Reel: A Forbidden Hollywood Romance

Downtown Santa Barbara did not come to play this New Year’s Eve.

The massive crowd swarms the waterfront, moving to the DJ’s music, reveling on the oceanside dance floor and drinking enough liquor to float the Titanic.

“Just a friendly reminder,” I yell in Canon’s ear to be heard over the music. “We could be home fucking right now, but noooooo.”

He tips his head back, laughing, his expression as open as I’ve ever seen it. Canon has a whole league of frowns I could spend hours categorizing. The distracted frown, indicating anything you say to him right now will be forgotten five seconds later. The we can do better frown, when he’s looking at something that isn’t quite up to his standards and trying to improve it. The fuck off frown when he cannot comprehend that you would actually bother him while he’s doing something this important. The no your ass did not frown he reserves for actors who come unprepared or are (gasp!) late to his set. Fortunately, I’ve never been on the receiving end of that one.

“You not enjoying yourself?” His breath feathers over my ear. I shiver and press our bodies so close, not even the cooling night air intrudes between us.

“I am because you’re here, but we’re back in LA tomorrow, and then things return to normal.”

“Do you want things to go back to normal?” The question in his eyes goes beyond the one he’s asking, but he’s my frosted glass, so I can only guess what that question could be.

“Don’t they have to? I mean, since you don’t want to go public.” I hold up my hand to stem the flow of words I know is coming. “And I get all your reasons, but if there’s a storm when and if this comes out, I’m ready to weather it.”

“I think that may be the new ride or die.” He chuckles, guiding us off the dance floor and toward a row of reserved tables at the water’s edge. Canon actually dances and is pretty good. Surprised the hell outta me. Even though I teased him about this crowd, it’s nice being out having fun and enjoying New Year’s Eve like a typical couple. Canon wears a baseball cap just in case, but says he’s not the brand of famous people usually immediately recognize unless they’re in the business or want to be. Since half the servers in New York and LA are aspiring actors, the chances are better. The cap tonight is an extra precaution.

“Soon you’ll be the one recognized when we go out,” he says, sitting at the table and pulling me onto his knee.

The announcement in The Hollywood Reporter that I landed the role didn’t raise my profile much. My agent got a few nibbles, but beyond some curiosity, the industry is largely waiting to see how I do. Canon has been relatively tight-lipped about the movie, so while there is some anticipation, people don’t really know what Dessi Blue is or what to expect. We’ve had a few entertainment shows come on set to get behind-the-scenes footage and cast interviews, but usually under the condition that the spots air closer to release.

“You know,” I say, sitting on his lap and snuggling into the clean scent of him, “it’s funny we’re talking about being out together in the future since I could’ve sworn you didn’t even like me in the beginning. You barely spoke to me and seemed irritated when you had to.”

“Growing up, was there ever a boy who called you names, pulled your hair, and then tried to kiss you behind the sliding board on the playground?”

“Yeah, because it’s never too early for toxic masculinity.”

His face falls, and then he grins. “I was gonna say it’s kinda like that, but never mind.”

We laugh and eat bar food and drink, though I stick to water. Especially given the rash I found on my arms and legs, and the spots on my scalp, I’m staying away from alcohol. I get one glass of champagne to ring in the New Year, but that’s it. I’ll schedule a video call appointment with Dr. Ansford when we get back. I can’t afford my body to start acting up now.

I shove those worries into my not right now, can’t you see I’m partying box, and indulge in another hour of dancing, food, and the most stimulating conversation I’ve ever had. I’ve felt indifferent for so long, with no guy really holding my interest. Canon is like a supernova when you’ve been staring up at an empty, starless sky, and I cannot get enough of him. Even in the crowd, it feels intimate as we quiz each other with any and every question that comes to mind.

There’s an anonymity in this partying press of bodies, and I take advantage of it, resting on Canon’s chest, reaching up to caress his neck, kissing his chin. It’s that much sweeter because I’m not sure when we’ll get to be this open again. I pour my affection, my desire into every look and every gesture for the next few hours, and Canon reciprocates, not holding back how much he wants me.

“At this rate,” he says against my lips as we sway on the dance floor, “you won’t even want to kiss at midnight.”

We are lost in this writhing congregation of dancers, and I reach between us to grip his cock through his jeans. “This is where I want to kiss you at midnight.”

I pull on him and slip my hand beneath his T-shirt, grazing my nails down his back. He shudders, the response reverberating into my chest, and clenches his eyes shut.

“You win,” he says, resting his temple against mine. “Let’s get out of here and go home. There are better ways to bring in the New Year.”

He leads me off the dance floor and down to the water’s edge. The house is about a mile up the shoreline, and I’m glad we walked.

We take off our shoes and venture close enough for the cool waves to lap at our feet. Several other couples shunned the waterfront party for the serenity of the beach, and we smile at them as we go, wishing each other a Happy New Year, even though we’re still shy of midnight. It’s an evening made of champagne, moonlight and new beginnings.

“I know you need to get back tomorrow and start preparing to shoot,” I tell him, squeezing his hand. “But—”

“I was thinking leisurely breakfast in bed.” He stops on the beach, turning me into his arms and kissing the top of my head. “And take our time getting on the road.”

“That sounds perfect.” I grip his shoulders, nearly drunk on the ocean breeze and him. I don’t care that we’re still minutes from midnight. I want another kiss right now because life is short and fickle. I want to take life—to take him as my own at least for now. I fill my hands with this moment until it runs over, spilling into a desperate kiss with the ocean licking at our heels and the night still waiting.

“Canon?”

His name being called is like a scratch across a classic record, and so out of place in this alternate universe, that for a moment, neither of us moves.

“Canon?” a woman asks a second time.

Canon’s head snaps around. We turn to greet the woman standing in our path, holding a man’s hand on one side and a dog’s leash on the other.

“I thought that was you earlier.” Her smile widens. “Didn’t I say it looked like Canon, Ralph?”

For his part, Ralph looks self-conscious, recognizing he’s interrupted an intimate moment. His companion, however, is too obtuse or too rude to keep it moving.

“Well, it’s dark,” Ralph mumbles. “So I wasn’t sure.”

It is dark, but there are some lights on the beach, and the glow of moonlight reveals a middle-aged woman with silver hair. I can’t make out the color of her eyes, but I know that as they flick between Canon and me, they are curious.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” she asks Canon.

“Sure,” Canon says, his voice terse. “Sylvia and Ralph Miller, this is Neevah Saint. Neevah, Ralph and Sylvia.” He doesn’t elaborate and beneath the beard, the angle of his jaw goes stony.

“Uh, hi.”

I accept the hands they proffer, forcing a smile. I have no idea who they are, and running into anyone we know would be bad, but the tension their presence introduced tells me they are especially unwelcome.

“Oh, yes.” Sylvia’s eyes round and she looks like she just charted the route to Mars. “That’s where I know you from. I saw the announcement. Canon, you’ll have to share your new star with the world sooner or later, though I can see why you like keeping her to yourself.”

“In due time,” Canon says, his expression falling into familiar lines of inscrutability. “Enjoy the rest of your evening. We better get back.”

“Staying nearby, are you?” she probes. “We love our place here. Such a great escape from LA.”

“Right.” Canon takes my hand and starts walking away. “Good seeing you.”

It obviously was anything but good seeing them. Canon sighs heavily and shakes his head.

“Idiot,” he mutters under his breath, looking out over the ocean.

“You better not be talking to me,” I tease, tugging his hand. He doesn’t quite smile, but he does pull me into the crook of his arm, into his side as we walk. “Who was that?”

“One of the biggest mouths in Hollywood,” he says grimly. “Camille’s publicist.”