Rising Star Read online

  “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea,” Alice said, and slid half her potato onto his plate.

  When Griffin had cleaned both their plates, they carried everything into the kitchen and loaded the dirty dishes into the dishwasher.

  “Can I ask you something?” Alice ventured, feeling emboldened by their night of roommate bonding.

  Griffin reached under the sink for the dishwasher detergent. “Shoot.”

  She leaned back against the counter with her hands grasping the edge behind her. “Would you have come back for another year if they’d renewed LV Gen?”

  He glanced at her, then away again. “No.”

  “Did the network know that when they canceled it?”

  Griffin got the ice cream out of the fridge and put it in Alice’s hands without meeting her eye. “It’s complicated.”

  “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” She hadn’t meant to make him uncomfortable.

  “We’re not really supposed to talk about this stuff.”

  “That’s okay. Pretend I never asked.” It was the first time Alice had ever felt like she’d crossed a line with him. She got two spoons from the drawer and held one out as a peace offering.

  Griffin hesitated before accepting it. “If you’re asking if it’s my fault the show’s ending, the answer is…sort of.”

  Feeling bad for bringing up what was obviously a sore subject, she peeled open the ice cream and offered it to him. He stared at it like he was trying to make up his mind whether to have some or not. After a moment he reached for it, covering her hand with his to steady the container while he carved out a spoonful of the frozen treat.

  “You can’t tell anyone this, okay?”

  Alice swallowed, her hand half frozen and half warmed by the contact with his. “Of course.”

  He let go and shoved the spoon of ice cream into his mouth. His eyes drifted closed for a second as he savored it, then he bent and put his spoon into the open dishwasher. “Alfie quit first. He told them he wasn’t renewing his contract, no matter how much they sweetened the pot.”

  Alice could have guessed as much. It had been pretty obvious for a while that Alfie was eager to be free of his contract.

  Griffin leaned against the counter beside her and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. His eyes were hooded as they fixed on the opposite counter. “They came to me and offered me top billing and a substantial raise to re-up.”

  “And you said no?” Alice asked, stabbing the frozen ice cream with her spoon.

  He nodded. “I almost said yes—for about five minutes.” His eyes found hers guiltily. “But after I turned them down, they decided to cancel it. So it’s my fault you’re about to be out of a job.”

  She set the ice cream down between them and rubbed her cold hand on her jeans. “That’s not why I was asking. And it’s not your fault.”

  His mouth twisted. “Sure it is. If I’d said yes, three hundred people would have a job for another year—or more.”

  “They’ll get other jobs,” Alice told him. She hadn’t expected him to feel such a strong sense of responsibility. “They’ll be fine. Another show will come along and take its place. That’s how the business works.”

  Griffin crossed his arms and nodded, clearly still feeling bad about it.

  “Anyone would have done the same thing.” She scooped a big bite of ice cream onto her spoon and held it out to him. “You’re about to be a huge star—and I’m gonna be able to say I knew you before you were famous. How cool is that?”

  A hint of a smile curved his lips as he accepted the spoon. “I’m actually pretty famous already. I don’t know if you’ve noticed.”

  Alice suppressed a shiver as he licked the spoon clean and passed it back to her. She lowered her eyes and plunged it back into the ice cream. “See?” She struggled to keep her tone light and jokey. “You’ve already got the big head to go with your superstardom. You’re ready.”

  “Hey!” He nudged her arm with his elbow. “My head is normal-sized, thank you very much.”

  She smiled, glad that things were back to being easy between them.

  Other than all these random acts of feelings she had to be on constant guard against.

  “Are you sure this isn’t bothering you?” Griffin asked, casting an anxious glance at Alice during a commercial break. She was camped at the other end of the couch working on her dissertation while he watched TV, and the last thing he wanted to do was distract her.

  She looked up from her laptop and smiled. The way she was sitting, sideways with her back against the armrest and her legs crossed underneath her, he was directly in her line of sight when she lifted her head. “No, I like it. It’s the perfect white noise.”

  “Okay.” He turned back to the TV. It was Easter Sunday and his only plans involved vegging in front of a baseball game. He’d never been a churchgoer, so with the candy and chocolate bunnies off-limits, Easter was just another day to him.

  Alice had been camped on the couch all day in a pair of cutoff shorts, so he gathered it wasn’t a big holiday for her either.

  “My working here isn’t bothering you, is it?”

  He looked over at her again and lifted a mocking eyebrow. “Yeah, your quiet typing is really interfering with my sitting on my ass and watching the most boring game in the history of baseball.”

  “I just wanted to make sure.”

  “Don’t be a dork.”

  She smiled again. “Fine.”

  Never in a million years would Griffin have imagined he’d actually like having a woman—or anybody for that matter—sharing his house with him. His memories of having roommates were mostly of the bad stuff: the noise, the mess, the inconvenience, the smell. Living with Alice wasn’t like that. She was considerate, clean, and quiet as a church mouse. But beyond that, there was something about having her around that made him feel…content. It was better than being alone, somehow. Even now, simply sitting beside her watching the game without talking, he felt more relaxed—happier, even—just having her nearby.

  He actually liked having a roommate. Go figure.

  Alice went back to her work, and Griffin turned his attention back to the game. Or he tried to, anyway. The score had been stuck at 1-0 since the first inning, and it wasn’t really holding his interest. Every few minutes he’d find himself sneaking a glance her way.

  Her blonde hair was piled on her head in a messy bun, with a few wavy tendrils slipping out. She kept pushing them behind her ear, and they kept falling right back into her face. Every once in a while, she’d pause and smile to herself like she was pleased with whatever she’d written. He liked seeing that smile. It lacked her usual self-consciousness, as if she wasn’t even aware she was doing it. It felt like he was catching a glimpse of something rare that most people who knew her never got close enough to see.

  Alice looked up and caught him staring at her. “What?”

  “Nothing.” He flashed the grin he used to diffuse awkward situations. “Do you want some coffee? I was thinking about making some.” He hadn’t been, but she seemed to drink a lot of coffee when she was working, so he thought she might like it.

  Her face lit up. “I would love some if you’re making it.”

  Griffin pushed himself to his feet and headed for the kitchen. “One pot of coffee, coming up.”

  Jesus Christ, he needed to get a grip. What was he doing creepily staring at her like that? Not cool, dude.

  After he started the coffeemaker, he hung around the kitchen unloading the dishwasher and gave in to Taco’s begging by tossing him a treat. When the coffee was ready, he filled two mugs and carried them into the living room.

  “Yay, coffee!” Alice set her laptop aside as he approached. “Thank you,” she said, gingerly accepting the hot mug from him and setting it on the coffee table.

  “De nada.” He took his own coffee back to the other end of the couch and sank into the cushions. He didn’t really want coffee, but he also didn’t want Alic
e to know he’d made it just for her.

  While she waited for her coffee to cool, she reached her arms overhead and stretched, arching her back. Her breasts strained against the fabric of her favorite T-shirt. He knew it was her favorite because she always wore it first after doing laundry. It was white with a cartoon of a cat passed out on the floor above the words Not Today. He could see her pink bra through the thin cotton—the same pink lace bra he’d seen hanging in the laundry room the other day. He’d tried really hard not to look at it when he’d started his load of dirty gym clothes, but he’d seen it anyway.

  And now he was staring at her breasts like an asshole.

  Griffin jerked his head back toward the TV and forced himself to keep his eyes on the screen for the rest of the game.

  Eventually Alice shut her laptop and set it on the coffee table, but she stayed on the couch with him and watched the last twenty minutes of the game. Neither the Pirates nor the Tigers had managed to score another run since that first one. When it was over, he slid the remote toward her. “It’s your turn to pick something.”

  She didn’t touch it. “Isn’t there something else you want to watch?”

  “Nope. It’s all you. We can watch whatever you want.”

  Hesitantly, she reached for the remote. “I’ve been kind of wanting to start This Is Us. I don’t know if you want to watch that though.”

  “I’m cool with whatever.” It was one on a long list of shows Griffin had always meant to check out but had never gotten around to. With the long hours he worked, it could be hard to find time to keep up with all the shows he felt like he should watch, so he mostly didn’t bother.

  “Okay, if you’re sure.” Alice navigated to one of the streaming services and started up the first episode.

  Griffin settled back into the couch, unable to remember the last time he’d sat around with someone else doing something as simple as watching a television show he hadn’t worked on.

  By the time they’d reached the twenty-minute mark, his throat had developed a permanent lump and Alice was teary-eyed and sniffling. By the time the pilot was over she was a blubbering mess. He glanced at her and swiped at his eyes when she wasn’t looking.

  “Oh my god,” she said, hitting pause before the next episode started. “I’m so sorry. I knew it was sad but I didn’t realize it would be that sad.”

  Griffin cleared his throat. “It was really good though.” His voice sounded hoarse, so he quietly cleared his throat again, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

  Alice was too busy rubbing her eyes to pay much attention to him. “I haven’t cried like that since my mom died.”

  He glanced at her sharply. That was something they had in common, in addition to their absent fathers. They were both effectively orphans. He tried to clear his throat again, but it came out more of a grunt.

  Alice went into the bathroom to blow her nose and brought the whole box of tissues back with her.

  “When did your mom die?” Griffin asked.

  She sank back onto the couch, clutching a tissue in her hand. Her nose and eyes were bright red. “When I was thirteen.”

  “Mine died almost ten years ago. Lung cancer.” It was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. He’d dropped out of community college to help her through her treatment, foolishly thinking she’d be fine in six months or maybe a year at most. It hadn’t occurred to him she would actually die. Not at the age of forty-four. But that’s exactly what had happened. Instead of going back to school, Griffin had left Phoenix as soon as he’d tied up her affairs, and struck out for LA to pursue acting. Everything he’d accomplished in his life had happened because of her death, but he’d give it all up—the money, the fame, the acting career—if it meant he could have her back.

  Alice nodded, her eyes fixed on the wall straight ahead. “Mine was in a car accident.”

  They shared a moment of silence in honor of their membership in the Dead Mom Club. Griffin wanted to ask Alice if she’d been in the car and what had happened to her after—if she’d gone to live with a relative or been put into foster care—but since she didn’t volunteer anything further, he thought she might not want to talk about it.

  “You want to watch another episode?” he asked instead.

  Alice nodded. “Definitely.”

  “In that case I’m getting us some Gatorade,” he said, getting up. “You’d better hydrate if there’s going to be any more crying.”

  10

  Alice heard the sound of laughter as soon as she opened the front door.

  Did Griffin have a friend over? In the three weeks she’d been living with him, he hadn’t once had another person over to the house. He didn’t even seem to go out socially. She was starting to think the guy was a monk, contrary to what the gossip rags said about him.

  Another burst of laughter echoed through the house as she shut the door behind her. She followed the sound to the kitchen, where she found Griffin and—whoa.

  “Hey! You’re home!” Griffin said, catching sight of her. “Alice, this is my buddy Boone. He’s down from Vancouver for a couple days.”

  Boone Sheridan, star of the long-running Fox Network paranormal procedural Abnormal Investigations, beamed a dazzling smile at her. Alice had been slightly obsessed with the show—and Boone—in the early seasons when she was an undergrad, and it was surreal coming home and finding him casually hanging out in the kitchen.

  In the flesh, Boone was smaller than she’d imagined him to be—barely an inch taller than her with a slim build—but possibly even more handsome. But the most jarring thing—other than the fact that he was here—was that he wore a plain black T-shirt and Nikes rather than the plaid shirt and cowboy boots that were his character’s trademark look on the show. It was all very disorienting.

  “The famous Alice,” Boone said, coming forward to shake her hand. “We meet at last.”

  What? Had Griffin been talking about her to Boone Sheridan? She’d had no idea they even knew each other.

  “Nice to meet you,” she managed as her brain slowly recovered from the shock. The words came out nearly an octave higher than her normal voice, and she felt her cheeks flush.

  Boone quirked an eyebrow in amusement, causing the ghost of Alice’s younger self to quiver in embarrassed excitement. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said. “It’s nice to put a face to the name.”

  So Griffin had been talking about her. Alice was afraid to even imagine what he might have said. She cast a questioning glance at Griffin, who was observing them with an unreadable look on his face. “That’s funny. Griffin’s never once mentioned you.”

  Boone rounded on Griffin in mock indignation. “Seriously, dude?”

  Griffin shrugged. “I don’t like to drop my famous friends’ names.”

  “Whatever, movie star.”

  “You ready for another beer?” Griffin asked, jerking open the fridge.

  Boone waggled his bottle to check the level. “Yeah, hit me.”

  “Alice? You want one?”

  There was a tightness to Griffin’s expression that made her think maybe he’d prefer she made herself scarce, so she shook her head, clutching her laptop bag to her chest. “I’m just gonna head into my room to do some work and leave you guys to whatever it is you’re doing.”

  “No way!” Boone said, laying his hand on her arm. “You just got here. You can’t disappear on me already.”

  Alice looked at Griffin uncertainly and his expression softened. “Stay and hang out with us.” He twisted the cap off a beer and held it out to her. “It’s open now. You have to drink it.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to let a beer go to waste.” She accepted it and took a large swallow.

  “That’s my girl.” Boone grinned and tipped his bottle in Griffin’s direction. “We can trade notes on what it’s like to have this guy for a roommate.”

  She looked at them in surprise. “You guys were roommates?”

  Griffin snorted, leaning back against the cou
nter. “More like co-tenants in purgatory.”

  “We lived in the same crash pad for about six months,” Boone explained as he set his empty bottle next to the sink, “along with a rotating roster of four other down-on-their luck actors.”

  “It was vile,” Griffin said, making a face.

  Boone rolled his eyes. “He’s exaggerating, because he’s unnaturally persnickety.”

  Griffin crossed his arms, which happened to do amazing things for his biceps, and Alice wondered if it was a conscious—or unconscious—display to emphasize his muscular advantage over Boone. “If it’s persnickety to expect people to wash a dish or pick up their trash every once in a while to keep the rats at bay, then I proudly own my persnickety-ness.”

  She was enjoying watching their back-and-forth banter, which had clearly been honed over years of friendship. It was a different side of Griffin than she’d seen before. She’d often seen him yukking it up with the guys on set, but she’d always gotten the sense that was at least partially for show. He wanted everyone to like him, yet he didn’t seem to be genuinely close to anyone. But now here was Boone, the first and only person Griffin had invited to the house, and for once he didn’t seem to be performing or trying to impress. It was like getting a glimpse into what Griffin had been like before the fame and money.

  “Does he ride you all the time about cleaning up around the house?” Boone asked, turning to Alice.

  “No,” she answered honestly. “Not once.”

  “Seriously?” Boone shot an exaggerated look of surprise at Griffin, who simply shrugged.

  “She cleans up after herself like a normal functioning adult. Go figure.”

  “I’m pretty fastidious about that stuff, actually.” Alice nodded toward the sink. “Right now I’m having to physically restrain myself from rinsing out that bottle and putting it in the recycling bin.