Red Carpet Kiss

by Melissa Brown

  They made love for the second time. And the next morning, Elle didn’t run. She stayed, and for three hundred and sixty-four days, they were completely smitten. Until they went to Vegas. And everything fell apart.

  Tears streamed down Elle’s face as she lay in silence in her bedroom. Linus snuggled into her side, attempting to comfort her. But nothing could. Troy was the most significant regret of her life. She cried for their mistakes, for their separation, and for the time they’d lost. But mostly, she cried for the contented moments like the one they spent walking from John Barleycorn’s to Troy’s apartment. The night she was given a fresh start with the only guy who’d ever captured her heart. She cried for the hope that took up residence in her heart that evening, and for the hope that still remained after so much time.

  Elle crashed into Luke’s dressing room with a ferocity she hadn’t expected. Justine, the makeup artist, looked up from her canvas with a start, still clutching her bottle of concealer. Her eyes were wide and she stepped back from Luke, who turned his body to face Elle. It was seven fifteen in the morning, with less than an hour before he was needed on set. But for Elle, this couldn’t wait. Not even a moment longer.

  “Elle, what the hell is going on?”

  Elle’s nostrils flared as she stalked toward Luke. Her eyes never left his, even as she addressed the makeup artist. “Justine, will you excuse us, please?”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll be back in five minutes.” Justine placed her concealer and sponges on Luke’s dressing table and scurried from the room, closing the door softly behind her.

  Luke stood, tearing the paper bib from his collar. “What’s going on?”

  “This.” Elle shoved her iPad into Luke’s hands.

  “Perez Hilton? Who is that?”

  “Gossip site, like TMZ. Explain the pictures, Luke.”

  Luke’s eyes closed and his head tilted up toward the ceiling. “It was late, we’d had a few drinks. It was nothing.”

  Elle scrolled through her iPad, revealing a dozen shots of Luke with Gina at a local bar. Luke’s arm was wrapped around her waist, his nose nuzzled into her ear. To Elle, they appeared awfully friendly. Too friendly.

  “Listen, I know we aren’t exclusive. That’s not what this is about.”

  Luke crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Then what’s it about?”

  “Gina. With Gina comes drama, rumors, gossip rags. Everything I try to stay away from and you know that.”

  “I’m not seeing her.”

  “Coulda fooled me.” Elle pursed her lips. “Listen, if you want to end this, just say so. Date Gina, date whomever you choose. Just leave me out of the bullshit.”

  “Says the woman who can’t stop thinking about her ex.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.”

  Elle froze, uncertain of what she could say in rebuttal. Luke was right. Since their first encounter with Troy weeks earlier, she’d been different, distracted. Her heart and her mind were muddled and confused. And that was her fault, not Luke’s. She was being unfair. She knew that, but she had enough confusion weighing her down; the idea of having to deal with Gina’s dramatics was just too much to handle.

  “Look, I’m sorry, I just—” She waved her iPad. “You know this stuff drives me crazy. It pulls my focus, and I can’t have that.”

  Luke closed the gap between them, wrapping his arms around her waist. “I’m not interested in Gina. Yes, I was being friendly, and it was loud in the bar so when I talked to her, I leaned in. That’s all these photos show.”

  Elle tilted her head, narrowing her eyes at Luke. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

  “My lips never touched hers. If they had, don’t you think Paris Hilton would have put that on her blog?”

  Elle allowed a laugh to escape her lips. “Perez. Perez Hilton.”

  Luke chuckled, pulling his lips into a playful smirk. “What did I say?”

  “Paris. As in the hotel magnate’s daughter. The one who eats gigantic cheeseburgers while washing cars.”

  “Ah, that’s right.” Luke pulled Elle in close, tickling her ear with his lips. “C’mon. You know me. Nothing happened.”

  Elle wanted to believe Luke. She wanted to believe every word that left his mouth. But the truth was, she didn’t know him. Not really. They’d known each other for a few months, and reality was setting in on their relationship. Reality that included both Troy and Gina. And she wasn’t sure where that would leave them.

  “Besides, stuff like this is good, right? I mean, for the show.”

  If Luke’s eyes hadn’t held such innocence and obvious good nature, she would’ve been tempted to slap him right across his beautiful square jaw. That type of statement was the exact reason why she didn’t date actors—or get involved with anything that could be spread across gossip rags or websites.

  “Maybe. There’s a delicate balance between good and bad press.”

  “I thought all press was good press.”

  “And that’s why you are an actor and I’m not.”

  Elle’s posture stiffened and she pulled away from Luke’s embrace, missing him the second they parted. He rubbed his chin as he peered into her eyes.

  “I should go. Justine will be back any minute and I don’t want to halt production.”

  “Fine, but . . . are we okay?”

  Elle nodded, faking a smile, knowing there was nothing more to say. “Yes, we’re fine. I’ll see you out there.”

  “He has a point.”

  Whitney took a large sip of her lemon drop martini as the two ladies sat at the bar and waited for their dessert to arrive. Elle rolled her eyes, not wanting to hear it. Whitney should side with her, not Luke. Was it juvenile? Of course, but after two martinis of her own, it’s exactly how she was feeling.

  “Explain.”

  “Well.” Whitney hesitated, biting her bottom lip. “You’re not exclusive, you have no real commitment. He can see Gina and you can see Troy if you want to—see if there’s still something there.”

  “Did you seriously just say that? Troy isn’t someone I’d see. Troy is all or nothing. And there will always be something there.”

  “Who says?”

  “Me. I say.” Elle shook her head. “Our past is just . . . it’s this sea of uncertainty, you know? When we were together, it was blissful—”

  Whitney made a gagging sound into her martini glass. “Blissful? I don’t think I’ve ever heard Elle Riley use that word.”

  Elle shrugged, shifting uncomfortably on the leather cushion of the barstool. “It’s the truth. But then . . . things always go wrong. Always. They get convoluted and confusing and we end up screaming at each other. Or I get terrified and shut things down completely.”

  “Is that what happened in Vegas? You’ve never really told me.”

  Elle’s eyes moistened. “I can’t . . . I can’t even articulate what happened in Vegas. I wish I could. Let’s just say it was the worst day of my life.”

  Whitney placed her hand on Elle’s shaky fingers. “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about that. One day you’ll tell me.”

  “Thanks.” She wiped the moisture from her eyes. “So what do I do, Whit? I feel so lost.”

  “Well, you and Luke are okay now, right? I mean, you threw your tantrum, he calmed you down, and now you’re just . . . I don’t know, kinda dealing with the aftermath?”

  Elle swirled her drink and nodded. “Yeah. In a nutshell.”

  “Ladies.” The bartender slid a large plate toward them. A large slice of flourless chocolate cake sat atop the white plate, adorned with two forks. Chocolate and caramel drizzle decorated the dessert, making it almost too beautiful to eat. “Enjoy.”

  Whitney’s eyes rolled to the back of her head as she tasted the cake. Elle giggled, watching her friend close her eyes tight, the fork still inside her closed mouth.

  “That good, huh?” the bartender asked with a laugh.

  “Honey, all we need is whipped cream and a cur
tain.”

  Elle rolled her eyes.

  “I’m serious,” Whitney insisted. “I need a moment alone with this cake.”

  Elle laughed into her hand, shaking her head at Whitney’s candor. The bartender erupted into laughter, slapped the bar, and gazed at Whitney.

  “We should put that on the specials board—it’d be the perfect slogan.”

  Whitney pointed her fork at the bartender. “You should! You’ll have wall-to-wall women in this place.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Dimples formed on the bartender’s cheeks. “I’m Mac, by the way.”

  “Hey, Mac.” Whitney flipped her long chocolate locks behind her shoulder before extending her hand. “I’m Whitney. This is Elle.”

  “Nice to meet you, ladies. I’ll, um . . . leave you with your dessert. But I’ll check on you later.”

  “You’d better.”

  Whitney watched the bartender as he walked away while Elle dug back into the cake.

  “You’re watching his ass, aren’t you?”

  “Yep. And I’m pretty sure I’m going home with him.”

  Whitney tipped her head when the bartender looked back in their direction before taking another bite of the delectable dessert. Elle watched her best friend in awe. Her confidence, her humor, her take-life-by-the-balls attitude were all things she admired. Elle had spent so many years living with her own imperfections and fears. Pushing people away in the name of saving herself from being hurt. She knew she could learn a thing or two from her best friend.

  As predicted, after hours of flirting, Whitney left for the evening with Mac the dimple-cheeked bartender, but not before calling a cab for Elle. Once she finished her final martini, a more-than-just-a-little-buzzed Elle climbed into the taxi and, without even planning to, gave the driver the address for Anthony’s Pub rather than her home.

  Despite her pounding heart and mounting anxiety, a besotted Elle made her way into the bar, plopping herself onto the nearest empty barstool.

  “We’re closing in twenty minutes,” a young bartender warned her, a fake smile plastered to her face. Elle studied the plastic-like features of the bartender, disliking the malleable appearance of her nose and cheekbones. And for the slightest of seconds, Elle wondered if Troy was attracted to women like her. It had been a long time since she’d observed Troy’s dating preferences and was no longer familiar with his “type.” She could only hope that even though he now lived in Los Angeles, he wasn’t falling under the spell of women addicted to plastic surgery.

  “Can I get a martini?”

  “Sure. What kind?”

  “Surprise me.” Elle craned her neck to look around the restaurant and bar. “Is Troy in?”

  “Mr. Saladino?”

  Relief spread through Elle’s nerves with that simple clarification. Anyone who called him that was definitely not keeping his bed warm.

  “Yeah. Mr. Saladino.”

  “He’s in the kitchen. I can get him if you like.”

  “I like,” Elle slurred before giggling. When she did, a small burp slipped out. “Ooh, excuse me.”

  “No problem, I’ll get him in a sec.” The bartender finished mixing Elle’s drink, pouring a purple-infused martini into a glass and garnishing it with a maraschino cherry.

  “Mmm.” Elle pressed the glass to her inviting lips, but was interrupted when a rough hand swiped the glass from her grip.

  “I think you’re cut off. Mel, could you grab her some water?”

  “Sure, Mr. Saladino.”

  Elle stared, mouth agape, at Troy, who was clutching the glass protectively, covering the glass with the top of his hand, and clearly out of her reach.

  Elle attempted to stand, but lost her footing slightly and bumped into the wood of the bar. “You. I was looking for you, Mr. Sal-a-dino.”

  “You smell like a bottle of vodka.” Troy supported her elbow with his hand, easing her back onto her barstool. His hand lingered there until Elle, in a more-than-obvious fashion, stared down at his hand on her arm.

  “I was out with Whitney.”

  “I don’t know who that is.” Troy furrowed his brow.

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, isn’t there, Mr. Saladino?”

  “I guess so.” Troy’s voice was rough, but calm and collected despite the fact she made no qualms about her attempts to goad him. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

  “Your bartender said it earlier. It’s cute.” She took her pinky finger and tapped the end of Troy’s nose. He rolled his eyes, but couldn’t suppress a grin.

  “Why are you here, Eleanor?”

  Elle stood, wrinkled her nose, and placed her hands on her hips. “I don’t like when you call me that. You always call me Rigby.”

  Troy looked away briefly, before making eye contact. “I was attempting to show you my serious side. Apparently, that isn’t working today.”

  “Not really.” Elle giggled, then burped again. She covered her mouth up tight.

  “You didn’t answer my question, by the way.”

  “Oh.” Elle bit her top lip and scrunched her nose up tight. “What was that again?”

  “Oh lord, you really are tanked.” Troy cleared his throat. “I asked you why you’re here.”

  “I don’t know. I mean, my boyfriend, you met him way over there actually.” She pointed toward the back of the restaurant. “Well, he isn’t actually my boyfriend, but he was on some website all snuggly with the star of my show. They weren’t kissing or screwing or anything, but c’mon, it’s probably happening. I mean, it’s Gina and she does that sorta thing, and knowing her she’s doing it to get to me because of Whitney sleeping with Nolan. Can you believe that? I mean, it’s my show. And then I went out with Whitney and she went home with Mac and I just got a cab and here I am.” Her words came out in rambles, and she had no idea if he even understood half of what she said. She took a large sip of water and waited for Troy to respond. After several seconds, he finally did.

  “Ah, I see.”

  Troy took a large step back and his fingers pawed at the stubble on his chin. Even through her drunken haze, Elle knew what that meant. He was irritated with her. If only her brain would slow down enough for her to remember what she had just blurted out like a drunken maniac.

  “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between us, if anything at all. And I know this is going to sound harsh, but I don’t mean it that way—”

  “What do you mean? What way?” Elle interrupted.

  “I’m not interested in being your second choice or your drunken booty call. I don’t want you coming here after fights with your boyfriend who’s not really your boyfriend. If you come here, do it because there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. Because you want me. And then, maybe there’ll be something for us to figure out.”

  He placed the martini glass on the bar, far out of her reach, and walked in the other direction. Tears formed in Elle’s eyes as rejection collected in her gut. Troy’s rejection was the worst kind of rejection. She’d felt it before and the familiar sting was creeping through her body, pouring through her nervous system and paralyzing her heart.

  “So that’s it? I put myself out there, and that’s all you have to say?”

  “I’m not playing games with you. Not anymore. If this is your idea of putting yourself out there, then we don’t stand a chance anyway.” He hung his head and pursed his lips, rubbing the skin of his neck with his hand. “I’ll call you a cab. Go home, sleep it off. Hopefully you’ll have some clarity in the morning.”

  “You’ll never forgive me, will you? This is all just . . . pointless, isn’t it?”

  Troy’s chest rose and fell and Elle noticed moisture collecting in his eyes. “I don’t know. I really don’t. But this isn’t the answer and I think you know that.”

  She nodded, tears streaming down her burning cheeks. “I’ll never forgive me either. I wish I could go back . . . every single day, I wish.”

  Troy pulled her into his arms. Elle clutched t
he fabric of his polo shirt, sobbing into the tightly woven cotton. He smoothed her hair down to the tips, again and again until her breathing slowed, until her sobs lessened.

  “C’mon, Rigby. I’ll take you home.”

  When Elle awoke, the ceiling was spinning out of control. Her forehead and temples pounded in agony and the back of her mouth was as dry as bone. Ever so slowly, she eased herself to a seated position and recognized the clothes on her body as the ones she wore to the bar with Whitney. Her memory was fuzzy, but the note on her nightstand cleared up any uncertainty in her brain.

  E–

  I slept on the couch to make sure you’re okay.

  Come down when you’re ready for coffee.

  –T

  Troy brought her home the night before. She vaguely remembered their interaction at his restaurant, and was hazy on the specifics of their conversation. She could only hope she didn’t embarrass herself terribly. There was only one way to find out.

  After stopping in her bathroom to down two ibuprofen and a large glass of water, Elle washed her face, brushed her teeth, changed into fresh clothes, and walked downstairs. When she reached the bottom of the staircase, she could smell coffee brewing and could hear the familiar tunes of the Beatles.

  This, despite her hangover, was how Elle had always imagined waking up with Troy. Coffee and the Beatles. She couldn’t think of a better way to start the day. She took a deep breath before walking into her kitchen.

  Troy was seated at the table, coffee cup in hand. He eyed Elle with caution as she approached the gurgling coffeepot. She reached into the cabinet, retrieved a mug, and poured herself a steaming cup.

  “I hope it’s okay I’m still here.”

  “Of course.” Elle joined Troy at the table. She raised the mug to her mouth, the aroma of the beverage tickling her nose and stirring the hunger of her empty belly. “Thanks for bringing me home. And putting me to bed.”

  “Sure. I was worried you’d pass out in a cab. Plus, I just wanted to make sure, you know . . .”

  “Yeah, I know. Thank you.”

  “Nice place.”

  “You like it?”