Elastic Hearts (Hearts #3)

by Claire Contreras

  “For the record, I would love to see how your shirt fits,” he said in a low voice, lowering his face to mine so we were almost nose to nose, eye to eye. “Maybe once this is over, if the offer still stands, I’ll take you up on it.”

  My breath hitched a little. I licked my lips. “That’ll take months.”

  “It can take a year,” he said. He was breathing a little louder now. I wondered what he would do if I leaned in and pressed my lips against his.

  “We both know if I want it to happen, it’ll happen,” I whispered.

  “It won’t. It can’t.”

  He straightened, turned my hand on the knob, then walked out to his black Jaguar without a backward glimpse. My heart was still rattling as his car purred to life. Our gazes caught momentarily as he waited for the gate to open behind him, and all I could do was stare. I was sure my gaze reflected my neediness. I hated the vulnerability I felt when I was near this man. I was living with last year’s Sexiest Man of the Year, yet there I was, feeling things I hadn’t felt in over a year. For Victor Reuben, of all people. I was so screwed.

  “I DON’T KNOW what’s wrong with me,” I said to my friend Talon as I continued to sew the eighteenth-century-style dress I was working on.

  Talon had been the one who convinced me to work on this movie. Partially because she wanted to keep an eye on me with the separation and another because we always had fun when we worked on the same set, something we hadn’t done in over a year. She was the makeup artist to the stars, while I was the costume designer. Completely different jobs with similar lunch breaks.

  She sighed and pinned back the tight ringlets of dark brown curls falling into her face. “I don’t know what to say, sweetie. You’ve been through a rough couple of years and now you’re stuck with this guy you had a major crush on when you were younger. I just don’t know what to say.”

  “I’m not stuck with him,” I said, frowning. She shot me a look. “What? I’m not. I can hire another divorce lawyer. He just happens to be the best.”

  “At that and other things, if I remember correctly.” A sly smile appeared on her face as she said it, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “This is a real problem. I’m around hot guys all the time. I mean, hello,” I said, pointing at the poster for the movie we were working on. The poster had a partially naked Eric Austin dressed as Tarzan. “Yet for some reason I’m around this guy for two seconds and I become a fifteen-year-old girl at a One Direction concert.”

  Talon gasped. “I am thirty-two, thank you very much, and Harry is hot.”

  “So is Victor.” Very, very hot.

  “I know.” She paused. “But you guys have history.”

  “We don’t,” I said, interrupting her. We didn’t. We had a short-lived fling if you could even call it that. Late night phone calls, quick sex in an office, a bathroom . . . those things didn’t constitute a fling. Right?

  “Well, sexual history,” she said. “And you clearly still want to jump into bed with him.”

  “I never jumped into bed with him,” I said. True and pointless reminder.

  “You know what I mean.”

  I shrugged.

  “What happened with Gabriel? Was he weird after your almost hookup the other night?”

  I groaned. “Weird? No. Annoying? Yes. He brought it up in front of Victor. I can’t believe I almost did that . . .” I felt a little ill, not because I was disgusted, but because I was appalled at myself. If my dad found out about that he’d kill me. Anything that made this divorce more difficult would not be okay with him.

  “That was the wine,” Talon said. “We shouldn’t have drunk so much, and I did push that second bottle on you, so it’s technically my fault.”

  I laughed. “Thanks for that, but you’re not going down for it, despite the fact it did almost cost me the embarrassment of a lifetime.”

  “Yeah, well, alcohol is normally served with a side of embarrassment. My point is, you didn’t even want to touch Gabriel last year.”

  “That’s because his nose was always powdered.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Save the saint story for someone who buys it. You’ve done your share of drugs. Don’t act like cocaine isn’t equivalent to a shot of tequila around here.”

  I slumped back in my chair. She was right. The difference was that when Gabriel did it, he became a different person. Aggressive and downright mean. I’d never told anybody, not even Talon, about the times I’d slept in the guest room out back because I knew if I went to a hotel I’d be photographed and rumors would start.

  “Why is he here anyway?” Talon asked, snapping me out of my thoughts.

  “Who?” I asked, looking around.

  “Gabriel. I thought he was in Canada.”

  “Oh. Yeah. He said he was on a shooting break. I need to find out how long this break will last. I’m not sure I can actually stay there if he’ll be doing that every night.”

  “Oh? So you actually might leave your humble abode?”

  I sighed. “I didn’t want to, but I don’t think I can handle seeing him go to shit. That was what started this whole thing in the first place, and he’s really not going to change. I see that now.”

  Talon took a seat in the chair beside me and took my hands in hers, her green eyes filled with concern. “You can stay with me. Mike won’t mind at all. We have the room. The kids would love to have Auntie Nicky there.”

  I shook my head slowly. “Thank you. I can always stay at my dad’s for a while. Or get my own place. I’ll have to do that eventually anyway.”

  Her eyes widened. “So you’re going to let him keep the house?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I’m tired of holding this grudge.”

  Talon nodded and gave my hands a squeeze before letting go and standing. “I have to get to work, but whatever you need, you know I’m here. And be careful with the hot lawyer.”

  “I don’t have to be,” I said, laughing. “He’s already reminded me twice that we can’t happen again.”

  “Well, he reminded you about that before and look how that turned out,” she said with a wink before walking away.

  Yeah, it turned out with him breaking it off just when I thought we were reaching a new level. A new, bullshit level that I conjured up in my head because that’s all it was—bullshit. What bothered me most when he broke it off was that I didn’t listen to him when he said he wasn’t interested in a relationship. I didn’t listen to him when he said we couldn’t do what we were doing. I learned, though. I learned when people show you who they are, you should listen. And he showed me who he was the entire time. He never hid behind false promises or pretty words. He did what he said he would do, and I hadn’t faulted him for that. I couldn’t.

  I didn’t come to appreciate Victor’s honesty until I realized the man I shared a life with had lied to me. Continually. And then I found out he’d lied and cheated. When I threatened divorce, he threw a hissy fit and started trash-talking me to anybody in the industry who would listen. In my industry. He’d been so conniving about it, too, only talking to people I didn’t know but only hoped to work with. Shortly after a business friend of mine gave me a heads-up, the tabloids were talking about our divorce and how heartbroken he’d been. They stated his affairs began when I said I was leaving him. The sad part is that at first I thought the rumors were false. That there was no way he was already with another woman, but I quickly realized there was usually some truth to the stories printed.

  If I were a different person, like Harlow Winters, I’d call in a favor and spread rumors about Gabe that made him look worse than Ben Affleck cheating on Jennifer. That wasn’t me, though, and ultimately, underneath all of the shit that had smeared his character and our marriage, I still believed in the nice guy from the middle of nowhere that I’d fallen in love with.

  I DIDN’T HESITATE in saying yes when my best friend, Chrissy, called me to meet her for dinner at a new hot spot. I called Marcus, who was more than a little surprised at my requ
est for him to be ready at nine o’clock. It’s not that I hadn’t gone out since the separation, but I’d been very low-key about it, opting to go to friends’ houses and get drunk there instead of out in public where anybody could take my picture and make a fool out of me. Not that I needed help making a fool out of myself when I was drunk. No, I did that all on my own, but I didn’t need it all over the tabloids.

  I’d agreed to meet Chrissy at nine thirty, and when Marcus knocked on my door a second time, telling me it was nine twenty and I was still trying to figure out what shoes I was going to wear, I knew I’d be late.

  “Fashionably late,” I said to him as we walked to the car.

  “That’s one way to put it,” he responded. I smiled, feeling the excitement of my night out coursing through me. “Are we taking the Porsche?”

  I nodded as he pressed the clicker to the garage. The white florescent lights flickered on and we walked toward the white Cayenne. I wasn’t sure where Gabe stood on the cars situation and who would keep what, and I wasn’t a big car person. Most days I drove my Prius, but if I had the chance to, I was totally keeping the Cayenne. We made it to the restaurant at the same time Chrissy did, both of us getting out of our cars at the same time. The few paparazzi standing outside ran toward her to get a picture. I started walking to the front of the restaurant, figuring I’d meet her inside to avoid the attention, but she squealed out my name and I had to turn around to acknowledge her.

  “You look so good,” she said as she ran over to hug me.

  She smelled of flowers and Burberry perfume. The scent of our adolescence, when our only worries had been how late we could sleep and whether or not our parents would be home in the morning after we’d had a wild night out on the town.

  “So do you,” I said, bringing my hand up and touching the tips of her short, wavy blonde hair. “Love the new hair.”

  “I had it done today. Still getting used to it. The fam sends their love, by the way.” She smiled big as she stepped aside for us to walk into the restaurant. I smiled at the mention of them. We used to be attached at the hip when we were kids and then in college. I don’t think I had one memory that Chrissy wasn’t in. I practically lived in her house during high school, probably because I didn’t have any siblings and when I was there it was like I had three sisters. Some days, when life got shitty, I yearned for her and her sisters and this was definitely one of those times.

  We were seated as promptly as you can expect to be seated when you’re in the presence of a reality star. One of the reasons I hadn’t seen her in a few months was because she was busy filming her show. Between her filming schedule and my work schedule, our free time rarely coincided.

  “I see you still have all of your fingers,” she said, taking a sip of her margarita. I smiled as I took a sip of mine.

  “What makes you think I’m going to chop off my fingers? You need to get over that.”

  “I’ve seen how fast you work on those patterns. How’s the set of the new movie? How’s Austin?” she asked, her light brows rising provocatively. I laughed.

  “If you’re asking me if he’s as hot as ever, the answer is yes. If you’re asking me if anything has happened between us, the answer is never has and never will.”

  “Boring. Is it because of everything that went down with Gabe? Do you think you’re swearing off actors from now on?”

  “Are you swearing off athletes?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. Her past three boyfriends had been athletes, and all three had been cheating pigs.

  “Touché.”

  We talked some more, ate some edamame, and clinked our glasses in a cheer before she dropped the, “Let’s go to a club tonight!” and I was feeling tipsy enough to agree. We spent the rest of the time catching up and talking the way you can only talk to an old friend—loudly with obnoxious laughter and lots of pointing at each other whenever we remembered an old inside joke.

  “That’s your new security detail?” Chrissy asked when Marcus walked around the car and handed the valet a tip.

  “That’s him.”

  “Maybe I should ride with you,” she said in a loud whisper. I laughed.

  “Do it. Tell Frederick to follow us.”

  She turned around and told her bodyguard to follow us as he shielded us from the cameras snapping pictures of us climbing into the car.

  “How’s the filming going? Are you on break?” I asked.

  “Yes. Thank God. My family is driving me absolutely crazy already,” she groaned. I laughed. Only Chrissy could make a reality TV show that paid her hundreds of thousands of dollars an episode sound as grueling as hard labor.

  “Poor you,” I said, smirking.

  “Seriously, Nicole. You look fucking awesome. Are you dieting?” she asked, giving me a once-over as we sat beside each other.

  “It’s called the divorce diet. You should try it. It works wonders, apparently.”

  She scoffed. “That would require me getting married.”

  “Although if he’s on the table, I may reconsider,” she said, nodding toward Marcus with a salacious grin on her face.

  “Stop embarrassing him,” I said, trying to keep the laughter out of my voice.

  “Marcus, who have you worked for?” Chrissy asked, ignoring me.

  “That’s classified, ma’am,” he said, eyes flickering to the rearview. I couldn’t see his face, but I could tell he was smiling.

  “Ex-military. Those are the only ones who always tell me their previous employers are classified, as if I can’t just make a few calls and find out,” Chrissy said, rolling her eyes. She tilted her head to look at me. “Those are always hot in bed, though. Marcus, we’re going to Lure.”

  I laughed, feeling the alcohol swimming in my head. “You told him that.”

  “Oh. That’s right. Have you been lately?”

  “Nope. I’ve been staying out of the limelight, as per Dad’s orders.”

  “We’re going to have so much fun,” she squealed.

  By the time we got to Lure, there was a line circling the side of the building.

  “Holy crap,” I said, eyes wide. Truthfully, I hadn’t been to a club in ages, so I’d forgotten about long lines and ID checks. That, and the last time I had gone was with Gabe and lines and ID checks didn’t exist when you were with an A-list celebrity.

  “Drive to the back,” Chrissy instructed.

  Marcus kept driving until we reached the corner, where he turned into the alley and slowed down when the mob of paparazzi perked up and spotted a newcomer. If we had any doubt as to where the back door was, we’d just found it.

  “Oh God,” I muttered.

  Even in my tipsy state I knew it meant our outing would be all over tonight’s TMZ, but then, any outing with Chrissy meant that, and I was okay with the dinner portion being in the tabloids. It was this part of the night that terrified me. I took a deep breath, perked my boobs up in my dress, and did a little mantra in my head to remind myself to suck in my stomach.

  “You ready?” Chrissy asked when the car stopped in front of the mob of cameras, which had now turned toward us.

  “I guess so.”

  Her security opened the door for us, assisting us in climbing out of the car without flashing anybody and instantly, the questions started.

  “Nicole, did you know Gabriel would be here tonight?”

  Holy shit. Thank God the club was huge.

  “Did you set up to meet him here?”

  Breathe. Suck in your stomach. Smile. No. Don’t smile.

  “Are you guys getting back together?”

  Fuck. I smiled. Shit.

  “Is the divorce off?”

  Poker face.

  “How do you feel about him dating his co-star?”

  Poker face. Poker face. Poker face. If I said it enough I’d keep it, or become Lady Gaga. Either way was good with me.

  Even though all I wanted was to scream all the answers, I kept my head down, because that’s what you do when you’re being bombarded wi
th personal questions you have no answers to. The bouncer took one look at each of us and let us in without hesitation. That was another perk to having Chrissy in your squad. She had a face anybody from a tween to a geezer recognized. Because of the headlines, I was sure he recognized me as well, but I definitely wasn’t the reason he let me in, especially not if Gabe was really in there. We walked down a dark hallway toward the loud house music playing, but before we reached the dance floor, we were met by a waitress, wearing what looked like a bikini top and boy shorts.

  “Chrissy, nice to see you again. We didn’t get a heads-up, so I don’t have everything ready for you, but we can get that taken care of quickly. Do you want your usual spot?” she asked.

  “Yes, please,” Chrissy said, then shook her head, thinking better of it. “Actually, is Gabriel Lane up there?”

  The woman’s eyes jumped to me. “Yes, but not on that side. You will need to walk by his table, though. If that’ll be a problem I can try to get you in through the employee stairwell.”

  Both of them looked at me. “I don’t care. I don’t need special attention. I just need a shot of Fireball and I’m good.”

  Chrissy laughed. “I love you.”

  We followed the busty blonde up the stairs to the VIP area, where people were dancing along to a new Fetty Wap song. The dance area was smaller and much emptier than the one downstairs, but just as lively. Even though it was dark, I tried to look for Gabe. Not because I needed to see him, but because I wanted to know what area to stay away from. I didn’t see him, so I kept walking and figured I’d do the smart thing and not get out of my designated area unless I needed to break the seal, which I hoped wouldn’t happen soon.

  “Did you see him?” Chrissy asked as soon as we reached the cozy corner she apparently frequented.

  “Nope. You?”

  She shook her head and ran a hand through her hair. “Can we get some Fireball shots, please? And a bottle of champagne?”