“You’re jealous,” he says, and I cross my arms over my chest.
“For me to be jealous, I would have to care, and I don’t,” I tell him, hoping I’m as good an actor as I see myself in my head. I have to remember he’s an actor. Will he know I’m bullshitting my way through this moment? “I couldn't care less that you did Roxanne last night. I couldn't care less if she’s still in your bed, waiting for your return, probably being watched over by Cassie.”
“I didn’t . . .” he says, coming closer, and I hold my breath, “fuck Roxanne last night.”
“I don’t care,” I tell him, my voice now lowering to an almost whisper.
He walks even closer and leans in, invading my personal space. He’s so close, closer than in the restaurant, his face going close to my ear. “Liar,” he whispers, and my body shivers, then he chuckles and turns and walks out.
“Motherfucker,” I hiss to myself after the door clicks closed. I count to ten or maybe a hundred, then I walk out of the room, peeking out first to make sure that he isn’t there smirking. I make my way back to my room, grabbing my phone and texting Kellie.
I’m available if you are.
I toss the phone onto the bed, pulling my sports bra off, and my phone starts ringing. I get a huge smile on my face when I press the green accept button. The little circle spins at the top, showing me it’s connecting.
Her beautiful face fills the screen. She doesn’t have one stitch of makeup on, and her blond hair is piled on her head. Our friendship started two years ago when I followed her for a week during her Broadway debut. Well, we bonded over our love for music, our love for coffee, our love for memes, and most importantly, our outlook on Hollywood.
“Hello, gorgeous.” I see she is lying on a couch with her head propped up on a couple of pillows. “Where are you?”
“On the tour bus of hell,” she says, rubbing her face. “Can you do me a favor?” she asks. I kick off my shoes and hop into bed, sliding under the covers. “Next time I bring up how much fun touring is, can you remind me of this conversation?”
I start laughing at her when I hear a deep voice in the background. “I’ll remind you, babe.” I open my eyes, not expecting a man’s voice, and then I see her turn and glare at him.
“I told you not to call me that,” she says, then comes back to me. “Um . . .”
“Um? I’d say that’s a good word, all right,” I say, turning on my side and laying my head on the pillow.
“I’m going in my room,” she says and gets up while I hear him grumble in the background. She walks into her room and then closes the door and collapses on the bed. “I’m in hell.”
“I think you have a lot to explain,” I tell her, and she nods her head.
“I had to amp up my security, then guess who walks in as my bodyguard? Christ on a cracker, it was Brian,” she says, and my eyes go wide. You see, she and Brian have a past. Well, not so much together, but she was dating someone, and she reached out to this security firm to help her sneak around. Except she fell hard for Brian, who more or less ignored her. “Yeah, so he swaggers in here, and I’m not kidding with the swagger.” I laugh at her facial expressions. “I just . . . it’s so irritating . . . I’m supposed to be ignoring him and all this shit, and he’s basically my shadow.”
“Well, at least he’s not an asshole who pretends to be your friend and then tries to kiss you and then ignores you,” I point out and then proceed to tell her the whole story about Tyler.
“He already fucked Roxanne a while back,” she says, and I look at her. “It was a one-night thing.”
“How do you know?” I ask her, pissed that I even care.
“We share the same stylist,” she says, and I don’t ask for any more information. “So what are you going to do?”
“Fuck if I know. What are you going to do?” I ask her. “I think I’m going to ignore him to give him a little taste of his own medicine.”
She laughs. “I think the only thing that men can’t handle is when you ignore them.” She looks up at her door and then back at me. “I did that to Brian, and he snapped after four hours.”
“What did he do?” I ask her, wondering if I’m going to have the same thing from Tyler.
“He told me that he would put me over his knee and turn my ass red.” Her cheeks immediately turn pink, and my mouth falls open. “Yeah, but not yet. Because he doesn’t eat where he shits, or shits where he eats, or however the hell that saying goes.”
“I get that,” I tell her, and she glares at me. “What? It’d be really awkward if you guys hooked up and then you dumped him, and he had to watch you flirt with other people.”
“I don’t flirt,” she hisses. “It’s called Southern charm.” I laugh at her, and then as we talk about her tour stops, a strange number comes up on my phone.
“I have someone trying to FaceTime me,” I tell her. “Can I call you back?”
“Yeah, go and be good and safe and please try not to kill him.” She laughs, and I point at her.
“Go see your babe.” I smile, and she glares while I press the green button.
The circle spins again, and then Tyler’s face fills the screen. I see that he has a towel around his neck. “Hey, it’s me.”
“It’s a good thing you cleared that up since I didn’t recognize your egotistical face or your condescending voice,” I say. “Who gave you my number, and what do you want?”
“I have all the numbers on the original call sheet in case we need to contact you, and I want to know if you would like to have lunch with me.” I roll my eyes at him and how fast that entire sentence flowed from those sexy as sin lips of his. The phone accidentally falls out of my hand, landing on my stomach. Picking it back up, I see that his mouth is open. “Are you in bed?”
“Um, yeah, it’s a relax day. That is what it said on the call sheet. Did I read the itinerary wrong or something?” I ask him, and I see his mouth close and then open. He tries to say something, but the words aren’t coming out.
“Are you . . .?” he stutters, and my eyebrows pinch together. “Are you naked?” he asks, and it’s almost as if the words pain him to say. Then his eyes change, the brightness and laughter color gone and the shade darker. “Like naked, naked?”
“Why do you care if I’m naked?” I ask him, getting up on my elbow but holding the covers to my chest.
He rolls his eyes and takes a huge swallow, and I watch his Adam’s apple going up and down slowly, almost like his mouth is dry. “I don’t care.” He throws the same line back at me that I threw at him.
Oh, how the tables have turned. I lean in closer to the phone, a hair’s width away from the camera so only my mouth is visible to his naked eye, and I tell him to come closer. When he gets close enough, I lower my voice and say, “Liar.” It comes out on a whisper, and I disconnect the call. I’m smiling to myself, celebrating the power of fucking karma, when a text comes in.
Tyler: Pick you up in thirty, dress warm.