by JA Huss
I choose my next favorite tweet of hers and press the retweet symbol.
Grace @FilthyBlueBird
I love Shark Week. And I’m convinced #Megalodon is actually @VaughnAsher penis #hidingInHisPants #NotTheOcean
She covers her face for that one and I use her recovery time to type my response.
MovieStar @VaughnAsher
@FilthyBlueBird Right now. #Megalodon #ReadyAndWaiting for a secret rendezvous. Come on in, the #WaterIsFine
She types out a hasty response.
Grace @FilthyBlueBird
@VaughnAsher - Waiting for a proper invitation #BegForItMaster
MovieStar @VaughnAsher
@FilthyBlueBird My command is your proper invitation #ThoseWhoFollowOrders get rewarded. #MastersDontBeg
“Grace, my sweets. I always win. Why must you fight me? Come on, come sit with me. We can dirty-tweet together, have a melding of the mind. And body.” I wink at her.
She shakes her head and starts typing again, then chews her thumbnail as she deletes, types, deletes again. After several minutes of this, she looks up and swipes her tongue across her perfect lips, pressing a button on her keypad with a flourish.
Grace @FilthyBlueBird
@VaughnAsher #CommandMe and I’ll comply. #AskMe and I’ll give in. #LetMeChoose and I’ll #BeYours Which do you want more?
When I look over at her, she’s twisting her hair, her eyes are wide and expectant, and her breathing is faster than it was. She’s nervous. “Is there any doubt in your mind which one I want more?”
She points to the computer in my lap. “Tell them, not me.”
“You need reassurances?” She nods but lets the question hang there. “You want a public declaration, just like I wanted a public submission?”
She nods again. “I don’t want to be your secret.”
“You’re not a secret. We’re tweeting as ourselves. Everyone can see it.”
“I don’t want to be your servant, either.”
“It’s a joke, sweets. Since when do you take it so seriously, anyway? You never took it seriously on the island. And you have to admit, I’ve been so much better since we came back to our real lives. I’ll stop with the jokes if you want, but that’s all it was. Am I calling you girl? Are you calling me Master? No. We’re in a different phase now, can’t you tell?”
“I…” She exhales and closes the laptop. “I’m not sure. I’m not sure what I’m doing. I need to go home. I’m really confused, to be honest. I mean, so much is going on outside this sanctuary. I’m worried about the fallout. I’m worried about my job. I’m worried about… you. And me. And I have to admit, you’re so much closer to the dream guy I envisioned now, it scares me.”
“Why?” I laugh, but I don’t mean it as a joke. I just don’t understand where she’s coming from.
“God, are you really that oblivious? Do I really need to spell out having your parents murdered, your life ripped apart, and the feelings that leaves behind?”
I close my laptop too, then put it aside. I stand up and scoot over to her lounge, moving her over and wrapping her up in my arms all in the same gesture. I place her on top of me, her head leaning on my chest. “I didn’t mean it that way, Grace. At all. I was just playing with you.”
“I know, but I have a hard time understanding when the game stops.”
“The game is over. I won. You’re mine.”
“That’s caveman talk, Asher.”
“Yeah. But it’s true. And it’s simple. I don’t think it requires explaining. But if you need it explained, Grace, I’m in love. I love you. It’s not even difficult for me to say, it’s easy. And if you need me to go online right now and say it in a tweet, fuck yeah. I’ll do it.”
“No, that’s not what I meant. Not really. You say I’m yours, but I don’t feel like yours.”
“Aww.” I squeeze her a little tighter because my heart hurts a little with her admission. “I’m gonna have to make you feel like mine, then?”
“Yeah,” she says in a pouty voice.
“Mmmmm, that I can totally do. Should we go out tonight? It’s not a good idea. The paparazzi will be on you for a while and I’ll probably end up in a fight if they get too close. But I’m happy to take you out.”
She thinks about this for a while and I let her take her time, just stroking her hair and relaxing. Enjoying what we have.
“It really doesn’t scare you?”
“What, sweets?”
“Losing.”
I huff out some air though my nose. “What should I be afraid of losing?”
“Me,” she says with an incredulous tone.
Chapter Fifty-Eight - Grace
#AlwaysWantedToBeCharmed
CAN HIS life really have been so charmed? That he has no fear of losing anything? God, what would that be like? “I don’t think I understand you, Asher.”
“Asher?” he asks, sitting up a little straighter so he can look at me. But I turn my head so he can’t. “Why the hell are you calling me Asher now? What did I do?”
“I just can’t relate. And even though I shouldn’t hold it against you, I do. I’m fucking pissed that my life is so fucked up and yours is so perfect.”
“Perfect?” He laughs. I can feel it through his chest. “You know, my whole life people have thought that about me. I’ve heard it so many times I stopped listening. But coming from you, shit. That kinda hurts.”
I scrunch up my face in confusion, but I stay still. I know it’s wrong to assume his life is perfect, but from my perspective, it is. There’s just no comparison.
“You want to know my demons, Grace? Do you need to know my secrets to be able to accept that I’m capable of understanding what you feel? What do you need?”
Do I? Do I need for him to be damaged for me to accept this… whatever this is? And if I do, what does that say about me? That I can only relate to the lost and the tragic?
“Because if that’s what you need, then fine. I have never really articulated it in words before. I’ve never had to,” he says in a whisper as he gives me a squeeze. “No one ever wanted me to justify my personal trauma to prove that I can understand them. But I will.”
“Wait.” I stop him with a hand on his chest. I push myself up so I can look him in the eye. “If this is really fucked up of me, then no.”
“Grace, why does it matter if it’s fucked up? Why do you care what I think of your request?”
“Because I don’t want you to think I’m…” I let out a long sigh. “That he… ruined me. That I’m damaged and dirty and unlovable.”
“Do you think he ruined you? Do you feel damaged and unloved?”
“Yes.” I exhale and then immediately take a huge gulp of air. “Yes, I think all that stuff.”
“Then why do you want to hide that?”
“Because…”
“Because you think I won’t love you?”
“How can you?”
His brows knit together, his confusion so real, painted so clearly on his face, it sets me back a second. “Jesus, I’m not that shallow, Grace. I am a human being.”
“I didn’t mean it—”
“No,” he says, cutting me off harshly. “Enough with the didn’t mean it bullshit. OK?” his eyes dart back and forth as he searches for my intentions.
What are my intentions? “I just…” I have to swallow hard and look away. “I just… need reassurances.”
He shakes his head. “Try again, sweets. I’m not interested in lies, and maybe you’re not lying to me, but you’re lying to yourself. And if we’re in a relationship, that’s the same thing.”
God, now look what I’ve done. He wants me to face things I’ve pushed away for a decade, and he wants me to do it now. What if he leaves if I can’t do it? What if he walks away?
“Did you have a therapist after you came back?”
“Of course. I still have one.”
“So their plan was to let you deny things? Because that’s a new one for me. I think ev
eryone in Hollywood has at least two therapists on the payroll at all times. It’s just something you do. So I’ve had my share of therapy, and none of them ever let me lie to myself.”
“What is it you think I’m lying about?” God, he’s so confusing. Is this about me or him? Or the way I feel about him? Or the way I feel about myself? I don’t get it.
“What really happened to you?”
I shake my head. “I’m not talking about it.”
“Why?”
“Why?” I laugh. “I’m pretty sure you can figure that out.”
“OK, I’ll figure it out for you then. Because you’re in denial.”
“Believe me, Asher, I’m not in denial.”
“And we’re back to Asher again, are we?”
“Jesus, what the hell do you want from me? You want me to tell you what those eight months were like? Why?” I sit all the way up, between his legs, and rest back on my butt with my legs underneath me. “Why would you want to hear that? Why would you want me to say it?”
He reaches up and strokes my cheek. “I don’t want to know that shit, Grace. I don’t want to know any of it. You’re crazy if you think I want to hear you talk about it. I don’t. But you are mixing up my intentions with that experience. You’re not looking forward. You’re stuck in the past.”
I get up off the lounge chair and walk away.
“Where are you going?” he calls out after me.
“Home.”
He’s up next to me, grabbing me by the upper arm and turning me around. “Grace, running away only makes it worse. Just spit the words out.”
“What fucking words?” I shout.
He cups his hands around my face and leans in for a kiss. It’s soft and sweet. So small, yet so meaningful. “How did you get away, Grace?”
“You heard this part. He dropped me off at a hospital in Nebraska.”
Vaughn lets out a long breath and pulls me into a hug. “I think—and maybe I’m wrong, because I don’t know what happened to you while you were with him—but it must’ve really messed with your head to be so… coveted for so many months and then to just be dropped off like that.”
I push him away. “Are you saying I’m fucked up because he let me go? Oh my God!”
Vaughn holds me tight. “It’s psychology, Grace. It’s a mind fuck, right?”
I push back again, but his arms are all the way around me now. “That’s not what it is. I was grateful he let me go. I thought he was going to kill me.”
“OK. You know better than me, sweets. You were there, I wasn’t. So you know the truth.”
But I know what Vaughn’s saying underneath those words. He’s saying I know the truth, but I won’t accept it.
“Wanna finish Dirty Heaven?” He changes the subject. “Or go out to eat? Or make a sex tape?”
I allow myself to chuckle at that.
“I can think of so many, many ways to let the world know you’re mine, Miss Kinsella. These are but three options for tonight. And you’re not going home tonight, that’s for sure. Tomorrow. I have lots of plans for tomorrow in Denver.”
I melt into his embrace and try not to cry. He can sense my shift and my sadness, because he strokes my head and continues to talk.
“I have so many surprises for you in Denver.”
The soothing rumble of his voice vibrating up from his chest makes my body feel pliant and supple. “I want to go to bed,” I decide. “And watch movies.”
“I have a DVD of IM2. It’s in my contract so I can have private screenings. Wanna watch me be a super anti-hero who doesn’t save the world but leaves it a better place?”
“Oh my God! Do you die?” I’m appalled.
“Hmmm, you think I’ll spoil the ending for you? Pffft. You’re cray-cray.”
I laugh. “Yes, I definitely want to watch IM2.” I pull away so I can look up at his face. “I loved that first movie because you were so unexpected. Did you ever read the book?”
“Of course.”
“He’s not really a good guy, is he?”
“No, he’s not. That’s why I wanted to be him. Even with the occasional rumor, people saw me as bright and clean and perfect before I did that movie. And now they see me as him.”
“And you like that?”
“Yeah, because he’s damaged, Grace. And so am I. We all are. People relate to that, there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just… human nature.”
I know Vaughn’s really talking about me, but I don’t care. I’m done talking about me for now and he’s gonna let it go, and for that I’m grateful. But I don’t want him to think that all that serious talk was a waste, either. I want him to know that I’m listening. “I don’t need a public declaration, Vaughn.”
“Yes, you do, Grace. But we have time for that. Believe me, life will be filled with public moments tomorrow. Let’s enjoy the private ones we have left tonight.”
I couldn’t agree more. So I let him lead me into his not-so-movie-star house. We walk through the halls and end up in a home theater, but not the kind with oversized leather chairs set up stadium-seating style. There’s a huge sectional sofa in the shape of a square. It’s not leather, either. It’s something soft and plush. And there’s pillows and blankets.
“Have I mentioned I love to watch movies?” he asks me, pointing to the couch. “Climb in, Grace,” he commands. I crawl on the couch and settle against the back. He disappears for a second, then returns just as the movie begins to display on the white screen in front of us.
“It’s huge. I’ve never seen a projection screen so big in a house before.”
He shoots me a smirk. “Size always matters.” And then he bounces on the couch next to me. The room is filled with the surround-sound experience and I’m swept into the world of the Invisible Man.
But Vaughn twines his fingers with mine. He pulls me so close, I’m part of him. He wraps me up and whispers his lines in my ear.
The man next to me turns into the man on the screen. Vaughn Asher might not be a prince to the outside world, but in here, he’s my hero. It’s something very private, I think. To watch him be his art. To be pulled into his experience. To have him perform this movie just for me.
And even though I told him I needed the declaration to be public, I was wrong.
The only people who matter in this relationship are right here in this room.
Chapter Fifty-Nine - Grace
#ThereIsAlwaysTimeForPussy
THE FLIGHT back to Denver is too short and when we land at Centennial Airport, it hits me that my fantasy weekend is over. This is so much worse than coming home from Saint Thomas. Back then, I was pretty sure I would never see Vaughn Asher again. But now I’m having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that I don’t want him to leave.
I hate the clinginess. I’ve never liked getting to attached to men and even though I really, really, really like Vaughn, I still hate that feeling. I know that the minute he leaves I’ll be thinking about when I can see him next. I’ll be checking my phone for texts, or Twitter for a chance at some sexy banter.
There’s a limo waiting for us, so the ride back to my neighborhood is filled with chitchat, phone calls for Vaughn, and in my case, an explosion of regret.
I regret not being more honest with him. For not being more adventurous with him last night. When IM2 was over we watched another movie and I fell asleep. We fell asleep. Right there on the movie couch. And that’s where we stayed all night. No goodbye sex. No proclamations of… whatever. No see-you-next-time plans.
So regrets. Lots of them, actually.
I look up at Vaughn and he’s watching me intently as he talks on the phone about a meeting he has later today. It’s Sunday, but his next project is directing the IM spin-off and from what I can gather, it’s a seven-days-a-week kind of thing. What’s wrong? he mouths.
I smile and shake my head. And then I look out the window. We’re just getting off the freeway near the Pepsi Center and heading towards LoDo where I live. The limo
is not long, thank God, because as soon as we turn onto Wazee Street, things close in and the streets get narrow. My building is just shy of the 16th Street Mall, and there is no parking out front. I’m just about to tell the driver he might want to swing into the alley, but he’s a step ahead of me. He maneuvers the limo past cars and finally pulls into the small lot that belongs to my building. My car is right where I left it.
As soon as we stop Vaughn is off the phone. “OK, ready?” he asks, taking my hand.
“For?”
The door opens from the outside and Vaughn tugs on my hand as he exits the car, pulling me along with him. I step out into the familiar lot and blink back the bright sunshine. Somewhere church bells are ringing. “I feel like I’ve been gone forever.”
Vaughn just smiles wide as he leads me up to the back door.
“Shit,” I say. “I don’t even know where my key is. I think I left it back in Vegas!”
“I had your stuff packed up from your room, Grace. It’s upstairs. But you won’t need it.”
“I need it to get in the building!” But as soon as the words come out, Vaughn jingles a keychain at me. “You have a key to my building?”
He shakes his head and inserts the key in the lock. “You mean”—he pushes the door open and I step inside, confused—“my building?”
“What. The. Fuck?”
“Grace, language, please.”
But I just swat his arm off me as I try to take in what I’m seeing. “Where am I?”
He chuckles. “Your building.”
“No,” I say back. “My building doesn’t have a doorman and a security lobby.”
“It does now. Grace,” he says, leading me over to the man at the desk that wasn’t there last week, “this is Bigmy. Leo Bigmy. He’s in charge of building security.”
Mr. Bigmy has one of those describing names. He’s a very big man who looks more like a bouncer than a doorman. He’s wearing a dark suit that fits him nicely, but it can’t hide the muscles underneath. “My pleasure to meet you,” he says in a thick Eastern European accent, “Mrs. Asher.”