Anaconda: A Sexy Romantic Comedy

by Landish, Lauren

  The breath tightens in my throat.

  Miranda rushes over to my side, trying to peer back behind my head. “You’re okay, right? The doctor said you were fine, but they lie all the time. You haven’t suffered brain damage, have you—”

  “I’m fine, Miranda,” I say mildly. “Just a small concussion is all. The doc said that I should be fine, and I’ll talk with the team, I guess. Can’t hide it, but I think I’ll be cleared by the time first practices start.”

  She breathes, and I’m touched to see the concern on her face. “Thank God . . .” she gets out before she pauses and frowns. “Although one could say you’ve suffered some kind of brain damage this trip. Maybe a smack in the head will get you back to normal.”

  “Very funny,” I say, laughing. “I know it’s been a hard week, but this time it wasn’t me!”

  Miranda chuckles and finds my stitches, tugging at my hair but not poking them directly. “Seriously, Gavin, I’m so glad you are all right. When I saw you hit your head, I thought for sure it would be something terrible. The sound of your head hitting the ground . . . well, once, I saw a watermelon fall out of a container in a semi truck and hit the pavement. It was kinda like that.”

  Mmm . . . watermelon. Sounds good right about now. I shake my head. “I’ll be fine. Have I gotten any calls?”

  “Oh, hell yeah, so many that I had to turn my phone off,” Miranda says. “TMZ, ESPN, oh, and the team called too. There was Coach . . .”

  I wave them all off. I don’t care about them right now. “No one else? Brianna?”

  Miranda arches her eyebrow. “No, no Brianna. Who’s that?”

  I should tell her. It would explain so many things about why I’ve been acting the way I have been, and the words are on my lips. But why bother? Tomorrow, I’ll be gone, and obviously, she doesn’t care that I’m injured. She knows as well as I do that she’s wasting her time and doesn't want to be hurt.

  “Nobody,” I say quietly. “I guess.”

  Miranda peers at me suspiciously. She’s known me too long. “You sure?”

  “Yes,” I say. I let out a groan as a spike of pain pulses through my head. “So I’m going to have to re-shoot that whole scene, I take it? That sucks. I was looking forward to being done with this shit.”

  Miranda lights up like a light bulb. “Actually, no.”

  “Huh?”

  “Jim decided he would use the footage of you falling and hitting your head and made it so that ‘Kara’ picks up a gun and shoots that dude, killing him. He said the fight was very realistic.”

  “What the hell? That will make her look like the hero and me like a pussy. I thought that wasn’t supposed to happen until I die.”

  Miranda shrugs her hands out to the side. “Just roll with it. We’re constrained with time and he wasn’t sure if you were going to be out for weeks. It would have cost a fortune to extend the filming license. The town jacked up the price when they found out that you were injured—some bullshit line about insurance—so they have to get everything done in just a few hours. There are secondary crews out right now, rushing around town trying to get the rest of the backing shots.”

  “Damn it,” I grumble, but it’s halfhearted. A part of me is elated, and another is upset about how I’m going to be portrayed. While I knew I wasn’t going to be the star, I was supposed to be pretty badass.

  You should be used to it by now, a cruel voice says in my head. All image, no substance.

  Miranda nods, not knowing my inner dialogue. “Yep. I think he said something like, ‘I can’t bear another day of Gavin’s wooden, cardboard acting, so this is the best thing that could happen to me.’”

  Instead of getting mad, I can't help but laugh. The truth hurts, but not in this case. I know my performance has been hindered by a certain someone. The thought of Brianna brings me back down again and my smile quickly fades to a slight frown. “You know what? Fuck that guy.”

  “But look on the bright side,” Miranda says, mistaking my frown as hurt over Jim’s insult. “He also decided to go with your idea. They’re cancelling the bedroom shoot and using a body double back in Hollywood. And at least this will make all the feminist fans happy with Leslie turning out to be the hero from minute one and you being her boy toy.”

  I give her a look, one that she reads loud and clear. I’m nobody’s boy toy.

  “Hey, I’m just trying to put a positive spin on this. You know me. You can now act like you’re pro-women's movement in the interviews and be a spokesperson for women’s rights!”

  I groan, rolling my eyes. Miranda is out of her fucking mind.

  “And the best thing of all, kiddo,” Miranda says, gently slapping me on the arm. “We can get the fuck out of here by tomorrow evening. Already got the private plane booked for us.”

  The words should send me into a euphoric state. I can finally be done with all the stress and bullshit I’ve had to deal with since arriving. But it only causes a feeling of dread to settle onto my chest. Is that all I’ve got left?

  “Gavin,” Miranda asks, seeing my expression, a worried look on her face. “Are you all right? Is it your head?”

  The dark feelings that I feel threaten to overwhelm me. I know that I’m anything but. I’m in fucking pain. One in my head. One in my heart. And I know which one hurts the most. With massive effort, I’m able to shove down my feelings and put on a fake smile. “I’m fine.”

  Chapter 25

  Brianna

  I arrive at the hotel feeling shitty and down. Gavin leaving me with that clip of money shouldn’t have made me feel this way. His note did seem sincere, but it bothers me. I don’t like handouts, never have. Add in sex the night before, and I can’t shake this feeling.

  “Bri!” Mindy cries when she sees me walking into the coffee shop, a surprised look on her face. She’s helping what looks like a disgruntled middle-aged woman who is put together quite well. She’s wearing some nice slacks and a good blouse to go with the stuck-up look on her face.

  I’d like to talk with Mindy immediately, but she has a long line of customers. “I’ll be right with you in a minute.”

  I nod my head to her and take a seat in one of the booths, figuring it’ll be ten minutes or more before she can get to me. I place my head on the table feeling like crap, waiting to talk to Mindy. As I sit there, I start smelling the cleaner that’s used to scrub the tables and nausea begins to creep up from my stomach and through the rest of me. It seems half my life is soaked in this shit, and the other half . . .

  I get up from my seat after a few minutes and begin to walk out. One of the reasons I came here is to talk to Mindy, but I’ll be a skeleton by the time she gets through serving the slew of people streaming through the doors. I picked a wrong time. The lunch hour is coming in, and she’s going to be slammed for a while.

  “Bri, wait!” I hear her call behind me. “I have something to tell—”

  Her voice is lost as I move through the doors and out into the lobby. There’s a crowd here as well, people talking in a babble of voices that roll over each other, impossible to keep track of. It looks like most of the production crew for Gavin’s movie. As I pass by, I hear people speaking his name, but I tune them out, intent on doing only one thing.

  Near the elevators, I see Vandenburgh standing with a crew of camera people, smiling his face off while somebody interviews him for what I guess is a behind the scenes clip for the DVD home version of the movie. He’s got his best suit on, and his chest is so puffed up today that he’s nearly straining the buttons as he blathers on to the camera crew.

  I stop in my tracks. He seems busy, but I’m not about to walk by him just in case. If he says anything to me, I’m going to be out of a job with the emotions whirling inside me.

  That leaves only one option, and I let out a groan at the thought. The stairs.

  I make it to the stairwell, pausing to look up at the six flights of hell in front of me before I laboriously begin my climb. Each step is a flex of muscles that
don’t want to be flexed right now. I could take the elevator at the next floor, but I’m actually relishing the pain right now. It gives me something else to focus on.

  By the time I reach the sixth floor and Gavin’s room, my ass and side are on fire. I’m completely out of breath too, a sheen of sweat on my skin.

  I take my pass card out, looking at it in the dim light, and then I pause, thinking. I can get in trouble for this. I’m not on duty. Forget a write-up. Knowing Vandenburgh, he’d probably call the police.

  But I have to do this. Gavin is leaving tomorrow. And this will be my last message to him.

  I stick the card in the door and hear the click, glancing up and down the hallway once before pushing the door open, making as little sound as possible. The room is still unmade, and the faint aroma of his cologne hits me, making me slightly dizzy. It’s so . . . Gavin.

  Walking in further, I see things that bring back memories of my first night with him. There, on the kitchen counter, are two wine glasses. I see the candles, still in their holders on the table. I sway, nearly overcome with emotion.

  I walk over and sit on the bed, thinking about how things could be. What could be. What, in the idle moments afterward, I daydreamed about.

  But I know the truth. And I’ve known it since the moment I met him. My daydreams are just that. Nothing more. The foolish musings of a girl who should have known the difference between a relationship and just getting a good deep dicking.

  Mindy’s right. I did need it. Not for the orgasms, but to learn that hard lesson.

  Taking a deep breath, I walk over to the desk and sit down. I grab the pen and paper and begin writing, but after a moment, I see water drip onto the paper and I wipe at my eyes.

  “No,” I whisper, tearing the sheet off and balling it up. “No. I’m the one in control. I’m the one in charge.”

  I start over, and it takes me two more tries to get the words just right and to make sure my hand doesn’t shake as I write it. The tears are back as I write the last words. There is really no point in stringing this along further.

  A single tear escapes my cheek and rolls down onto the piece of paper. I go to crumple it up and re-write it for a fourth time, but I need to get out of here. I just don’t want him to think I was crying.

  Sighing, I get up from my seat and leave the room—and my heart—behind me.

  Chapter 26

  Gavin

  “We have a few more press junkets to do tomorrow, you know,” Miranda says as she pulls her rented Escalade in front of the Grand Waterways Hotel, “and then you can be free of this place.”

  I’ve been discharged after a few hours. In fact, the sun is still up even though it’s late afternoon. I feel kind of like a mummy with the white bandage wrapped tightly around my forehead, a present from an over-enthusiastic nurse who wanted to make sure I didn’t bleed any more. They gave me a few pills, some of them green and a couple that are pink, and told me everything would be all right and to have the stitches taken out at home in ten days.

  I look out the window, a wistful feeling coming over me as I look around the town. “I don't know,” I say. “I think I’m starting to like it here. It’s been quite charming.”

  Miranda gapes in shock. “Gavin Adams, you sure that head wound isn’t worse than they say? You were practically seething in rage when we first arrived here. I never would’ve imagined you enjoying a place like this. What’s next, ready to go horseback riding?”

  Because I’ve been pampered and spoiled my whole life, I think to myself, I didn't see the real beauty of such a simple place.

  “You’re being overly dramatic,” I say, trying to remain calm. Maybe they gave me a shot or something, but I’m not too bad, actually. “You know, the people around here are nice. They care about one another.”

  Miranda’s looking at me like I’m crazy. “Gavin, you’re the one who practically took my head off for coming here!”

  “Feelings change,” I tell her.

  Miranda shakes her head. “I guess I should be used to this by now. You’ve been acting strange ever since we got here, and now with that head wound, you’ll be speaking another language soon. You’ll be calling me ma’am and using y’all before you know it.” She mutters the last bit under her breath.

  I chuckle. “You might be onto something . . . ma’am.”

  Miranda gives me a startled look, then she sees me grinning and laughs slightly. “Okay, I deserve that one. I’ll see you in the morning, kiddo.”

  “See ya, Miranda.”

  I get out of the car, stretching a little. I'm in pretty good shape, overall, and the paparazzi actually gives me a little bit of space. The worst is just a slight pounding when I finish standing up, but I’ve had worse from football and not even come out of the game.

  Excitement courses through me as I walk through the doors. I was upset about Bri not calling or showing up at the hospital, but after giving it some thought, I figure maybe she hasn’t heard the news. She did have the day off, and maybe she got mad and just sat in her apartment, fuming. In some ways, it’s kind of cute, the image putting a little pep in my step as I wave to the doorman.

  My plan is simple. I’ll go upstairs and take a long, hot shower to clean up. I smell like dust, sweat, iodine, and ass. I’ll drive over to her place and offer her a fitting apology for having to leave. And then I’ll take her out for a date. Anywhere she wants to go.

  On my way through the front door, I’m accosted by several crew members on their way out, their bags in their hands. For the most part, people are glad to see I’m okay, but I know some of their enthusiasm is from being relieved they won't have to work with me again. I don’t blame them. I totally screwed up.

  I’m passing the coffee shop when I see Mindy waving goodbye to a customer, and I feel like I could get information out of her. Maybe she’s swapped a few texts or calls with Brianna, and I can get a gauge on how to apologize better.

  I walk in, giving her a wave. “Hey.”

  “Hey!” Mindy says, perking up. She comes around, reaching for my bandage, and I chuckle, letting her touch it. “I heard about what happened on set. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. It looks a lot worse than it is,” I say, reassuring her. I gesture around, seeing the shop. “How’s things going here?”

  “It’s been hectic. Camera people in and out. The whole crew seems to have stopped in at some point today.”

  “Yeah, a lot of them are leaving. They had flights scheduled out after the last scenes, and I heard they cancelled my bedroom scene, thank God.”

  “So the movie is done? Even with you having the accident?” Mindy asks, and I nod.

  “Yeah. Apparently, Leslie Hart is one big bad ass.” I tell Mindy all about the change of plans with the director, and she smirks.

  “Seriously?” Mindy laughs, playfully punching me in the chest. “That’s crazy. Gonna make you look like . . . well . . .”

  “Tell me about it,” I say, chuckling. I can’t be down with Mindy. Her smile says she knows it’s bullshit too. “Hey,” I say after a moment. “Have you seen Brianna, by any chance?”

  Mindy’s face darkens. “I did, actually. She came in here looking sullen and out of it. I told her I'd be right with her in a minute, but she seemed to get fed up and walked out. I tried to tell her to wait but I was slammed, four customers on my docket.”

  “Do you think she heard about what happened?” I ask, concerned. Did I really piss her off that much?

  Mindy purses her lips. “Everyone here was talking about it. You know, you’re kinda famous, and the hotel was buzzing with the news.”

  Her words feel like a lance in my chest. She had to have known and she didn’t call to check in. “Okay.”

  “You all right?” Mindy says, concerned.

  “Just a little pounding from my headache.” I wave it off. “Look, I’m going to . . .”

  Mindy sucks in a breath, biting her lip and changing the subject. “So, you’re really leaving tom
orrow?”

  It’s hard to say the words, but I’m beginning to feel this was inevitable. “Yeah. Kinda have to.”

  Mindy’s eyes are sad as she crosses her arms over her breasts and sighs. “Bri is going to hate that. Absolutely hate it.”

  Coulda fooled me.

  “She’ll get over it,” I say. “We both will.”

  Mindy shakes her head sadly, giving me a look that says she knows I’m full of shit. “Well, you still owe me an autograph before you leave. If things are gonna fall to pieces, I’ll be damned if I don't get at least a piece of the pie.”

  I chuckle. Bri’s right—it’s almost impossible to get mad at Mindy. “I’ll make sure to bring it in personally tomorrow morning before I leave. I think I have something I can sign better than just a piece of paper for you.”

  Mindy beams. “Thanks.”

  I give her a quick handshake of thanks. “You take care, you hear?”

  I’m trying to be funny, but it just feels slightly sad. I’m going to miss her. She firmly shakes back. “I will.”

  “And . . .” I stop, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Take care of Bri for me, will ya?”

  Mindy nods, trying to smile, but I can see the glitter in her eyes. “Sure thing. I’ve been taking care of that rascal since before she could walk.”

  I smile back. It’s better than the other option. “Aren’t you two the same age?”

  Mindy laughs and wipes at her eye. “Yeah, and?”

  “You’re impossible,” I finally say with a laugh.

  Mindy beams, smiling even as the first tear falls. “I wouldn't have it any other way.”

  I leave the coffee shop, my heart heavy. In the lobby, I’m swarmed by camera men, some crew, and fans. I do my best to engage them all, but I get fed up quickly, pushing my way through at the limits of my patience. When I see Vandenburgh, though, talking animatedly to a crowd, I have to pull him to the side.

  “Yes, Mr. Adams?” Vandenburgh says in his uppity faux accent. “I heard about your accident. I’m glad you’re all right.”