Your Endless Love (The Bennett Family 9)

“You seeing someone new?” she asks.

“No.” The lie feels bitter on my tongue. For someone who slips into other people’s skins for a living, this should come easy. But I don’t like playing pretend in my real life. “But I’m laying low for a while.”

“Your loss, big boy. D’you need a ride to the radio station?”

“Thanks, but my manager already arranged for one. Do you know where they put my jacket?”

“I’ll bring it for you.” With a wink, she takes off in the direction of the changing rooms.

The studio is a blur of activity even this late in the evening. They have four adjacent sets, and the other three are still in action, the hair and makeup team running between them for retouching. The air is thick with the smell of hairspray and nail polish. The constant buzz of voices is wearing me down.

Rebecca returns holding my jacket.

“Here you go, mister. And if you change your mind, let me know.” When I don’t answer, she adds, “Good luck with the interview.”

After bidding goodbye to everyone on set who doesn’t have their hands full, I step outside. My car, a black sedan, is already waiting in the front, but I don’t climb in yet. I fill my lungs with fresh air. Well, fresh is relative considering the constant stream of cars, but it’s better than the stale air inside. And I much prefer the air in Chicago in July than in New York. I flew in yesterday from New York, and the humidity was insane.

I step out of the way of a hurried teenager, who has his earbuds on and his eyes on the screen of his phone. That’s a disaster waiting to happen. I barely form the thought when the guy veers left into a side street... and walks right into a water hydrant. Ouch.

Stifling my laughter, I climb inside the car. I take out my phone, and almost call Summer to tell her about the water hydrant incident before I remember she’s with her sisters.

As a general rule of thumb, I dislike interviews, but radio interviews are the lesser of all evils. At least I don’t have to work on my facial expression or body language. The host tonight, Jimmy Hendricks, is a laid-back guy. Whenever I’m here in Chicago, even if we don’t have interviews planned, I go out with him for drinks. He’s a major fan of the superhero franchise

As such, he keeps the questions mostly character-related, which is a relief. I can talk about my character—motivations, hidden wishes, and aspirations etcetera—for hours. I put a lot of thought into my acting, trying to delve deeper than what the script offers.

Roles based on books are easier, because there’s a lot of information to sink my teeth in, but I also love a challenge when it comes to bringing a character to life.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my job here is done,” Jimmy says after an hour. “The floor belongs to you now. If you have questions for our superhero, just call us.”

To me, he whispers, “We’ve got our first caller.”

I nod, and he presses a button on his dashboard.

“Hello, Veronica. What’s your question for Alex?”

“Hi, Alex! I’m a huge fan. I was wondering if you plan to do more of the Bree Shannon series?”

I clear my throat, not liking that the focus has shifted from the superhero series already. “There are no plans for a third movie, no. After you see the second one, you’ll understand why. We’ve wrapped it up nicely, but I can’t say more. Don’t want to spoil anything.”

“Thank you. But—”

“Just one question per listener, sorry, Veronica,” Jimmy says apologetically before the line goes static. “Another caller,” he says, and I nod.

“And, we have Mike next. Mike, what’s your question for our superhero?” He winks at me, as if reassuring me he knows this is a promotional tour for the superhero series, not the romantic comedies. But we both know the listeners ask whatever they want to.

“Hi, Alex! My question to you is, did you ever break something while doing one of your stunts?”

I sit up straighter, lowering into the mic. “Twice. Once it was just my thumb, no problem, but another time it was a rib. That set back production by a week, and hurt like hell.”

“Thanks. And I know it’s just one question, but my wife will not let me sleep in our bed tonight if I don’t ask her question too.”

“We don’t want you kicked out of bed, Mike. Go ahead,” I say.

“She wants to know if the rumors you’re dating someone new are true. And for the record, I’d never ask you that. She’s making me.”

I drink some more of the tea, silently cursing. Third question and we’re already in private life territory.

“Not true at all, Mike. Just rumors.”