Return to Us

by Christy Pastore

  Drawing my knee up to my chest, I smiled. If she only knew. “Thank you. You are too kind. Now, let’s discuss those gift bags for the gala.”

  After making half a dozen phone calls and finalizing the menu for the gala, my thoughts shifted to Matthew. I flipped through my wardrobe at least ten times finding nothing appropriate for dinner. Alert the record books, this would be the one time that I didn’t over pack. Wait. Where were we even going?

  Settling back onto the bed, I scooped up my phone from the nightstand and then swiped the screen.

  Me: Hi. Quick question: Where are we going for dinner this evening?

  Me: And what time?

  Matthew: Where would you like to go?

  Me: Seriously? You’ve planned nothing?

  Matthew: I have a plan. Actually, I have two plans.

  Me: Okay, what is plan A or the first plan?

  Matthew: Dinner at Emilio’s. Do you know it?

  Me: Of course.

  Emilio’s was a very popular Italian restaurant overlooking the Hudson. I hadn’t been there in a long time.

  Matthew: So, you approve?

  Me: That depends.

  Matthew: On what?

  Me: What is the other option?

  I waited rather impatiently as the three little dots worked their magic in the text bubble.

  Knock . . . knock.

  I opened the door to find Matthew leaning against the doorframe wearing a blue Lacoste polo and a pair of flat front chinos. Matthew looked, dare I say, sexy? I never much cared for guys who wore khakis. The look always felt sloppy, and understated. Seeing Matthew, however, this was enough of an argument to toss that aside and climb back on board with team khakis.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Smiling, he shoved his phone into his pocket. “Option two, better known as plan B.”

  That boyish grin was going to get him everywhere. “Which is what exactly?” I motioned for him to come inside.

  “You and me, beers and Mexican food,” he answered.

  “Wait, I never told you where I was staying, so how did you find me?”

  His gazed darted around the suite. “Holliday told me.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “You spoke to Holliday?”

  “Yes, and she was very helpful.” His fingers drummed against the bar top.

  “How’d she sound? Was she okay? I mean I just haven’t talked to her since I left . . . there’s nothing . . .” Now, I was stammering like an idiot. I shouldn’t have said anything; perhaps Matthew didn’t know that Ronan and Holliday were having any troubles.

  He strode toward me. “Relax, Tinley.” His hands smoothed up my arms. “Ronan called me Monday, he needed to talk. I know what’s been going on—plus, the press had them headed for a breakup.”

  I stared at him for a beat. Could he read me that easily? How on Earth did he put the pieces together from my jumbled word vomit? Scrubbing my hands down my face, I laughed.

  “So, they’re good?”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that they’re on the way to reconciliation.”

  “Good.”

  “Speaking of good,” he said. “I’m starved, and I’m ready to show you a good time.”

  “You know for a movie star, your material isn’t at all that original.”

  He cocked a brow. “I’m an actor, not a writer. My responsibility is to be good on the delivery. And trust me, I always deliver, darlin’.”

  THE AFTERNOON, EARLY EVENING with Tinley had been, for lack of a better word, perfect. Instead of grabbing a fistful of her long blonde hair and bringing her lips to mine for a kiss, I reached for the tortilla chips.

  “Okay, then it has to be . . . Christopher,” she said, before sucking the lime juice from her thumb.

  “Nope, but you are getting closer.” I broke the chip in half and dipped it into the spicy lime salsa.

  We’d been playing the game of guessing each other’s middle name for thirty or so minutes. Neither one of us letting up, both determined to win. She was competitive, and not in an annoying, whiny way—she played fair and square.

  “My turn,” I announced, wiping my mouth with my napkin. I loved spicy foods, but these salsas were almost too much. Not even my beer seemed to be able to put out the five-alarm fire burning in my mouth. I looked at the piece of paper in front of me, studying the letters of the alphabet after, N. “I still think your name is a classic—I choose R.”

  Her face scrunched up and she tossed her napkin onto the coffee table. “Ughhhh, yes, my middle name begins with R.”

  I rubbed my hands together. “Roxanne. Tinley Roxanne Atkinson.”

  “Ha, wrong answer,” she taunted. “You know what that means—a shot of tequila for you.”

  I raised my arms above my head. “Bring it on, darlin’, although I still think stripping over tequila shots would have been way more fun.”

  We’d agreed instead of taking shots for every wrong answer and getting completely wasted—every tenth wrong answer required a shot. It should be noted that I lobbied hard for losing articles of clothing.

  She laughed handing me a shot of Patron. “You know, every time you call me darlin’ it reminds me of the night at Ronan and Holliday’s.”

  I tossed back the shot. “So, you think of me?”

  A tiny smile tugged the corners of her pink lips. “Yeah, more so, I wonder about who was on the other end of that call.”

  My eyes met hers. “Are you jealous or curious?”

  “Jealousy isn’t in my nature, although perhaps it should be—let’s call it a general wondering.”

  “Nothing to worry about, I was talking to my niece, Evie. I’m her favorite uncle.”

  “Oh, that’s adorably sweet. How old is she?” she asked, shifting her position on the floor tucking one leg underneath.

  “Six, she’s smart as a whip too.” I broke another chip in half and then dipped it into the salsa verde. “Is that why you left with the suit that night?”

  “Admittedly, yes. Long story, same old story—girl meets guy, he was hiding something . . . someone else.”

  Her candor was refreshing. I blew out a harsh breath, and stared at the ceiling. “I’m sorry to hear that. Guys can be dick weasels. Present company excluded.”

  All my relationships with women were low-key and casual. In this business, with the travel and long hours, being apart didn’t exactly make it easy on relationships. Most of my love affairs never lasted more than three months.

  I’d tried, really tried to make it work with my college girlfriend, Chloe. In between auditions, and bartending to pay the bills, we became two ships passing in the night. When her career took off, it was the beginning of the end and she moved to New York while I stayed in Los Angeles. We were a tragic end—a doomed happily ever after.

  Happily ever after, I didn’t know if I believed in all that and I’m an actor. Hollywood thrives on the formulaic phrase of spending one’s life in happiness. Despite living in La La Land, I was a realist.

  My gaze swept back to Tinley, who was removing her grey sweater. All that blonde hair spilled over her shoulders sending me back to picturing her naked. Much to my disappointment she had a tank top on underneath, but that didn’t stop me from opening my mouth. “Game changer.”

  “Hardly, I’m just hot from the mix of alcohol and spicy sauces. I choose the letter D.”

  Now, I was thinking about various sauces I wanted to lick off her body. Scrubbing my hand over my jaw I need to think about something other than the many positions I’d like to fuck her in—easier said than done, as I eyed every flat surface in this place.

  “Damian.”

  “The name’s Matthew, sweetheart.”

  “No, I mean, your middle name is Damian.”

  My head fell back onto the sofa cushion. “No, thank goodness growing up Catholic my mother had the good sense not to name me after a demonic child. And that’s ten for you, here comes a shot.”

  She tossed a chip in my direction
. “We could be at this game for days.”

  I sild the shot glass in her direction. “That’s true. Does that mean that you’re throwin’ in the towel?”

  She drummed her fingernails against the glass. “I usually don’t give up so easily,” she said through a yawn. “But, after the day I had and between the booze and food, I think my body and brain are fried.”

  Admittedly, the long day was catching up with me as well. I tapped my phone’s screen to life. The time read fifteen after eight. Tinley pushed up to her feet, her movement was graceful not at all shaky—reminiscent of a ballerina. When she began picking up the empty containers and beer bottles, I stood and cleared the plates and glasses.

  “Oh yeah, how was your meeting?”

  “It was interesting.”

  “Care to elaborate?” I asked, rinsing out the glasses.

  “It seems that Barrington Shores wants me back,” she said, tossing the boxes in the garbage. “This year marks the show’s thirtieth anniversary. Apparently they want to revive my character’s storyline.” She came around the counter to stand in front of the sink.

  “Wow, now that is interesting. Are you going to do it?”

  “Well,” she inched out, running her hands under the water. “I don’t know, I left that part of my life behind me and I never thought about going back.”

  Silence filled the space. As she dried her hands onto the dishtowel I stood there unable to say anything. The question was on the tip of my tongue. Why? I didn’t want to pry into her life, if she wanted to tell me, she would.

  “Running the foundation and my art gallery, those two things alone keep me busy.”

  I crossed back to the living room, feeling less tired for some odd reason. “Where is your gallery?”

  “In East Harbour,” she answered, a hint of a smile her face. “Have you ever been out to The Harbour?” Tinley grabbed a bottle of water from the bar.

  “Nope, but now it seems that I have a reason.”

  Leaning her hip against the bar, a faint blush splashed over her cheeks. “I think I’d really like that, if you would come.”

  And I’d love it if you came all over my cock. The door was wide open for a sexual innuendo, instead I pivoted the conversation. “What you said earlier about jealousy,” I commented, taking a seat on the sofa. “I don’t think jealousy has ever been in my nature either.”

  For the most part, I never had to be jealous. Not getting the girl or the job or being envious of what others had, at present that was a foreign feeling. Everything I had gone after in life, I’d attained—with hard work.

  She pinned me with a sharp look. “You’ve never wanted something someone else had?”

  “Wanting something someone else has, isn’t that envy rather than jealousy?”

  She lifted a shoulder, as she brought the bottle to her mouth. Her lips parted slightly, my eyes trained on the smooth expanse of her throat as she swallowed. Tinley was driving me crazy. Her lips, her body, her mind . . . I wanted all of her.

  My mind drifted back to that night, when Tinley left with the suit. That was the most recent moment I remembered feeling jealous.

  “You know the old saying,” she said. “Some people believe the grass is always greener on the other side.”

  And if Tinley Atkinson were mine, I’d never want to find out—because I’d be the envy of every man on the planet.

  “TINLEY, WE COULD NOT be more pleased to have you back with all of us. It’s been far too long.” Mel Pitman, the show’s director raised a glass in my direction.

  “I could not agree more,” Faye Goren echoed. She was Barrington Shores costume designer. I couldn’t believe that she was still working here after all this time. While there were plenty of new faces around the halls, it was amazing to see the familiar ones.

  After I signed the contract, I was handed the script and I had just a few days to learn my lines before shooting started. To my surprise it was like riding a bike. Standing on Stage Thirty-One was like coming home, nothing had changed.

  As I made my way through the small crowd gathered on the set, words of appreciation and congratulations on my first week echoed throughout the room. All I could think about was getting home and slipping into a hot bath.

  Home. I loved Manhattan, but I loved East Harbour more. As much as I enjoyed working, I’d never craved a weekend so bad in all my life. It was pointless to drive back and forth since I was working in the city. I’d been staying at Aunt Maggie’s place instead of a hotel. She and her new husband, Harrison, decided to extend their trip and spend the rest of the summer in Europe.

  “Tinley Atkinson. I cannot believe my eyes.” A saucy Aussie accent swept over me. Karina Bosworth pushed through the crowd and pulled me into a hug.

  “Karina, hey.” I hugged her back, and without spilling my drink all over her. “It’s wonderful to see you.”

  Karina played my half-sister on the show, and of all the familiar faces, hers was the one that I was most excited to see.

  “Okay, so tonight, it’s pre-dinner cocktails at the Peninsula,” she said, looping her arm with mine. “Then onto Indigo Row for dancing.”

  Well, Karina hadn’t changed much over the years. Back in the day, we’d go out to the hottest clubs in Manhattan. When you’re rich, famous, young, and hot—you could do pretty much whatever you wanted in this town. Karina knew the bouncers who’d let us in, and the bartenders who’d serve us despite being underage.

  “Or there’s that new club, the one on Fifty-Sixth. Ever since the smut mogul was arrested there it’s been the new hot spot.”

  I nearly choked on my champagne. “You know I don’t really do the club scene these days.”

  “Oh, come on, darling, we must have drinks and catch up. I need to know everything that you have been up to in the last decade.”

  “I think I could sum all that up for you in a lunch,” I replied with a laugh. “Besides it’s been a long week and I desperately want to get home.” Flicking my wrist, I looked at my watch, noting that my driver would be picking me up in forty-five minutes.

  “Where are you calling home these days?”

  “East Harbour, I bought a house there after graduating college. Actually, I’m hosting a fundraiser this weekend at The Harbour Polo Club you should come out. I’ll add your name to the list.”

  “Oh, I adore the Hamptons,” she professed. “Two summers ago, I met this broker and we spent nearly every weekend together. His house was huge, his cock was huge—I mean the man literally had a horse cock, but he was positively dull.”

  “You’re terrible.”

  “I’m terrible,” she mocked, pointing at herself. “Darling, terrible is having the cock of a horse and the personality of a dead fish.”

  “And yet, you still slept with him.”

  “As soon as he called me sweetheart in that southern accent, I couldn’t resist.”

  All I could do was nod and smile, because I knew that feeling. I didn’t know about Matthew’s cock, but his personality was levels above a dead fish. Getting a drink with Matthew sounded heavenly. My belly felt warm thinking back to the night in my hotel suite. Weeks later and I could still taste the tequila and lime on my tongue. I wanted Matthew Barber in the worst way. I should have kissed him that night, but I chickened out when we said goodnight. In college his picture hung on the wall over my bed, clipped on a strand of twinkle lights with a clothes pin. I’d stare at him for hours, dreaming of what it would be like to have his hard body pressed against mine.

  A server whizzed by us and Karina plucked two flutes from the tray. “Here’s to having you back, Tinley. You and I are going to turn this show upside down.”

  I took the glass from her hand. “Of that I am sure.”

  Matthew: How did your first week go?

  Tinley: Surprisingly well. Thank you for asking.

  Matthew: Save me a dance tomorrow evening?

  Tinley: I can’t make any promises.

  Matthew: I’m going to pretend t
hat you said: Yes, Matthew, I promise.

  Tinley: Do what you need to.

  Tinley: Where are you?

  Matthew: In bed. Why?

  Tinley: Curious.

  Matthew: Where are you?

  Me: In the bath.

  Matthew: Send me a selfie. Soapy Thighs come to mind. I need a visual.

  Matthew: Uhmm. That was actually supposed to say, “so many things come to mind.”

  Tinley: Soapy Thighs totally works though. Lol.

  Tinley: I’m not sending a selfie.

  Matthew: I promise to delete it.

  Tinley: That’s what Snapchat is for.

  Matthew: What’s Snapchat?

  Tinley: Image messaging app. One of the principal concepts of the app is that pictures are only available for a limited time before they disappear and are no longer accessible.

  Matthew: There’s always a screenshot.

  Tinley: Yes, but when a user takes a screenshot the person who posted the image is notified.

  Matthew: Big brother ruining all the fun.

  Tinley: Here you go.

  Matthew: That’s quite the bubble bath. The pink champagne matches your toes.

  Tinley: I’ll let that image send you into dreamland. Night xx

  Matthew: Goodnight, darlin’.

  Guests walked into The Harbour Polo Club gliding up the pink and red carpet passing by towering vases of red roses. A tapestry of ivory, laser cut lace hung above. Soft lighting filtered through the fabric casting images onto the carpet.

  After passing through the arched doorway and the wall of roses that gradually shifted from white to lavender to red, they made their way into the Great Hall. The room was filled with cherry blossoms arranged in urns that were hand painted by students enrolled in the Youth Academy Programs across the Northeastern part of the United States.

  Folding my arms, I looked around the room feeling quite satisfied with the décor. Stepping up to one of the dinner tables, I admired the blue and lavender linens that were decorated with custom-designed charger plates featuring a modern take on the rose motif. Some might say roses are overrated, but I found them to be classic—timeless. I watched as the staff lit the tall ivory pillar candles nestled among the red, burgundy, and lavender roses in glass vases.