Page 25 of Shine For Me

“I’m not. I think you look cute like this.” As soon as those words leave my lips, something goes wrong in my gut. Shedoeslook cute like this. Really cute. I’ve never seen June anything less than perfectly put together. Even on those occasions when she dresses down, she’s still decked out in designer casual wear. And her hair and make-up arealwaysdone.

Right now, though, she looks…softer. A little bit fragile. Without makeup on I can see that she has a few freckles dusted along her nose. How had I never noticed those before? And her glasses…

I straighten, realizing that I’m staring…because holyshit, I’m attracted to June.

It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve ever thought that. June is objectively a beautiful woman, the type of person who seems made for movie screens and magazine covers. But in the last two years, I’ve come to realize that beauty doesn’t mean a heck of a lot in Hollywood.Everyoneis beautiful. Gina Rutledge sure was beautiful, didn’t make her any less of a heartless witch when it counted.

But looking at June right now, something strikes me deep in the gut, something I’ve never felt when I looked at her dressed to the nines in a ballgown or running around LA looking picture perfect for the paparazzi. She looks sweet and soft and real.

And why the hell do I find her glasses sexy?

“Fox?”

“Sorry,” I say quickly, tearing my eyes away. “So, uh, guess we’re neighbors, huh?”

You’re being weird, man,I think to myself.Get it together.

She releases a long-suffering sigh. “If I had known hanging out with the little people meant living next to you for the next five weeks, I would have stayed in my rental.”

I laugh, and just like that, things go back to normal. This is June. My friend. The person I joke around with on set and try to entertain when we’re both bored shitless at some event.

But when she suggests we meet up again in ten minutes to go grab some lunch, I can’t help but cross my fingers she’ll put her contacts in.

* * *

I had hopedto have some time to sightsee and get to know the area before filming started. My uncles felt like it was their responsibility to give me a shit ton of advice when I started this insane career—there’s nothing those arrogant idiots like better than pretending like they know everything. One tip that did stick with me, though, had to do with touring. They described their early days of being on the road as a grind that would have burned them out in a few years if they hadn’t managed to lighten things up a little. They all said they started enjoying it more when they took some time—even just a few hours—to actually experience the places they were visiting. So whether I’m shooting on location or traveling for promo, I always try to take that advice.

But except for that first lunch with June, I find I’m busy pretty much from the moment I arrive in North Carolina to the moment I have to show up on set. Apparently, there was some huge dustup in pre-production back in LA which resulted in both the cinematographer and costume designer being replaced. A new cinematographer means new screen testing, new lighting tests, new blocking. All of which is boring and tedious, not to mention it’s shit we already covered back in LA.

The new costume designer has scrapped nearly everything the original artist was working on. So instead of spending the first day in town checking things out, I find myself in endless fittings. Even worse, the new designer—who goes by the name of Francois, for some unknown reason, despite clearly not being the slightest bit French—has decided his “vision” includes a hell of a lot more scenes with me shirtless in a bathing suit. And, apparently, that means I’ll be adding another two hours of working out to my already daily sessions.

“I should be offended by this, right?” I ask June on our first day on set. “I mean, they’re basically telling me I don’t look good enough without my shirt on.” She makes a weird choking noise, her cheeks going pink. “June?”

“Sorry.” She coughs a few times. “Tickle in my throat.” She coughs again before turning to me. “Don’t take it personally. Half the designers I’ve ever worked with don’t see us as actual people—we’re just walking clothes hangers to them.”

“They want me to cut out salt,” I whine. “And carbs. And most fat. What the hell is the point of food if it doesn’t taste like anything?”

I expect her to roll her eyes and say something sarcastic about me getting a taste for what it’s like to be an actress in Hollywood, but instead her expression shifts to anger. “Call your agent.”

“What? Why?”

“Because this kind of stuff is supposed to be worked out before filming. It sounds like they want you on a crash diet and that’s bullshit. You’re going to be working fourteen, sixteen-hour days. You can’t do that if you’re starving. Especially not because they changed their mind at the last minute.”

“I don’t want to cause trouble, though.”

Now she does roll her eyes. “That’s literally why you have an agent. It’s their job to cause trouble on your behalf.” She seems way more pissed about this than I would have expected. “It’s ridiculous anyhow. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with your body.” She gives an incredulous laugh. “I mean, have theylookedat you?” Her eyebrows come down in confusion. “Why are you grinning?”

I realize that Iamgrinning. I like that she’s defending me like this. June is usually a pretty cheerful person, but right now she looks pissed. On my behalf. It feels…nice.

But something stops me from telling her that. Instead, I fall back on what we do best—I tease her. “Nothing wrong with my body, huh?”

She rolls her eyes. “If you’re fishing for compliments you can stop right now. I have zero desire to tend to your fragile male ego.”

I hold up my hands. “I’m just curious. What, specifically, did you mean when you said, ‘have they looked at you?’” I lift my shirt a few inches. “It was the abs, right? You were talking about my abs.”

“Is that what you call them?” She squints down at my midriff. “Sorry, I don’t see abs. Abs would indicate there’s some muscle there.”

“How dare you,” I mock gasp, grabbing for her hand. “I have abs! Look.”