Shards of Glass by Arianne Richmonde Page B

took you.”
    I handed Cal the dice and our fingers touched, his lingering for a second too long. “God, you’re beautiful,” he said, staring into my eyes.
    I laughed. “Do you say that to all your leading ladies?”
    He laughed too, his wide, friendly smile making dimples in his cheeks. “Yes, I do. Breaks the ice.”
    “You think I’m frosty?”
    “No, I didn’t mean that. But you are a little nervous. Don’t be, you’re a great actress.”
    “How do you know?”
    “I saw you in Where The Wind Blows . I was in the first row. Saturday matinee.”
    “Get outta here! Is that another of your pick-up lines?”
    “Could be. What do you think?”
    “I think you’re full of shit, Ashton. I don’t think you saw me perform at all!”
    “Okay, you got me. But I did Google you, and I did check out that video clip of the play, all five minutes of it, so in effect, I saw you. And I thought you were great. Your move by the way.”
    “Are you nervous about our sex scenes?” I asked him.
    He templed his large hands against his lips and studied me. “If it were just you, me, and the director, fine, but that big hairy cameraman with that big-ass lens?”
    “His name’s George.”
    “Yeah, George . . . well, I’m not so sure that I want him doing a close up on my pecker, you know? I think that could really dampen the moment.”
    “Dampen the moment?”
    We both burst out laughing.
    “You ever go nude on stage before? Or kiss, or anything?” he asked.
    “I once had to take my panties off. But I was wearing a skirt so nobody saw a thing, and I had another pair underneath so it was cheating really. The audience gasped though—they were fooled. You?”
    “A lot of kisses, simulated sex once, but sex wasn’t the whole theme of the movie like this is. It was a rom-com so it was a little less intimidating.”
    “ You ? Intimidated?” I exclaimed. “You don’t give off that vibe at all.”
    “I’m an actor. Fooling people is my job.” He winked at me again.
    “I know. When people ask me what I do for a living sometimes I tell them, ‘I lie.’ Their reaction always makes me laugh.”
    “So, apart from being a terrible liar, what else can you tell me about yourself, Janie?”
    “Well, I graduated from Juilliard with honors and—”
    “Not all the actor crap, but about you . Where were you raised?”
    “In Vermont, born in England.”
    “You get to have a British passport?”
    “I do. Dual citizenship. One of my dreams is to work in the West End or join the Royal Shakespeare Company, so it’s an extra string to my bow.”
    “Which side is British?”
    “My mom’s.”
    “Does she have a British accent?”
    “She did. She died a few years ago.”
    “So sorry.”
    “Yeah, it sucks.” I looked away, desperate not to think about her, so changed the subject back to Cal. “How about you? Where are you from? I forgot to Google you.”
    “Isn’t it the worst? That we can all go around stalking each other these days? No guessing, no romance left. No intrigue, no finding out about someone little by little. I admit I looked your work up, Janie, but I didn’t do the full stalk.” Was he being serious or kidding? His face was deadpan, then he added, “You dating?”
    “No, you?”
    “My girlfriend and I split up three months ago.”
    “Oh, sorry about that.”
    “Yeah, well, three’s a crowd.”
    “Three?”
    “She was cheating on me with my best friend.”
    “Oh my God! How awful, that must hurt like hell.”
    He nodded. “I forgave him, you know? He’s a guy who can’t keep it in his pants, so eventually I had to let go.”
    “ Eventually  . . . it was only three months ago!”
    “I found out three months ago. By that time they’d split up anyway. Charles and I go back a long, long way, since kindergarten. I missed hanging out with him too much—forgive and forget and all.”
    “What if he does it again? With someone else?”
    “He won’t. He learned his lesson.”
    I wondered.