Jasmine: Thanks, primas. What would I do without you two?

Michelle replied with a winking kiss emoji.

Taking a deep breath, Jasmine freshened her lipstick, grabbed her script, and left the room.

WITH THE KITCHEN kiss complete, Ashton raced back to his dressing room to check his phone.

After finding a series of text updates—Abuelito Gus was given antibiotics and Yadiel’s wrist was sprained but not broken—Ashton finally relaxed. Everyone was fine.

Except now he had time to think about what a disaster his performance today had been.

Seventeen takes? For a kiss that they’d rehearsed in detail? Ay Dios. He was losing his edge as a romantic male lead.

At thirty-eight, he worried about the gray hairs he’d started sporting in his beard and how much harder it had become to maintain his muscle tone. His skin care and workout routines were already ridiculous; he wasn’t sure what else he could do in those areas, aside from finding a vampire to make him immortal. But if he did that, his grandmother would never speak to him again, so morning gym sessions and expensive lotions were all he had. But what if he was just a pretty face? He knew he had more to give as an actor, but now he was finally being given the chance to prove himself, and he was blowing it.

Jasmine had been amazing, immediately leaping into the emotions of the scene with each take and executing the kissing and heavy petting choreography perfectly. She had to have been getting tired of having his hands and mouth all over her, but she hadn’t let any signs of exhaustion show. Ashton had taken strength from that. But he couldn’t get out of his own head enough to let Victor take over 100 percent. And somehow, it had shown. Ilba, Ofelia, Marquita—none of them could place a finger on what was wrong with the scene, exactly. Just that something wasn’t right.

Ashton couldn’t argue with them. For one thing, he made a habit of not arguing with directors. But since he didn’t know what was wrong, he didn’t know how to fix it. So as much as it wasn’t a hardship to be close to Jasmine—or her hot curves and lush mouth—he hadn’t enjoyed it. It was work. And it sucked to feel like he wasn’t doing well at his job.

Bypassing his new espresso machine for a sweeter option, Ashton popped a hazelnut pod into his dressing room’s single cup coffee maker just as someone knocked on the door. It was so tentative, he wasn’t sure it was a real knock, but he went to check anyway. On the other side, he found Jasmine staring up at him. Her dark eyes were hesitant, just like her knock.

“Hola,” he said, then added, “Hello.”

“Hi,” she said, sounding shy. “Um, I was wondering if we could talk?”

God, she was gorgeous. Esta es una mala idea. But he stepped back to let her in, trying not to deeply inhale the sweet citrus scent trailing after her, a scent he’d been up close and personal with all day and which would be haunting his dreams all night. He poked his head into the hallway to make sure no one had seen her.

When he shut the door, her lips quirked into a small smile.

“What’s wrong, scared to be seen with me?” she joked. Then her eyes widened and all traces of humor disappeared from her face. “Oh my god. You are. You’re scared to be seen with me. Shit.” She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed a hand to her forehead. “I should’ve known. The McIntyre stuff. You’ve seen it. Of course you’ve seen it. How could you not?”

Ashton rushed in to try to soothe her, carefully placing his hands on her shoulders. It was more than he would have done with an acquaintance, but her distress was palpable. And really, after pretending to make out seventeen times in a row, touching her shoulders seemed pretty benign.

“Jasmine.” Her name came out low, his voice more gravelly than he’d intended. “Yes, I did google you, but—”

“But what?” she interrupted. Her tone was brittle, but she didn’t pull away from him. “Is that why you spilled coffee all over me? And why you’re avoiding me? Are you a giant McIntyre fan or something?”

He just stared at her, open-mouthed. A second later, they both burst into laughter.

Ashton stepped back and raised his hands in a shrug. “I don’t even know who the guy is,” he admitted. “But he seems like un pendejo, if you ask me.”

“He is,” Jasmine agreed vehemently. “The biggest pendejo.”

“And I swear, the coffee was an accident.”

Right then, the coffee maker sputtered, filling the room with a sweetly nutty scent, and they both turned to look at it.

“I’m just going to leave that alone,” Ashton muttered, and Jasmine’s lips pursed like she was holding back a smile.

“Probably for the best,” she said, then gestured at the small sofa. “Can I sit?”

He nodded, but a sinking feeling dragged at his gut. He had some idea of what had brought her here. It wouldn’t be the first time a female costar had proposed this, but it would be the first time in a long time he’d be tempted to say yes. Ever since Yadiel had been born, he had a strict policy against hooking up with costars. He’d tried dating with the intention of a relationship, but it had always gotten too complicated, and he’d finally given up. There was no room in his life for romance. Only the on-screen kind.

Although as Jasmine settled herself onto the sofa and crossed her long legs, he wished . . .

For something he couldn’t have.

“Are you going to sit down?” she asked.

“Ah, sí.” He perched on the rolling stool in front of the narrow counter.

“You disappeared pretty quickly,” she remarked.

“I had to make a phone call.”

She nodded, like she was waiting for him to offer more information, but when he didn’t, she went on.

“There’s something I wanted to propose—”

“Jasmine, I don’t think it’s such a good idea for us to—”

“You don’t want to run lines together?” Her eyebrows dipped with hurt.

He blinked. “Run lines?”

“Yeah. You know, practice memorizing our lines?”

“Of course. I mean, yes, I know what—”

“Why, what did you think I was going to—”

Carajo, he’d really stepped in it now. The back of his neck burned with embarrassment. “I thought . . . never mind.”

Her eyebrows arched. “Well, now you have to tell me.”

It was going to sound horrible, but she pinned him with such a direct look, he couldn’t think of a lie. “Ah, I thought you were going to . . . you know, suggest we . . .”

“What, sleep together?” she said, at the same time he said, “Practice kissing.”

Jasmine shot to her feet, then froze. “Wait, what?”

Ashton rubbed the back of his neck and wished he really could disappear. “I thought you were going to say we should practice kissing since we did such a terrible job of it today.”

She laughed. “No. I mean, yes, we did, but obviously that wasn’t going to be my suggestion.”

He gave a rueful smile. “Seventeen takes.”

“Exactly. I mean, that’s just embarrassing.”

“I was thinking the same thing before you got here,” he admitted. “It’s totally embarrassing. I keep waiting for someone to bust in and revoke my Romantic Hero Card.”