Page 13 of Burn the Script

“Sounds complicated.” His shoulders hunched as he leaned forward to examine the backyard below us. Tropical plants filled the gardens, and an infinity pool spilled into the hills. “Don’t you worry about what everyone will say if the truth comes out?”

Miguel’s question gave me pause. The first nugget of wisdom my current manager shared when I hired him was to protect my peace. In the early years, I received indecent photos, videos, and proposals from men and women on social media, daily. And plenty of people offered unsolicited critiques on everything from my looks to my acting skills.

I’d since handed over my public accounts to a PR team, and I avoided tabloids altogether. The industry’s opinion of me and my work ethic became my primary concern. Outside of acting, I had created a safe space where I could be myself among a few trusted friends. That space felt smaller and more suffocating with each passing day.

With a halfhearted smile and a shrug, I said, “I try not to dwell on things I have no control over. I’d rather spend my energy adding to all the good in the world.”

“We live in different worlds,” he mumbled, glancing over his shoulder at the patio door.

My pulse kicked up a notch, but it settled when he faced the canyon again. The deep grooves between his eyebrows screamed his doubts about me into the darkening sky.

I dipped my head to catch his eye. “Your wheels are spinning. Can we eat dinner before you write me off?”

Nodding, he released his firm grip on the railing. After pulling out his chair at the table for six, I took the seat to his left. For a moment that stretched like a lifetime, we stared at the dinner spread without speaking. My inexperience with romantic first dates was on full display. I may have gone overboard with the presentation, but he struck me as a man with refined tastes.

“I ordered takeout because I’m useless in the kitchen,” I said.

“You call this takeout?” The amused gleam in his eye rivaled the whimsical string lights overhead as he plucked the origami bird napkin off his plate.

I removed the lids from the silver chafers, and the savory aroma of Thai cuisine wafted to our noses. He reached for a serving spoon, but I gently knocked his hand aside. With a grunt, he folded his arms over his chest and observed as I plated the food, poured the iced tea, and lit a candle. His leg jerked when our knees touched, but he grabbed his polished silverware and dug in without comment.

A few breaths of awkward silence and chewing passed before he severed the tension. “So…you’re into movies. I’m not. We might as well end this while we’re ahead.”

I chuckled and speared a piece of chicken with my fork. “You plan to challenge me every step of the way, don’t you?”

“Would this be any fun for you if I didn’t?”

“No fun at all.” When his lips twitched, I knew I had to make him smile before the night was over. “Have you always lived in LA?”

“East Los Angeles, born and raised. Most of my family lives there, but I don’t see them as often as I should.” Miguel shoved a bite of spicy noodles into his mouth and moaned. “Wow. So fucking good.”

Visions flooded my head, ones of him moaning and saying those exact words while his body writhed against mine. I choked on my chicken, and a muffled coughing fit broke my inappropriate train of thought.

“Drink this.” He pressed a glass into my hand and rubbed my back. “Are you okay?”

“Mm-hmm. Sorry. Wrong pipe.” I downed the drink while my mind retreated to the safer topics of relatives and geography. “My parents live in Colorado, but we don’t talk much either. They had me in their forties, and there’s always been a disconnect between us.”

The age gap between me and my parents had nothing to do with our disconnect. Them having a surprise baby was the cause of it. From what I gathered, a child-free life was the only thing they agreed on after their wedding.

Miguel shifted in his seat. “If you don’t mind me asking, do they know you’re gay?”

Grinning, I cut through a spring roll and placed half on his plate. “Yes, my parents know. When I was seventeen, they came home early from a party and caught me making out with a friend. We had an awkward conversation in my bedroom about the bees and the bees. All of us.”

His hand froze with the fork halfway to his mouth. “Holy shit, a nightmare,” he whispered.

“It was. My friend panicked. He was convinced the whole town would find out, so he kept his distance from me after that. I have to give my parents some credit, though. They weren’t upset to learn I had no interest in dating girls.”

“Maybe they already knew.” He let out an exasperated sigh. “God, when I told my parents I’d never marry a girl because my best friend Jordan was going to be my husband, they looked at me with pity. Apparently, I was the last in the family to figure it out. So, naturally, I got mad at them for withholding information. Even at twelve, I hated being kept in the dark.”

“Because you don’t belong there.”

The truth smacked me in the face, wiping the remnants of my amusement clean off. I was such a hypocrite. There I sat, hoping Miguel would be willing to cower in the shadowed side of my duplicitous life. It felt wrong when his radiance was what drew me to him. His light deserved to be magnified, not diminished.

I set my fork down and rested my forearms on the table, hands balled into fists. “I’m sorry. You were right to question my character. I’m lying to everyone. Hollywood isn’t as progressive behind the scenes as people think, and if anyone finds out I’m a fraud, my reputation and career will be ruined. But those are my burdens to carry. It’s not fair to ask you⁠—”

“Graham.” The cool hand he placed on my wrist tempered my heated flesh. “You’re not a fraud.”

The air rushed from my lungs, so fast I almost folded in half. Despite the overwhelming relief and validation his words delivered to my soul, I couldn’t accept them without making myself clear.