now.

There was too much swirling through her head to sleep, though, as she discovered once she lay in bed, wide awake. She had a four a.m. date with wardrobe, and yet her eyes refused to close.

For who knew what reason, she palmed her phone and thumbed up Joaquin’s number. Before she could talk herself out of it, she texted him: Kiss scene tomorrow.

He replied instantly, which shocked her for some reason.

Joaquin: Who is this?

That made her laugh out loud. Definitely no question there: Z.

Joaquin: Then you should already know how much I despise text messages.

A little hum started up behind her ribcage and she couldn’t wipe the smile from her face as she set her phone down on the bed. Now she could sleep.

But then her phone vibrated, and her smile widened as she saw Joaquin’s name on the screen: Exactly how far off script are you going to go tomorrow anyway?

Eliza: That’s for me to know and you to find out.

Joaquin: Don’t forget that’s a two-way street.

Well, that was an interesting point, one she liked very much, thank you.

Eliza: I’m counting on it. Bring your A game Mr. Movie Star.

She stared at the screen. Her chat with Joaquin looked nothing like the one with Quinoa because she had autocorrect on her phone, but not on the chat tool she used on her computer. It was instinctual to pick the correct word from the little suggestion box as she texted, but she’d never thought about how she might come across as two completely different people.

Maybe she was two completely different people. One who liked the safety of anonymity with Quinoa and one who wanted to explore the woman she’d discovered while with Joaquin.

After all, she’d never have so boldly texted a famous actor, almost borderline flirting with him, if he hadn’t called her Z. Or if she hadn’t liked it so much. But part of the reason she could be like that with him was because it wasn’t real. There was some safety in that too.

Her phone fell quiet and she slipped into her pajamas, her head full of the way Joaquin’s eyes had gone kind of melty when she’d spontaneously kissed him in exchange for the business card.

There might be more of that in store for her—and him—tomorrow.

Except when she got to the set, Julie informed her that Gizmo’s trainer had to cut short his stint in Dallas due to an unexpected funeral in L.A., so they had to rearrange the schedule to film all of Gizmo’s scenes today.

The first date and subsequent kiss scene would be tomorrow as a result. Eliza shoved back the little curl of disappointment and let the wardrobe lady fit her into a dress with spaghetti straps, which would be zero fun to wear outside in November. But it was appropriate for the scene where Mark invites Susanna on a picnic, which Gizmo would disrupt, naturally.

Eliza trudged to the makeup trailer, but didn’t see Joaquin once, another disappointment. It didn’t matter. Joaquin was just a guy she worked with.

The moment she spied him through the crowd of people, he likewise caught her gaze, shooting her a secret little smile and a head tip. As if he’d been looking for her. And maybe had missed seeing her this morning as well. Her heart did a funny little free-fall, landing with a splat somewhere in the middle of her stomach.

Oh, that was not good. Okay, it was good. The ice in her stomach had melted around about the middle of his second text message last night, and there was nothing resembling anything frozen in one single pore of her body today. Which was nice considering it was fifty-something degrees and they wouldn’t let her put on a sweater.

Joaquin wound through the crowd to pick a spot less than an inch behind her to stand, and then he leaned forward to murmur in her ear.

“No kiss scene today, Z.”

His lips almost but not quite grazed her skin as he spoke, and it wasn’t hard to imagine what it might feel like to relax backward into his chest as if she had every right to cozy up so intimately with Joaquin Cortez. But he was just standing so close so she could hear him over the general din of the crew.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t give as good as she’d gotten. She turned her head slightly, which causing her shoulder to brush his torso. Oops. “I know you must be disappointed.”

He laughed. “I am, actually. I was looking forward to seeing what shenanigans you might have cooked up.”

“Shenanigans? You might want to watch your language around a lady.”

That only widened his grin, and he reached up to tuck a lock of her hair behind the ear he’d chosen for all his attention this morning.

As his fingers slid down her neck, she shivered, and not from the temperature, which had increased exponentially the moment his heat had begun branding her back.

“You okay, Z?” he murmured and let his fingers keep going down her bare shoulder. “You have goosebumps.”

She’d never been so wholly affected by a man in her life, and all he was doing was talking to her. She’d put money on there being more here than a conversation, that he was flirting with her, and maybe she was flirting back.

“It’s cold,” she said. “Which you wouldn’t know because they let Mark wear something reasonable for the season.”

There was a shift and instantly, Joaquin slid his buttery leather jacket over her shoulders and wrapped his arms around her, allegedly to pull the edges shut across her chest, but it felt an awful lot like an embrace to her. A heady masculine combo of citrus and Joaquin engulfed her along with a swamp of sensations, and all she could do was helplessly stand there as her body turned the approximate temperature and volatility of a volcano.

It had been far too long since she’d had this kind of physical connection. And it was so, so good.

“Better?” he mouthed into her ear, which was much more accessible to him now that she was wrapped up in his jacket and his arms. Sparks erupted across her lobe.

“I’m not cold, that’s for sure,” she muttered. What she was, she had no idea.

“Thank you, Joaquin,” he mimicked in a high voice with a smart-aleck chuckle. “You’re the best, Joaquin. I was so uncomfortable, and now I’m all better, thanks to you.”

And in spite of the turmoil happening under her skin, a laugh burst out from her lips because there was almost nothing she could keep inside when around him. He filled her up and everything felt too big inside to be contained. “Save some of that for the cameras.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He touched two fingers to his temples in a salute, which had the unfortunate effect of loosening his arms, but he dropped them anyway as he stepped back. “See you in a few. Bring your A game.”

Oh, man. He was quoting her text message from last night. What did that mean? She watched him walk away and since he’d left his jacket, she didn’t hesitate to slip her arms through the sleeves in some ill-conceived effort to retain the illusion that he was still holding her.

This was not supposed to be happening. She was supposed to be in love with Quinoa, not imagining that Joaquin had left her his jacket strictly so she would continue thinking about him. Which she was. Thinking about him—and in love with Quinoa. How could she be so confused all at once?

It was just that Joaquin filled a huge void that she hadn’t even realized was so big. She craved connection, and she got the emotional piece of that from Quinoa online just fine. But the physical rush of being with a man who excited her…she couldn’t discount the power of that. Or that it was something she wanted.

Nor could she allow herself to imagine what she experienced with Joaquin was anything more than an accomplished flirt doing what he did best. It meant nothing to him.

Obviously, she had to meet Quinoa. In the flesh.

Soon.