I finish off my beer to give me courage. “I’m having dreams again. They stopped when I was with Stella for some reason, but now they’re back.”
Dallas sits back to look at me with hooded eyes. “Shit, brother. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s embarrassing. I’m a twenty-seven-year-old man having nightmares.”
“There’s nothing embarrassing about PTSD, Hudson. Not one damn thing. You want to talk about it?”
I shake my head. “I’ll get through it. Just know I’ve got your back, and I know you’ve got mine. No matter what bullshit life throws us, we’ve got this.”
Thirty-Seven
Stella
I grab my phone from my lap.
“Should I text him?” I stammer out. “I should text him.”
I’m in New York for an award show. Not only is our film nominated in three categories, but Eli and I are also up for best couple.
Ha. Best couple.
My stomach has been in knots all day. Per the contract that is ruining my life, I have to walk the red carpet with Eli and act like we’re in love. Even with all the shit that went down, the pictures of Hudson and I being leaked, the production company still didn’t grow enough balls and put out a statement that we’re not an item. We still have to partake in this charade.
Nominated or not, I’m not looking forward to this.
Each day I’m locked into this disaster proves that getting the role wasn’t worth it. I turned my back on someone who made me his top priority. No one else has ever done that for me.
And in return, I chose that contract over him.
Joan, my makeup artist, grabs my chin and holds it in place. “What you should do is stay still before he gets a call from a one-eyed chick because she can’t stop moving while I finish her eyeliner.”
“No, you shouldn’t text him,” Willow says in a disapproving tone. “You should call him. Texting is cowardly in situations like this. Words can be misinterpreted. Texting is for late night booty calls or telling your asshole ex he was the worst sex of your life. Not for confessing your love and apologizing. Put your big girl panties on. Hit his name. Tell him how you feel before it’s too late and he finds some cowgirl out there with honeysuckle straw hanging out of her mouth.”
I roll my eyes at her. “How can you sound so smart yet like an asshole at the same time?”
She grins. “It’s one of my many talents.”
I’ve been battling with myself on how to fix things with Hudson—if that’s even possible.
Is it too late?
I know one thing for sure. I can’t live this fake life anymore.
I broke down last night. I missed him. My heart ached to hear his voice. My skin missed his touch. I decided I needed to find a way to make everything right with him. The problem is how can I do that?
I sigh, my shoulders slightly slumping, which results in another annoyed look from Joan. “What if he shuts me down? He thinks I’m a cheater, a liar.”
“Your behavior and silence make you look like one,” Willow argues.
“I want to give you a dirty look right now, but Joan will kick my ass.”
“Damn straight,” Joan says, adding glue to a false eyelash.
“Call him,” Willow demands. “Try. You reaching out will convince him you’re not any of those things.”
I scoff. “Like it’s that easy.”
“It really is.”
I take a deep breath of courage before hitting his name and then frown at the response. I end the call. “Too late. He changed his number.”
“Dickhead,” Willow says. “How do you know?”
“That’s what the auto recording just told me,” I reply.
Willow points to my phone. “Text Dallas and ask him to give you his new number.”
“Isn’t that stalkerish?”
“We all stalk people when we’re in love.”
Joan takes a break from me to look over at Willow. “Pretty sure stalking is illegal whether you’re in love with the person or not.”
I nod in agreement. “We need to find you a boyfriend stat before you end up in the looney bin.”
“Says the girl who doesn’t have one either.”
I open my mouth for my next smartass comment but stop when I hear the sound of the suite’s front door slamming shut.
“Fuck that shit!” an irate voice yells.
Eli comes storming into the room with Tillie on his heels, fury blazing off the both of them. His manager, a quiet guy I’ve never even had a conversation with, walks in a few seconds later, worry clear on his face.
“Eli,” Tillie says cautiously.
He points to me with a snarl. “I’m not walking the red carpet with her. I refuse to look like a desperate man okay with his girlfriend fucking around on him. This dating deal is over. I played my part. Paid my dues. You want someone to sue, sue her ass. She’s the one who got busted fucking another dude.”
I can’t blame Eli for his animosity. I would’ve reacted the same way if photos leaked of him with another girl. No one wants to look like the idiot that stayed with the cheater.
“What if I release a statement denying her affair with the bodyguard?” his manager asks. “They’re friends. That’s it. The picture was taken at a weird angle.”
Willow snorts.
Joan laughs.
“People aren’t fucking dumb,” Eli snarls. “Any angle will show them sucking each other’s faces off and fucking.”
“Why do you even care?” I ask. “You got what you wanted. You can go out and have your fun now.”
“No, I fucking can’t.” He tilts his head toward Tillie. “This bitch …”
My mouth, along with everyone else’s except for Tillie’s, falls open. Eli is as over it as I am. Thankfully, he’s doing the talking for me. Tillie doesn’t seem phased at his name-calling. I’m sure it’s not the first time she’s been called that and worse.
“She’s threatening to sue me if we don’t continue this lie,” Eli goes on. “Not happening. I will jump my ass on stage and tell everyone the truth.”
“And risk your reputation?” Tillie asks.
“New plan. We’ll tell them you decided to go your separate ways,” Eli’s manager says. “No one needs to know about the agreement.”
“How about we don’t go?” I suggest.
“Not happening,” Tillie says. “Nice try, though.”
I’m still on her shit list and also positive she wants to suffocate me in my sleep.
“See what you caused because you had to go screw around with the bodyguard, for God’s sake,” Tillie says to me before leaving the room.
I flip her the bird.
“That chick needs some dick herself,” Joan comments. “She’s in one hell of a bad mood.” She brings her attention back to me. “You better not ruin this face I spent thirty minutes working on with tears.”
I look up in the mirror and realize I’m crying. “Shit,” I say, wiping away tears.
“I hope you’re not shedding tears over that bitch,” Joan goes on. “She isn’t shit. Don’t let her control your life. If you like a guy, be with him. Why is that such a problem?”
Willow hands me a tissue. “That’s what I’ve been saying. What are you going to do?”
Tillie being mad isn’t why I’m upset. These are tears of regret for letting other people control my life and causing me to lose someone I love.
“I hope it’s to stop fucking crying,” Joan says. “Think about something happy before you ruin my artwork over here. It’s disrespectful.”
I roll my eyes. “Happiness isn’t something I’m capable of right now.”
“How can we help?” Willow asks.
“Bring him back to me,” I answer.”
She throws a makeup brush at me. “Then what the hell are you doing, Stella? I can’t fix that. Joan can’t fix that. You have to do something. You have to go to him.”
“I have responsibilities here that I can’t walk away fro
m,” I argue.
“Uh … yes you can.”
“Don’t be funny,” I mutter.
“I’m being honest. You have no obligations right now. You aren’t working on a project. You have nothing holding you back. Nothing. You have enough money that you could retire tomorrow if you wanted to. Take time off. Find yourself.”
“I’m still obligated to go to this stupid ass award show.”
“What if I tell them you got food poisoning and puked all over your dress?” She jumps up from her chair like it’s the best idea she’s ever had. “You can’t show up naked.”
I shake my head. “That’s not happening. I’ll go to the awards show and figure out what to do with my life when it’s over.”
Thirty-Eight
Hudson
I peek up from furniture shopping on my laptop when I see Dallas walk into his guest bedroom. I’m still crashing here until I move into the house I signed a lease for yesterday. Starting over will be a bitch but asking Cameron for my furniture back isn’t happening.
I shudder, thinking about the fact she brought another man into our bed.
Thank fuck I dodged that bullet.
“You. Me. Guys night in,” he declares. “We’ve been some depressing ass dudes on the brink of singing Taylor Swift songs if we don’t get our shit together. Lauren kidnapped Maven for the night, so we can drink all the alcohol we want.”
“What’s wrong with Taylor Swift?” I question. “Shake It Off is a good jam. Maven is making me a fan.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Oh hell, he’s growing a heart again.”
I flip him off. “Guys night sounds good to me.”
I’m up for anything that’ll keep my thoughts off Stella. I’ve been trying to shake her off by staying busy, but it’s not working. It’s worse at night. I stay up thinking about her, and then when I finally do dose off, I’m woken up by another flashback.
Shit sucks.
Even though our time was limited, there’s something about her I can’t let go.
We were both lost and fell right into each other’s laps at the time we needed somebody the most.
Love can build up over time, or it can tear into you like a storm—sweeping you off your feet, and you have no idea what happened. You have no time to prepare yourself for surviving, or for the devastation of heartache. That’s what I experienced with Stella. I fell for her and crashed into her waves before I realized I even stepped outside.
I never believed in instant love until her.
I never thought I’d crave someone I’d only known a month until her.
I was brought up with the notion that love assembles with time. That’s what happened with Cameron, with my parents, with everyone I know. But that wasn’t the case with Stella. Love can assemble with conversations, with sweet gestures, with making the other person feel as though they’re perfect in your eyes.
And fuck do I miss her … miss that rush.
And the world isn’t helping me move on.
She’s everywhere.
Every fucking where.
In real life.
In my dreams.
Even Maven is finding it crucial to watch reruns of her show that are now streaming on Netflix.
New rule: no dating anyone who’s on TV.
I walk into the living room with a beer in each hand and plop down on the couch before handing one to Dallas.
I’m making myself comfortable when he changes the channel.
“What the hell, dude?” I snap. I’m not pissed that he changed our regular programming of sports. It’s what he turned it to. “Guys night involves drinking and staying the fuck out of our feelings. Next channel please.”
Seeing her will tear me apart, and I sure as fuck won’t put myself through hell if I don’t have to.
He looks at me from the other side of the sectional while trying his best to look innocent. “What are you talking about? I’ve been waiting for this all week.”
I throw my arm out toward the TV and narrow my eyes. “You’ve been counting down the days to watch The Teen Choice Awards?”
He nods.
“Something you’ve never taken an interest in before. Not even when we were teens.”
“It looked good. Maven asked me to watch to tell her everything when she gets home tomorrow.”
“Fucking liar. What it looks like is you setting me up.”
He grins. “You have two options. The Little Mermaid or this.”
“The fuck? Last time I checked you had every single damn channel known to man.”
“True, but I’m hosting guys’ night, which means I get to choose what we watch.”
I settle back in my seat. “Screw it. Whatever your plan is, it’s not going to work.”
He holds up his hands. “No plan here.”
I stop myself from calling him out on his shit. He’s having fun with this, something he hasn’t had in a long ass time.
Might as well give him what he wants.
Thirty-Nine
Stella
My heart is close to bolting out of my chest.
I’ve never done anything like this before.
This decision could obliterate my career … even more than it has since the whole Eli-Cheat-Gate. It’s not like it’s at its highest point right now anyway.
Eli’s shoulder bumps into mine when he leans in from his seat to bitterly whisper in my ear. “We better not win this shit. You can bet my ass I won’t go up there and accept that award with you.”
Tillie eventually convinced, well threatened, Eli to come. He drew the line at walking the red carpet or participating in any interviews, and surprisingly, she agreed. And even more surprisingly, she allowed me to do the same, which most likely only happened because she didn’t want me to be interrogated.
News has been slow these past few weeks, so our so-called cheating scandal has been a shit-storm with Eli being the brunt of the jokes. Humiliation is destructive to a career in this industry. Tabloids and the internet will never let you live it down.
We’re in the front row of the award show that’s thirty minutes in. Thirty minutes too long. I can’t wait to get out of here. I run my hand down my dress when the presenter starts naming the nominees in our category. Winning the award isn’t what’s important to me.
It’s the opportunity I want.
The moment.
I lose my chance if we lose.
Unless I pull a Kanye.
The presenter, a girl I’ve worked with on my show before, opens the envelope and squeals before screaming our names for best movie couple.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Eli mutters, covering his face to hide his aggravation from the cameras.
He stands up, which goes against what he said he’d do, but doesn’t bother helping me out of my chair. His manners do come through when he waits for me before going on stage. He helps me up the stairs, so I don’t bust my ass in my eight-inch heels.
The crowd is clapping.
Fan girls who post Instagram photos of us hash tagged #relationshipgoals are squealing in excitement.
Relationship goals.
Ha. We’re nothing but phonies.
Eli stands back, his arms crossed, and gestures for me to go ahead. All eyes are on me when I stand in front of the microphone. My stomach knots so tight it physically hurts, but I have to do this. I close my eyes and take a calming breath before I let my confession slip through my lips.
“I want to start off by thanking our fans who watched the movie and voted for us,” I begin. “You have given me so much in my career—showed me compassion and honesty. I’ve let you down by not giving that honesty back.”
Eli’s chest hits my back as his lips go to my ear. “Don’t fucking do it, Stella,” he hisses, grabbing my elbow.
I jerk myself from his hold and go on. “For as long as I can remember, there’s been speculation about my life. I grew up in the public eye—everyone witnessing the best and worst times of my life—
whether I liked it or not. The negative stories, they hurt, and I faked who I was to prevent them. Acceptance is all I wanted in this merciless industry. I put other people’s approval before my happiness and believed my happiness and believed that approval was dependent on what I was wearing … who my friends were … who I was dating.” I start to choke up but force myself to push through, even when the tears start. “I wasn’t following my heart.” My hand presses to my chest. “I’d like to apologize for not doing that, for being dishonest to myself and you. I never cheated on Eli. We were never a couple.”
Eli is walking off the stage when I glance back to silently apologize.
I inhale another breath before continuing. I’ve already started digging my grave—might as well jump in. “I can’t continue choosing my career, my reputation, over my happiness. You’ll never get the best of me if I do. I was hurting myself and the man I love to make everyone else happy. I can’t do that anymore.”
Jaws are dropping, and phones are up, recording me, no doubt. My vision grows blurry from my tears.
I’ve never felt so free.
I swipe a fresh tear from my face as applause erupts around the room.
I whip around in my heels, and the cameras follow me as I flee backstage where Willow is waiting.
“I am so fucking proud of you,” she squeals. “Now, we have to get you out of here before the rest of the mob shows up. I have a car waiting for us.”
“Thank you,” I breathe out.
My new bodyguard follows me through the hallway while I keep my head down and ignore the camera flashes and questions about my relationship with Hudson. A rush of cold air and relief hits me when we walk out the exit doors.
Willow shoves my phone in my hand as soon as we slide into the backseat of the SUV with tinted windows.
Just a Fling Page 19