by Lauren Rowe
“Will you let me know how everything goes today?” I asked, stroking his forearm. “I’m so excited. I want to hear every little detail.”
“Of course,” Keane replied, flashing me his dimples. But his smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“I’ll be waiting by the phone all day,” I said. “So let me know how things are going the minute you have a chance, okay? I won’t be able to breathe until I hear from you—even if it’s just a brief text to say things went okay.”
“Sure thing,” he said. He got up from the table. “Bye, sweet thing.”
“Bye, sugar buns,” I replied, my heart palpitating wildly. “Knock ’em dead.”
“That’s always the plan, baby doll.”
He winked, kissed me on the cheek, and walked out of the apartment in full swagger-mode... and that was the last I’ve heard from him all frickin’ day.
I look up at the ceiling fan in my bedroom, flapping my lips together in exasperation. Where the hell is he? And why the hell hasn’t he texted me even once? Has it truly been impossible all day long to text me, even once, to say “First audition done! Went great!” or maybe “One down three to go! Going great!” I just don’t understand why he hasn’t texted me, even once.
I’m tempted to creep over to Dax’s place to see if Keane’s back, but I’ve already done that twice today and I don’t think having a restraining order slapped against my ass is the best way to kick off my new life in California.
“Shoot,” I say out loud. I grab my phone and tap out a quick text to Keane: “Was hoping to hear from you. Been sitting by the phone all day. Going to sleep now. Left the front door unlocked in case you wanna sneak into my room and maul me when you come back. Hint hint. If for some reason you don’t want to have amazing sex with a crazy, ravenous, savage beast tonight, at least come say hi and tell me about your auditions, okay? I’m dying to hear. I know they loved you—but I just can’t wait to hear about it from you.” I pause, my heart panging. “And if for some reason you’re too tired to come to my room at all,” I continue writing, my cheeks flushing, “then do me a favor and lock my front door so it doesn’t remain unlocked all night. (Hannah’s at Henn’s.) Hope to see you soon. I miss you. Hope you had a great day. XO M.” I attach a heart emoji to the end of my message and place my finger over the “send” button, reading and re-reading the message before pressing down. Damn. This text is coming off as pathetic and lonely and just plain desperate. Which is appropriate, actually, because I am pathetic and lonely and just plain desperate. Fuck it. I take a deep breath and press send.
Aw, shoot. The minute the text is gone, panic seizes me. Why’d I send that? Do I have no self-respect at all? That text was the equivalent of baking Keane a basketful of brownies at three in the morning! Shit!
I rub my eyes, a lump rising in my throat.
I’m clearly losing my mind. I’m pulling on my crazy-pants and zipping those bad boys right up.
Damn it!
I just wish I knew what Keane is thinking.
And where he is.
And if he’s okay.
I’m ninety-nine percent sure he’s perfectly healthy and off somewhere thinking up ways to tell me this thing between us is over, despite the fact that he hasn’t left Los Angeles yet, but what if I’m wrong? What if he’s hurt? Or what if, by some miracle, he’s feeling exactly the way I am, but he’s just too afraid to say it first?
I sigh.
No, I’m being naïve. Keane’s not feeling what I am. He’s been clear from the start he doesn’t want a relationship. To the contrary, he wants nothing but exactly what I agreed to give him: friendship and no-strings sex. Two things I’ve unfortunately just figured out don’t actually go together. At least not for me.
So there you go.
I’m about to get my heart broken. It’s as simple as that. I’m now officially Lana Del Rey.
With a heavy heart, I swipe into the videos on my phone and look at the short clip I took of Keane during our road trip, when he was fast asleep in the passenger seat of my car. I look at Keane’s perfectly symmetrical face. The little indentation in his chin. The long lashes shooting out of his closed eyelids. His stunningly beautiful lips. And I’m suddenly bone-certain I’ll never kiss those beautiful lips again, never feel them between my legs, giving me pleasure like I’ve never experienced before.
I sigh.
Even though I know I’m about to torture my aching heart, I swipe out of the video of Keane sleeping and click on the one of Keane telling his handsome and happy lads what to do in an argument with a woman (the second version where I’d instructed Keane to think the word “Maddy” every time he said “your girl” or “chick”).
“Hey guys,” Keane says in the video. “Today I’m gonna tell you what to do if you find yourself in an argument with a chick. It’s pretty simple actually: concede. Look, let’s face it, your girl’s a helluva lot smarter than you are, not to mention she’s the sweetest girl who ever lived, so you might as well save yourself a ton of time and energy and just admit when you’re being a dick. Just say, ‘Oops. I’m being a dick. Sorry.’ Otherwise, you’re gonna miss out on valuable time you could have spent hanging out with her and having a blast.” He winks. “You’re welcome.”
I exhale loudly in my quiet room and put my phone down, forcing down my emotions. Well, it was amazing while it lasted. At least I got to feel like the coolest, sexiest, most beautiful girl in the world for a few magical days of my life.
With a heavy sigh, I reach over to my nightstand, turn out the light, and try my damnedest to drift off to sleep, despite the aching of my heart.
Chapter 48
Keane
Tuesday, 10:48 p.m.
When I enter Dax’s apartment, he’s on the couch with Fish and Colin, smoking a joint and watching some Tom Hardy movie. I sit down and Fish wordlessly hands me the joint.
“Thanks,” I say. I suck on it and pass it to Colin.
“How’d your auditions go?” Dax asks.
“Pretty good, I think. But who knows?”
“So does that mean you’re gonna move down here or what?”
“I dunno. We’ll see.”
“Why not?” Dax says. “You’re on the verge of super-stardom, Peen Star, I can feel it in my bones. Take a flying leap, dude.”
“Meh, I’m not counting on anything, brah. A guy can’t feel disappointment if he has no expectations.”
“Yeah, but he can’t feel excitement that way, either.”
I shrug. “I never count on anything ’til it’s written in ink. Today went pretty well, I think, but everything’s still in the callback stage. I never count on anything ’til the money’s in the bank.”
“Since when? Peen, you’re the guy who buys a lottery ticket and starts planning the party celebrating your win before you’ve even put your ticket in your pocket.”
“Not anymore, I’m not.”
“Since when?”
“Since I was just about to get called up to the bigs and everything went to shit on me.” I rub my elbow absentmindedly.
Dax sighs.
“Nowadays I’m a new man, son. A machine. I count on nothing. Look forward to nothing. Expect nothing. That way, I don’t feel like shit when nothing happens.”
“Jesus, Keane, that’s a shitty way to live.”
“Works for me.”
“Okay, well, have fun with that. Sounds super awesome. Just know the couch is yours whenever you decide to stop being such a fucking downer and take a leap of faith.”
“Thanks.”
“Why’d you take so long getting back tonight? I thought you’d be home hours ago.”
I lean back onto the couch and spread my legs wide, suddenly feeling exhausted. “The last meeting of the day was with this producer for a reality show about male strippers,” I say. “They’re looking for six guys with ‘dazzling personalities and rock-hard abs.’”
“Oh, hello, Ball Peen Hammer,” Dax says.
“The producer seem
s to think so. So, yeah, things were going super well in the meeting and it was starting to get late, so she was like, ‘Hey, let’s grab some dinner and drinks and keep talking.’ So that’s where I’ve been for the past three fucking hours.” I rub my face, totally spent.
“Female producer?” Dax asks.
“Yeah.”
“You think she was hitting on you?”
“Oh, fuck yeah.”
“You take her up on it?”
“Of course not. I acted like I didn’t realize what she wanted. Just pretended to be a total dumbshit like I always do. Worked like a charm.”
“Good thinking,” Dax says. “Don’t wanna burn that bridge. You never know.”
“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” I say.
“That’s so fucking gross, though,” Dax says.
“Yeah. I was pretty skeeved out.”
“Why?” Fish asks, looking stoned outta his mind. “She wasn’t hot?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “I’m not gonna fuck some producer to get a job, hot or not. She coulda looked like Kate Upton and I woulda turned her down.”
“Oh, fuck. She looked like Kate Upton?” Fish asks.
“No,” I say. “Not even the tiniest bit.”
We all laugh.
“Well, then, you can’t know for sure what you would have done if she did,” Fish says, his tone indignant.
“Touché, Fish Taco,” I say.
“Jeez. Welcome to Hollywood, huh?” Dax says, taking another hit off the joint and handing it to Colin.
“Yeah,” I say. “Nice town.”
Colin takes a hit and offers me the joint. “Here, Peenie Baby. Numb the pain of the casting couch.”
I wave him off. “I’m good. I’ve got a big audition tomorrow morning before I head to the airport. I gotta be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when the sun comes up, son.”
“What’s the audition?” Colin asks.
“Feature film. They’re doing a black version of Magic Mike—a total rip-off—and they’re gonna have one token white guy on the stripper-brigade.”
“Is it a speaking part?” Dax asks.
“Yeah, I’d have a couple lines. Plus, I’d be in the background a ton and in some group dance numbers. But my agent said it’s the kind of thing if I impress the director enough, he might throw me a couple more lines or give me a little extra screen time. Never know what it might turn into. Either way, I’d get my SAG card out of it. Good opportunity for a first-timer, for sure.”
“What’s a SAG card?” Colin asks.
“Screen Actors Guild. My agent says it’s hard to get. I guess it’s a big deal.”
“Cool,” Dax says. “So what’d everyone think about your blue hair today?”
“They liked it, believe it or not, especially when I told them why I did it.”
Dax laughs. “Only you could turn that shit into a positive.”
“Just part of my dazzling personality,” I say, flashing my dimples. “They think the hair is part of my steez.”
We all laugh.
“You wanna hear something crazy?” I say. “Those Ball Peen Hammer videos I showed you—the ones Maddy did? That’s why all these casting directors wanna see me. They think I’m some sort of quasi-celebrity or whatever.”
“Emperor’s New Clothes, man,” Dax says, taking another hit on the joint. “Maddy totally styled you, bro.”
“She sure did,” I say. “She’s amazing.” My chest tightens.
Maddy.
I’ve been so focused all day on being Ball Peen Hammer with extra sauce, schmoozing and charming and winning people over, I haven’t had a chance to text her even once. No, wait, that’s not true. That’s just the bullshit story I tell myself so I won’t feel like a total prick for ignoring her. The truth is I didn’t text Maddy today because I’m a prick and a coward and Sunday night freaked me the fuck out.
“Hey, you guys got any beer?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Colin says. He gets up and shuffles to the kitchen.
“Maddy was over here looking for you earlier,” Dax says.
My heart squeezes in my chest. “Yeah, I gotta talk to her. We got some unfinished business.”
“She looked pretty bummed,” Dax says. “She was asking if I’d heard from you about your auditions.”
I bite my lip. God, I’m such a prick. Why haven’t I been straight with her? I should have let her down easy on Monday morning, straight up, rather than stringing her along for the past two days like a complete asshole.
“You fucked her, didn’t you?” Dax says evenly.
Colin hands me a beer.
“Thanks,” I say. I look at Dax. “Yeah. Sorry, Baby Brother. I tried to adhere to your ridiculous ‘off-limits’ designation as long as humanly possible, but it just couldn’t be avoided. Can’t escape gravity, son.”
“You’re such an asshole, Keane,” Dax says, swigging his beer. “I declared her ‘off-limits.’ That shit would have meant something to a man of actual character.”
“Fuck you, I’ve got character coming out my asshole, douchebag. No sane man woulda heeded your off-limits designation—it was total chicken shit.”
“It wasn’t chicken shit. The girl lives across the hall from me. Now I gotta sit here and watch her poke stickpins into her blue-haired voodoo doll for the next six months ’til we go on tour. Plus, Hannah’s gonna be pissed as hell at me, which means there’s gonna be shade from Henn, too.”
“You’re high,” I say.
“Yeah, actually.”
“No, I mean, you’re on crack. First off, nobody in their right mind would blame you for your brother being a total dick. The fact that you even think that reveals the depth of your egomania to an alarming degree and I think you should get that checked by a psychiatrist. You might have a legit personality disorder, brah. And second off, I know for a fact Hannah doesn’t give a shit what Maddy and I do. Why do you think she’s been sleeping at Henn’s since I got here?”
“Seriously?”
“Doy-burgers, dumbshit. And, third off, Reed himself told me he doesn’t give a shit about me fucking Maddy, so quit thinking you’re the center of the universe. Nobody gives a shit about you but you, Rock Star. Get over yourself.”
“What do you mean Reed told you... Oh my fuck, Keane. You talked to Reed about Maddy?”
“Yeah. He said he couldn’t give two shits if I fucked her.”
“Oh fuck. Please tell me you’re joking about telling Reed.”
“Not joking. I talked to him right before he told you guys about the tour.” I swig my beer. “I was like, ‘Hey, if I were to fuck the little sister of your best friend’s girlfriend—and then if I were to screw things up and make her hate my guts—would you give a shit?’ He thought I was insane, I’m pretty sure.” I laugh.
Colin chuckles. “You’re hilarious, Peenie. I love you, man.”
“I love you, too, Colin,” I say. “I’ve always loved you the most of all my brother’s friends, you know that, right?”
“Hey,” Fish says. “Fuck you.”
“See? That’s exactly why I don’t love you the most, Fish Head. You’re just plain mean.”
Fish flips me off.
“Peen’s not hilarious,” Dax says. “He’s penile. That’s why we call him Peen. Goddammit, Keane. You’re such an idiot, you know that? Why’d you say that shit to Reed? Now he’s gonna think I’m a paranoid head case.”
“Which you are.” I swig my beer. “Whatever, Rock Star. Don’t stress it. The guy loves you. Just don’t fuck his mom, sister, or girlfriend—or anyone he’s even remotely thinking about fucking—and you’ll be golden all the livelong day.”
Dax shakes his head and sips his beer. “I’m too stoned to get pissed at you at the moment, but I’m gonna get super-duper pissed at you tomorrow, I swear to God. Might even pummel your face.”
“Fine,” I say. “Whatever. Pummel away. Let the whole world pummel my face, I don’t give a shit. Life already whacked me across the f
ace with a two-by-four and knocked out half my teeth. Take your best shot.”
Colin pats me on the back. “Poor Peenie Baby.”
“Fuck Peen,” Dax says.
“Aw, be nice to your big brother,” Fish says, sipping his beer. “He looks sad.”
Dax rolls his eyes. “I don’t care. He’s a twat.”
“I thought he was a penis,” Colin says. “Make up your mind—is Peen a twat or a penis?”
“Hey, maybe he’s a hermaphrodite,” Fish says, pronouncing that last word with great care, and everyone but me laughs their asses off.
“What’s going on, bro?” Dax asks when it’s clear I’m not amused.
I don’t reply.
“Is it Maddy?” Dax asks.
I nod.
“You really like her, don’t you?”
I nod again.
“Well, that’s good, right?”
“No. It’s terrible.”
“How could that possibly be terrible?”
“Because we have this amazing... connection. Like, oh my God. Incredible.” I roll my eyes. “But I can’t handle it. It’s too intense. Too much, too soon. She’s all-in, brah. She’s... really attached. I can’t deliver what she wants. I got a life to live and flipping out over some smart girl who lives in L.A. doesn’t fit in with the game plan.”
Dax scoffs. “You’re so fucking predictable. This is exactly what I said would happen.”
“No, it’s not,” I say. “You thought I’d fuck her for sport and piss her off and make her hate me. But I’m not fucking her for sport, I swear to God. I really like her, Dax.” I feel my cheeks blushing crimson. “I’m making her hate me, yeah, but not the way you thought I would.”
Dax exhales. “You like her, Peenie. That’s a good thing. Maybe it’s a sign you’re ready to move on from all the doom and gloom and pull your head out of your ass, you know? Maybe it’s time for you to stop acting like a total douche now.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m handsome and happy all the livelong day. What I’m saying is I’m too happy with my life to change a goddamned thing about it.”
Dax shakes his head. “Keane, she’s obviously into you. You should have seen her when she came in here asking about you. You’re sure you’re not feeling it with her?”