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bar.
    “Nothing happened.”
    “Oh, okay. Raise your hand if you believe her.” Raquel looked around, and true to form, neither Brea nor Clare raised their hand. She smirked at Brea.
    Brea narrowed her eyes. “Why do you always have to be so damn sarcastic?”
    “It’s all part of my allure. Besides, I didn’t get my reputation by acting like Driving Miss Daisy.”
    Brea looked to Clare and pointed at Raquel. “Why are we still friends with her?”
    “Comedic relief. Plus, I’m with her. What happened? I need some interesting news after all the shit with Jason.” Brea sighed dramatically—some friends she had.
    “Don’t you know you aren’t supposed to believe what the media says?”
    “I don’t believe what the media says. I am asking my friend what the hell is going on with her and Lance. You said the other day you hadn’t met the guy, couldn’t stand him, but all of a sudden there are pictures of you guys dry-humping at the promo party.” Brea glanced at Clare, who was staring with rapt attention, and knew there was no way she was getting out of this. She briefly considered lying, but thought better of it.
    “I don’t know.”
    “What does that mean?” Of course, Raquel would ask that, unsatisfied with Brea’s vague answer.
    “I’m not trying to bullshit you or be deliberately vague. I really have no clue what the hell we are doing.”
    “When did this start?” asked Clare, who saw her opening to speak.
    “The original press conference. It started with that damn wink. When the guy said something, I went to respond and Lance squeezed my leg to stop me.”
    “Really? Why am I just now hearing about it?” Raquel looked offended, which only irritated Brea. The whole situation irritated her; Lance’s arrogance, the media shit storm, Raquel and Clare questioning her, and the way her body seemed to betray her whenever she got in his presence.
    “Because I thought we had settled it! But, apparently, we haven’t because he still wants me, and I still get wet just thinking about the man!” Brea shouted before realizing what she just said. Clare’s eyes widened while Raquel looked taken aback.
    “Um…okay. Wasn’t expecting that one.” Brea was going to kill Raquel, who refused to leave her alone. Now she was talking about how sexually aroused Lance made her.
    “I don’t want to talk about it,” Brea said quietly, turning red at her outburst.
    Raquel just wouldn’t let up. “But—”
    “No. No!” Brea said more forcefully. “I have no clue what Lance and I are doing and until I know, I’m not going to talk about it.”
    “Are you going to have sex with him?” Clare asked quietly, looking around to make sure no one was paying attention since Brea had gotten a little loud.
    Brea rubbed her hands through her hair, gripping her neck. “Again, I don’t know and when I figure it out, you’ll be the first to know.”
    “After Lance,” Raquel piped in, prompting laughs from all three.
    “Of course after Lance, I’m not having sex with myself.” Brea rolled her eyes and dug into her salad, the conversation blessedly over.

    Brea loved being on set. There was nothing quite like the natural high she received from being around all the hustle and bustle which came with constant shooting. It was so noisy that when they weren’t shooting, she often missed it. Briefly, she wondered if she should try to fill her time with other jobs when they were on their extended breaks. Then she remembered she liked her sleep, and the fourteen-hour days only worked if there was an end date.
    “Brea!” Jonah, the very temperamental director, was calling her name. This was his fourth year on the show, and Brea was convinced he was a sadist with all the work he made the cast and crew do in the short time he had them in his grips. She rushed over, not wanting to give him any ammunition by not coming quickly.
    “Yes?” she asked breathlessly, so focused on him she didn’t realize who was standing behind