Bryce

My angel stares up at me with an innocent, open look of wonder. He used to look at me this way all the time when we were filming our TV series, even when there were no cameras. Now he usually only steals glances, but I miss him constantly looking at me like I hung the moon and the stars.  

Let’s just say more than my heart is moved by this look. It makes me want to take him into my arms and kiss him senseless. Something tells me that he would let me.

Bad, Bryce.

How could I even think of taking advantage of this sweet, ethereal being? I instead take advantage of the moment by trying to memorize his features for the thousandth time. 

The sharp, rectangular shape is the only thing traditionally masculine about his face. His dark, half-moon shaped eyes and raven hair are a shocking contrast to his smooth, porcelain skin. His ears are elfin with their lage size and the way they stick out slightly. His lips are powder pink, and they resemble petals in fresh fallen snow.

 I want to bite them.

No, Bryce, that’s not appropriate.

I tear my eyes away from his delicate facial features and let my gaze trail down his swanlike neck to the dip in his shirt where I can see the top of his outlined pecks. 

While he looks thin, he is incredibly fit. In fact, with his flawless skin, he looks like sculpted marble. You only see the six pack when he flexes. 

When he was shirtless earlier, I was reminded of our shirtless scenes in the series. The screenwriter took every opportunity to have us show as much skin as was allowed on network TV. We had pool scenes, locker room scenes, and innocent talks lying in bed, all shirtless. 

It’s a good thing that my character was obsessed with his because I was so taken with the mesmerizing way his muscles ripple when he moves. It's  like dolphins just below the ocean’s surface. Even with my reputation for being stoic, I would not have been able to hide my fascination.

Just like I am sure I am not hiding it now.

Oh no, I’ve stared too long. I’m sure my eyes have darkened because I can see his adorably large ears turning red. Soon his whole face will flush a rosy pink. I quickly look away and Mike, the photographer, looks up from his laptop.

“All right everyone! That’s a wrap!”

Everyone cheers and claps. Bryce and I stand and make our way to Mike so we can look at the shots on the laptop.

“Bryce, Dylan, you were both amazing. Take a look at these.”

I look at our shots and nod along with Dylan’s insightful compliments of the photographer’s technique. 

My baby is so smart.

“Dylan!”

Dylan and I both turn at the familiar musical voice. We both catch sight of the diminutive Ms. Amelia “Amy” Price. Coincidentally, she has the same last name as Dylan. 

She is so doll-like in her baby blue beret and matching dress which stops just above her knees. Knee high white socks and black, patent leather shoes complete her ensemble.

“Amy!”

Dylan gives her a blinding white smile and leaves my side to stand with her.

Oh, right. He’s her baby, not mine.

I admit I am envious but not in a bitter way. They are such a precious, polite couple. Never much PDA, but just close enough to almost touch. They stand side by side and speak softly to each other. 

Bryce’s hands are clasped behind his back as he rocks back and forth on his heels.

Damn, he’s cute.

But so is she. They share a similar, guileless aura. With her long, dark hair and pale skin, they could be cut from same cloth.

There seems to be a too bright light surrounding them, so I turn to walk away. Then Amy says my name.

“Bryce! Over here!”

She waves me over excitedly. I obey. 

Amy is a member of the talent agency that Dylan and I are signed with, and she and I have always been on friendly terms. We’ve even played siblings in a series before.

Dylan met her a year and a half ago on a commercial shoot and I had the displeasure of watching them immediately gravitate towards each other.

It didn’t seem like sparks flying, but there was an instant connection. More like two kids meeting on the playground and instantly deciding to be best friends.

I’m just an outsider though. For all I know, she feels the same molten fire I feel in the pit of my stomach when I look into his dark, fathomless eyes. Maybe she also feels like she could fall into his gaze and be content with never climbing back out again.

I doubt it though, because I’ve never seen him look at her the way he looked at me when I had my shirt off earlier.

Maybe he does when they are alone. A nagging voice in my head gives me unwanted ideas, so I scowl.

“Oh! Or you’re busy that day?”

Amy looks hurt and she fidgets as she gazes at her shoes. She had been talking to me and I missed the whole thing.

Dylan puts his hand on her shoulder and gives me a stern look that says, ‘be nice’. 

I give him a helpless, wide-eyed look that says that I did not mean to be impolite. He relents, but his eyes dart towards her and back to me, commanding me to fix this.

As you wish, my love.

I take both of Amy’s tiny fist in my hands and stroke them with my thumbs.

“Ms. Amelia, I apologize. Could you say what you said again?”

 

Amy’s little face looks up at me with a grateful expression. If I didn’t know she was already 20 years old, I would guess 15, at the most. 

Man, being mean to her is like kicking a puppy. I feel terrible.

“Well, yes. Dylan’s birthday is coming up and I am throwing a party. It’s next Tuesday at that new sushi place by the agency. Please say you’ll come. I never see you and Dylan hang out anymore. You used to be inseparable.”

She gives me puppy dog eyes and a pretty pout. I look to Dylan for approval. Dylan looks away and sends me a subtle shrug. It’s up to me.

“I’ll stop by.”

Amy lights up with joy. She grabs one of my hands and jumps up and down. I give her a little smile, and I don’t miss the fleeting look of discontent on Dylan’s face.

 What now, angel? What did I do wrong?

“Great! Dylan will text you the details.”

“I’ll give you my number.”

“I’m sure Dylan has it, right?”

I’m silent and Amy looks adorably confused. Dylan cuts in.

“We were together so much that we never needed to exchange numbers.”

It was a lie. We used to talk all night on the phone. Text in between calls, even when we were in the same room. Call each other first thing in the morning. Rinse and repeat.

“Silly boys! May I have your phone, Dylan?”

Dylan reluctantly hands over his phone and Amy hands the phone to me. She watches intently until I am done typing. Then she calls my number from his phone. I watch Dylan’s name light up on my screen since I still have it saved. Amy hands the phone to Dylan, whose face is blank as he stares at my number.

“There! Seriously, you guys need to take better care of your friendship.”

Amy smiles at both of us, obviously pleased with herself. She really is like a cute little puppy. Not as cute as my angel, but cute, nonetheless.

“Thank you for inviting me, Ms. Amelia.”

Amy hugs me before I have a chance to realize what she is doing. It is a warm, real hug. I have not had one of those in a long while, so I get over my shock and slowly return the hug. 

I realize how starved I am for this kind of pure human contact. All but melting into the embrace, I pat her back softly. When we let go, she looks up at me.

“You always give the best hugs, Bryce.”

She really is a good girl. Far better for Dylan than me.

I look up at Dylan now and I am shocked once again. Dylan is furious. His glazed eyes are fixed on the floor. His cheeks are red, and his lips are thin. His fists are clenched at his side.

I manage to catch his gaze and his eyes shoot daggers at me before he angrily looks away. Is he jealous?

 Oh, my sweet angel. I could not be less interested in dating your girl. She’s like a kid sister to me anyway.

Amy is about to follow my gaze, so I place my hands on her shoulders.

“Amber and Alice are here. Did you get a chance to say hi?”

She is all but hopping with excitement.

“No! I need to go invite them too!"

“Ok, Dylan and I have to get changed, so we will join you.”

Amy skips ahead of us to talk to our stylists. Dylan and I trail behind. 

It is my turn to brush my fingertips on the back on his hand. When he looks at me, I smile ruefully. His eyes soften from anger to something like worry or confusion. He looks away and I notice that his cheeks are still rosy. 

I resist the urge to take his hand. He sighs heavily and then gracefully increases the length of his stride, leaving me behind.

We change our clothes for the interview that will accompany the photo spread. During the interview, he and I give practiced answers to predictable questions. The whole time, I am distracted by his cold attitude.

On camera, it comes off as him being adorably sassy and me obsessively trying to win his attention. The fans like this part of our relationship as much as they enjoy our bromance and flirtations because it looks like a lovers spat.

Even strangers know that we care even when we are at odds. What would they think if they knew that the attraction was very real on my end? Would they be pleased to know that I’d give the world to be his?

Knowing our fans, it would probably cause mass hysteria if they got any real proof.