“Come play with us.”
I glance over at my costar, the eagerness on Trevor’s face making me smile. With his thin frame and youthful features, he looks like a teenage boy instead of a twenty-seven-year-old man.
“Malcolm and I are going to that new martini bar on Broadway,” he adds. “They’ve got a VIP lounge, so we won’t be hounded by fans.” Trevor wiggles his eyebrows enticingly.
I offer a regretful look. “I can’t. I’m heading to the airport the moment I change out of this costume.”
“Airport?”
“Yeah, remember? I have a wedding this weekend.”
We fall into step with each other in the back corridor of the studio I’ve called home for three years. Trevor is new this season to The Delaneys, the cable drama I’d been cast in right out of college. He was cast as my love interest for this final season of the show, and we’ve grown close these past six months. A part of me wishes the show wasn’t ending this year, especially since our ratings are at an all-time high. But our showrunners Brett and Kiersten had always planned for it to be a three-season story arc, and each season has beautifully told the story of this horribly dysfunctional family in which I play the middle daughter.
It’s still surreal to think I’ve been acting on the number one show in the country for the past few years. And it’s going to suck so hard to say goodbye, but I’m one of those people who believe in going out with a bang rather than a whimper.
“Ugh. Right,” Trevor gripes. “That’s this weekend?”
“Yup.”
“Who’s getting married again?”
“College friends,” I answer. “My boyfriend’s former teammate.”
“Ah, the hockey boyfriend,” Trevor teases. “I will never get over the fact that you’re with a jock.”
“Trust me, I didn’t see it coming either.” Though is he still considered a jock if he doesn’t really play anymore? These days Dean teaches at Parklane Academy, the all-girls private school in Manhattan where he coaches the hockey and volleyball teams.
We reach the corridor that houses the supporting cast’s dressing rooms. The bigger stars have trailers on the lot, but we’re delegated to these peasant’s quarters. I’m joking. The fact that I have my own dressing room, with my name on the door and everything, is the greatest feeling in the whole world. Not a day goes by that I don’t wake up overcome with gratitude.
Trevor trails after me into the cozy room I’ve looked at as a second home for nearly three years. Ugh, I’m dreading the day I have to pack everything up and close the door to this room for the last time. We still have a few more night shoots to do for the finale, but then it’ll be a wrap on The Delaneys. It’s a bittersweet feeling. After playing the same character for so long, I’m going to miss Bianca Delaney. Yet at the same time, I’m ready to tackle something new. Take on a new challenge.
“You bringing the boyfriend to the wrap party next week?” Trevor asks. “Because you know Malcolm’s gonna want to get one final look at the golden god.”
I snicker. Our costar Malcolm, my on-screen brother, has a huge crush on Dean and scampers after him like a puppy whenever Dean visits set. I don’t blame him. Dean Heyward-Di Laurentis is possibly the most attractive man on the face of God’s green earth. The first time our director met him, she spent an hour trying to convince Dean to get into acting. She even offered him a role in her next movie. But Dean has no interest being in films.
Unless it’s the private kind.
I feel my cheeks heating up at the memory. I swear, our sex life is off-the-charts hot, but I’d expect no less from the man who was once the biggest manwhore at Briar University. As far as sexual partners go, Dean is…spectacular.
More than that, I couldn’t ask for a better partner, period. He’s attentive, sweet, funny. He even gets along with my dad, which is a huge feat, because Dad is a cranky curmudgeon.
“He’ll probably be there, but it depends on his schedule.” I shrug. “The hockey team he coaches has a bunch of weekend tournaments once we’re back from Boston, but hopefully that doesn’t stop him from at least making an appearance.”
“Good. And I expect you at the after-after party too,” Trevor says firmly, dark eyes twinkling. “Seraphina, Malcolm, and I are going clubbing.”
“Ha. I’m not making any promises. Let’s see how drunk you maniacs get at the wrap party before I decide if I’m following you down the after-after party rabbit hole.”
“No. You have to come. Who knows when we’ll get a chance to get our dance on again.” He gives an exaggerated pout.
He has a point, though. It’s hard to say we’ll keep in touch after the show ends. We only met this year, and once we’re done filming, he’ll go back to LA and I’ll stay here in New York. Hollywood friendships tend to be fickle and fleeting.
“I’ll think about it,” I tell him. “Now shoo. I need to change and scrub off this makeup.”
“Have fun this weekend. Love you, babe.”
“Love ya.”
After he’s gone, I quickly change into my street clothes and wipe the makeup from my face. My skin feels raw and looks red and dry when I examine it in the mirror. Frowning, I slather moisturizer all over it. I better not be splotchy for the wedding. That would be unacceptable.
Outside, there’s a black town car waiting for me. Everyone involved in the production has access to the studio’s car service, but it needs to be booked in advance. When I approach the curb with my rolling suitcase, the driver quickly rounds the vehicle to take my bag.
I greet him with a warm smile. “Hey, Ronald.”
“Heya, Allie,” he says easily. He’s one of our regular drivers, and my favorite one. “The itinerary says you’re going to the airport?”
“Yes, please. Teterboro,” I say, naming the private airport where billionaires and celebrities slip in and out of the city unnoticed.
“Fancy!” he teases, his eyes twinkling.
I feel myself blushing. Dating Dean comes with perks that go beyond attention and great sex—like the private jet his parents bought a couple of years ago. Yup. The Heyward-Di Laurentis brood owns a jet now. For years they’d been flying back and forth between their Connecticut and Manhattan homes and their place in St. Barth’s, so frequently that Dean’s dad, Peter, decided it made “fiscal sense” to purchase a jet. I can’t even.
Not that I’m complaining. As Dean’s girlfriend, I’m wealthy adjacent. Which means I have access to the family jet if it’s not in use. So far, I’ve only flown on it twice, and the one time I tried asking Dean’s mom, Lori, how much I owed them for the flights, she laughed at me and told me not to worry about it. I’m terrified of how much it must cost to fuel an entire jet, but Dean assured me that a one-hour flight to Boston wasn’t going to break his parents’ bank.
Ronald and I chat on the drive, while I simultaneously text with Hannah Wells, my best friend. Since she and her boyfriend live in Boston already, they didn’t have to travel for the wedding. Dean and I are crashing at their place for the weekend, but Dean went a couple of days ahead of me.
ME: In the car, going to the airport now. I can’t wait to see you, Han-Han.
HER: OMG me too. I miss your dumb face.
ME: Not as much as I miss YOUR dumb face.
I text Dean next to let him know where I’m at.
ME: On my way to the airport. See you in a bit.
DEAN: Be safe.
DEAN: Can’t wait to fuck you.
I swallow a laugh. I used to be caught off guard by the frank way he talks about sex, but these days I’m used to it.
And if I’m being honest with myself, I sorta kinda love it.
