by S. M. West
“That’s brutal. And do you have any more information on all that?”
“Nope. Not yet.” She slants her head to one side and gives me a coy smile. “You know what? I’m glad Harley wouldn’t take no for an answer. How ‘bout you?”
“What about me?”
“Why were you there at The Salon? A hot date?” At the mention of a date, her features harden, and she doesn’t break eye contact.
“No date.” It’s true and yet I feel like a liar because of the dating app.
My profile is still active, and notifications come in daily, and quick glances aside, I haven’t opened any messages or read any comments since Pru started working on the movie. I have no intentions of doing so.
“I actually had the night to myself. Crystal had a sleepover and at first, I was going to chill but changed my mind. I was supposed to meet Tristan.”
“Tristan? He was there?” She pales and her body is now as rigid as a board.
“Relax. He did show up but after. He wasn’t there when you were.”
Just then her phone rings, and I reluctantly release her as she grabs for it on the table.
She makes an annoyed sound but answers. “Hello.”
Gesturing to me, she indicates she’s going inside, and I nod, standing to get a better look at the view.
It’s several minutes before she returns, and when she does, something has changed. She’s no longer smiling, and her arms are folded over her chest.
“Everything all right?” I place the wine glass on the table and step toward her.
She inches back and gives me an aloof smile. “It’s fine. I’m just tired and think we should call it a night.”
“Who were you talking to?” I don’t have a right to ask, but I’m concerned.
“My mother.”
“And everything’s okay?”
She shrugs, leading the way to the front door. I reluctantly follow, not wanting the night to end here.
“Pru, I’m having a hard time believing you’re okay.”
“I can’t expect you to understand when you grew up in a home with stable, loving parents.”
“What does that mean?” Suddenly I’m more than concerned and wonder just what kind of relationship she has with her mother. “Is your mom abusive?”
“God, no.” She rubs at her forehead and looks away. “She’s indifferent. Never around. Can we please not talk about this anymore? I’ll see you tomorrow.”
15
Pru
You’re all I think about
“I’ve got an interview with the United Nations,” I say into the phone. It’s been more than a week since Harley left for Seattle and she’s still there. Then she’s on to LA.
“That’s amazing. See, I told you. You don’t have to leave the city.”
“Yeah. I’m not sure I want the job. I made the mistake of mentioning it to Priscilla.”
The Madrid position is more appealing and challenging than translations, but there’s no point in saying so at this moment. Any potential job outside of the city will only freak out my best friend and right now, I don’t know what or where my next position will be.
“Was it a mistake?”
I snort. “No, I guess not. I wanted her off my back, and giving her something to be thrilled about helped end the call.”
“I know what you mean. I’ve done it many times with my mom. What’s new with Eli?”
“Not much. We haven’t spent a lot of time alone this week. He has his daughter, and I’m busy.”
“Don’t give me that.”
“It’s true. One of his friends just had a baby, so he and Crystal went over there one night.”
“A baby. Cool. Boy or girl?” This is so like Harley. She doesn’t even know the person and she’s interested.
The idea of a baby does strange things to me. It only reaffirms how different my life is from Eli’s. He’s got friends building families. I don’t see how or where we can go from here.
“What else?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, how often do you talk? How do you feel about him?” Her tone reminds me of all our late-night talks about boys and our crushes in college, and I laugh.
“Harley.” I draw out her name, more to avoid answering than anything else.
“Pru, come on. It’s me.” Her voice is soft and low, coaxing me to reveal the crazy fears running through me.
“Why can’t I get this man out of my head? Help me.” I needn’t add how just thinking about him makes the mess of my life less important. And when I’m with him, everything else disappears.
“Why do you want to get rid of him? Aren’t you having fun?”
“Yes, but it can’t go anywhere.”
“You don’t know that.”
Lydia sticks her head into my small office. “They’re ready for you.”
I nod. “Harley, I’ve got to get back on set. Talk to you soon. Miss you.”
“Miss you too. And Pru, don’t overthink this.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” I end the call and drop the phone into my purse.
Work is both more of the same and altogether new. Most days, I spend hours on set, watching or coaching Tristan and Eli, more times together than one-on-one. But what’s different is the energy between Eli and me.
From day one, we’ve had an intense connection, fraught with sexual tension. But now…now it’s near explosive. So much so, Tristan abruptly stopped us during one of our coaching sessions this past week.
He dropped his script onto the table and stared intently at Eli, then me. “The two of you need to hook up already.”
My cheeks burst into flames, mouth gaping open while Eli laughed. Neither of us offered any kind of denial, but I did hit Tristan in the chest, ordering him to shut up and get back to the scene.
I’m grateful no one overheard him. Tristan doesn’t know about The Salon or that we’re seeing each other, but if his comment is any indication, we might not be a secret for much longer.
I don’t know how to feel about that.
In one way, I don’t like secrets, and the opinions of others don’t sway my feelings or actions. Yet I don’t want people talking—or any more than they may already be thanks to Ross’s wife.
My shoulders sag in exhaustion, and I rub at my forehead, hoping to keep the niggle of a headache at bay. I’ve got to talk to Ross, Whitney, or both of them.
What’s important right now is Bryce not letting me go because I’m seeing one of his stars. Eli swears the director won’t care, and maybe it’s true considering he was sleeping with the last dialect coach. But I don’t want to risk it. Being fired once was enough.
It’s Friday night, and I’ve agreed to go out with Eli and Crystal. I’m in the lobby when they exit the elevator wearing great big smiles.
“Pru, I’m so glad you’re coming.” Crystal slips her small hand into mine as if we’re the best of friends.
I’ve seen her a few times since we first met but only for minutes at a time, and I’m not comfortable with kids. Although, from the way Crystal is around me, you’d never guess it.
“Where are we going?”
“Nope. Don’t tell her. Nice try.” He grabs my free hand and the three of us leave the building, hand in hand. “It’s a surprise.”
Crystal giggles, one hand covering her mouth, and it’s clear they’re both delighted with themselves.
A driver, standing by a dark town car, opens the back door upon seeing Eli, and one by one, we get in.
“You arranged for a car?” I glance to him, and he nods, offering no other details.
During the car ride, Crystal fills me in on the birthday party she went to, and I welcome the distraction.
“What’s your favorite kind of birthday cake?” She looks up at me as if all of humanity depends on my answer.
“Chocolate, of course. Is there really any other answer?”
“Yes. I like vanilla with chocolate frosting.” She’s proud and unwavering.
“It does.” She bounces on the seat next to me. “When’s your birthday?”
“Soon.”
“When?” Her eyes widen with interest.
“In a couple of weeks.”
“Wow. Aren’t you happy? Excited?” She doesn’t wait for my response, chattering on about birthdays.
While we talk, I note we’re leaving the city toward Queens, and when it’s clear we are at JFK Airport, I’m puzzled. We can’t be flying anywhere.
The driver slows and stops at the entrance to the TWA Hotel. It used to be the airline’s Flight Center in the sixties and was recently restored and reimagined into a first-class hotel.
“Where are we going?” I slide to the edge of the seat, and Eli takes my hand through the open car door.
“Come on. We’re almost there.”
I’m so caught up in the chic hotel with its retro designed restaurants, bars, and stores that I don’t even realize where we are until he says, “What do you think?”
We’re on a tarmac that has been turned into a roller-skating rink. A large sign in bright colors and font reminiscent of the sixties says Roll-A-Rama.
Crystal squeals, jumping up and down at my side. “Do you love it? I can’t wait.” She darts toward the counter where we get our skates, and Eli jogs after her, glancing back at me.
All I can do is smile, stuck to the spot in awe. No one has ever surprised me like this and in such a cool way. Crystal calls my name, and I’m quick to follow.
“What do you think?” he squats, helping his daughter with her skates.
“This looks like fun. I haven’t been on skates in ages.”
In the center of the tarmac is a nineteen fifty-eight Lockheed Constellation “Connie” airplane, and everyone skates around it. The music is a mixture of old and new, and once we’re all ready, we get out there and skate. We have a blast.
Crystal is a natural, weaving in and around the two of us, and Eli never leaves my side.
“What if I didn’t roller skate?” I ask over the music.
He leans in, mischief in his brown eyes, and whispers, “Well then, I’d have a really good excuse to have my hands all over you.”
I laugh, shaking my head. During our time on Runway Rink, we don’t touch a lot, no hand-holding. While we haven’t talked about it all that much, Eli has hinted that we need to keep things platonic around his daughter.
Truthfully, I understand, respect, and admire it, and I’m also a bit surprised he’s comfortable with me being around Crystal. She’s been told I’m a work friend, but kids aren’t stupid.
After skating, we grab an ice cream in the food hall and make our way up to the rooftop pool-cuzzi and observation deck overlooking a couple of the JFK runways. It isn’t clear how or why we’re granted access to this part of the hotel since we aren’t guests and despite my questions, Eli doesn’t share how he made this all possible.
We make it home past Crystal’s bedtime, and before I can bow out and leave, Eli insists I come over for a drink.
He strolls from the kitchen with two beers in hand. “She’s out. Exhausted and happy.”
“That’s great. Tonight was fun. Thanks for inviting me.”
“You’re welcome, and I’m glad you came.” He hands me a bottle, eyes never wavering from my lips. “Let’s have some fun.”
He sits down on the couch, patting the cushion next to him. I eye him and the seat, and my stomach flips.
“What kind of fun?”
“Well, I think it should involve kissing. Did you know it’s National Kissing Day?”
“What? Did you just make that up?”
“Uh-uh.” His teeth sink into his bottom lip, and my insides flip at the notion of our lips touching.
“Is that even a thing?”
“You bet.” He tags me around the waist, hauling me down beside him. “And we can’t not celebrate.” He kisses me long and hard and breaks away, saying. “I must come clean though.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Technically, today isn’t National Kissing Day. It’s June twenty second, but we’re only a couple of days off so…” He kisses me once more, and my mind scrambles, still reeling when he pulls away. “Let’s play a game.”
“What? A game?”
“Yeah. Since we can’t get too carried away with the young one sleeping,”—he slants his head in the direction of the bedrooms—“strip poker is off the table.”
“Ha! That has nothing to do with kissing.”
“It would lead to kissing, I’m pretty sure,” his voice dips seductively.
“And what if I don’t know how to play?”
“Damn! Now I’m regretting that decision. Let’s play poker.”
“Not a chance.” I laugh, snuggling into him.
“What about Truth or Dare?”
“I can’t play that without Harley.”
“What?” He moves his upper body back a bit to stare at me, perplexed. “And why not?”
“It’s our game.” I shrug, not offering more of an explanation. “How about Spin the Bottle or Suck or Blow.” Those games involve kissing. “But I don’t think they’ll work with just the two of us.”
“Let’s play something involving music and kissing. Have you ever played the Kissing Word game?”
“How do you play that?”
“We decide on a word that’s common in song lyrics, like ‘kiss’ or ‘love’ then we put on some music and listen. Every time the word is sung, we kiss.”
“So we’re not playing against each other but more playing to kiss each other.”
One corner of his mouth tips up in a wicked grin. “Yeah. That’s the point.”
He shifts, wordlessly urging me closer until his chest molds to my back and one of his hands firmly grasps my hip. Possessive and commanding.
His stare wanders down my body appreciatively before he plants a quick kiss on my lips. “We have to do our bit to celebrate this special day.”
On a wink, he grabs a remote-like device from the coffee table and pushes a few buttons. The Foo Fighter’s “The Best of You” surrounds us.
“Pick a word, and every time we hear it, we have to kiss.”
“Um, how about heart?”
“Excellent.” The fingers of his free hand dance along the inside of my bare knee, leaving a blazing trail. “And this song has ‘heart’ in it.”
Unsure of his claim, I listen intently, and sure enough, Dave Grohl murmurs about his heart under arrest, and I lean to Eli, ready to taste his sexy smile. At the last minute, he ducks his head, dipping his lips to the spot just beneath my ear lobe.
Warm, firm flesh skates against mine, and shivers ripple down my back, curling my toes. The tease of a touch, his kiss, is over way too fast, and I want more.
“Hey, I thought we were supposed to kiss.” Usually, my whine would annoy me, but right now, it’s justified.
“A kiss comes in many forms.” He’s cocky, aware of exactly what he’s doing to me. “Whoever’s there first gets to decide how or where to deliver the kiss.”
“Game on.”
Blondie’s “Heart of Glass” comes on and there it is, right in the second line. I grab the sides of his face, holding him still, and my lips press to his forehead. He lets out a small groan and I giggle.
He tries to pull back, thinking it’s over, but my grip is firm. I’m not done. My lips press a kiss to one of his closed eyelids, then the other. His eyes flash open as I move on.
Eli licks his lips, chuckling and smiling. My mouth lands an open-mouth kiss to each cheek, the tip of his nose, and a light, almost there, kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“Think you cheated. Tease.”
“Didn’t.” I’m indignant, squaring my shoulders.
“I’m not sure there were that many hearts in the song.”
“And what, you’re complaining?”
“Not at all.”
He thumbs the remote and another song comes on, then another. He’s scanning the playlist.
“Hey, are you rigging the game?” My mock outrage is met with a chuckle.
“Maybe.” He continues to move through the tunes, listening to the opening bars or the first line, and if the song isn’t to his satisfaction, he does it all over again.
“What fun is that?”
“A whole lotta fun.” He stops on a song, and like me, he knows it has heart in the lyrics. “That’s better.”
We stare at each other, neither of us saying a word, our complete focus on the words. Our breathing is the only other sound.
When the final lyrics are sung and I whisper, not wanting to disturb our little bubble, “Are we just going to stare at each other all night?”
“I think so. Do you have a problem with that?”
“No.”
“Say You Won’t Let Go” by James Arthur starts, and Eli’s fiery gaze roams over my face, stopping at my lips. The heat of his stare, so intent, is like a kiss.
I’m pretty sure the word heart isn’t in the song, but it’s a great song and we sit there, like that, staring at each other until it ends.
“Fuck this game.” Voice strained, his warm lips press against mine, urging my mouth open, and I obey.
One hand slides up my neck and into my hair, taking a firm hold of the back of my skull, keeping me where he wants me.
I lean into his palm, needing the pressure and the connection to lessen the ache slowly building since his lips first touched mine. Heat, want, and need unfurl inside of me as we kiss and kiss.
God, I want to sleep with him, but it feels like a big deal. Almost as if the night at The Salon didn’t happen, even if I know it did. And this, right here, feels like a whole lot more than sex, and I don’t know what to do with that.
Eli tears his lips from mine but doesn’t go far. He gazes at me, lips curving upward at the corners as his mouth hover over mine once more.
“Pru, you’re all I think about.” His words are a confession and one I’m not prepared for.