“Dani!”
A foot digs into my back and gives me a push so hard I roll all the way to the wall with a smack.
“Shit! What the hell?!”
I bolt upright and yank my blankets off. I squint up at Brit, who is still in her idea of pajamas: a tank top and men’s briefs. She’s cool enough to pull it off, but right now, all I see is the person who woke me up unannounced and without caffeine. I rub my eyes so my fingers are too busy to flip her off.
“Get up,” she singsongs. I shake my head wearily.
“No. Tired.”
“Yes, get up. We have to talk.”
“No coffee, no talk-y.”
Brit hands me a steaming mug of coffee, and by the light brown color I can already tell she loaded it up with overly sweet creamer. Just how I like it. I take a sip and sigh happily.
“Okay. I don’t feel like murdering you now. I just want to smack you until you beg for mercy,” I grumble. Brit laughs.
“Wow. That is an intense thought to have first thing in the morning.”
“Well, that’s what happens when you drag me out of bed at the most ungodly hour of . . .”
I peer at my phone charging on my nightstand and instantly shut my mouth.
“Noon,” Brit finishes for me. “You are supposed to meet Elise soon, right?”
“Yeah, but I was up late writing, so you’ll have to forgive my sleeping in,” I tell her. I begin piling my hair on top of my head and search my floor for a rubber band.
“I know. I read your script.”
I drop my hair and let it fall in front of my face. I peer at her through the locks drooping over my eyes.
“And?”
I barely remember writing the short film script about the three strangers in a room, talking about their past, and moving on from their problems. It was a simple concept, but once I got going, the dialogue wouldn’t stop, and before I knew it, I had a finished short film. I didn’t even reread it, I just saved it and went to bed.
And now would come the first critique. I don’t think I’m ready to hear what Brit thinks of it, considering this is the first thing I’ve written in a very long time that has come from my heart.
A goofy grin spreads across Brit’s pretty face and I slump over in relief.
“You liked it?” I ask hopefully. She starts bouncing on her toes in excitement.
“I loved it. Loved it. Loooooved it! Dani, it was so good. I couldn’t stop reading it. I read it four different times, and I discovered something new each time! It’s amazing!”
I laugh at the sight of her bouncing around my room. The idea that someone loves a script of mine so much, a script that was so personal to me, finally relieves some of the weight that has been crushing my chest since my argument with Tate.
“And the young man in the script is so clearly Tate. But not the actor, Tate. Your friend, Tate,” Brit says. “You have to show it to him. He’ll love it.”
“Not a chance,” I reply as I crawl out of bed and start looking for clothes to wear to meet Elise. “Like I said, he does not want to talk to me right now. I hurt him too much.”
“Yes, you hurt him. But he also cares for you. So if you just . . .”
“Brit, no. Look, I’m going to fix things with Elise and that’s enough pressure right now,” I say. I pull on some ripped jeans and a bright orange tee. Brit watches me silently over the next five minutes as I wash my face, brush my teeth, and throw my hair up in messy bun.
She waits until I grab my keys and shove my wallet and phone in my back pocket to speak again.
“Dani. This is your life,” Brit says. “Don’t be afraid to live it.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
As I arrive at the Starbucks in Venice beach, I’m prepared for a couple of scenarios. Elise could scream at me in front of every customer and barista. Elise could throw scalding hot coffee on me. Elise could cry and push me into oncoming traffic. Elise could stand me up.
But I don’t prepare for what I see when I walk into the coffee shop: Elise, in the corner of the lounge area, smiling.
And next to her on the overstuffed love seat, holding her hand and smiling just as big, is Keith.
I stare at them. I swear I don’t blink for ten seconds straight, effectively drying my eyes out for probably the rest of time, which means The Lion King will never make me cry actual tears ever again. I may have never moved from my stunned stupor, but thankfully, Keith spots me and waves me over enthusiastically. Like a zombie clumsily chasing a group of people, I drag myself over to them, tripping on table legs and bumping into a stack of perfectly stacked bags of coffee before I plop down on the chair next to them.
“Hi, Dani,” Keith says warmly. He leans over and gives me a one-armed hug. I’m too stunned to return it. I glance at Elise, who has stopped smiling but still looks lit up from the inside.
“Hi,” she says shyly. I look down at her fingers interlocked with Keith’s. I see him squeeze her hand, as if supporting her and urging her to keep talking.
“Dani, first of all, I want to apologize,” Elise says, smoothing her yellow maxi skirt. “What I asked you to do was terrible, and I just pushed my issues on you. And I’m sorry.”
“I . . . I don’t. Um, I don’t understand,” I choke out. I gesture at the two of them sitting side by side. “What is this?”
“Well, to make a long story short, Tate and I broke up after the party. He called me from the car on his way home, and I came over to his house to talk about us. And we both agreed that we weren’t working out. Which was more than obvious seeing as I am still in love with Keith,” she explains, scooting closer to him. “And when I got home from Tate’s house, Keith was waiting at my apartment and we’ve spent the past few days talking.”
I’m too flabbergasted to say any words, so I just nod for them to continue.
“What I tried to tell you at the party, Dani, is that I all I needed was for Elise to listen to me for five minutes about our breakup. But I couldn’t find her at the party, so I just . . . well, I did the only thing any desperate, lovesick man would do,” Keith explains. “I went to her apartment and sat on the stoop until she came home.”
“And I came back to my place to see Keith, my sweet Keith, waiting for me. Right after I broke up with Tate. It felt like fate to me,” Elise says, grinning.
“And once I realized that we were both still in love with each other and that our breakup was all a misunderstanding—”
“A misunderstanding?! Didn’t he cheat on you?” I ask shrilly. Two people sipping on coffee and sharing a scone turn and look at us for a moment before turning back to each other. I blush and lean closer to Keith.
“You hurt her, and now you guys are just back together?!”
“I didn’t cheat on her,” Keith explained calmly. “I was spending so much time with my ex because she’s a jewelry designer, and she was giving me a great deal on a ring.”
“Huh?”
“I was planning on proposing to Elise,” Keith said. “But then we broke up. I thought she didn’t want anything to do with me, so she never knew. I think we both had too much pride to really talk about what happened.”
“Which is what we’ve been doing,” Elise interrupted.
“Wait . . . so you guys are engaged?!” I ask, my voice rising to an octave I didn’t even realize I had in my register. The couple at the next table once again look back at us but don’t turn back around. We’re putting on a spectacle as big as the Moulin Rouge at this point.
“No,” Elise answers. “We’re just dating again. I think we both have some stuff to work on before we talk about marriage. Trust issues, for one thing.”
Keith nods and stares down adoringly at Elise, who beams up at him. I watch them silently for a moment and know without a doubt that these two will be engaged before the end of the year. I finally relax and smile at my friends.
“I’m glad you guys are working things out,” I say. “But Elise, I’m also to blame for what happened with . .
. with him.”
I can’t really say his name, but I know I don’t need to. Elise nods understandingly.
I take a deep breath. “I should have been honest with you when I started developing feelings for him. But I also had no idea it was happening until it was too late,” I say. “It came out of nowhere. He snuck up on me, I guess.”
“I think I always knew something was going on,” Elise confesses thoughtfully. “I ignored it and just got mad at both of you instead of talking to you guys. And honey, you’ve always been so clueless when it comes to guys, so I wasn’t even sure you were actually into Tate or if he was into you.” She reaches out across the table and puts her hand over mine. “Let’s all just accept that we messed up royally and try and move on.”
“That sounds good,” I answer. “So good.” Elise jumps up and throws her arms around me, almost knocking her chair backward onto the floor. I squeeze her back, thankful that at least I have one friend back.
“So, have you talked to Tate?” she asks when she pulls away. Keith yanks her back onto the couch and she squeals happily. I want to balk at how cutesy they are being, but I know they both endured a lot of pain to get back to this point, so I smother my cynicism.
“Dani? Have you called Tate?” Elise asks again. I look out the window and shrug.
“No.”
“Not yet?”
“Um, I don’t think he wants to talk to me,” I tell her. Elise scoffs.
“Yes, he does.”
“He hates me.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“I ruined everything.”
“No, you didn’t! God. Dani, did you not just hear how Keith and I almost ruined everything by being too stubborn? If we had just talked to each other like adults, we probably wouldn’t have put each other through all this shit,” Elise lectures. I still won’t look at her, which apparently pisses her off, because she leans forward and grabs my chin with her hand. She jerks my head roughly to the side so I’m looking right at her.
“Ow! Elise!”
“Shut up, Dani. And listen to me. Don’t run from him,” she orders. “This is your life. Go live it.”
It’s exactly what Brit told me, but I don’t tell her that. They didn’t see Tate’s face when I told him the truth. He was so angry and hurt. There is no way he’d forgive me. I can’t put myself through that again.
I’m not even sure I can forgive myself.
“Dani,” Elise repeats. “Go live your life.”
I don’t have the heart to tell her that I’m not even sure what kind of life I want to live.
* * *
Brit calls me while I’m driving to the Vamp Camp set, but I’m afraid if I hear a comforting voice I’ll turn the Vegan Art van around and go straight home. At a stoplight, I check my missed calls and see one from Lowell.
He’s probably wondering when I’m going to pick up my last paycheck so he can be rid of me forever. I don’t need to hear that voice mail. I wait for the light to turn green and keep my course toward the set.
As I drive, I plot how to get in and out without Tate seeing me. But my only ideas are to use my nonexistent parkour skills to climb through the rafters in the ceiling or to duct tape myself to Bruno, the head security guard on set who would totally let me do it. Or I could call in a bomb threat and sneak in while everyone else panics and runs out? That would probably land me in jail . . .
All these ideas suck.
As I debate using a giant shrub to walk under, I drive by the rock climbing gym. Without even thinking, I pull the van into the parking lot and swing into a spot. Brit and Lowell can wait. I leave my phone in the car, ignoring them both. I need to work off this anger and frustration. Most importantly, I need to learn to tackle something step by step—just like Tate said.
I’m going rock climbing.
Ten minutes later, I’m all strung up in the harness and making my way slowly up the rock wall. I’m sweating even more than the first time, and I have to stop every thirty seconds to wipe the moisture from my forehead and palms. But I keep going.
I get to the exact point where Tate and I stopped before my fear of heights bested me. I look down and the ground swims in my vision, blurring together and making me dizzy. I press my forehead against the rock wall and force myself to take a deep breath.
Don’t let the wall beat you again, Dani. You can do this. If you can make it to the top, maybe there’s a chance for you to live the life you want. Just get to the top.
The only thing I know is that the life I want to live involves Tate, and I swear I can hear him teasing me and encouraging me to keep climbing.
So I do. Up, up, and up until I’m right at the very top. I use every ounce of will power to not look down. I don’t want to look behind me. I want to look up.
And I look up the entire time I climb the last few feet of rock wall. It’s only when I climb to the top that I finally look down, and have an epiphany: This isn’t nearly as bad as I thought. At this moment, dangling in the harness, I’m not sure what I had been afraid of before.
This is the start, Dani, I tell myself happily. I am sweating, exhausted, and my mouth is as dry as cotton. But I am happy. And most importantly, I am ready. I’m not sure what I’m ready for, all I know is that I am.
The instructors below are clapping and hooting at something, so I peer over the edge to wave down at them. I assume they are congratulating me for finally getting to the top in the World’s Slowest reported climb. I step toward the ledge to call out to them, but all my breath is stolen from my lungs and I am struck silent.
Tate is climbing up over the ledge.
I panic internally. I didn’t even consider he would be here. I thought he’d be filming. And now we’re stuck on this ledge together. I’m scared again, but it has nothing to do with the height.
Tate hoists himself over the edge and pulls himself up to a standing position. My heart clenches painfully in my chest. He’s dressed in head-to-toe black workout gear and has his favorite San Francisco 49ers cap shoved over his hair. I see curls peeking out from the back, and I almost tear up at the sight. Then he stands up straight, and I can see the full glory of Tate’s handsome face, bright blue eyes, and larger-than-life smile.
Wait. Why is he smiling his big, stupid smile?
“Dani,” he says, walking over to me. He’s panting and out of breath, and I am, too—but mostly because seeing him in a sleeveless shirt is almost too much to bear. Then the endorphins come rushing out of me as I realize he’s about to yell at me. I fold my arms over my chest and look at the floor.
“Tate, just say what you have to say and I’ll leave,” I tell him. “I feel terrible and I’m sorry and I know you have every right to scream at me so . . . just get it over with so I can go home.”
Tate doesn’t say anything for a few moments, and I wonder if he climbed back down because he was so disgusted at me. But then I see his shoes shuffling toward me and I know he’s still here.
“Dani, I don’t want to yell at you,” he says gently. I hang my head even lower. He pities me. I know it. And that is so much worse. At least when I thought he was angry, I knew he felt something for me.
“Well, then just—”
“Dani,” Tate interrupts me, already starting to sound frustrated. I bite my lower lip to keep from crying and hug my arms more tightly around my torso. Suddenly I feel Tate’s fingertips dancing under my chin. He gently tilts my face up toward him.
“I do have some things to say to you,” he says slowly. “And we do have to talk. But right now, I want to do two other things.”
“And what are those things?” I ask quietly. Tate’s smile grows bigger, something I didn’t know was physically possible. It looks like his face is now fifty percent mouth. I love it.
“First, I want to tell you that Brit sent me the script you just wrote, and it’s absolutely incredible. I want to make this short film. I want to act in it. It’s amazing,” Tate says. His hand still cradles my chin, so I can’t nod or s
hake my head or anything. So I just keep staring into his big blue eyes, which are darting around my face like they can’t find one feature to settle on.
“Second, I want to tell you what I want to do right now—and all I’ve wanted to do since almost the moment we met: I want to kiss you.”
“You . . . what?”
“We have a lot to talk about, but right now, let me kiss you.”
Tate doesn’t wait for an answer. He must see it in my eyes, because he is leaning down to touch his lips to mine. And he is kissing me.
And I’m kissing him back. I know there are a lot of unanswered questions and issues to work out, but for now, all I can think about is how warm his lips feel on mine, how wonderful it feels to have his hands holding my waist and how my heart is beating so fast and hard I honestly believe my chest will be sore tomorrow from its thumping.
Tate kisses me until I can’t think. Until I can’t breathe. Until the only thing I know is the warmth spreading through my entire body and the knowledge that my life is officially starting.
And I don’t even mind that my life is starting while I’m standing near the edge of a cliff, because with Tate, teetering over into nothingness doesn’t seem so scary.
Present Day
I finish telling my story to Miss Limon, who stopped taking notes about halfway through. By her awed expression, I’m certain that she wasn’t aware of the whole story before I was booked on the show.
“So, that’s all of it,” I say to break the silence. Miss Limon gives me a smile and caps her pen.
“See? That wasn’t so hard. Nothing to worry about,” she promises. “Now you just have to go out and tell it again with millions of people watching. And it’ll be an abridged version, of course.”
“Right. Should I leave out the part about the rice balls?” I joke. Miss Limon either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t want to indulge in my immature comedy. But I was saying it for my benefit, not for hers.
I’m still a nervous wreck.
Rules of Seduction Page 27