Chapter 10
REID
Damn Brooke and her hangover comments. I’d say she knows me well, but I’m no different than any other eighteen to twenty-five in LA, especially the celebrity subset. I suspect she’s the same; she just likes being high-handed with me.
Her orders, texted to me last night: Check into the hotel by TEN. The cars are picking everyone up at 11:30. Look hot. Don’t flirt. Be friendly and sweet. Make her think you’ve forgotten about her rejection.
Rejection. Way to twist the knife there, Brooke… almost as if she doesn’t know she’s doing it. Damn, she’s good.
I check into the hotel at 11:15, after not bothering to answer her texts and calls all morning. She’s got to get one thing straight—I’ll follow her dictates to a point, but only to a point. I don’t trust her enough to blindly obey everything she says, and I’m not stupid enough to ignore the fact that she’ll hit her goal first. For Emma to fall into my arms, Graham has to fall into Brooke’s. And I have no illusions about how much help Brooke will be to me once she gets what she wants. I’ll be on my own.
After checking into my suite, I text Brooke: I’m here.
The lobby is one big Austin déjà vu, and after I step off of the elevator, I stop to observe the interaction of my former costars before joining them. Tadd spots me first.
“Reid, you’ve got to come to Chicago and hang out.” He walks over and we exchange a fierce hug. “My new place is awesome—penthouse right on the river. Oprah is just down the street.”
“I’m sure you’ll be painting each other’s toenails in no time, man,” I laugh.
“So, what’s up?” He tosses his straight pale blond hair out of his eyes, his clear blue eyes flicking to Emma and back.
“Not yet, dude. I’m getting there, though.”
Both eyebrows rise now. “Interesting.”
My eyes trace over Emma. She stands a foot from Graham—nothing outwardly betraying anything between them, though an alert observer would say the way they seem to avoid touch or eye contact is conspicuous. “The studio wants us to maintain an illusory thing until the film’s released. I want less illusory and more thing.”
“Hmm,” he says. “A warning, then.” Shoulder to shoulder, we stand watching everyone else. “There’s a little, I don’t know—chemistry? Going on between her and Graham.”
No need to fake ignorance with Tadd—he’s had my back too many times to count. He likes Emma, but I’m sure he’d come down on my side if it came to that. “Yeah, I’ve been made aware.”
He smirks through the fringe of hair that falls right back down over one eye—a look that probably gets him whatever guy he wants, whenever he wants it. “By who?” he asks, and I glance in Brooke’s direction. She’s deliberately snubbing me, still pissed that I ignored her texted commands, I’m sure. “Really.” Tadd’s eyes widen. “More interesting.”
*** *** ***
Emma
Remaining hands-off with Graham is more difficult than I expected. I’m drawn to him, as though there’s some sort of gravitational attraction tethering us to each other. I want to press myself into his side. I want him to slide his arms around me like he did last night as we slept. I want to run my hands over him like I did an hour ago in my room, pushing his shirt up and counting his abdominal muscles out loud while he laughed, self-conscious and proud at the same time. This belongs to me, I thought, touching his hard stomach and biceps, kissing his mouth. And this. And this.
When I woke up in his arms this morning, I spent five minutes staring at his flawless, sleeping face. The world had tilted overnight, and everything had fallen into place. I slipped carefully from his grasp and tip-toed to the bathroom to brush my teeth, and when I came back and snuggled against him, he came slowly awake, kissed the top of my head and excused himself.
When he came back to bed and kissed me, his minty breath echoed mine. I giggled when he rolled me flat on my back and smiled. “Good morning,” he said, mischief in his eyes.
“Do I snore? Or talk in my sleep? Or drool? Or something worse?” I asked.
He laughed. “Not that I know of. As far as I know, you’re perfect.”
Turning my head back and forth, I stared up at him. “No, I’m not.”
Intertwining our fingers, he pushed my arms above my head, holding me prisoner. A bolt of pure liquid fire shot through me and pooled where our bodies pressed together. “Oh yes. You are,” he said, kissing me.
By the time he left the room and I got into the shower, I had only half an hour to get ready. My hair is wavy and damp now because I didn’t have time to dry it, let alone style it.
“Emma.” Brooke snatches my attention back to the lobby and my costars. She arches a flawless brow as her eyes dart over my hair. “You could have borrowed my flat iron if you needed one. I owe you, as I recall.”
As was her intent, I’m reminded of the night she borrowed my straightener in Austin, when Reid took me out to dinner and I thought I was falling for him. I glance over at him, and he smiles like he knows exactly what night I’m thinking about. Sliding his eyes away, he greets Meredith and MiShaun.
He must be over our breakup last fall, and our exchange in Austin just a few weeks ago—when he said I could be different with you and I refused to be that girl. This is the third time we’ve seen each other since then, and he doesn’t seem at all resentful. He hasn’t really flirted with me, either—not any more than he does with everyone. Maybe the coming month won’t be so bad.