Off Script: Crossed Lines Book 1, page 3
“God, you look terrible,” she said brightly as he slid into the seat across from her.
“Hello to you too.”
“I meant it in a nurturing way.” She lowered her sunglasses and studied him with narrowed eyes, the deep blue pools seeing straight through him. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
She snorted. “Liam.”
He exhaled. “The chemistry read was this morning.”
Cassie perked up instantly. “Ooh. Big deal. With the Wolfe?”
He gave a tight nod.
Her whistle was low and theatrical. “Damn. And you’re alive to tell the tale? That man is not real. He’s engineered to devastate women and gay men everywhere.”
A reluctant smile tugged at his lips.
She caught it, grinning. “So? How’d it go?”
He picked at the chipped mug that had already been waiting for him. “It went… well.”
“Well,” she repeated, unimpressed. “You always say that when something went either extremely not well or exceptionally well. Which one is it?”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m a screenwriter. I get paid to be dramatic.” She took a sip. “So what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
She lifted her brows. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not.” He sat back, but his hand kept turning the mug in circles.
“You blinked weird when you said that,” she said, leaning forward with a grin that cut right through him. “Your lie-blink is back.”
He gave her a look. “There’s no such thing as a lie-blink.”
“Yours is very specific. Like a nervous lizard.”
A laugh broke out of him despite himself. He ran a hand through his hair, letting it fall forward again. “It was intense, all right? Jacob’s… intense.”
Cassie leaned in, elbows braced on the table. “Intense how?”
“Just—” He hesitated. “He’s one of those actors who doesn’t leave much room around him. He’s… commanding.”
She nodded. “So he steamrolled you.”
“No. I don’t know…” He smiled, already regretting that he’d answered at all. “It was a good scene. That’s all.”
She leaned back, studying him for a moment. “So why are you being weird today if it went well? It’s like your body’s here but your mind’s elsewhere.”
Liam drew in a breath, steadying himself. “It was just a scene.”
“Then why do you look so rattled?”
He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not in a way that made sense out loud.
Cassie nudged his foot under the table, her voice lighter. “Hey. You’re fine. This isn’t your first big audition. Maybe you just care about this one more than you want to admit.”
“Maybe,” he said, and this time, it almost sounded convincing.
They lingered for a while after that, conversation meandering the way it always did with Cassie—old jokes, half-serious debates about films, the kind of nothing-talk that had carried them through a dozen rough patches over the years. She had that rare gift of drawing laughter out of him even when he swore he didn’t have any left. For a little while, with her teasing and her sharp wit filling the space, he almost managed to forget the kiss. Almost.
* * *
Two nights later, Liam ended up on the living room floor with Emma, both of them bent over a pile of board games they hadn’t touched in years. She claimed he’d been too wound up since the auditions and prescribed an emergency round of Scrabble.
“You’re cheating,” he accused as she slapped down ZYGOTE across the triple-word score.
Emma’s laugh rang through the room, bright and smug, as she reached for her tea. “Pregnancy brain doesn’t cancel out genius, babe.”
He grinned despite himself, shaking his head. “You’ve been hoarding those tiles since the start.”
“Strategizing,” she said with a smile. “You always jump in too fast. That’s why I beat you every time.”
He tossed a cushion at her, gentle enough that she caught it against her belly with mock indignation. For a while it was easy—easy to laugh, to lose himself in her warmth, and to pretend he hadn’t spent the past forty-eight hours replaying the kiss until it had worn a groove through his chest.
Then his phone buzzed against the coffee table. He almost ignored it, but the name flashing across the screen stopped him cold. The studio.
Emma arched an eyebrow. “Well? Aren’t you going to answer?”
He swiped to accept, pressing the phone to his ear. “Hello?”
“Liam.” Ellen’s voice crackled with energy. “Congratulations. The role is yours.”
For a moment he forgot how to breathe. “I—what?”
“You heard me. You and Wolfe. It’s locked in. Your contract will come through this week, but consider it official.”
His gaze found Emma, her expectant smile tilting as if she could hear every word. His pulse hammered in his throat. “Thank you. Really. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” Ellen said warmly. “You earned it. We’ll be in touch with the schedule.” She hung up before he could stumble over more words.
Emma’s eyes lit up. “That’s it, isn’t it? You got it?”
He nodded and she squealed, launching herself across the Scrabble tiles and into his arms. He caught her carefully, mindful of her belly, laughing as she kissed his cheek again and again.
“I knew it,” she said breathlessly. “I told you—you’re incredible.”
Her joy reminded him of their early years, when any scrap of progress—a callback for her, a two-line part for him—was reason enough for cheap champagne and barefoot dancing in her kitchen. The stakes had grown, but the rhythm between them hadn’t; still the same laughter, and the same instinct to celebrate every victory together.
His arms tightened around her, the warmth of her happiness spilling through him. He held onto it, clung to it, wishing it was enough to drown out the echo of a kiss that still burned in the back of his mind.
Chapter 5
Liam
Two and a half weeks later, Liam sat at a long conference table, telling himself he wasn’t nervous. The room buzzed with a jittery kind of energy, scripts rustling as actors and writers took their places. The first read-through for episodes one and two was about to begin, and for the first time the words would lift off the page.
Pre-production had officially kicked off a few days ago—set walkthroughs, costume prelims, and endless introductions. Enough structure to make it feel like the work had finally begun, though mostly it was just moving pieces into place and waiting for the real work to start.
He had taken a spot near the middle of the table. Directly across from him, Jacob sat with his script in hand, focus pinned to the page. Liam’s leg was already bouncing, and his fingers were twitching against the paper. Jacob’s stillness only sharpened the contrast, making Liam painfully aware of every restless motion he couldn’t control.
They’d briefly crossed paths several times during the last few days. Liam had tried to keep things light and casual, tossing out easy greetings, sometimes a joke when the mood allowed. Jacob answered politely, but always at arm’s length, as if some invisible wall followed him wherever he went. This was the first time they’d had to truly interact since the chemistry read, and Liam could already feel the hum of it under his skin.
Ellen’s voice cut through the chatter. “Alright everyone, let’s get started.”
Scripts shuffled as Liam straightened in his chair and relaxed his shoulders. He listened as others read their parts, only chiming in when his character stepped forward.
Then came their scene.
Jacob’s voice carried across the table—low and controlled, with just enough roughness to cut to the bone of the scene. Liam fell into step without thinking, shaping his own lines to meet the challenge, the rhythm between them sharp and alive.
Then Jacob looked up, holding his gaze a beat too long, and Liam’s breath stuttered before he could stop it. A second later Jacob dropped his eyes to the page, as if nothing had happened.
The room might as well have been empty around them. The words moved between them, line after line, tight as a wire. It shouldn’t have felt like anything—this was a read-through, just a formality—but every glance, every pause, every drop in Jacob’s voice hit with precision.
By the time the director called for a break, Liam’s pulse was erratic. He stayed where he was, script loose in his hands, trying to look occupied.
A shadow fell across the table and Jacob’s voice followed. “Good read,” he said quietly. “You brought something different to the scene.”
Liam shrugged, a flush creeping up his cheeks before he could stop it. “Thanks. You too.”
A beat stretched between them, neither of them moving. “You want to grab a coffee before the next round?” The words came out higher than Liam meant. He wasn’t usually like this—he loved people, thrived on conversation—but around Jacob, his easy charm kept faltering. Something about this man kept unraveling him.
Jacob hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Sure.”
They walked side by side down the hallway. After a moment, Jacob said, “Congrats on the role.”
Liam glanced over, mouth tugging into a smile. “Thanks. You too. Though I’m guessing you didn’t have to fight anyone for it.”
The faintest twitch ghosted at Jacob’s mouth. “No one wanted to.”
Liam’s laugh escaped before he could temper it. “Right. Forgot you’re terrifying.”
Jacob didn’t answer, but a trace of amusement lingered in his eyes—just enough to make Liam’s chest tighten in response.
“Couple more weeks,” Liam said, trying to sound breezy. “Then it’s game time.”
Jacob’s eyes slid to him, sharp and assessing. “You ready?”
“Always.” The word came quicker and steadier than he expected. “Feels like this could be special. Something honest enough that it actually matters. Not just pretty lines on a page, but the kind of show people remember and carry with them.”
Jacob hummed, the sound too neutral to read. “Then let’s not waste it.”
Liam held his gaze. “I wouldn't dream of it.”
At the coffee machine, Liam busied himself with the cups, grateful to have something to do with his hands. He passed one over without looking—fingers brushing Jacob’s in the handoff. Heat shot up his arm, uninvited but impossible to ignore. He didn’t pull back. Neither did Jacob.
When Liam finally cleared his throat and stepped aside, Jacob lifted the cup, eyes steady over the rim as he drank. “You’re good at this,” he said. “Bringing your character to life.”
Liam looked down. “Thanks. I’m still figuring him out.”
“Then hurry up,” Jacob said. His mouth edged into something between a smirk and a dare. “I don’t like waiting around.”
A surprised smile broke across Liam’s face before he even lifted his gaze. They were close—too close. Suddenly he couldn’t remember how much space was supposed to feel normal; all he knew was that this felt… intimate. “Is that your idea of encouragement?” he asked.
Jacob’s gaze lingered before he turned away. “Don’t get used to it.”
* * *
The first costume fitting came the next afternoon. Clothing racks crowded the room, mirrors catching every angle while designers murmured over fabric choices.
Liam stood on a low platform, arms lifted as the costume designer fussed with the seams of his jacket. Laurent clicked his tongue and tugged until the fabric lay just right. “Hold still,” he murmured, sliding a pin into place.
“I’m trying,” Liam said with a quick smile, though his body betrayed him—his foot tapping against the edge of the platform, never fully still.
He had already been through three shirts, two jackets, and a pair of trousers when Jacob walked in.
“Mr. Wolfe,” one of the designers greeted warmly.
Jacob gave a polite nod. “Afternoon.” His tone carried no more than it needed to, eyes already on the garments waiting for him on a nearby rack with his name on it.
He began unbuttoning his dress shirt—slow and methodical—one button at a time. He wasn’t showing off, wasn’t even paying attention to the room, just stripping down with the same control he brought to everything else.
“Arms higher, please,” Laurent said gently.
“Oh—right, sorry.” Liam lifted his arms, but his gaze drifted back to Jacob almost immediately. He tried to keep his eyes on the neutral places, the safe spots, but his attention slipped lower. He was caught by the slow reveal of skin and the lines of muscle tightening with every button undone.
Jacob shrugged the shirt off and handed it neatly to the designer. He stood bare from the waist up as she circled him, holding swaths of fabric against his frame. Jacob didn’t move unless asked. He just stood there perfectly composed.
Laurent crouched, tugging at Liam’s hem. “You’ll need to shift your stance.”
“Yeah, sure.” He obeyed, though his eyes stayed fixed on Jacob. They slid past his ribs, down the firm ridges of his stomach, to that sharp V disappearing into his waistband—until he realized with a jolt what he was staring at.
Heat shot through him. He jerked his eyes up, startled, like he could erase the fact that he’d just been staring at Jacob’s crotch.
What the fuck. Why am I—
But it was too late; the damage was already done. The image had burned itself into his brain, seared like a brand: the heavy outline of his dick straining against black trousers. It was huge, even at rest. Bigger than it had any right to be.
His pulse pounded in his ears so loudly he almost missed Laurent asking him to turn.
“Liam?”
He blinked down, scrambling. “Yeah—sorry. Just distracted.”
The man smiled faintly, chalking a quick line at the seam. “You’ve got too much energy for a fitting, huh?”
Liam forced a thin smile. He tried to focus on the sting of pins brushing his side and the rustle of fabric being adjusted. Anything that wasn’t Jacob standing half-naked across the room.
Long after he left the studio, he couldn’t shake the fact that for a few stupid and dangerous seconds, he’d been staring at Jacob Wolfe’s cock, and the sight had short-circuited his brain.
Chapter 6
Jacob
The first two weeks of pre-production passed in a blur of activity. Hair and makeup tests, dialect drills, and early rehearsals were already underway, including blocking sessions where every bit of physical movement was mapped out—where someone stood, how they crossed a room, reached for a hand, or even leaned in for a kiss.
The last rehearsal had ended over twenty minutes ago. Lights dimmed across the soundstage, one by one. Most of the crew was already gone, even Ellen had vanished, shouting something about an early call in the morning as she disappeared into the dark.
Jacob stayed. He leaned against the fake kitchen wall, water bottle cool in hand, watching the space empty itself out. He liked this part, the way the set stopped pretending to be real the moment everyone left. The quiet stripped everything bare and made it easier to breathe.
Usually he was the only one hanging back, but today Liam hadn’t gone either. His jacket was still draped over a chair, while he sat on the counter, sneakers thudding a soft rhythm against the cabinet door. He couldn’t seem to be still, energy leaking out of him in restless shifts of his body, every movement tugging at Jacob’s eyes before he realized he was watching.
“You always hang back after?” Liam asked at last.
Jacob turned his head. “Sometimes.”
“Why?”
He considered lying, but decided against it. “The quiet helps me switch gears. Reset.”
Liam hummed, gaze drifting to the edges of the stage. “Weird how fake everything looks once the lights are off.”
Jacob made a low sound of agreement. His eyes should have slid away, but they didn’t. Liam licked his lower lip, and Jacob’s focus caught there—something sharp flashing through him before he forced himself to look elsewhere. The fact that he’d noticed, rattled him to his core.
He didn’t want to think about the kiss, but it bled in anyway—the shock of Liam’s mouth opening under his, the startled sound he’d made. It kept replaying when Jacob least wanted it to. He told himself it had been nothing more than a scene, but the memory had lodged deep. His body remembered, no matter how hard he tried to forget.
“You’re hard to read,” Liam said suddenly.
Jacob’s attention narrowed. “Does that bother you?”
The grin that answered was quick and easy. “Only a little. Means I’ve got no idea what you actually think of me.”
Jacob tilted his head. “Does it matter?”
“Let’s say enough to keep me guessing,” Liam replied, a grin lingering.
Jacob didn’t smile back, but something in him eased, as if Liam carried a light he couldn’t help but feel. He liked the sound of Liam’s voice threading through the quiet.
“You’re always so in control,” Liam said. “Like nothing touches you.”
Jacob gave a half-shrug. “That’s the job.”
Liam shook his head. “No. That’s you. You don’t just act like that while working. You are like that in every room.”
He said nothing.
“I’m the opposite,” Liam admitted after a beat.
Jacob looked over and found himself asking, “Yeah?”
“I feel everything. And when I feel something it’s big, with no middle ground. I don’t really do the in-between.”
Jacob didn’t respond, but he was focused—more than he wanted to be. Caught on the need to learn more about him.
“My dad used to say I didn’t have brakes,” Liam went on. “Everyone else could ease up, pull back. I’d just go full speed straight into the wall.”
Jacob’s grip tightened slightly around the water bottle.
