My face warms as Graham’s fist clenches and unclenches once before settling on his leg. “Not right now. I’m finishing up my last semester at Columbia. You?”
“Nothing ’til fall—just trying to get into decent shape before then. I’m supposed to do some of my own stunts in the next flick. Hopefully the ones that won’t kill me.” One side of his mouth turns up and he glances at me again.
“Cool,” Graham says.
Reid clears his throat, looks back at Graham. “So—theatre degree?”
“English Lit.”
“Ah.”
Having reached the end of conversable topics, Reid sits back and they both fall silent while I sit mutely between them, contemplating how the hell I got myself into this incredibly awkward position.
When we reach the hotel, Reid slips out, turning and offering his hand. Without thinking, I take it. Pulling me alongside him, he places his opposite palm at my lower back as he smiles for the paparazzi gathered around the entrance while our bodyguards ensure that we get to the door unmolested. I have no chance to look back for Graham until we reach the lobby, at which point Reid drops his hand from my back. “We’re all meeting in my room in a little while—you’re coming, right?”
Before I reply, he turns and looks past Graham, whose eyes connect with mine. Our hours to be alone are dwindling down. Brooke walks up behind Graham, her hand coming to rest on his arm, arguably unintentional, if she didn’t do it so habitually. “Hey,” she says.
“Brooke, you told Emma and Graham about tonight, right?” Reid asks no trace of the hostility—let alone the desire to maim each other permanently—that usually colors every word they say to each other.
Graham appears as astonished as I am at this friendly exchange, especially when Brooke replies, “Oh, shit, I forgot,” without biting Reid’s head off first. Linking her arm with Graham’s, she smiles up at him, her perfect faux-tan and red-nailed talons standing out against his paler skin. “Mixer in Reid’s room! You have to come.” She turns her toothpaste-ad smile on me, saying, “Oh, and you too, Emma,” like an afterthought.
The desire to stomp on her foot returns, a hundred times stronger than it was this morning. Worse, her calculating smile says she’s more than aware of it.
*** *** ***
REID
Watching Brooke and Emma face off is possibly the most involuntarily hot thing I’ve ever witnessed. They’re subtle, and perfectly civil to each other, while under the surface lurks a murderous biting, kicking, hair-pulling, bitch-slapping violence. The only thing that would have made it better—much better, in fact—is if I was the inspiration for those vicious feelings. But no. It’s all for Graham.
I sort of get it. I mean, he’s good-looking. And he’s got that mysterious element about him that chicks are drawn to. I know his protectiveness is attractive to Brooke. When she and I were together and I got the slightest bit possessive of her—which, granted, has never come naturally for me—she loved it. In fact, the more jealous I was, the more controlling I acted, the more she liked it. Kind of freaked me out a little, actually.
***
“You’re flirting with her too much in front of Graham.” Brooke walks through my door a quarter hour early, issuing unrequested critiques of my progress. “If you make him jealous before anything happens between Graham and me, you’ll never get her away from him.”
I smirk. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. And that’s not what happened last time.”
She turns, arms crossed under her br**sts and wearing her patented I-know-better-than-you expression, stopping when her eyes flick over my bare chest. I haven’t yet buttoned the shirt I threw on after my shower. Clearing her throat and averting her eyes to anything in the room but me, she retorts, “Last time, he was fighting falling for her. Now he’s not. The only way he’ll give her up is if she falls into bed with you. And since you were a big fail on that last fall—before she even knew what a man-whore you are, I think we can safely assume that isn’t going to happen easily.”
I take a slow breath. No way am I letting her know how much I want to test the challenge she just threw down, just because she tossed it at me. She’s probably correct, though—neither of them is going to cave easily. “Shit, Brooke, if you think it’s so impossible, why bother?”
She glares at me. “I told you. I want him. I’m right for him, and it’s not impossible. It’s just going to take shrewd planning and careful execution, and I don’t want you screwing it up.”
The combination of a hot ex-lover alone in my room and the cle**age-flaunting way her arms are crossed is killing me. With effort, I cut my eyes away from her heaving chest and deceptively flawless face and pour a shot of whatever the hell is sitting on my dresser.
“How much attention have you been paying to following your own orders, Brooke? Emma has definitely noticed the fact that you can’t keep your hands off of him. As far as condemning your ingenious plan before it gets off the ground, that will do it. If she feels threatened and talks to him about his relationship with you, this whole little plot could be toast.”
I watch her face in the mirror over the dresser. A crease appears between her brows, her self-confidence slipping faintly. “How do you know? That she’s noticed anything, I mean.”
What I wonder is how Brooke hasn’t noticed. I thought girls were better tuned to each other than that. “I was standing right next to her, and I’m observant.” She makes a noise of derision I choose to ignore. “She’s noticing. So cool it yourself, or you may have to give my bed a try if you want to get laid.” If the objects of our affections weren’t showing up in five minutes, I would give that proposition a more enthusiastic effort.