by Gephart, T
He’d emerged from his room looking better than he should, considering he had barely been able to stand less than twelve hours ago. And other than the dark sunglasses, you’d have never known he was rocking a hang over.
By the grace of God, I’d managed to keep the conversation completely benign as we walked to a nearby diner. The weather, how his head was feeling, whether the Laker’s were going to have a good season this year—which showed how desperate I was because I knew jack shit about sports—hoping I wouldn’t accidently blurt out anything incriminating. You know, like I’d seen his ass and that I’d had ulterior motives for my Florence Nightingale routine.
Of course all of my efforts were redundant when he asked what was probably a very logical question. Something I had readily admitted when he said I looked familiar. I was going to have to learn to be a better liar in the future.
I forked my eggs, waving my other hand like it was no big deal. “Oh, it was years ago. You played a bartender on Crash and I was the writer’s assistant. I think we had like one conversation, maybe two. It really wasn’t anything you’d remember.” Unless you were me who clearly held onto the interaction waaaaay more than was probably appropriate.
“Oh yeah, I was on that show for like a minute before it got canned,” he laughed. “Thankfully, my acting has improved.”
Yeah, and you got hotter.
He narrowed his eyes, lowering his juice as he studied me. “I’m trying to remember you because you don’t look like someone I’d easily forget. What did you say your last name was again, Claire?”
The way he said my name was unnecessarily suggestive, like he wanted to roll it around in his mouth a little before spitting it out. And let me be clear I had no problem with that. I was more surprised he even remembered it, our introduction more focused on the fact I was a stranger in his house.
I cleared my throat, trying to ensure my voice sounded normal, so I didn’t look too pathetic. “It’s Becker. Claire Becker.” I wisely didn’t point out I hadn’t said previously. “Anyway, it’s not important.” At least not right now. “Soooooooo that party last night sounded great. You happen to remember chatting to a pregnant lady?”
As far as smooth segues, it was a train wreck. Seriously, it was like a conversational version of Sudoku, and let me be clear, I sucked at the number version of that game as well. But I couldn’t be sure the attention he was paying me wasn’t a fact-gathering exercise to tell the police, so I didn’t want to give him too much. And besides, I still had to work out what the hell happened after Scully gave him my story. A stack of crisp white paper wasn’t easily misplaced.
I wasn’t sure if it was my awkward word stumble or something else that had him looking at me like I’d grown another head, losing interest in his breakfast and as he grinned. “What did you say?”
“You met my friend, Scully, last night at your wrap party,” I offered, hoping it was starting to make more sense. “She was pregnant, wearing a red dress, likes to talk to people more than she should.” I pushed around the eggs on my plate, trying to sound casual. “I think she might have given you a script?”
“A pregnant woman gave me a script?”
“Yes.”
His smile turned into a laugh. “Is this some kind of riddle?”
“No, Scully said she ran into you and handed you . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence, a knot tightening at the base of my stomach.
He shook his head. “I know I was drinking heavily but I think I’d have remembered getting a script, especially if a pregnant woman gave it to me.”
“Are you sure?” The blood in my veins ran cold with no way to be positive if it was disappointment or relief I was feeling.
He scrunched up his nose as he grinned. “I was doing shots at the bar most of the night with my buddy Rich. Barely spoke to any women. I don’t like to date my co-stars, too much drama, if you know what I mean.”
“I guess.” Nick’s good work ethic not even close to being important right now. “She must have been mistaken.” My heart was beating so fast my ribs felt like they were going to explode. “Excuse me for a second.”
Grabbing my handbag, I shuffled out of my chair, trying to keep the smile on my face as I powerwalked to the bathroom. If this was Scully’s idea of a joke, pregnant or not pregnant, I was going to put her in a chokehold until she blacked out.
My fingers furiously dialed her number, managing to get the bathroom door shut before I heard her voice on the other end of the line. “Where are you? You need help?”
“Who the hell did you give my story to?” I choked out. “Because it wasn’t Nick Larsson.”
“Of course it was Nick Larsson, I’m not a dumbass,” she spat back indignantly.
I tried to remain calm, reining in my panic as I paced the bathroom. “Scully, he doesn’t remember you. He doesn’t remember getting the story. And didn’t you say he hadn’t been drinking? Nick Larsson was hammered last night, is it conceivable that maybe you got him mixed up with someone else?”
“Claire, I know you’re freaking out but who else could it have been? It’s not like there is anyone who . . . Oh. Shit.”
“Looks like him?” I finished for her. “Shit, Scully. Did you give it to Dave?”
Nick and Dave were born a year apart, with Dave being the older of the two. And unlike their more-famous older brother Eric—blond-haired and blue-eyed—they both shared darker hair and brown eyes. They were far from looking like twins, but the family resemblance was definitely strong. Add in shitty lighting attempting to create ambiance, and Scully wouldn’t have been the first person to get them confused.
“Shit, shit, shit.” I chewed on my bottom lip, my brain in free fall as my throat tightened.
Scully’s voice warbled as she whispered into the phone. “Please don’t be angry, Claire.”
“It’s fine, it will be fine,” I said more for my own benefit than for hers. “I’ll just go back to Nick, make up some bullshit excuse and leave. Then when I get home, you can help me formulate a new identity. New name, new phone number and I also need a new backstory. I’ll be Jane from Palm Springs and my parents can be date farmers. It’s been a while since I’ve been a blond. We should dye my hair as well.”
Scully laughed, probably assuming I was kidding. “You don’t even look like a Jane. But seriously, think of the positive, at least you got to see Nick Larsson again.”
My head shook, there were so many random thoughts going through my mind and none of them positive. “Yeah, it turned into a real silver lining. I’m hiding out in a bathroom while I’m sure he is probably wondering how crazy I am.”
It was tempting to leave the bathroom and give Nick the slip. Unless he was watching, he’d never see me slide past the tables and to the exit. Then once I was safely outside, I could call Luke to extract me like a soldier behind the enemy lines. The new plan could be formulated on the drive home, perfected once I was securely in my room.
“I better go, talk soon.” I wasn’t sure what I was going to do but phone calls in the bathroom weren’t helping. “Tell Luke to be on standby.” I hadn’t ruled out a rescue mission just yet.
“Sure thing. Bye.”
My feet rocked with uncertainty, the itch to go to the door and keep moving almost overwhelming, but I wasn’t someone who cut and ran.
Ha! If that had been the case I would have given up my dreams of one day seeing my name in the credits and taken that job writing scripts for porn. No, I was a lot of things but quitter wasn’t one of them. So with my shoulders pushed back I opened the bathroom door and walked back to the table.
ARE YOU SHITTING ME?
Like a gremlin, he’d multiplied, and right beside him was another tall, good-looking Larsson.
Damn it.
“Everything okay?” Nick asked, his smile widening as I took my seat.
I tried to hide my panic, my jaw locking as I looked at his brother. Too late to rethink my stance on not being a quitter because leaving sounded like a real
ly good option.
“All good. Sorry, I needed to check in with a friend.” I shuffled in my chair trying to make sure I didn’t hyperventilate and pass the hell out. That would be bad. Worse than the situation I was already in.
Nick pointed to the guy who not only shared a similar smile, but also his last name. “Dave, this is my friend Claire. Claire, this is my brother, Dave. He felt the need to check up on me even though I told him you’d cornered the market.” He shot me a quick wink.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
Because I didn’t have enough challenges, I had to deal with his charm as well. A woman could only take so much, I was dangerously close to making couch jumping Tom Cruise look sedate.
“Hi, I’m Claire.” I extended my hand, ignoring that I had already been introduced as I scrambled for something to say.
He called you his friend, the excited fifteen-year-old girl inside of me shimmed.
Well it wasn’t like he could admit he was having breakfast with a crazy stalker and not make himself look bad, the realist countered.
Who needed angels and demons on your shoulders when I had all the voices in my head?
Dave accepted my handshake, wisely looking at me with skepticism. “I heard you took care of this loser last night. You have my thanks.”
“It was nothing.” I tried to laugh it off, “I was just doing what any decent person would have done.”
I tried not to choke on the word decent, mentally bargaining with whichever higher power was running this sideshow that he or she would be merciful.
“Still, I’m thankful.” Dave added, piling on some extra guilt in case I didn’t have enough of my own.
“Honestly, don’t mention it.” As in seriously, let’s stop. My fingers fumbled with my fork as I attempted to eat my breakfast. The bacon and eggs were cold, but I didn’t care, more concerned about getting through the meal with my sanity intact.
“You checking on your friend, the pregnant lady from the party?” Nick asked causing my eyes to bulge. He’d been paying attention—awesome.
“Ummm. Yes. Her.” I gave as little as possible, trying to force a smile.
“She tell you what she did with the script?”
No.
No.
I shook my head doing my best not to make direct eye contact as I tried in vain to laugh it off. “She didn’t mention it. Probably made the whole thing up, you know pregnant ladies. Ooooh this breakfast is so good.” I shoved a loaded fork into my mouth, attempting to chew and smile and not look deranged.
Dave’s brow furrowed, rubbing his chin as he looked between Nick and I. “You mean the pregnant lady from last night? Wearing the red dress? It was hard to hear her over the noise, but I think she said her name was Sally? She pulled a script out of her handbag, interesting reading. Huh, small world.”
I was going to die.
The last moments of my life were going to be in the chair of an L.A. diner, taken down by some mediocre scrambled eggs while the man who had played in almost every fantasy I’d had for the last five years looked on in horror.
So undignified, I really wished it could have been a more elegant death.
Before my sight faded, I was able to witness Nick leap from his chair and pull me out of mine, tapping my back with authority I was too dizzy to appreciate. “Shit, Claire, are you okay?”
“Fine,” I wheezed out, sucking in breaths that felt more like razor blades. “Water.”
While Nick held me, Dave lifted a glass of water to my lips, my eyes widening as I took a sip.
Nick Larsson was touching me.
And this time, he was sober.
I nodded, mumbling more fines as my esophagus stopped spasming. I’d even managed to swallow the water and not spray it in his face—fate finally throwing me a bone and showing some benevolence.
“You good?” Nick righted me on my feet, his smile warming my body like the sun on a summer’s day.
I was so dead.
My head bobbed, my lips parting without the extra rush of air. “Yeah, all good.”
Bullshit, there was nothing good. Not unless not expiring in front of an audience counted because that was about the only thing good about this whole scenario.
Both Larssons waited until I was safely seated in my chair before retaking theirs. They had manners as well as good looks, because that wasn’t greedy at all.
“Did you want to order something else?” Nick asked, looking down at my mostly uneaten plate.
“No, no. It’s fine.” I think I’d probably broken the record for the most fines spoken in the last few minutes. “I’m not that hungry.”
As tempting as it was to shove a forkful of breakfast into my mouth in order to shut it, I figured one brush with asphyxiation was enough for the day. Of course it did feel slightly better than the alternative, admitting that my pregnant friend had somehow mixed up the brothers and had given my personal fantasy fodder to either of them for consumption. I wasn’t even sure I could blame hormones; this was classic Scully—acting first and thinking later.
Nick didn’t suffer the same concerns, sipping his juice without the worry of drowning. Literally or figuratively. “So the pregnant lady who gave Dave the script was your friend?”
Why did God hate me so much?
Sure, I wasn’t the best Christian. Hell, I couldn’t even remember the last time I walked into a church. And yes, I cursed a lot, and had broken at least four of the Commandments last night, but I was a good person. Why must I continue to be punished?
“Yes, Scully. She works for one of the networks and was at your wrap party last night.” I purposely avoided all mention of my pages, hoping it was like Beetlejuice—as long as I didn’t say it out loud three times it wouldn’t be able to haunt me. “We’re roommates.”
“I think the two of us were the only ones not drinking.” Dave smirked at his brother.
Nick rolled his eyes. “It was a celebration. I was celebrating.”
Dave lowered his voice, looking at me before adding. “Well maybe next time do a little less of that. And you need to call Audrey, she said she missed you.”
And suddenly Scully, my writing and my almost dying wasn’t the most interesting thing getting brain space.
Audrey.
My nemesis.
From the limited information I was able to gather last night from Scully, Audrey was the writing assistant on the show Nick starred in. She had a job I once had, and would kill for again. She also got to work with Nick, so she was two-for-two against me. There were no indications they were romantically involved—Nick’s comment about not dating anyone he worked with being the strongest evidence—but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to.
Of course she did.
As irrational thoughts of disliking someone I didn’t know and never met, I decided it was time I needed to go home and get some goddamn perspective.
“I should get going. I have work I need to get through.” I stood up, committing to my exit before I had a chance to change my mind.
Nick joined me on my feet, reaching out and grabbing my hand as he smiled. “Are you sure, I feel like I haven’t properly repaid my debt.”
“No, no, you’ve done plenty. Like I said, it was no big deal.” I smiled back, trying to ignore he was touching me again, and this time he was sober, and I wasn’t choking. “And now that your brother is here I don’t have to worry about you getting home okay. That top step of yours is a killer.” I gave him a wink before sticking out my hand.
He glanced down at my outstretched hand, raising his eyebrow as he accepted it into his own. “We’re handshaking now? Seems a bit formal considering we spent the night together.” The smirk that followed just about undid me.
No.
It was insanity.
The longer I stayed, the greater the chance he’d find out the truth. That I had an unhealthy obsession with him, and I was using him for my creative musings. Crap, it was only a matter of time before Dav
e went home, picked up the “script” and discovered the awful sordid story.
I bit my lip, unable to help myself. “Yep, handshaking. Enjoy breakfast and stay out of trouble.” I extracted my hand before turning to Dave and waving goodbye. “Nice to meet you. Take care.”
With the promise of freedom ringing in my ears like William Wallace’s warrior cry, I was about to take my first step toward the doorway when I felt a hand on my arm stopping me.
“Wait, you’re not even going to give me your number?” Nick looked surprised, like he’d expected me to scrawl my digits in red lipstick on a napkin and seductively whisper, “call me” on my way out. Because that wasn’t the most cliché thing ever.
His hand around my arm loosened as I looked down at it, bringing my eyes back to his. “I’m sure we’ll see each other around,” I lied, knowing the chances were virtually nonexistent.
It was for the best, turning and heading out the door while they still believed my actions and intentions last night had been altruistic. When in reality I had been trying to save myself the embarrassment. So with my head held high, I gave one final wave and walked out of the diner and into the warm Californian sun. If nothing else, I had gotten my mojo back. And that had to count for something.
I’D BARELY MANAGED TO GET inside my house when Scully threw every single pound of her pregnant body at me. She was like one of those monkeys at the zoo, clawing at you like you held the last banana. “What happened? Did you kiss him? Tell me everything!”
“No, I didn’t kiss him. Can I at least go have a shower first? I’m still wearing yesterday’s clothes and haven’t slept.” I was more concerned about the shower to be honest, I had so much adrenaline running through my veins there wasn’t a chance I’d be sleeping.
Luke was leaning up against the wall, casually standing back while I got the third degree from Scully. “You know this has bad news written all over it. You should have left last night with us. He’s a big boy, sure he could have handled himself.”
Thinking of how big he was and how well he could handle himself weren’t helpful, which was why I chose to ignore it. Along with anything else I might like him to handle. Damn. My body wasn’t the only thing that needed a shower; my mind could do with a good scrub too.