One Day After Never (The Second Time's the Charm STANDALONE Series Book 1)

by Whitney Walker

  I hold my champagne glass by the base between both hands as I rest my elbows on a high-top table. Hot breath scorches my neck. I sense a large presence. My body tenses. Kyle. Of course he is here. I should have thought of this and not been caught off guard. He tries to claim me with a kiss to the side of my exposed neck. I grimace and lean away. He is undeterred.

  “Hey, baby.”

  He circles in front of me and takes me in.

  “You look different tonight. Hot. But different.”

  Natural makeup will do that to a girl.

  “You’d look even better without that old thing on.”

  “Hello, Kyle,” I seethe through clenched teeth.

  His hands reach for my waist, and I try to step backwards but Jenna, Hayden and Meredith are directly behind me. He succeeds at pulling me into him, and I shift to get out of his arms unsuccessfully as the girls crowd in.

  “Hey stranger, we miss you!”

  Speak for yourself, Jenna. Thankfully, his hands release me to hug her. I step left. Meredith grabs my hand. “Come on, we were just going to get our picture taken with the movie backdrop,” she sing-songs, voice rising multiple octaves. She pulls me in close to her with both hands. “Maybe we can get a picture with Wes Bentley. OMG, I would die. He is beautiful. Full-on.”

  The four of us line up, legs appropriately positioned with a bend, shoulders back, chins up, elbows protruding, and stomachs sucked in, breath held, for maximum skinniness. The photographer lowers the camera, and Kyle has somehow replaced my three friends who’ve vanished into the crowd. I try to make my escape, but his hand catches my arm and holds it firm.

  “Whoa, not so fast. Take a picture with me, babe.”

  “You really need to stop calling me that,” I say through a plastered smile. I try not to stand too close, but his strong arm encircles my waist and removes every inch between us. I can’t get away soon enough. I hear the click and abruptly step off the carpet before he can realize it. He takes one large stride and catches up.

  “How’s the gig going?”

  How did he know I worked this week? “Great, thanks for asking.”

  “It’s a good part, huh?” He nods, looking hopeful.

  “It’s just three scenes.”

  “But you’ve never had lines before, right?”

  True, but he hardly needed to rub it in. “It’s good. So, what about you? What are you up to?”

  “Other than pining for you? Little else.”

  My eyes dart to the floor, then around the room, to avoid his penetrating gaze. I’m not going there with him. My heart is elsewhere. “You should move on, Kyle. Maybe call Kate.”

  “I’ve only ever loved you, Peyton. I only ever will.”

  My eyes roll of their own accord. I catch of glimpse of Hayden talking to the photographer out of the corner of my eye. In his hand is the little pad of paper where they capture people’s names after they are photographed. I rush toward them. “Hi, um,” I look at the pad and see four women’s names then Kyle Nixon and Peyton Jennings beneath. “Yeah, could you scratch that one, please? I’d really appreciate it,” I say pointing to where my name is associated with Kyle’s. The photographer looks at me with one eyebrow raised, and instead of drawing a line through it, adds a star beside it. I lift my hands in a gesture to imply confusion, and he gives a half smile then turns away to take the next picture. What the hell? I hope that picture doesn’t get out there for the world, but more specifically J.T., to see. I look back to Hayden, Jenna and Meredith. “I need you all to make Kyle go away. Pretty please.”

  “He’s devastated about losing you, Peyton. He is begging us to help him.”

  Again, Meredith? “I know you were friends with him before me, but it’s over. He screwed up. We’re done.”

  “We kind of are all hoping maybe you will forgive him.”

  “We? As in all of you? You are taking his side?” I stare incredulously at three hopeful faces.

  “You know we love you. We just think we know what’s best for you.”

  The collective “we” hurts.

  “And you think what’s best for me is Kyle?” I debate telling them about the gentle and kind man who just happens to be hot and is off saving the world. I hadn’t yet, because after the limousine I’d been worried about them telling Kyle. I don’t want to give him any ammunition for digging his heels in deeper in his efforts to win me back.

  Hayden shrugs. “We like you and Kyle together, Pey.”

  “It’s never happening, Hayden.”

  Hayden appears to see someone across the crowd and begins to walk away, smugly throwing over her shoulder, “Never say never!”

  I’m finally away from Kyle in a row of seats with just the girls. One more glance at my phone before the movie will begin. I decide to send J.T. one more text.

  wish u were here….

  I follow it with three sad faces. Three isn’t enough but I don’t want to be overly dramatic. I turn down the brightness on the screen, and keep my purse on my lap, just in case he replies during the movie. The opening scene is barely concluding when I feel the buzz against my leg. I quietly peek inside at the notification.

  by here do u mean?

  Huh? I try to process his question. Maybe an autocorrect screw-up? I open the message and see the picture he has included. A marquee reading After the Fall. My jaw drops. By here, he means here! As in L.A., outside the theater I am sitting in. I turn to Meredith next to me. “I gotta go!” I nearly jump from my seat, whispering, “Excuse me, excuse me,” and, “Sorry!” through the row of people.

  My high heels on marble tile echo through the empty theater lobby. I push through the door as the warm night air surrounds my body. Goosebumps cover me from head to toe. Maybe the breeze, but more likely the sight of J.T. casually leaning against a cab, arms folded across his broad chest. The light of the marquee illuminates his features. I swallow him in, his longer, messy hair, jeans hanging just right, and a plaid, cotton button-up, sleeves rolled and tattoo peeking.

  His looks define handsome, but even better is the way his whole body comes to attention when his eyes find me.

  I hurry my pace as best as I can in heels, and he closes the distance between us. I can’t believe he is standing before me! I want him to grab me and hold me in his arms, but he stops short. He reaches for both of my hands and takes me all in.

  “You look too beautiful to touch. I don’t want to mess you up.”

  “Mess me up, J.T.”

  His lips crash into mine, his hands on my hips holding me against him. My lips remember his. All week, imaginary kisses reminded me of his taste. Tongue against mine, tracing my lips, our mouths move as one, my fingers feel stubble to the touch. He’s here!

  His palms find the small of my back where the draping dress leaves bare skin for him to explore. He pauses our kiss, my lips still puckered. His hands return to my hips and he spins me slowly in front of him. “Wow,” he whispers. “I had to see that dress in person. It’s absurdly stunning.”

  “Thank you,” I say with conviction.

  He smiles at my reply knowingly.

  “Pinch me! Is this real? How are you here?” My arms encircle his neck, fingers flirting with his hairline.

  He reaches for his pocket, removes his phone and turns the screen toward me. The background of his display is the picture I posted earlier on Instagram in front of the theater. Its carousel-like marquee with a crown of lights and the letter “B” made it easy to know the Bruin theater location. “I showed this to the cab driver, and the rest, as they say, is history. This picture will get me through the next few weeks.”

  “But how are you in L.A.?”

  “Usually a delay and mechanical trouble would be a total bummer, but not when you get to pick being re-routed through a place you really want to visit. It was a little out of the way, but seeing you like this,” he leans forward and kisses me tantalizingly on the mouth, “Totally worth it.”

  “How long do we have?” My eyebrows ri
se.

  “Not long enough for that. Though it might kill me. Especially after seeing you like this. Did I mention stunning? I need to be back at the airport in just over an hour. And I need to eat. I’ve only had peanuts and pretzels all day. I could really use a burger before I’m off the food grid for a few weeks.”

  “I could really use something else, but I suppose I can’t be greedy. Thank you for finding your way to me. I am so glad that you are here.”

  “You and me both,” he says with a kiss to my forehead. “That dress, Peyton—”

  I interrupt, “Would look even better on your bedroom floor?”

  He tilts his head back in laughter. “Your ability to turn any simple matter into something about sex is just one of the things that I love about you, Peyton Jennings.”

  He loves things—not just one, but multiple things—about me?

  He opens the door of the cab. “In retrospect, this should be a limo, but it’s what I’ve got at the moment. After you.”

  I slide across the seat and he climbs in beside me.

  He whispers, “It’s taking every ounce of will power not to grab your breasts.” He leans forward to the small opening in the Plexiglas between the back and front seat. “Zane, she’s killing me.”

  The cab driver, who I now know is named Zane, smiles in the rearview mirror. “She is as you say, Mr. J.T., a beauty. And I think she like you too.”

  Even though it’s delivered in broken English, I understand every word.

  Because Zane and J.T. had made fast friends, he agreed instead of cab fare to let J.T. buy him breakfast for dinner, while we ate at a diner on the way to the airport. I can’t imagine what I look like walking through the door in an evening gown, but we need quick. Apparently, it’s a last supper of sorts, before fried potatoes will constitute his three meals a day. Where J.T. will be going, other than a lot of corn cooked to a soggy paste, not much else is a staple.

  Zane, from the counter, turns on his bar stool to catch our attention. “Time to head out, Mr. J.T.”

  Dread fills me. Our time together is coming to an end much too soon.

  In the cab, I rest in the crook of J.T.’s arm, back against his side, gazing out the window at passing lights. His fingers slide up and down my forearm. I’m mesmerized by his touch.

  “I have a random question for you,” he breaks our comfortable silence, kissing the top of my head.

  “Okay. Good chance I have a random answer.” I sit up and turn toward him, careful to keep my arm where he can still reach it.

  “I need a new playlist for my next long flight. What songs would I pick if I was making the soundtrack of your life?”

  “Oh, hmm. Let me think. You Get What You Give.”

  “New Radicals, okay. What else?”

  “Natasha Bedingfield, Unwritten.”

  “Okay, like it. Anything else?”

  “Remember the Name by Fort Minor and, of course, anything Kid Rock and Eminem, because I am, after all, from the D.”

  “But of course. Eminem Guts Over Fear. That’s one of mine. And The Fighter. Gym Class Heroes. No country for you?”

  “Oh, two of those. The Broken Road song and Do It Anyway. I guess those are kind of old and I have no idea who sings them. I don’t really do country.” I hesitate to see his response, then quickly add, “But I could. If you like it.”

  “That’s sweet of you, Peyton. Since I only listen to country it would probably be a good idea if you did. It might be a deal breaker otherwise.”

  He feigns serious but I know him better now. “That’s too bad. I hear I give a pretty good blow job.”

  “You kill me, Jennings. First tempting me with those barely covered breasts of yours, and now with that. I know you didn’t believe music would get rid of me. You are stuck with me, baby.”

  He picks up my hand and kisses the top of it, in gentlemanly fashion.

  “I’m happy to be stuck with you.” I smile. “Add that song to the playlist.”

  “No, thanks. Hard pass on that one.”

  We both laugh. “I have a random question for you too. Right before I met you, you had just told a woman that you wanted to run away to Australia. Why Australia?”

  He looks surprised, then hesitant. “Your mom, Peyton. We were both having a bad day. We both wanted to run away. As far as possible. At the time, it was the furthest geographical location I knew where they spoke English. It was kind of a running joke with us. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I am glad it’s something we all share. The reason it caught my attention is that I have contemplated the same on more than one occasion. I must have gotten it from her, or I guess from you.” I consider the awesome factor of that detail. We seem fated to be together. “I had something from you before I knew you. How cool is that? I am happy to know.”

  “Let’s go. Get on the plane with me.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Maybe stop in Bali too?”

  He leans over, close to my lips. “I’m sure kissing you on a beach couldn’t be better than this cab.”

  “I’d like to find out.” I envision a beach kiss with waves lapping at my feet, him holding me in the ocean, and walking hand in hand on soft sand. I’m dreaming forward. A dangerous place for a girl.

  I peek through our kiss to see the departure lanes are just yards away. The United sign at the curb. My heart is heavy.

  “One More Day.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  “Diamond Rio. My life’s soundtrack. Please listen and think of me.”

  “I am sure it will be my new favorite song.”

  The car crawls to a stop and he leans into the open space to the front seat again. “Zane, apologies in advance for what I am about to ask. Any chance I could have just a minute of privacy?”

  Zane laughs and covers his eyes with his palms jokingly. He gets out of the cab and leans his backside against the trunk.

  “I can’t leave without this, Peyton.”

  He pushes the low-cut v-shape fabric of the dress over my breasts. I quickly reach down and expose my nipples from beneath their cover. He cups each tenderly, thumbs drifting across my flesh, each nerve alive under his touch. Squeezing them together, and upwards, he places a kiss atop the left, then the right. I gasp. I run my hands up his thighs, from the knee to his hip, and find him with both hands. What I wouldn’t give for more.

  He releases the handfuls of flesh, and they retreat into place, already missing his touch. The fabric slides over my hard nipples leaving a visible memento of what he has done. His hands slide upward, holding my face in his hands and pressing his forehead to mine. “I do not want to leave you.”

  “Sorry-not sorry for your mechanical trouble. But don’t you dare let that happen on the way home. Do not delay getting home to me one minute longer than necessary. And don’t get malaria. Please.”

  “You make me laugh. And smile. And other things.”

  “You know I just went there in my head, right?”

  “I was hoping you did.”

  He pulls away, then leans back in for one more worthy kiss. He opens the door. I need to hug him one more time. J.T. pays Zane, and they clasp hands while slapping each other on the back at the same time. Zane steps aside and J.T., seeing me there, scoops me into his arms. I lift my feet into the air as he leans back, the scene befitting a movie goodbye.

  “Be safe, J.T. Think of me!”

  “As if I have any other option,” he says as our lips find one another’s for the last time. He returns my feet to the pavement, though only physically. He backs away from me and blows a kiss. I want that to be his signature goodbye gesture. For a long, long time.

  DECEMBER 8th

  CHAPTER 22 | Peyton

  I t’s been the longest forty-three hours of my life. Since J.T. and I parted I can’t stop thinking of him. Feeling him ghostlike touching my back, holding my hips, caressing my bare breasts in the back of the cab.

  A commotion outside my staging area distracts me, people partin
g as a cartoon character-meet rock-star assistant with large hair and even larger glasses moves through the crowd calling for Peyton Jennings.

  “Hi, I’m Peyton.” I stand to face him. We are eye to eye, but his hair takes me. He pushes the contents of his arms into mine. A long and large red box tied with a white ribbon of satin. How did J.T. pull this off? I haven’t told him what set or building, or even the city I would be working in. Then again, he’d been clever enough to find me on Saturday night from my Instagram picture. I untie the ribbon and lift the lid of the box. Not one, but two dozen long-stemmed, red roses. Perfect. And perfectly expensive. He shouldn’t have spent so much but I am thrilled to know I have made a flower-worthy impression on him.

  A white envelope is held in place by a sticker on top of the decorative tissue cradling the flowers. I quickly open it. My stomach careens into my throat.

  Peyton,

  Seeing you this weekend only confirmed what I already knew.

  All the reasons I need you by my side. I won’t live without you.

  You are my everything.

  Kyle

  Not at all what I had expected. How disappointing! I don’t want flowers from him! A woman from behind comments over my shoulder, “Well, aren’t you loved?” Another walks over to admire my goods. “Spoiled!” Chatter sweeps through the twenty plus people in the room, and I am suddenly the center of attention. Screw this. I set the box on a table in the corner, take each rose out and carefully hand one to each of the women in the room.

  DECEMBER 9th

  CHAPTER 23 | Peyton

  I enjoyed a quiet day on the set, free of Kyle’s antics, with plenty of time to wonder what J.T. might be doing in Africa. All day long I’ve been counting down the hours to wrapping. Tonight, we are hitting the Staples Center for the Jingle Ball with Taylor, Jessie J., Pharrell, Iggy, and Ariana among others. I arrived home late, which normally would have been tragic, but I am beginning to enjoy the extra time I don’t spend primping.