Cory was entirely at ease beneath the studio lights.

Dark hair slightly mussed. Tattoos disappearing beneath his shirt, sleeves pushed up over thick forearms. His confidence was effortless—the steady gaze, the crooked smile and relaxed posture of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

Then his costar said something that reminded him of you.

For one brief second his mind went elsewhere. You curled against his side on the sofa. Wearing his hoodie. Laughing at something stupid he'd said. Sitting comfortably on his lap as though you'd always belonged there.

Cory blinked. Behind the cameras, Mickey was already grinning.

His phone buzzed.

You:

Where are you?

Cory looked down at the screen. That familiar crooked smile appeared.

Mickey sighed.

Cory slipped the phone into his pocket.

For all his confidence, apparently one message from you was enough to completely derail him.