“Your misconceptions?”
He tipped his head to the side and let one corner of his mouth curl. “Let’s just say, my opinion of you changed when I saw you in that bikini too.”
“Trick,” she said and again tried to move out of his arms, but he didn’t let her go. In fact, he tried the puppy-dog eyes on her as his hands slid further up her back to settle between her shoulder blades, beneath her sweater on top of the tank she wore under it. “I don’t want you thinking about sex around me. It makes me uncomfortable.”
“No kidding,” he said and that earned him another pinch. “Paul tore me a new one this morning talking about how we have to have more conflict. The avoiding each other thing isn’t working for them… So, I figured I could keep pushing you until you either have me arrested or you divorce me, or I could come down here and lay it out straight for you.”
So, the apology was a prologue. “Ok, lay it out straight.”
“I’m gonna be a letch. I’m gonna piss you off trying to touch you and tease you. After Paul left, I called my sister and she seemed to think it was a good idea to let you know I’m not actually a pervert.” Lyla let a laugh burst from her lips. “I think I forget that people don’t know that about me. That you don’t know me. And I don’t want you to ever be afraid of me, ok?”
Lyla sighed. “And my role in this is to put you in your place. To argue and object,” she said and he nodded. It was just as possible that Paul had told Trick to talk to her, maybe this wasn’t a genuine apology at all. But she still appreciated being kept apprised of what was going on. Trick seemed to care more about her point of view than the studio did. “What if I want you to stop?”
“Tell me to stop.”
She shook her head. “But if I’m pushing your hands away telling you not to do something, isn’t that me telling you to stop? Would you act that way with a woman in a club?”
The amusement that sprang to his face was confusing. “I’ll be honest, babe, most of the time when I tell a woman I want her, I get her,” he said. When he saw that she wasn’t smiling or even a tiny bit impressed, he cleared his throat. “But, uh, if a woman said no, I’d just move on to the next one… ‘Cept I can’t really do that with you.”
It was sort of a sad existence in a way, and she wondered if he knew that. “You’re worth more than someone will pay for you, Trick.” The flash of his frown told her that he didn’t get it. “You host these shows. You have your fame and your entourage when you go places… It’s all one big machine that you’re at the center of… It’s sort of sad that there’s no emotion involved, no real connections, it’s all just… shallow.”
“That’s the point,” he said. “That’s the personality.”
Which might have worked ten years ago, or more, when he started doing this, but he wasn’t a stupid kid anymore. “Is it ever difficult?” she asked, finding herself more curious about the man behind the mask now that he admitted to wearing it. “Don’t you ever get tired of playing the playa?”
He shrugged. “It’s easy money.” Her brows rose and he exhaled a laugh. “Ok, I get it, how much someone will pay for me, ok.” Taking a deep breath, he sank a bit lower in his slouch, widening his thighs around her. “I don’t screw around as much as the press report. Most of the stories sold by women are bullshit.”
“You never refute them.”
“Why would I? It goes with the image and if the girls need a few bucks, why should I stop them from getting it?”
“Off your reputation,” she said. “They’re using you.”
He nodded. “Yeah, but I used plenty of women when I was trying to build the rep, in the early days. It’s karma, right? The screwing around is kinda tiring now, I mean not the screwing.” He wiggled his brows. “I’ve got plenty of stamina, baby.”
“That’s good to know,” she said almost like a parent being patient with a child.
“Just in case, you know,” he said and winked at her. Yeah, there was a joker in him and a flirt. This level she could handle, it was the other guy who pushed her too far. “But yeah, the stranger in my apartment or waking up in a strange place, the small talk, the ‘I’ll call you’ even though I wouldn’t, yeah, that got old a while ago.”
“And the drinking?”
“I like going out with my boys,” he said. “But we probably only have one heavy night every month or two now. The others, we’re out for an hour and home… Green’s been with Samantha for two years now, she keeps his leash tight.”
“I thought they broke up.”
He nodded. “That’s what the papers think. It works for his rep if the relationship looks rocky, you know? Together, apart, he screws up, she kicks him out… all that is orchestrated. They just put a down payment on a three-bed house, Sam wants kids.”
That was shocking, one of the infamous Threens was settling down. It was a surprise. But it was more of a surprise that Trick was letting her in on the secret. “Why are you trusting me now? Why did you come to me today? You could’ve pulled me aside on honeymoon and—”
“On honeymoon, my head was up my ass,” he said. “I thought I had to play that guy all the time. With the cameras around so much, it’s difficult to know when we have to be ‘on’. I guess I got to my limit today when Paul came to the apartment to yell at me… I mean he was effectively telling me to sexually harass you. That’s fine when we’re in a public place, you know, in a glass room where a woman can scream for help if she really feels afraid. But they’re talking about when we’re home, when it’s just us and a cameraman.”
“They’re setting up fixed cameras in the apartment too,” she said. “There won’t always be someone with us.”
He groaned. “That’s worse.”
“You don’t have to worry; I’m not going to sleep with you.” With a half-smile, he laughed. “I mean, I know you don’t really want to sleep with me. I wasn’t suggesting that you did.”
“All of that aside,” he said, probably sensing that she was getting herself tied in knots. “If there are fixed cameras in there, we won’t know when they’re filming… some of them have lights to show when they’re on, but it’s not always possible to see depending on the angle. They could be watching us at any time.”
So life in the apartment was going to be him constantly trying to touch her up. “I don’t know how long we can do this for,” she murmured.
“Is there something you don’t eat or drink?”
“Something I… why?”
“If there’s a specific food or drink that you don’t like, we can use it as our code word. If it’s mentioned we know the other wants to be alone and we can… I don’t know, go out or go into the bathroom or something.”
“The cameras will be in the bathroom,” she said. “Cliff said there will be one in the shower anyway.”
“ ‘Cause they think we’re going to be doing it in the shower?” he grumbled and she shrugged. “Hell…”
It was sweet that he seemed really frustrated by this, though it was for his own benefit, not hers. “Blueberries,” she said, catching his eye. “I don’t like blueberries.”
“Ok,” he said with a flare of hope. “If we need to get blueberries, then we need to be alone, right? But if you just say the word on its own then I know you’re through, ok? That we’re done.”
“And when one of us walks, we both do?” she asked and he nodded.
It was amazing how much better she felt after just one conversation.
“I’m so glad I called Josie,” he said and some of her excitement wavered. “My sister. I called her after I spoke to Paul. She said the only thing to do was drop the act and be honest. I was worried you’d freak. But you’re really… cool.”
She laughed and looped her arms around his neck. “That is the first time in my life I have ever been called cool. Thank you, Mr. Strickland.”
“No problem, Mrs. Strickland,” he said grinning and lowering his face to let their foreheads touch. “We just have to be friends, ok?” She nodded
against him, making their noses touch. “We be honest with each other and if one does something that the other doesn’t like then we work it out. Compromise.” Closing her eyes, Lyla felt herself relax. It was a start. A foundation of trust was imperative if this was going to work. “By the way.” He leaned back enough that they could make eye contact, but his arms were tight around her ribs now, still under her sweater. “Did I see a cat in the apartment?”
“Risk,” she said, wearing a grin. “He’s my baby.”
“His name is Risk? I love it.”
“Do you like cats?”
“I guess I do now,” he said. “Do I need to do anything with him?”
She shook her head. “I take care of him. It’s been just him and me for five years now, he’ll take some time, but he’ll warm up to you.”
“Five years,” he said. “No boyfriend?”
“Nope,” she said. “I actually like being on my own.”
He laughed. “So, you went from being alone with Risk to twenty-four hour scrutiny? Good plan, babe.” Something caught his eye behind her and his smile immediately dissolved. “Damn,” he murmured and stood up. Keeping her in his arms, he rushed her back against the door, the only fully solid space on that glazed wall. “Let’s not tell anyone about this conversation, ok, babe?”
Well yeah, obviously, but why had he changed so quickly? “What?” she asked, scared by the concern on his face.
“God, I hope you don’t come out of this hating me,” he murmured, but wasn’t really talking to her as he reached up to drive his fingers into her hair.
“Ow, Trick…”
His digits caught on the pins in her hair, and as they got rougher, some fell out leaving her tumbled hair a mess. But she had just raised her hand to her temple when he began to grab handfuls of his own tee-shirt, webbing it with creases. Then he snatched her hand and squeezed her fingers out flat.
“Good, you have nails,” he said and before she could even register what he was doing, he pulled her hand up. While squeezing her fingertips, he forced her nails in to the side of his neck, dragging them around and down to his throat, leaving long angry scratches on him.
“Trick,” she hissed as someone started to bang on the door.
“I’ll see you at home tonight,” he said, unbuttoning his jeans with a yank. Bouncing up and down, he forced them to sag on his hips.
Grabbing the back of her neck, he pulled her forward and kissed her forehead, then he flashed her a smile before straightening his face and urging her aside to open the door. As soon as he did, he took one step then stopped, like he was surprised.
“Trick!”
Paul’s voice echoed and Trip stepped aside to let her see the camera that was pointed in both of their faces. “Uh… just having some, uh… husband and wife time,” Trick said, putting an arm around her and glancing down. “Oh, babe, you have…” He touched a rough fingertip to the corner of her mouth like he was rubbing something away. “We’re good.” Trick took a step forward then stopped and grabbed his belt. “Forgot about that.” Making a big show of pulling up his jeans, he buttoned them and winked right at her in front of the lens that had to be reflecting her shock. “Good talk, babe.”
Kissing her forehead again, he began to back away, nodding and waving at her stunned colleagues. Trick whistled. “Yo, camera! Star’s over here!” He clicked his fingers and raised his arms to point down at himself as he walked backward through the department.
The cameraman turned to scurry after him and Trick winked again. Yeah, he was back to being a prick, at least Paul looked happier, even if her colleagues were all gawping at her. They had to know it was bullshit, she and Trick had been standing there in view for a long time. Except…
Moving in to the room, she looked through the glass to see that where they’d been standing wasn’t fully in view. The room was only part glazed. There would be no way to see what was going on between the lower half of their bodies as she stood with her back to them with him wide-legged on the desk, had he done that on purpose? No, surely not.
But, yeah, she was a wife now, and apparently a slut too.
EIGHT
Being married to Trick was a walk in the park… twenty percent of the time.
At night after the camera crew were gone, they’d started taking long walks in the park, which was somewhere they could be alone. Maybe the only place they could be alone. Occasionally, someone would stop them to ask for Trick’s autograph, but for the most part, they were left alone.
It was nice because on their walks, he was honest with her. They talked about their families, their goals, and their day to day lives, who was annoying them and what their hopes were.
Trick was tactile with her, whether the cameras were on them or not. When they walked through the park, his arm was around her or their hands were linked. It was nice, sort of reassuring to be with him when he was being himself without the bullshit.
After they came home, they’d share a drink together on the couch in a way that would satisfy both their need to act for the camera and not push each other too far at the end of a long day. So they’d hold hands, or he’d pull her into his lap. Physical contact was becoming easier because she was getting used to trusting him to perform without threatening her safety.
He always pestered her to come into his bedroom and always tried to kiss her goodnight, but it was for show. They’d become friends. Fast friends through necessity, but close friends through choice and she did trust him. If he was truly like his persona he would be sneaking into her bedroom at night or finding excuses to walk in on her in the bathroom—he did neither. He didn’t prank her or ping her bra or act like the immature idiot he portrayed, most of the time, when they were in the apartment together, they just let each other be.
Trick had learned how to make it look like he was doing far more to her than he really was and her baggy clothes were a great cover. He could put his hands up her top and contort the fabric to make it look like he was groping her breasts or her ass, when in truth, he was not touching her at all or just grazing the tank top she wore beneath.
He still made shocking innuendos at every given moment and often embarrassed her in public with his outrageous comments and behavior, but she understood why he did that.
They’d been married for two weeks now and the first episode was airing tonight. A screening had been arranged at the Prem studios. She and Trick were in prime position on a couch in the center of the front row. But there were about twenty other people in the room behind them, mostly from production, but a couple of their colleagues too.
Lyla hadn’t considered how she’d feel about watching herself on TV, but it was an odd experience. They were watching the show in time with everyone else in the nation who’d tuned in. There was a blurb at the start, explaining the premise and there was a brief title screen. A narrator spoke, and there was some footage of the interviews that had been done before the wedding, before they’d ever met.
Used to his persona now, she wasn’t shocked to hear Trick’s misogynistic comments, but Trick picked up her hand and gave it a squeeze so she looked at him and smiled when she saw that he was worried. He pulled her against him and Lyla didn’t mind resting her head on his chest when he put his arm around her and laced their loose fingers together.
Given how tactile he was, Lyla was used to him doing things like this, so didn’t think much of the friendly gesture. They had to get close every night when they curled on the couch together, and she was accustomed to letting him take the lead.
The footage of the wedding itself made her smile, not because it was a particularly beautiful ceremony, although it did play lovely on screen with the added music and long shots of them apparently staring into each other’s eyes. Yeah, that didn’t happen; but it looked nice. It made her smile because it was so quick. It had taken them most of the day to get a shot of her walking down the aisle and it only took twenty seconds on screen.
When they got to the kiss-the-bride moment on screen
, the turning of her head looked really abrupt. But as she winced in real time, Trick pressed his lips into her knuckles. He was reassuring her; that was sweet of him.
They were two weeks beyond that wedding ceremony now, and they hadn’t kissed properly, but, why would they? He’d taken to kissing her forehead to say hello and goodbye. It was a nice, friendly gesture and she appreciated it.
Lyla had often wondered if he thought of her as a brother would a sister. He had a sister, so he had experience, and she often felt protected around him. Trick was always reassuring her, whenever he could, and he was respectful… when he was allowed to be.
The rest of the wedding reception was odd to watch. The pictures were little more than a glance on the screen. Their exchange in the sunroom was played, as was their first dance, where the highlight of the footage was her shoving Trick’s hands away and storming off the dancefloor. They’d edited that well.
Then came the part of the night when Trick and his buddies were talking about cutting out. There was a big palaver about recruiting others and gathering up a group discreetly, then there seemed to be a lot of giggling and theatrics about not telling the bride they were stealing the groom, who was completely in on the subterfuge.
In the screening room, Trick’s grip on her hand got tighter, he was probably worried about her freaking out, but, why would she? They didn’t even know each other then and she’d come to learn how big his persona needed to be, how the character he played was just that, a character. It just so happened that the joke on the wedding night was her.
Lyla couldn’t have begun to know how much.
Trick’s posse went to one club, then another. The group got bigger, thinned out, grew, got smaller, then bigger again as the number of hangers-on fluctuated. They went to another club, and another. At the first establishment, there was a big deal made of it being his wedding night and that his bride wasn’t giving it up for him.
Getting Tricky Page 8