by Layla Hagen
Then I back up, intending to leave when two stacks of magazines on the windowsill catch my attention. My face is on them. Why would she have a stack of them here? All still wrapped in plastic foil, unopened. I look closer on the small stamp on the plastic and recognize the name of the resort shop. I passed by it yesterday and today, checking the rack of magazines. I was so relieved they didn’t have anything about me. I couldn’t believe my luck when I didn’t see a single person holding a magazine with my face on it. Smiling, I look at the huddled figure under the covers. I wasn’t being lucky. Summer was looking out for me.
Pulse racing, I walk back to her, pushing down, down, down the impulse of taking her in my arms, telling her how much this means to me. So I just kiss her soft hair, then let myself out.
Chapter Twelve
Summer
“I’m going to die,” I mutter for the millionth time.
“No, you’re not.” Claudia pushes a glass of water toward me. “You just have a hangover. You need to hydrate.”
“I need to get out of here. The smell of food makes me sick.”
“You should eat something,” she urges. We were the last to arrive for breakfast.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to drink last night.”
“Summer, you don’t need to apologize. You were just having fun. And you’ve earned your daiquiris after roasting marshmallows for ninety minutes.” She looks at me curiously, then adds in a whisper, “Between you and I, did something happen with Alex?”
My heart leaps into my throat, where my stomach has been for the past few minutes as well.
“Nope, he just helped me to my room.” I pulled on all my courage to come to breakfast, because I thought he’d be here and I planned on apologizing for last night. Unfortunately, I’m not one of those whose memory becomes unreliable when faced with alcohol. I remember pretty much everything, and I owe him a big-ass apology. Now I just have to find my courage again and go track him down.
“Sorry, I need fresh air. See you later, Claudia.”
When I step outside the building, I inhale deeply. The fresh air tugs at my memory. Me sprinting in the water, then Alex carrying me out of it... while I was unbuttoning his shirt. Another flash of memory, of him helping me out of my soaking shirt, but nothing else. Tingles creep up my spine, not the good kind of tingles either. Drawing in a deep breath, I put on the proverbial big girl pants and head out to find him.
I head straight to his bungalow, but after a few insistent knocks at the door, I recognize defeat. Where could he be this early? I know for a fact he’s not teaching the kids until later. I survey the waterfront and narrow my eyes at a jogging figure in the distance. Yum, I’d recognize that muscular frame anywhere, the outline of his arms. I sit on the porch steps, admiring the view. I might as well squeeze in some gratuitous staring before I apologize.
I only take my eyes off him when he’s close enough to see me looking.
“Morning!” He comes to a halt in front of me, panting, sweat dripping in rivulets over on his face and neck. He’s wearing a tank, which is a damn shame. Why isn’t he one of those guys who runs shirtless? “How is your head?”
“I’ve had better days.”
“I bet.”
“Listen, about last night. I’m sorry about everything.”
“You have nothing to worry about.”
I can’t believe I forgot he was in my room and dropped my panties and skirt. My cheeks burn.
“I don’t usually—”
Alex crouches in front of me, his eyes kind and warm. “Hey, I told you, you have nothing to worry about.”
“How can you say that?”
“I’m an actor. I’ve filmed plenty of scenes involving naked women. It’s no big deal.”
Thump, thump, thump! That’s my pride crumbling. Then again, my body is nothing to write home about, especially not when compared to a Hollywood beauty.
I paste a smile on my face and rise to my feet.
“Well, thank you for being so easygoing about it.”
“You’re still embarrassed.”
I shrug one shoulder. “Well, I don’t have your vast experience with naked people, so....”
He steps close enough for me to smell him, and it turns my knees mushy. When he places a hand on my waist, his touch lights me up instantly. “If I strip naked, would that level the playing field?”
“Hate to break it to you, buddy, but remember those scenes where you take off your shirt? And that one where you flashed your butt? I’ve already seen it all.” Personally, I didn’t understand the point of that scene, unless it was to make every woman in the audience swoon. On second thought, that probably was the whole idea. And I can confirm it worked like a charm. I was one of those in the audience, swooning and sighing like it was my job.
“Not up close, not in person,” he says.
There’s about an inch of distance between us, but his body radiates so much heat, it obliterates the safety of the small distance. The only positive part of him being so close and my gaze being cast downward is that he can’t see me ogling his glorious bicep. I can perv at him in peace. Apparently, perving makes use of all my neurons, because I’m scrambling for an answer. A sassy reply. I need a sassy reply. Come on, brain, be of some use here.
“What’s the stripping offer include? If it’s just the shirt, don’t bother.”
“Way to make me feel cheap, Summer. And it’s a full body offer.”
“You’re going all out, huh?” I mumble.
“Only for you.”
He brings his hand to my cheek, tilting my head up until our gazes cross. He’s grinning. My face is on fire. His presence is all-consuming, I swear. It sucks up the air and all my willpower. My saving grace is my shame. Alex might be all blasé about the incident, but I’m still mortified.
“Very generous, but I’ll have to pass. Not sure it would help my mortification.”
I take one step back, and then another.
“Are you flying out to LA this evening?” I ask, remembering he’s got a panel scheduled tomorrow.
“Nah, tomorrow morning at four o’clock.”
“Aww, that sounds like hell.”
He shrugs. “When I’m filming, I wake up at four most days, no big deal. I just have to go to bed early.”
“No bonfires planned tonight, so you’ll get plenty of sleep.”
“Wasn’t the bonfire that kept me up late yesterday.”
“Oh, what was it then?” I have a sinking feeling that I’m digging myself into a hole, but what the heck?
“Someone’s shenanigans.”
“Silly someone. Threatening your beauty sleep.” I laugh nervously. “Well, I’m going. I need to finish a painting for my mom.”
He nods, pointing to his soaked clothes. “I’m going to shower.”
“I’ll leave you to it.”
Swirling on my heels, I head in the direction of my bungalow.
“If you change your mind about the stripping offer, you know where I live,” Alex calls after me, and I nearly trip over my own feet. Hot damn.
Once I’m inside my bungalow, Alice calls. I pick up right away.
“Hey!” she greets. Pippa’s voice comes through as well. “Hey, baby sis. How’s camp?”
“Lovely.”
“Listen, we were thinking about having that home-spa thingy Thursday evening the week you come back, at Ava and Sebastian’s house,” Alice informs me.
“Sure, that sounds great,” I reply.
“We’re going to pool together our nail polishes, masks, the whole Shangri-la,” Pippa continues.
“I’ll scour my beauty cabinet and bring everything I find.” I slump on my bed, already making a mental inventory. “Just so I’m up-to-date, do we have another master goal except for convincing Ava?”
“Nah, that’s all,” Alice confirms.
Ava is one stubborn woman, but no one else could go toe-to-toe with Sebastian. But between us girls, we’ll tackle her. I know we will
. When we put our minds to it, there isn’t anything we can’t do.
“So beyond lovely, what can you tell us about the camp?” Pippa continues.
Crap. Of course, she wouldn’t be satisfied with a one-word answer. I know I wouldn’t.
I clear my throat. “Kids really like the lessons and the lake.”
“Yeah, I’m picking up secrecy vibes,” Pippa exclaims. Yikes. I know my strengths and weaknesses.
Talking my brothers into doing my bidding? I’m your girl, hands down.
Keeping something from Pippa or Mom? No can do. I do plan on telling them, but no way am I owning up to last night’s faux pas over the phone.
“Girls, stop cornering me. I know these tactics. Besides, I need to go to a class.” Yep, when it comes to this, only evasive maneuvers help postpone the inevitable.
“Don’t think you’re off the hook,” Alice calls.
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it. Talk to you later.”
They bid me goodbye in unison, and after the line goes static, I finally start working on my painting. I settle on the deck outside, placing the canvas in a strategic spot—plenty of sunlight and a direct view of the water. The latter doesn’t help with the painting per se, but watching Alex pass through my field of vision from time to time sure helps with bursts of inspiration. Once or twice he catches me looking, and the smile he flashes me is enough to make me wonder exactly how serious he is about that offer to strip. Or if I should take him up on it.
Chapter Thirteen
Alex
Preston picks me up from LAX the next morning. Most managers wouldn’t bother, but he’s more hands-on than others in the industry, and I appreciate it. It saves us both time because we can use the drive to discuss the schedule and any other open issues.
“Everything’s running on time. The rest of the cast is already there. The panel will be one hour, maximum ninety minutes. Then you’ll have an autograph session.”
“How long?”
“Maximum one hour. Depends on the crowd. If they get too aggressive, we might pull you all out sooner.”
“Got it.”
“You’re in a good mood. Lake Tahoe suits you.”
I don’t correct his assumption. Technically, it’s true, even though I’ve got a spitfire of a woman to thank for my good mood. It felt strange eating breakfast alone this morning and knowing I won’t see her at all today.
When we reach the panel venue, we take the back entrance because there is already a crowd in the front, and I don’t want to be mobbed this early in the morning. I love pleasing the fans, but autographs will have to wait for later. Early on, I thought the actors who walked around with security and avoided autographs unless there was a metal fence between them and fans were snobs. But at the premiere of my first big-budget movie, a fan ripped my shirt and the crowd tugged at me from every direction, until I thought they’d tear me apart limb from limb.
“Good to see you, man!” Jake greets me. He’s one of the fellow superheroes in the franchise. Even though this one will premiere after Bree Shannon Finds Love #2, my romantic comedy with Amy, the prerelease events start earlier.
“Thanks. Where have you been?” I ask him. We wrapped shooting on this almost seven months ago, and while I do keep in touch with my costars, we don’t update each other regularly.
“Everywhere. Living the big life. South of France, Italy, LA. Chicks everywhere love superheroes. You should enjoy the status too, now that you’re finally off the hook.”
The other guys in the room cheer Jake on, while Lena, one of the two female superheroes in the franchise universe, rolls her eyes, muttering something that sounds like “Men.”
No one in this room knows about my contract clause with the studio, but even if I weren’t bound by it, the life Jake’s describing wouldn’t be for me. Bedding women whose names I wouldn’t even remember the next day never held much of an appeal for me. Most actors don’t care that those women are throwing themselves at them only because of their fame, but I do. I actually like getting to know a woman before having sex with her.
My thoughts immediately flick to Summer and how perfect her body felt in my arms two nights ago. I’ve only been gone a few hours, and I already wish I was back.
The crowd cheers when we enter the panel room. The long table is set on an elevated island at the back of the room, and a red cordon separates the crowd from the island. There are two bouncers at each corner of the room. If something goes awry, they can sustain the crowd just long enough to call for reinforcements.
I sit between Jake and Lena, and as the other six take their seats, we all tap the mics in front of us, checking if they work. They always do, but the familiar gesture breaks the ice and settles some of the nerves. I’ve done this over twenty times by now, but live, recorded Q&A sessions with the fans always make me nervous. I admire singers and theater actors. I would never be able to slip into a role knowing a crowd is watching my every move.
The panel starts like any other, with easy questions about our characters, even though there’s a melancholic air because this is the last movie in the franchise, and this is the last first panel so to speak. Of course, if I get my own spin-off, I’ll be doing this for a long time, even if the rest of the guys won’t be here with me.
“Alex, there are rumors you’ll join the action series Werner Ellman is producing. Anything you can tell us about that?”
“Sorry, that’s just a rumor. No truth to it.”
I did read that script, but action movies come too close to superhero movies where acting range is required. I don’t want to be pigeonholed.
“How about the rumor that you were cheating on Amy with every woman in sight?” a question comes from the crowd. I stiffen, narrowing my eyes, trying to discern who asked. The topic of Amy should not be an issue today. She has nothing to do with this franchise. The fandom for the romantic comedies profiled as being different than the ones for my superhero movies.
“No questions about their personal lives, please,” the moderator says. Lena and I exchange a look.
“If he’s got nothing to hide, why doesn’t he answer? No one likes cheaters,” another voice peeps up.
And then a third. “Yeah, you think fans will line up to spend money on a cheating bastard?”
The crowd buzzes, an angry buzz that makes everyone at the table stand a little straighter. I nod at the moderator, leaning into my mic.
“I have nothing to hide. Amy and I said this before. We broke up because we grew apart. Working sixteen hours a day on different continents can do that to people.” My face is a mask of cool calm, even though the fakeness of the situation weighs on me.
I hadn’t thought that this rumor escalated so much, so fast.
“That’s bullshit. All you people say that when you can’t keep it in your pants. Don’t feed us lines.”
“You’d better not show up with a skank in one month and try to shove down our throats how you just met her. We’re not stupid.”
“Folks, let’s focus on the movie,” the moderator tries.
“Yeah, I’m offended no one asked about my regimen to gain the extra ten pounds of muscles,” Jake says with his usual humor. “None of you ladies noticed them on the posters?”
He wins back the crowd... for about ten minutes, and then they circle back to Amy and me. It’s like a goddamn ping-pong match. The ball’s in the movie domain for half the time, my personal affairs the other half. We skip the autograph session because there’s a real risk someone’s going to rip my head off.
When they lead us backstage, Preston is fuming. Jake, Lena, and my other costars throw me glances that range from murderous to sympathetic.
“What in the ever-loving fuck was that?” Jake asks, downing a soda.
“A fiasco,” Calvin, one of my other costars, supplies helpfully. “Alex, man, you need to get this shit under control, or we might as well cancel all the panels.”
Lena brushes her hands through her red hair, frowning. “I didn�
�t know there was such a huge fan crossover.”
“Me neither,” I admit. “But this is just one panel, one crowd.”
The group exchange glances.
Jake points his bottle of soda at me. “Yeah, man. But these are supposed to be our biggest fans. Not everyone gets tickets to these panels. If our biggest fans turn against you....”
I drag my hands down my face, leaning against a wall. “I’m sorry, guys. I wasn’t anticipating this. I figured this type of question would pop up at most when Amy and I will appear together for promos.”
Cynthia, our other female costar, shrugs. “You two were Hollywood’s golden couple. You were the fairy tale come true. Rich, beautiful, eternally in love. Now the fairy tale exploded in their face, and they want to blame it on someone.”
Jake throws his hands in the air. “Who cares why they’re doing this? The point is, it’s messing with our panels.”
The conversation goes on and on, until Preston steps in and says it’s time for me to go back to LAX. By his grim expression, I expect more bad news. He starts dishing it out the moment we’re inside the car.
“Got a call from Newman. He went berserk.” Newman is the director of the studio.
“You’re trending on Twitter. And the comments section in the Facebook live transmission was all about you and Amy. He’s got a lot riding on you. He’s concerned about people boycotting Bree Shannon Finds Love #2.”
“He’s a drama queen,” I say flatly. “People don’t boycott movies because the costars broke up.”
“Sometimes they do. Especially if they think the male lead is a cheating bastard.”
I sink lower into the leather seat of the car. Few things can damage an actor’s career almost to the point of no return: drug scandals, violence, and cheating.
“We need to calm Newman down, at least long enough to greenlight the spin-off,” Preston says.
“I have no ideas right now.”
“I’ll talk this through with our PR team.”
“How did this get out of hand so badly?” I ask.
It’s more of a rhetorical question at this point. Exhaustion creeps into my bones, and I barely pay attention to what Preston says on the way to the airport. I guzzle down soda, trying to keep a headache at bay. I’m dehydrated as hell.