Say It Sexy

by Virna DePaul

  Her mouth dropped and she pushed away from the table. “I hate you.”

  “Good,” I concluded, even as a giant boulder formed in my throat. It was like my mouth belonged to someone else, and no matter how much I wanted to stop it, I couldn’t. Finally, I ripped my gaze away from her and turned my attention to the other members of our party. “Anyone have an extra menu?”

  “Here,” Gwen retorted, surging to her feet and flinging her menu at me. “I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.”

  “Aw,” I mocked. “And here I thought dinner discussions were your thing.”

  “Honey, don’t leave,” Erica piped up gently. “You haven’t eaten anything.”

  “I’ll order room service instead,” she said, her eyes glistening. “Goodnight, Erica. Tyler. Shane.”

  “Night, Gwen,” Tyler murmured.

  “Goodnight,” Erica said sullenly.

  Shane waved.

  With that, Gwen spun around and breezed out of the restaurant, the swish in her hips reflecting the anger in her heart. I knew I had hurt her, but I just couldn’t let it go. “Was it something I said?”

  “Dude,” Tyler said, without glancing up from his phone. “Freckle-dusted cheeks?”

  I didn’t answer. I just stared at the menu Gwen had thrown and mentally cursed Rachel.

  She’d really screwed me up. So badly that now I was hell-bent on wrecking other people and their hope for a future as a couple with someone they cherished.

  How unfair was that?

  Forty minutes later, after I’d forced down some food, I studied those around me. They didn’t look like they’d enjoyed their meal any more than me. I pushed back from the table. “I’m going to hit some bars. Anyone want to join me?”

  Chapter Six

  Gwen

  Unbelievable. I couldn’t get away from him fast enough. I hate, hate, hated the fact that I’d let him get to me, that I’d left in such a huff, leaving Erica alone with the boys, but I had to put as much distance between myself and Garrick as I possibly could before I exploded.

  “Stupid jerk,” I snarled, slamming the door to my hotel room. I threw my purse and card key on my bed and kicked off my heels on the way to the kitchenette. “Impossible, insufferable, irresponsible asshole. The sooner you wake up to that fact, the more prepared for life you’ll be,” I mocked in my best Gar-dick impression.

  I picked up a pillow from the bed and flung it at the wall. It bounced back and landed on the floor.

  “There is nothing more substantial than love, you moron. What a complete and total loser. My parents aren’t perfect, but they love each other. And I’m going to have a love like that one day. Just because stupid you doesn’t believe in it doesn’t mean it can’t happen. Just because Lacey is going to let Payton into her heart doesn’t mean I have to care about you or anything you think. I don’t care how hot you are. And no way would I want to be one of those girls in your stupid selfies.”

  I was crying and sniffling. I couldn’t believe he was making me feel this way.

  “I’ll bet you can’t cry on cue, you sorry excuse for a human being. ‘Cause that’s totally what I’m doing right now. As if you could make me cry, you jerk.” I quickly wiped my cheeks, furious at the thought that he could bring me to tears.

  My phone vibrated in my purse. Figuring it was Garrick (Lyle had made us all exchange cell numbers last week) and infuriated that he’d have the audacity to call, I ripped it out of my bag and answered. “Are we seriously doing round two now?”

  “Gwendolyn? Dear?” My father’s deep voice resonated from the other end of the line.

  I froze, my spine suddenly encased in ice. My eyes flew open and, in spite of being rooted in place, I frantically tried to backtrack. “Dad. Hi. Um…I thought you were someone else.” I even tacked on a little laugh.

  “Is everything alright?” he asked, not quite fooled yet. “You sound upset.”

  “Oh, no,” I assured hurriedly. “Everything’s fine. I was just rehearsing some lines and answered still angry. Ha, ha.”

  “Who the hell did you think I was?”

  “Uh…no one.” Scrambling for a name, I blurted out, “Stacy.” Who was a makeup artist, not an actor. “Just one of the cast members helping me prepare for next week’s shooting. She was supposed to call me, so we could reenact the scene.”

  “I see. Isn’t it your night off?”

  Of course, he was keeping track of my schedule. “Yes.”

  “Such a hard worker. That’s my girl. But I expected you to call by now. How do you like Albuquerque? They gave you a top notch suite, right?”

  Drinking in my lush and spacious surroundings, I nodded. “Absolutely no complaints here. It’s nice. The food is really good. Different, and spicy, but good.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. Did you hear that, Melinda?”

  “What?” I heard my mother’s muffled voice respond in the distance. “How could I hear anything with you in the other room?”

  “Gwen says her hotel is great, and so is the food.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Your mother and I saw the pilot for Straightlaced,” he said without further comment.

  I froze, straight as a flagpole. “What did you think?” I asked tensely, struggling to keep the apprehension out of my voice.

  “It was excellent. Very snappy dialogue. And your character really seems to have a good head on her shoulders.”

  Heaving a sigh of relief, I spun around and dropped back on my bed. He wasn’t going to yank me out of yet another contract and drag me home. He believed in me. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

  “I can see how kids these days will eat it right up. Everyone loved Lacey.”

  I furrowed my brow. “Everyone?”

  “Yes. Well, when I say everyone, I mean only a few dozen people.” He chuckled subtly. “We hosted a premiere party at the house.”

  “Dad.” I balked in surprise, yanked the phone away. He hosted a premiere party? For me? “How embarrassing.” And I hoped I sounded as humbled as I felt.

  “Don’t be silly. You’ll have to get used to the fame.” He paused, voice trailing off in the way I always knew meant criticism would follow. “But I think you already know I didn’t approve of the underage drinking in that garage scene.”

  Ugh, and that’s one reason Fluidity Films is tanking, Dad. Because of your insistence that teens and twenty-one-year-olds be depicted like little kids. Of course, I didn’t say that.

  “They weren’t really drinking, Dad. Just pretending. And most of them are of age in reality.” Except for Tyler, who’d confirmed at dinner he’d done far more than his fair share of drinking in the past.

  I could barely imagine it, being so addicted to something that I’d let it jeopardize my career. My whole life. Yet it was staggering, the number of young actors who went off their rocker and fell out of good fame for things like drugs, sex scandals, and too much drinking. Some so bad that they had to be committed to a facility completely cut off from the real world to properly function. That’s what had probably happened to Tyler.

  “And we talked about absolutely no cigarettes, fake or real, before we signed the contract.”

  Annoyance poked at me. He said we’d signed the contract but I was an adult and the only one who could legally commit to anything. As my manager, all Dad was technically entitled to was a 15% commission. Yet, legal entitlement or not, I definitely made my decisions based on Dad’s input so it was pretty much the same thing. Of course, I hadn’t exactly been following my dad’s advice when I got involved with Randall, but thankfully my dad had handled that disaster. He knew the business way better than me and would always protect me. “I won’t, Dad,” I promised. “Everything’s fine.”

  “Wonderful. Well, I’ll let you go, darling, since you’re expecting a call. I just wanted to congratulate you and remind you to stay out of trouble while you’re out there. I’m not around to keep you in check. Remember our agreement.”

  “No boo
ze, no boys, no barbs in the tabloids. Dad, you know I never get into trouble.”

  “Mm hmm…”

  Great, he had to bring Randall up in just a humming noise. “I mean rarely do I get into trouble. That’s over, Dad. I’m back on the path and stronger than ever. I promise. I’m going to do everything I can to make Straightlaced a success so that Fluidity Films can move on to even bigger things.”

  “Excellent. Goodnight, Gwendolyn.”

  “Goodnight, Dad.”

  I hung up and exhaled an enormous sigh of relief, dropping my phone and raking my fingers through my hair. I flopped onto the bed to calm my racing heart. “Shit.”

  Disappointing my father was at the top of my Don’t Do list.

  Suddenly, the memory of another day I’d messed up came into my mind, as much as I was trying never to think about it again. I’d just turned twenty-one, had indulged in one too many celebratory drinks at dinner, and had accidentally dropped my plate on the way to the kitchen. Accusing me of being drunk, Dad flew into one of his rages. I excused myself and hurried to my room, locking the door. He followed me and when he found I’d shut him out, he kicked the door down and screamed at me never to lock the door again.

  The replacement came the next day. But still, every time I passed that doorframe, I shuddered. I couldn’t make him angry again. He’d worked too hard in this life for me to upset him. I lived to make him proud. Through dedicated, grueling work, I would prove my talent as an actor to him and to the world. It was the least I could do for everything he had done for me these last twenty-two years.

  But assuming the show did well, could I handle the fame? Could I live a normal life with strangers across the country always peeking into it? Could I get along with infuriating co-stars who were hell bent on making me crack? Even if Garrick and I did decide to date—

  Wait.

  What was I saying?

  I rubbed my eyes, as if doing so could clear my head. No, I could not fall into the same pattern again. I could not allow myself to feel anything for Garrick Maze or any guy on the set. My job was to stay focused, be the best Lacey I could be, pull in the ratings, and make my father’s production company a success again. No more, no less.

  And that was exactly what I intended to do.

  * * *

  That night, I decided to relax and basically be as low key as possible. Thinking about my dad would only depress me, and thinking about Garrick would only get me a flustered shade of infuriated…and confused. The more time I had to think about it, the more I realized he hadn’t been trying to hurt me when he said he didn’t believe in love, at least not at first. He had just been stating what he truly believed, and for him to be that jaded, that adamant that love was a “flare,” he had to have been really hurt by someone important to him.

  It was weird, thinking of Garrick as anything more than a playboy who never got serious about a girl except in bed. What he’d said at dinner indicated he was capable of love on a very intense level but simply didn’t want to risk being hurt.

  And what was more alluring than that—a man who’d already been over the top hot before he’d revealed what he probably wanted most out of life was love—the kind of love she could give him.

  It was classic female thinking, that it was possible to save a man with her love.

  It was the kind of fairytale that Garrick had accused me of believing in.

  And I was so not going down that road.

  I cracked open a bottle of Arbor Mist, took a long, hot bath, shimmied into my Victoria’s Secret pajamas, painted my nails, and caught up on some shows. Erica texted me a couple of times, telling me they’d gone bar hopping and asking if I was okay. I assured her I was fine. I had just climbed into bed to do some reading, if only to put me to sleep, when I heard a knock at my door. I checked the digital on my bedside table. 2:15 a.m.

  Figuring it had to be Erica returning from downtown, I slid out of bed and hurried across the room. I still had half a bottle of Arbor Mist left. It could be fun to have some girl talk for a while and live vicariously through her wild night. I opened my door and instantly felt the wine in my legs.

  “Garrick,” I realized, balking. He stood in the hall, wearing a sloppy, sleepy eyed smile that nearly melted my knees, which I suddenly realized were bare. Dressed in my tiny shorts and satin spaghetti strap, clearly braless, I darted back inside and closed the door enough to conceal myself. I peered out through the open sliver. “What?”

  “Missed you, baby,” he said.

  Stunned, I blinked. “Are you drunk?”

  He held his fingers up a half an inch apart and squinted one eye. “Lil’ bit.” He looked so darn cute with his suspenders undone, shirt half untucked, and his tie loose.

  “Where’s Erica?”

  “In Ty’s room with him and Shane. Ty passed on going out, but we convinced him to do a bit of partying before calling it a night. Wanna join?” He smiled stupidly. And yet, it still shone devilishly handsome. “We have Fireball.”

  “We’re supposed to be fighting,” I reminded him with a glare.

  “Cinnamon fixes that,” he declared, though I didn’t necessarily follow his logic. He swayed, but managed to make it look suave, and opened his arms. “I’m a dick, Gwen. But you like it.” He thrust his finger toward me. “So what do you say? Commit.”

  I took a breath, strangely excited to be invited, but my mind flashed back to my earlier conversation with my father… and I chickened out. “I can’t. Too tired,” I lied.

  Garrick pouted incredulously. “You know, if you didn’t hate me, I could like you. I may already like you,” he tacked on, slurring a few words.

  “You are really drunk right now,” I mumbled, fighting a blush.

  He snickered. “I’m not drunk enough to forget you in that lingerie.”

  I huffed, frazzled, and hugged myself. “I thought you were Erica.”

  “You can call me Erica if you want to.” He chuckled.

  I wanted to smack and cuddle him simultaneously. Drunk Garrick was… kind of adorable… in a lewd, brutish sort of way. “Well, have fun tonight. Don’t be loud. If you get caught, Lyle won’t like it.”

  Garrick clumsily waved his hand. “Lyle doesn’t care. ‘Night, sexy shorts.”

  He thinks my shorts are sexy? Too surprised to reply, I watched him amble back down the hall toward Tyler’s room, making a zigzag pattern. I sighed, shut my door, and decided to finish the bottle of Arbor Mist alone.

  Chapter Seven

  Garrick

  Friday afternoon, the day after the pilot aired, Shane, Tyler and I had been running lines for about an hour before Tyler said, “You going to make things right with Gwen?”

  I stiffened, momentarily stumped for words. Then I narrowed my eyes at the guy. “What do you expect me to do, Ty? Apologize?”

  “You probably should,” Shane said. “It’s going to be awkward for all of us if you continue on like you have been.”

  When I hesitated, Tyler said, “Didn’t you learn to apologize in Kindergarten like everyone else?”

  My mouth tightened. “She chewed me out for not believing in love. I didn’t ask for that shit.” Well, maybe that was a bit of a lie.

  Tyler hummed a low note in his throat. “You also kind of seriously insulted her parents, who seem to be her prime example of love, the mantra for her entire career. I mean, I’m a callous bastard and even I wouldn’t have gone that far.”

  They were right. I shouldn’t have said what I did and I truly regretted hurting her. But I had an image to uphold and I didn’t want to let on how strongly Gwen affected me. I vaguely remembered getting an extra potent dose of her allure last night when I found myself standing outside her hotel room.

  “I didn’t mean it,” I mumbled after snatching Shane’s Coke and taking a swig. “She just pressed a hot button of mine.”

  “By talking about love?” Shane asked.

  I shrugged. “By assuming everyone wants it. Needs it. She was so damn sure of herself
. So damn arrogant about it. It just pissed me off.” It also had highlighted a major difference between us. That she still believed in love and I didn’t. It wasn’t like it mattered. I wanted her, sure. And somewhere between dinner last night and now, I’d decided that if by some miracle, she wanted me in her bed, I’d climb in whether she was my leading lady or not. That’s how hot I was for her. If she didn’t want to play, big deal. I could move on to someone that did.

  But the thought of her not wanting to play suddenly had me all riled up. And I realized that I’d been feeling exactly the same way before I’d gone off on Gwen the night before.

  Like I was scared our different philosophies about love were not only going to be a stumbling block to me getting to know her better, but they were going to be the equivalent of a fortified castle, complete with moat, armed sentry, and a fire-breathing dragon.

  Tyler found his feet and dropped his phone into the pocket of his pullover. “Look, smooth operator. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Gwen is actually scary similar to Lacey. She comes off as confident and self-assured, but she isn’t as sure of herself as she seems.”

  I frowned. I recalled the day I’d first met her, and how at the initial script reading, she’d been all sass and bravado, but she’d been clearly trying to hide her nerves and the fact that the success of Straightlaced meant more to her than just another professional accomplishment. It was important to her in a very personal way.

  “Put your big boy boots on and ask yourself—What would Payton do?” Tyler said.

  Taking a moment to mull that over, I crossed to the window overlooking I25 and the Bosque beyond that. In the episode we’d started filming yesterday, it was clear that Lacey and Payton were from different worlds and that on the outside they had nothing in common. But they were drawn to each other, and Payton, determined to explore the attraction, had made a concerted effort to put aside his preconceptions about Lacey and actually get to know her.