“Much better,” I say.
I’m not even sure why I’m running lines with Briggs right now. I usually do it when I get a script so I can familiarize myself with the character and figure out how much time I’ll need to memorize it. But I haven’t done it yet, because when I first got this script I was busy shooting another film, and then I went and had a breakdown for all the world to see. So, trying to work on this script right now may be completely pointless.
Briggs looked online for any news when I first arrived at the bookshop, just in case. There was nothing new. No articles saying I’d been dropped. For all the general public knows, I’m still playing Callis Astron. No matter how many petitions have been sent in hopes of that changing.
Not that I know about any petitions in particular, but I can safely assume there are some. There would be, even if I didn’t have a viral video of me losing it out there. People always have opinions, especially about such a well-loved story. No one could possibly measure up to how they pictured it in their head.
“Okay,” Briggs says. “Next line.”
“Give me a hint,” I say, giving him my best sheepish grin. I guess it’s good I’m prepping now, just in case.
“Listen here, Falgon—”
“Got it,” I say, cutting him off before he gives too much away. I take in a big inhale. “Listen here, Falgon. We don’t need to know anything about the Syndarians. All we need to do is go in there and obliterate them. And if you don’t think I can lead this team, then you can get back on your lunastrider and go back to Arcturus.”
“Nailed it,” Briggs says, with a sort of proud-looking dip of his chin. Then he scrunches his nose, before pushing his glasses up. “What’s a lunastrider?”
“It’s like a horse, but bigger and scarier,” I say.
“That sounds cool. Do you get to ride one?”
“Of course. But for me it will be riding a mechanical rig against a green screen, and my lunastrider will be done with CGI in postproduction.”
“You ruin all the magic.”
“You’re welcome.”
We’re smiling at each other now. We’ve been doing that a lot lately. Especially since we’ve been on our own the past few days because Scout hasn’t been able to babysit us since our afternoon of beach volleyball. So, we had to do the bike ride to the lighthouse and the boogie boarding the day before on our own.
I knew that’s why Briggs invited Scout along, even though he didn’t tell me so. But after we kissed that last time, suddenly Scout was joining us on our summer activities. I don’t mind—she’s a great kid. But I’ve also enjoyed these past couple of days without her.
Briggs snaps out of our unintentional staring contest first. He looks down at the script.
“Okay,” he says. “Where were we?” He scans down the document with a finger until he finds it, tapping on the dialogue where we left off.
He clears his throat. “I don’t like your ways, Callis.”
I think for a second before the line comes to me. “You don’t have to like them; you just have to let me lead.”
“Good. Okay, so it says that next Callis takes a step forward and puts her hand on Falgon’s chest,” Briggs says, reading the direction.
“Right. And then the next line is . . . hold on, don’t tell me,” I say, holding out a hand and closing my eyes, trying to remember. I open them when the words come to me, and I start pacing again as I recite them.
“I need you to trust me, Falgon. You’re second in command, but the team looks to you before me. If you show them you trust me, then they will also trust me.”
“I want to trust you,” Briggs says, reading Falgon’s line, attempting to use the deep baritone voice as he reads.
“I . . .” I stop talking, trying to think of what’s next. I only studied it a bit when I first arrived here, so I should cut myself some slack. Still, this is something I’m usually good at.
“What’s next?” I ask him.
He looks down at the script. “Then . . . Falgon leans in and kisses Callis.”
“Right,” I say, with a nod. “And then the next line is . . .” I stop to try to remember what happens after the kiss.
“Do you . . . need to practice that part?” Briggs asks.
“What part?” I say, pinching my brows together.
“The . . . kiss?” He lifts a shoulder, briefly. “I mean, if you need to practice that, we could . . . I could . . .” He stops talking.
“Yes,” I say, quickly. “I could definitely use some help with that.”
Presley James, you naughty woman.
I’m lying. This is a lie. I’ve never needed to practice a kiss while running lines in my entire career. But if Briggs is putting a kiss on the table under the guise of practicing for this movie with me, then I’m not passing it up.
He takes a step toward me, and I do the same, until we’re standing in front of each other.
“So . . . I guess you should say your line again,” he says.
I nod. “Okay. Um . . . If you show them you trust me, then they will also trust me.” My voice comes out soft this time, nothing like the warrior I’m supposed to be playing in this movie.
“I want to trust you,” Briggs says Falgon’s line, his voice also not the one he was doing before. It’s just him now.
We stare at each other for just an instant, and then his arms are around me, his hands at my back, and I barely can take in a breath before his lips are on mine and my hands instinctively move up to his face, my fingers curving around his jaw.
It’s not soft, it’s not timid. It’s straight-up passion in lip form as he holds me against him, his mouth moving in time with mine. This kiss is feverish and desperate. His hand moves up my back and into my hair and I feel like I’m on fire, heat moving from my head to my toes.
