Her Cowboy

Chapter 33

hi hi recommend listening to "useless information" by avery lynch ok enjoy

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2 months and 4 days later

"CUT! Seriously, people!" The exasperated voice of Aphrodite whipped across the barn. She was a flurry of hot pink and bright red as she trotted briskly across the tiled floor, her pink heels clopping almost as loudly as Bessie's, the Dalmatian-spotted Appaloosa that was declared my horse.

She stopped right in front of me and frowned. She looked like a picture cut out of a Vogue magazine.

"Annabeth, my dear, seriously," she started, jumping slightly when Bessie pushed out to bump his nose (yes, Bessie's a he—don't ask) against her pink scarf. Aphrodite pulled it back, her frown turning to the speckled horse, before coming back to me. "This is the fourth time we've filmed this scene."

Over her shoulder, I saw Luke sighing as his costume designer had taken advantage of the break to rush up and almost imperceptibly shift the rugged flannel he was wearing, attempting to make it lay more effortlessly against his chest that boasted a white t-shirt that was one size too small.

I tried to avoid my mother's glare at me, but unfortunately that led to me locking eyes with another person.

Luke had recently gotten a new agent that he wouldn't stop talking about. Apparently he was the bees knees, but the first time I met him, I felt that something was off. Now, standing here with him staring at me, I shivered—and not because of the cold. His eyes looked almost golden in the light, glinting as they focused on me.

Kronos, Luke said. That was his name.

"I thought this go seemed decent," I murmured, trying to shake off the eyes.

It was truly the fourth time we've filmed it. And yes, each time, I knew I was bombing it. Just like I had been doing.

It'd been almost a month since we started filming in this ranch in Wyoming. Auditions were a breeze—I knew I didn't do my best, considering I was still torn up emotionally, but Aphrodite had just clapped her hands, pushed me and Luke together, and practically beamed at her two stars that she was convinced would sway the world of romance movies.

Thus, I knew she was disappointed when her stars—or, one of them—seemed "emotionally uninvolved" during filming.

I tried to kick away what I was feeling, tried to push thoughts of this summer away and plaster a smile, to harness my acting skills and play the smitten cowgirl of the film.

But every time Luke's hands touched me, instead of "melting like a candle" like Aphrodite urged me to, I tensed up. A dark-haired boy with a lopsided grin would flash in my eyes, and suddenly Luke's hands felt like sandpaper on my skin.

"You looked like you were looking at a mummy, not the love of your life," Aphrodite reprimanded, hands on her hips.

I suppressed a groan, and rolled out my shoulders. This ridiculous leather jacket she had me wearing provided warmth against the chill of autumn, but it felt itchy and heavy.

"I don't know what is going on with you two!" I could tell she was trying to keep herself composed. "I chose you both as my stars," she added with a glance toward a dashing Luke who looked like he was holding back his own groan, "because you two were perfect! You'd play star-crossed lovers perfectly! The beauty of Hollywood! And now there isn't a spark, you're both stiffer than boards!"

She paused to compose herself, flicking a curled brunette strand away from her face. Her cheeks were flushed with frustration, and she took a deep breath.