“You ain’t slick.”
I glance up to stare at Monk, lounging by the craft services table, not sure I even want to know what he’s talking about.
I don’t.
Without responding, I place a slice of smoked salmon on my plate.
“You hate fish,” Monk says, now standing across from me. “Especially fish that ain’t even cooked right.”
“Monk, man, what the hell you talking about?”
“You over here pretending to eat smoked salmon when we both know why you slithered out of your video cave.”
I stiffen.
“For the record.” I point to the slimy pink fish-mass on my plate. “I love this stuff.”
“Oh, you do?” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Let’s see you eat it.”
I make a scoffing noise, mostly as a delay tactic because I really do hate smoked salmon. Monk nods to the plate and lifts his brows. It’s none of his damn business. I know that, but I can’t let him win the point. I wish I wasn’t so proud. And stubborn. And bullheaded.
I eat the salmon.
And literally gag into my napkin.
“Told your ass!”
“So I don’t like it. Who cares?” I toss the plate into a trash can and grab a bottle of water from the corner of the table.
“My point was that you’re not out here to eat.” Monk looks over his shoulder where Trey and Neevah sit on a fabricated New York City stoop playing cards. One of the cameras malfunctioned and it’s being worked on. A brief delay, but the actors took advantage of it and, as they always seem to, broke out a deck of cards.
“You’re here to spy,” Monk finishes with a gloating smile.
“You on some bullshit, man.” I deliberately turn my back so I can’t see the two of them throwing down cards, but I hear Neevah squeal, and it makes me grit my teeth.
“What are we talking about?” Jill asks, walking up to grab a protein bar from the table.
“How Canon likes Neevah,” Monk says.
I turn on him. “Man, don’t be saying that shit. Somebody might hear you.”
“I mean, is that a secret?” Jill takes a bite of her bar. “Is he out here brooding over Trey and Neevah?”
“I do not brood,” I reply. They exchange if you say so looks. “Okay, I brood, but not over them. Over that. Shit, I don’t give a damn if they—”
Neevah lets out another peal of laughter that sails across the set.
What is so funny about some damn cards?
I resist the urge to turn around and look—to stomp over there and ask Nick at Nite myself.
“Should we tell him?” Jill asks Monk. “I feel like we should tell him.”
“Tell me what?” I ask.
“No, definitely not.” Monk laughs. “This is too much fun.”
“Tell me what?” I repeat.
“But we could put him out of his misery,” Jill says.
“Why would we do that?” Monk asks.
“Monk, motherfucker, you better tell me something.”
“Trey has a girlfriend he’s crazy about,” Jill blurts.
“What?” That can’t be true. I would have known. If that’s true, I’ve been torturing myself for weeks thinking he was trying to get in Neevah’s pants when he would have had no interest in her pants.
“They’ve been dating for about a year,” Jill says, rolling her eyes.
“But at the party,” I say to Monk. “You told me everyone thought they were already sleeping together.”
“What can I say?” He shrugs. “I just like pulling your chain.”
“Everyone knows. It’s not some secret,” Jill says. “You just don’t pay attention to anything except your movies.” She laughs and shoots an amused glance over my shoulder. “Oh, and now to her.”
“Does everyone know?” I ask, my voice subdued, eyes fixed on my Air Force Ones.
“About Trey?” Monk asks. “Of course. You’re the only one—”
“Not about Trey. About me.” I tip my head back, gesturing behind me. “About her.”
“No.” Jill’s voice and eyes hold sympathy and affection. “Monk and I have been with you for years. We know you, but no one else would suspect.”
“Let’s keep it that way.” I split a warning look between the two of them. “I’m serious about that. We aren’t . . . there’s nothing going on between us.”
“Yet,” Jill says, squeezing her smile in at the corners.
“This is her first movie. She doesn’t need what would come with us . . . She doesn’t need that. She doesn’t deserve it.”
“Any idea if she . . .” Monk toggles his head back and forth. “Ya know. If she’s feeling you, too?”
I don’t answer with anything but a nod, but it’s enough for them to exchange shit-eating grins.
“Why are you guys so giddy about this?” I demand, fighting a smile my-damn-self now.
“Because she’s amazing and you deserve it,” Jill says. “I’ve never seen you this way about anyone. I know the level of dedication it takes to tell the stories you do, and I’m glad you have your work, but we’re your friends. We want more for you than that. We want to see you happy.”
“Yeah, you need somebody in that lonely life of yours,” Monk taunts.
“How is Verity, by the way?” Jill asks him.
Monk frowns down into his coffee, curses and walks away.
“Why didn’t I think of that?” I laugh.
“What can I say? I’m an expert button-pusher.” Jill’s expression sobers. “For real. All work. No play. You know the rest. If you want her—”
“It’s not that simple. It’s timing. While we’re filming—”
“You’re not filming over Christmas,” she says, her grin mischievous and laced with trouble.
I knew there was a reason I kept her around.
