Canon
“You ain’t slick.”
I glance up to stare at Monk, lounging by the craft services table, not sure I even want to know what he’s talking about.
I don’t.
Without responding, I place a slice of smoked salmon on my plate.
“You hate fish,” Monk says, now standing across from me. “Especially fish that ain’t even cooked right.”
“Monk, man, what the hell you talking about?”
“You over here pretending to eat smoked salmon when we both know why you slithered out of your video cave.”
I stiffen.
“For the record.” I point to the slimy pink fish-mass on my plate. “I love this stuff.”
“Oh, you do?” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Let’s see you eat it.”
I make a scoffing noise, mostly as a delay tactic because I really do hate smoked salmon. Monk nods to the plate and lifts his brows. It’s none of his damn business. I know that, but I can’t let him win the point. I wish I wasn’t so proud. And stubborn. And bullheaded.
I eat the salmon.
And literally gag into my napkin.
“Told your ass!”
“So I don’t like it. Who cares?” I toss the plate into a trash can and grab a bottle of water from the corner of the table.
“My point was that you’re not out here to eat.” Monk looks over his shoulder where Trey and Neevah sit on a fabricated New York City stoop playing cards. One of the cameras malfunctioned and it’s being worked on. A brief delay, but the actors took advantage of it and, as they always seem to, broke out a deck of cards.
“You’re here to spy,” Monk finishes with a gloating smile.
“You on some bullshit, man.” I deliberately turn my back so I can’t see the two of them throwing down cards, but I hear Neevah squeal, and it makes me grit my teeth.
“What are we talking about?” Jill asks, walking up to grab a protein bar from the table.
“How Canon likes Neevah,” Monk says.
I turn on him. “Man, don’t be saying that shit. Somebody might hear you.”
“I mean, is that a secret?” Jill takes a bite of her bar. “Is he out here brooding over Trey and Neevah?”
“I do not brood,” I reply. They exchange if you say so looks. “Okay, I brood, but not over them. Over that. Shit, I don’t give a damn if they—”
Neevah lets out another peal of laughter that sails across the set.
What is so funny about some damn cards?
I resist the urge to turn around and look—to stomp over there and ask Nick at Nite myself.
“Should we tell him?” Jill asks Monk. “I feel like we should tell him.”
“Tell me what?” I ask.
“No, definitely not.” Monk laughs. “This is too much fun.”