Rising Star Read online

  She turned her face away, but not quick enough to hide the blush that spread across her freckled cheeks. “It’s no big deal.”

  He hoped she wasn’t trying to use background work to break into acting, because that poker face of hers was going to be a real obstacle. “I’m not used to having another person around,” he said. “But I’ll try to quit leaving my clothes in the laundry room.”

  “It’s fine. Whatever.”

  Griffin turned back to the stove and pushed his spinach around some more. “There’s coffee if you want it.”

  “Cool. Thanks.”

  “Mugs are in the cabinet to the left of the sink.” He watched Alice as she picked out a mug. Her wide blue eyes and heart-shaped face were strikingly pretty, but she didn’t carry herself like someone who thought she was beautiful. Instead, she acted like someone who preferred not to be noticed at all. “I don’t have any dairy,” he said, looking back down at his spinach, “but there’s coconut milk creamer in the fridge.”

  “I usually take it black.”

  “Smart. The coconut creamer tastes like children’s tears and shattered dreams.”

  Griffin was pretty sure he almost caught a glimpse of a smile before Alice hid it behind her coffee mug, which he took as a promising sign he hadn’t scarred her forever.

  “You want some eggs?” he offered. “I can throw another couple in to poach if you want.”

  “No thanks, I’m good.” Alice took a packet of off-brand toaster pastries out of the pantry and ripped it open.

  “That’s your breakfast?” he said with undisguised horror. “Pop-Tarts?”

  “Yeah.” She tore off a paper towel and carried it, her fake Pop-Tarts, and her coffee to the breakfast table, with Taco trotting hopefully at her heels.

  Griffin dished his six poached eggs and spinach onto a plate and joined her at the table. He felt Alice’s eyes on him as he dug into his breakfast. When he glanced at her, she quickly glanced away.

  The silence between them set him on edge. He always felt the need to fill silences when he was around other people, and he resented having to do it over breakfast in his own kitchen. Especially when he wasn’t even sure it would be appreciated.

  Alice had never seemed to want all that much to do with him, to be honest. Not that she was unfriendly, exactly. Just…indifferent.

  Griffin wasn’t used to indifference—particularly from women. His presence usually inspired a lot more gushing, eyelash batting, and hopeful flirting than the polite distance Alice projected at him. It was unnerving. Not that he expected every straight woman he met to throw herself at him, but…well…they kind of did. He was a friendly, flirty guy, and people usually responded to that. It wasn’t just the opposite sex either. He was likable, dammit. Everyone liked him.

  Alice was a tougher nut to crack. He couldn’t figure out how she felt about him. She was so reserved most of the time—almost wary, like she was expecting him to turn into an asshole at any moment. It made him want to win her over. To show her what a great guy he was. Prove to her how cool and approachable he was.

  He’d been told by a therapist once that he suffered from a pathological need to please, stemming from childhood abandonment issues. Whatever. It bugged him that Alice didn’t seem to like him and he didn’t understand why.

  That was part of the reason he’d started asking her to walk Taco in the first place. She was crazy about the damn dog. Whenever Griffin brought Taco around, Alice went from merely polite to downright enthusiastic. She cooed and cuddled and doted on that dumb dog. It felt like a win every time the dog got a smile out of her.

  She didn’t have to like him as long as she liked Taco, and she loved Taco.

  “You sure you don’t want some?” Griffin asked, twirling soggy green tendrils of spinach on his fork. “There’s more spinach on the stove.”

  Alice made a face. “Not everyone likes spinach for breakfast, Popeye.”

  “Believe me, this isn’t by choice.”

  “I don’t know how you stand it.”

  He shrugged. He definitely didn’t love all the dieting, but he could still remember what it felt like not to know where his next paycheck was coming from. It made it hard to consider his current situation a hardship. “It helps that I get paid a lot of money to stand it. You can get used to anything if you have to.”

  Alice looked down at her shitty Pop-Tart guiltily. “Having my food around the house isn’t going to make it harder for you, is it? I don’t want to lead you into temptation or anything.”

  Griffin snorted as he scooped up a bite of eggs. “Believe me, your sad, knockoff Pop-Tarts aren’t that much of a temptation.”

  “Well, just let me know if it ever bothers you.”

  “I’m more bothered by what you’re doing to your body eating that crap.”

  She stiffened like he’d hit a nerve. “My body is my own business.”

  He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Fair enough. I’m just saying, if you ever want to borrow any protein or vegetables or actual food or anything, just let me know.”

  “Believe it or not, your sad breakfast spinach isn’t much of a temptation.”

  They fell into another silence, and this time Griffin decided to just roll with it without forcing conversation. It was Alice who spoke up a minute later.

  “Hey, um…”

  He looked up, his mouth full of egg.

  “Is it okay if we don’t tell anyone at work about this arrangement?”

  He swallowed. “Yeah, sure. If that’s what you want.”

  “It’s just that it might be kind of weird. I don’t want anyone to start treating me different or anything.”

  “Of course. Mum’s the word.” He made a zipping motion across his lips. “Secret roommates it is.”

  After he’d forced himself to eat as much as he could stand, Griffin carried his plate to the sink and scraped the remains down the drain. He flipped on the disposal, but instead of grinding, it made a dull humming sound. He flipped it off and leaned over to peer down the drain. Flipped it on again. More humming but no grinding.

  “Dammit.” He flipped the switch on and off a few more times, hoping it would magically fix itself.

  “What’s wrong?” Alice asked.

  “Damn disposal’s broken.” He peered down into the drain again, but couldn’t see anything past the spinach.

  She shoved the last bite of Pop-Tart in her mouth and came over to stand next to him at the sink. “Is something stuck in there?”

  Griffin shook his head, straightening. “Not that I can see.”

  As Alice leaned over to peer into the drain, he got another whiff of that fruity shampoo she used. Definitely peaches.

  He edged away before she noticed his gratuitous hair sniffing. “I’ll have to call a plumber.” Which was going to be a pain in the ass because he was on the call sheet every day this week and wouldn’t be home to let a plumber in, which meant they’d have to live with a broken disposal until his next day off.

  “I might be able to fix it.”

  “Really?” Griffin asked, hopeful but also skeptical.

  “Maybe.” Alice waved him away from the sink so she could open the cabinet underneath. “Don’t suppose you know where the wrench that came with this thing is?”

  He was embarrassed to admit that he had no idea his garbage disposal was supposed to come with a wrench, but he did remember a bunch of random hardware and instruction manuals that had been left in a drawer when he moved in. He dug around in it until he found a silver Allen wrench. “This it?” he asked, holding it out to Alice, who knelt on the floor, clearing a space around the disposal.

  “That’s it.” She extended a hand and he slapped it into her palm the way she’d done dozens of times to him on set with medical instruments.

  Twisting around so she was lying on her back with her head in the cabinet, she stuck the wrench into the underside of the disposal. Griffin squatted beside her for a better look as he kept Taco from climbi
ng into the cabinet with her, but couldn’t really see what she was doing. After a minute or two of fiddling, she nodded at him and said, “Try it now.”

  He flipped the switch and the disposal roared to life. “What kind of witchcraft?” he asked in amazement.

  She squirmed out from under the sink. “It’s an easy fix, actually.”

  “How?” He held out a hand to help her off the floor, and she let him pull her upright.

  “There’s a socket on the underside that you can use to unjam the flywheel.” She gave him back the Allen wrench with a shrug.

  “Are you kidding me?” He shook his head as he dropped the wrench back in the drawer, amazed that the solution had been in there all along, unbeknownst to him. “Last time that happened I paid a plumber two hundred bucks to come out and fix it.”

  “Then you got screwed out of two hundred bucks.”

  “No shit.” He smiled. “Thanks.”

  Alice smiled back and saluted him with her coffee cup. “No problem.”

  Griffin watched her shuffle out of the room, feeling like he’d just won his first game in a tennis match.

  Once the work week started, Alice didn’t actually see all that much of Griffin around the house—which was perfectly fine with her.

  Monday morning, for example, Alice was up and gone by seven before Griffin had even stirred. He rolled on set around lunchtime, she was released at four in the afternoon, and he didn’t get home until nearly midnight when she was already in bed. The next day was the opposite: Griffin was already gone at nine a.m. when Alice got up, and she didn’t see him until her call time a few hours later. He wrapped for the day at six, she was stuck on set for another five hours, and by the time she got home he was snoring away in his bedroom. That was one of the only things she’d learned about him in their first few days as roommates: Griffin Beach snored.

  It went on like that for pretty much the whole week, with the two of them passing like trains headed in opposite directions. Even when their shooting schedules overlapped, they didn’t see each other much because, true to his word, Griffin kept his distance from her at work and didn’t let on that they were roommates.

  Alice took full advantage of the times she had the house to herself by poking around and getting more comfortable with the place. She learned her way around Griffin’s kitchen, figured out how to work the television and sound system, and got up close and personal with his washer and dryer. The only place she didn’t venture was into his bedroom. Not that she wasn’t curious, but if she wanted him to respect her privacy, she should probably respect his.

  Their main form of communication was via Post-it notes that Griffin left in the kitchen for her:

  There’s hot coffee in the thermos.

  Went to the gym. Back in an hour.

  The cleaning lady is coming today at 9:00.

  Don’t be naked!

  Alice responded by leaving her own Post-its for him:

  Picked up more of that coconut milk creamer you love so much.

  I fed Taco already. Don’t let him talk you into 2nd breakfast.

  The house smells like vinegar because I descaled the coffeemaker.

  Making herself helpful around the house was her way of saying thank you and apologizing for invading his space. It was the best way she could think of to show her appreciation for the favor he’d done her by letting her move in with him. She’d never learned to cook, but she was handy in other ways. She figured as long as she could keep making herself useful, maybe her presence wouldn’t be too much of an imposition.

  The more familiar she got with the house, the more she found to do. And for each task completed, she left another Post-it to keep Griffin in the loop:

  Gave Taco a bath.

  Replaced the water filter in the fridge.

  Cleaned the exhaust fan above the stove.

  Her Post-its disappeared without provoking a negative response, so she assumed he didn’t mind. She hoped he was pleased.

  By Saturday morning, Alice was feeling more settled as she sat on the back deck enjoying the view over her morning coffee. Griffin had yet to arise, since he’d been stuck shooting on location until some ungodly hour. She’d heard him creep past her bedroom when he finally made it home in the wee hours, his efforts at stealth undermined by the excited pitter-patter of Taco’s claws on the hardwood.

  The dog was currently dozing beside her after running around peeing on every bush in the yard earlier. Alice stretched her legs out, pointing her toes as she lay back in the comfy lounge chair. Her laptop sat untouched on the table beside her, glowering at her as she sipped her coffee.

  She’d finally worked up the courage to respond to Dr. Frazier’s last email. Now that her living situation was settled, it was time for Alice to deal with her dissertation—and that meant facing her advisor. They were meeting on Monday morning first thing, and sometime between now and then Alice needed to dust off the research she’d been ignoring for months and reorient herself. At this point she couldn’t even remember where she’d left off or how much she still had to do. She needed to be prepared to answer Dr. Frazier’s questions and explain why she hadn’t made any progress.

  Easier said than done. Alice still had no idea what she was going to say when they met on Monday. The truth? Which could spark a Title IX investigation that would drag on for months, putting Alice through hell and making her the center of a maelstrom of negative attention that could possibly end her academic career before it started. Or some sort of lie? Which was a coward’s way out that would allow Gilchrist to go right on doing what he was doing and getting away with it.

  Both options made Alice feel sick to her stomach.

  She was on her second cup of coffee without yet working up the courage to open her laptop when the sliding door to her right opened. Taco scampered over as Griffin stepped out of his bedroom, squinting at the bright sunlight in a rumpled white T-shirt and pair of plaid pajama pants—which answered her speculation about his sleep attire of choice. Whew.

  “Hey.” His sleep-roughened voice was an octave lower than usual, and far sexier than Alice was prepared for. The whole just rolled out of bed package was a lot to take in, frankly. How many women would give their left arm for a glimpse of him like this? And here Alice was with a front-row seat that was totally wasted on her.

  “I didn’t wake you, did I?” She’d tried to be quiet, but the only thing standing between her and his bedroom was five millimeters of sliding safety glass.

  “Nah. You’re fine.” He straightened from petting Taco and sank into the chair next to Alice with a groan.

  “What time did you wrap last night?” she asked.

  He leaned back in the lounge chair and closed his eyes as he stretched his arms overhead. “Like three or something. Late.”

  It was impossible not to notice his bulging triceps—or the rest of his body for that matter—when he was stretched out beside her like a centerfold model, in a T-shirt so thin it was practically transparent. Her gaze wandered over his torso, catching on a sliver of exposed stomach that reminded her of the magnificent abs that had been on full display her first morning in the house.

  Alice looked away, feeling guilty for ogling Griffin when his guard was down. “You want some coffee? I made a pot.”

  He shook his head, sitting up as he rubbed his eyes. “I can get it.”

  She got to her feet and snatched her half-full cup off the table before he could move. “I need a refill anyway. Back in a mo.”

  As soon as she was safely inside, she blew out a long breath. Act normal, she instructed herself as she poured Griffin’s coffee and added a dollop of coconut milk creamer. You can do this. Just treat him like any other roommate.

  Except he wasn’t like any other roommate. Aside from his unreasonable attractiveness, they weren’t really roommates at all. Alice was the help, only here because she was doing a job for him. She occupied a second-class position in his house, just like she did on set. His employee, not his guest or his
friend.

  The work week had offered a nice respite, but now that it was the weekend they’d both be around the house for the next two days. Together. She needed to make some rules to help her cope.

  Rule Number One was no ogling him. In addition to being not cool, it made it harder for her to act normal, which was Rule Number Two. No making this weirder than it already was by letting him know how uncomfortable she was. Just be cool. And Rule Number Three was don’t be a nuisance. The more she could stay out of his way or at least make his life easier, the better.

  When her pep talk was done, Alice carried the two fresh cups of coffee out to the deck. The urge to gather up her stuff and retreat to her room was strong, but she was afraid it would seem rude if she abandoned the deck as soon as he’d joined her. Besides, she couldn’t hide in her room all weekend. She would have to interact with Griffin around the house sometimes, and now—when he clearly wasn’t doing anything important—was as good a time as any.

  “Thanks,” he said when she set his coffee down next to him.

  “You’re welcome.” She sank back onto the lounge chair, clutching her own mug in both hands.

  His eyes slid her way as he reached for his coffee, lingering on her for what felt like an unnaturally long time before he settled back to gaze at the view in front of them. As soon as his eyes were off her, Alice let out a slow, silent breath.

  “You making yourself at home?” Griffin asked after a short silence.

  “Yeah.”

  “Good.”

  Another silence ballooned between them, feeling heavy and uncomfortable. They’d never had trouble making conversation on set, but Griffin was usually the effusive one. She didn’t know what to do with this more subdued version of him.

  “It’s nice out here,” Alice said, flailing to fill the silence before it became a thing.

  “Yeah, it is. I don’t get to enjoy it enough.”