by B. B. Hamel
“He was an asshole,” I say, smiling a bit.
“Didn’t you end up punching him?”
“Yeah, well, that was because he called my little brother a faggot and tried to steal his iPod.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot that. Silas really was a piece of shit.”
“Not as bad as Marty, remember that kid?”
“Oh god,” she groans. “I haven’t thought about Stinky Marty in years.”
“That asshole never showered after gym class. Not even once.”
“We all paid for his mistakes.”
We laugh together and for a second, it feels normal between us. The feelings we both have, complicated by time and distance and anger and resentment, seem a little less sharp. The more we talk about them, the more it feels like we’re getting it all out. And maybe that’s what she needs, to get it all out.
She glances down at her phone and sighs. “Look, I have to go. I’ll think about dinner.”
“I appreciate that,” I say. “I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you will be.” She smiles up at me as I grin at her. I want to kiss her so badly, but I know I can’t. Not yet at least. She’s still angry and still holding on to something, but she’ll let it all go eventually. She just needs to understand that I wasn’t leaving her. I never meant to leave her. I thought it would be better if I cut it off, but god, I was so stupid back then.
“See you tomorrow, movie star.” She grins at me and walks away.
I watch her go, yearning to touch her skin again. Soon, I’ll taste her again, and show her what she’s been missing all these years.
But for now, I’ll try and be patient, although that’s not my strong suit.
8
Tara
Every time I’m ready to write Jackson Hendricks off, he does something that surprises me.
Our little conversation from a couple of days ago keeps playing in my mind. We haven’t had time to really talk since then, but I just keep seeing the way he looked at me, like it was the old Jackson all over again. I haven’t seen him so much as talk to Holly either, which makes me think that I was just being stupid the other day.
Still, I just keep thinking about how I don’t really know him. He’s been through a lot overseas, and it’s made him harder. I don’t remember him having such an edge before he left, but there are scars on his skin and inside of him that I’ll likely never understand.
And yet… that old Jackson is still there. It makes me wonder if the old Tara is still inside of me, too.
I’m sitting home alone after work, tired and a little stressed, going over the script again. We’re in a critical part of the film right now, and we have to make sure we get these action scenes just right. They’re long and grueling on Jackson, I can tell, but he doesn’t complain at all. In fact, he walks around set and keeps everyone’s spirits up. He encourages the stunt guys and basically acts like a high school football quarterback in the locker room or something. Which I guess is basically what he is.
My phone buzzes and I ignore it for a second, finishing up what I’m doing. When I finally pick it up, I frown at the message on my screen.
“Car’s out front, come hang out.”
It takes me a second to understand that it’s from Jackson. We exchanged numbers early on in this, since I’ll need to get in touch with him for work stuff.
I unlock my phone and type a message back. “What are you talking about?” I send.
“The crew is all hanging out, and I think you should be here.” His response comes quickly, and I bite my lip.
I don’t normally hang out with the crew. Honestly, I’m not usually invited. The script girl is considered the director’s pet, and the crew typically doesn’t mingle with that side of production. They’re afraid I’ll dime them out to Lionel or something like that, which isn’t the case at all. On past films, I just accepted that as part of the job and moved on.
“I don’t know,” I type back. “I’m tired and we shoot early tomorrow.”
“Come on. There really is a car out front.”
I sigh and stand up, heart beating fast. I go to our front door and sure enough, there’s a black town car sitting there.
“You’re crazy,” I type to him. “I can’t just walk out the door.”
“Sure you can. It’s easy. Come on, Tara girl. Come have a little fun.”
I stare at the text for a second. “Fuck it,” I say out loud to myself.
I run into my bedroom and get ready as fast as I can. Obviously I don’t have time to go crazy with it, but I get changed into something a little more casual and I manage to fix myself up enough to be presentable. When I’m done, I head outside and get right into the car.
The driver starts going without saying a word to me. I get out my phone and send a quick message to Jackson. “I’m on the way.”
“I knew you would be. Hurry up.”
I smile to myself and tuck my phone back into my little clutch. I haven’t been out at a club after work since the first year I moved out here. I have butterflies in my stomach, which is totally unlike me. I’m not normally nervous for this sort of thing.
But it’s Jackson. He makes me nervous, though it’s in a good way. I like being nervous around him. I like that he pushes me, makes me question the things around me. We’re not even close and yet he’s already making me feel good.
The car finally pulls up outside of a club that I don’t recognize, which isn’t a surprise. I don’t really go out clubbing much. I did a little bit when I was younger, but now I’m more focused on my career and I just don’t have time anymore.
My heart is beating so fast as I get out of the car. There’s a line to get in and I frown at it. There are probably fifty people waiting to get into the building, but as soon as I start to walk toward the back, I hear someone call out my name.
“Tara!”
I turn and spot Jackson grinning at me from behind the red velvet rope. I walk over and the bouncer lets me past. He grins at me and kisses my cheek, sending electric thrills down my spine.
“Glad you came,” he says.
“Yeah, well, you said you needed my help.”
He grins at me. “I definitely need you. Come on.” He takes my hand and pulls me into the club behind him.
I can’t help but notice that he said he needs me, not my help. And he’s pulling me along by the hand like it’s not a weird thing to do at all. I’m getting sucked back into his world, but it’s hard not to be. Jackson is the kind of guy that can make you feel like you’re at home no matter where you are.
The club itself is sleek and new. There’s a wine bar, a beer bar and a liquor bar, all broken out separately. The music pulses into my ears and I’m glad that I put on a sleek black dress instead of my normal drab work clothes.
Jackson pulls me along behind him and we end up at a private booth filled with people. I recognize them all from the set. There’s Paul the lighting guy, Jackson’s assistant Marney, Rick the gaffer, Louis the cameraman, and a few other guys. Everyone welcomes me when I arrive, and Jackson pours me a drink from their bottle service, but I can tell that everyone is a little uptight with me around.
I slug back my first drink, trying to let everyone know that I’m okay and not a rat, but also trying to loosen up.
“Easy there,” Jackson grins at me as I pour another.
“We’re here to have some fun, right?” I ask him.
“You’re not wrong.” He pours himself a drink and knocks it back. “But I’m guessing you’re not much of a drinker.”
“Why would you think that?” I ask.
“The face you’re making right now.”
I laugh and look down. “Is it obvious?”
“You clearly hate it. Like someone is stomping on your toes.”
“Ugh, okay, I’m trying at least.”
“I know. I’m glad you’re here.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Me too.”
We fall into the booth a
nd everyone starts talking again. I sip my drink and do my best to pretend like I don’t hate the taste of vodka. Paul tells a story from his days doing lighting for erectile dysfunction commercials, which gets a big laugh from everyone. Jackson meanwhile sits close to me and laughs along with everyone else, but I keep catching the looks he’s giving me.
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dressed like this,” he says to me.
“Really?” I ask him.
“Really. You were a little more, uh, casual in high school.”
I laugh and bump his arm with my shoulder. “I had great fashion sense back then.”
“Nah,” he says, grinning. “Not at all. But nobody did.”
“That’s true. I seem to recall you wearing sweatpants to school.”
“Hey,” he says, laughing. “I was an athlete.”
“Sure. You were also a slob.”
“Glad to see you’re all grown up at least,” he says, eyeing my body. Normally I might feel self-conscious, but right now I don’t mind.
“You’re all grown up yourself, you know,” I say, and I mean it. He looks fantastic in an expensively tailored suit, probably bespoke. It fits him like a glove, accentuating his every perfect muscle, and it makes him look fancy and in control.
I hate to admit it to myself, but he looks fantastic. “Of course I look great,” he says in my ear. “Hey, let’s go dance.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Seriously? You dance?”
“Of course I do,” he says, laughing. “Girl, I’ll show you just how good of a dancer a Navy SEAL can be.”
I laugh as he pulls me up from the seat and tugs me out toward the dance floor. I don’t know what I’m doing but I feel so good as I follow him out there. We start to dance together, and although I feel a little self-conscious at first, at least Jackson wasn’t lying.
He’s a good dancer. He moves his hips and pulls me toward him, gliding along my body, and I fall into his rhythm. Soon, we’re dancing close to each other, eyes locked as one song turns into two. We sway and move to the music, keeping pace with everyone around us, although it feels like we’re alone in the world.
“Remember this?” he says in my ear. “Sophomore year.”
I can’t help but smile to myself. “We danced for hours,” I say to him.
“Yeah, we did. You looked amazing. Red dress.”
I laugh again, remembering that dress. I pull him closer to reach his ear. “Your suit was too big.”
He grins at me. “It was my dad’s.”
“Of course it was.”
We laugh together, and he tips his head closer to me. He grabs my waist and pulls me against him. I can feel his hard body pressed against mine and my heart is racing through my skin, threatening to make me freaking pass out.
I tip my chin up toward him, not thinking about it at all. His lips are so close to mine, and I know he’s going to kiss me. God, I haven’t tasted that kiss in so damn long. I can remember the last time, it was just like any other day. I didn’t know it was the last time back then. Sometimes I wish I had known, so that I could have savored it.
Now though, I have a second chance. I can taste him again, feel the way it used to feel. I remember kissing him was like nothing I’ve ever felt before. It made me alive, made everything seem so much better.
He left me, he broke my heart, but he’s here now. And I want to taste him so badly.
“Hey, you!”
Jackson turns away from me. Holly Hart appears next to him and they hug quickly in greeting. She waves to me and says something to him.
He frowns at me and says something to her. She waves and heads off back toward the table, but the moment is gone.
I don’t know what I was thinking. He turns back toward me, but I step away. “Sorry,” I say to him, shaking my head.
“Tara, hold on.”
But I’m already turning and walking away from him as fast as I can. I don’t want to run and I’m definitely not going to cry.
I don’t know what I was thinking. I can’t just let him back into my life like this. He broke my heart. I’m not ready to trust him, not yet. Seeing Holly just made me realize how much I still don’t know about him.
Maybe he makes me feel like my old self, but that girl is gone. I’m a different person, and so is he. I can’t just fall back into old habits.
I hurry away from him, trying to keep it together.
9
Jackson
I could see it in her eyes: pure fucking desire.
She was sweating, working her hips, swinging her body against mine. I could see the glazed look of pure want and need, and the way she tilted her lips up toward me, fucking hell, she was begging for me to kiss her. She wanted a taste, wanted it fucking badly, and I needed it just as much.
But then Holly showed up and fucking ruined everything.
I tried chasing after Tara, but she disappeared. I don’t know why she ran off like that, but I know it had something to do with Holly. Or maybe she just realized how badly she wanted it to happen between us, and that freaked her out.
Today, Tara’s barely even looking at me. It’s like every step forward we make, we take two fucking steps back.
I don’t get why Holly even had to seek me out. She saw that I was dancing with Tara. She knew that we had something going between us. I’m not a big fan of Holly, to be totally honest. She’s nice enough, but I wouldn’t have invited her if the crew hadn’t requested her specifically. I think they all like to stare at her tits, which I guess I can understand. Holly’s an attractive girl.
She’s just not my type. She’s too high maintenance, too high strung, and a fucking actress. The first thing I learned when I came to this town was that I should never date or get involved with or even fuck a goddamn actress.
Plus, she’s not Tara. I think that’s the most important thing here. Tara is my focus, the only woman I want, and Holly just pales in comparison. They can dress Holly up and put as much makeup on her as they want, but they can’t cover up her boring ass personality. Tara is just as beautiful as she is, but she’s light where Holly is just boredom. Tara makes me smile, makes me fucking feel something. Being around Tara is like coming home.
I’m annoyed and trying to get the whole thing out of my head. I have a scene with Holly coming up, so I need to be prepped for that. Just as I go to grab my script and review, there’s a knock at my trailer door.
“Yeah?” I call out.
The door opens. “Hey, Jackson. You busy?”
It’s Holly. I almost groan out loud. I don’t want this girl in my goddamn trailer. I don’t want to give Tara the wrong idea. But we’re working together, and I can’t just send her away. I can’t risk fucking up that working relationship, since it could ruin the movie. We still have some more intimate scenes to shoot as well, and I don’t need this to be more awkward than it is.
“Yeah, come in,” I say to her, hoping Tara isn’t around.
Holly heads inside, shutting the door behind her. She’s wearing her costume for the upcoming scene, which is of course very low-cut to show off her tits. She smiles at me and holds up her script.
“Want to run lines?” she asks.
I sigh and shrug. “Sure. I’m going over them already anyway.”
She walks over with a little bounce in her step and sits down on the couch. I take a seat on a chair across from her and kick my feet out. She opens her script up and clears her throat.
“Start at the second page, first line?” she asks.
“Sure,” I grunt, turning to the spot.
She nods and reads the script. “Do you remember the sky before they came?”
“I remember,” I grunt. “Wasn’t so great.”
“Not so great?” She laughs a little. “It was beautiful. Stars as far as the eye can see. But now it’s all black, nothing but black.”
“It’s the dust. They’re kicking it up into the atmosphere.”
“Dust and ash,” she says. “I know wha
t it is.” Holly stands up and walks toward me. She looks up from the script. “You mind if we do this part standing? Make it feel real?”
“Sure,” I grunt, getting up.
She positions herself closer to me. In this scene, our characters are camping out, though there’s an ambush coming up soon. The aliens have mostly taken over the planet, and now it’s up to them to somehow turn the tide and rid the earth of the evil invaders. It’s supposed to be a slightly romantic scene, though it turns into an action sequence pretty fast.
“Come on. Lie back and think about it,” Holly says.
“Guess it can’t hurt.”
“What do you see?”
“Lots of dead fucking clickers.”
She does a decent fake laugh. “Okay, hotshot. This isn’t working.”
“Sorry,” I say. “I just keep seeing them coming at us, over and over again. I keep seeing the faces of those we’ve left behind.”
She quiet for a second, since the script calls for it. “Are you sure about any of this?” she asks me.
“Hell no,” I say. “But because I keep seeing their faces, I know I can’t let them down. So I won’t stop.”
Holly steps closer to me, and I’m not sure what she’s doing. The ambush is coming in a second, and there’s only one line left.
“I wish I had your commitment,” she says, and then she tries to kiss me.
It takes me completely by surprise. Her lips press against mine, and for half a second, we’re kissing.
But I pull away as soon as I realize what’s happening. This isn’t acting at all. She’s not trying to adlib something new. She’s just coming on to me.
“Holly,” I say.
“Sorry,” she says, turning away. “Wow, I’m really sorry. I just thought… there was a moment.”
“No,” I say. “I mean, there wasn’t a moment. I can’t get involved.”
She turns back to me, smiling sheepishly. “We don’t have to get involved.”
I sigh. “That’s getting involved. I can’t.”
“You don’t think I’m pretty?” she asks, cocking her head.