Playboy

by Logan Chance

  “It’s not like that.”

  She nods and gives me a little grin. For some reason, I feel she doesn’t believe me. Which is fine, I don’t believe me either.

  “Yes Mom,” I say into the phone.

  I inwardly cringe when I tell my mother about moving in with Jonah. She loves Jonah, but she always stands firm to her affirmation—don’t give up your dreams for a man. Because when it ends, you’re left with nothing.

  Mom knows all about my teenage crush. She listened to me cry on the long drive about leaving everyone behind. “Friend him on Facebook,” she said. Obviously, I didn’t. Mainly because he wasn’t on Facebook. I get her motherly concern, though. My mom was on her way to Television stardom. Fame and celebrity status was at her fingertips, until she met my father. She gave it all up and claimed to not regret any of it.

  “What are you doing today?” she asks.

  I’m on my way to meet my father for lunch, and I try not to bring him up to her.

  “Not much,” I hedge, “lunch and then heading into work for a few hours.”

  She fills me in on the small-town Texas gossip, and before we hang up she says, “Think with your head, not your heart. I love you.”

  Sage advice. Easier said than done.

  “Hey, Dad,” I say, kissing his cheek as I enter the restaurant.

  “Hey, sweetpea.” He kisses my cheek.

  We are seated promptly, and I grin as he orders a double Bourbon neat.

  “How are the auditions going?”

  I roll my eyes. “Not so great. But, I’m sure it’ll pick up.”

  “Don’t lose faith. Declan says you’re working as a model?” His forehead crinkles, slightly.

  “Yeah, and I think my luck is already changing. I have it all pictured in my head. My big discovery.”

  “You’ve always been a dreamer.” He chuckles. “It’s good to have you back.”

  “I planned on coming back to LA right after high school, but with Grandma getting sick, I just couldn’t leave.”

  My father reaches his hand across the table. “Don’t feel bad for that. Your mother appreciated you being there and helping.”

  “I know. And it gave me time to really understand the art of acting.”

  He nods. “Chelsea, I have every confidence in the world you’re going to make it. You want to know why?”

  “Yeah,” I mumble.

  “Because you don’t give up. And you have the talent. You were born with it.” He smiles, and the crow’s feet surrounding his eyes deepen.

  “I just imagined it would be different.” I can’t count how many times the rejection has made me question my dream. But, it’s something that won’t release its hold on me. Actually, I have Jonah to thank for that, somewhat. During my first school production in Texas, Romeo and Juliet, something unleashed inside of me and all of the feelings that would never be returned rose up and poured out through my role in an emotional explosion. It made my heart sing.

  “Don’t give up, dear. It’ll happen,” he reassures me.

  “How are things with you?” I ask, changing the subject. Nothing worse than a whiner, and that’s how I feel discussing my lack of success.

  I fork through my salad as my father tells me about his new girlfriend, Isabel.

  My dad dates more than me. Everyone dates more than me. Maybe I need to find a balance and stop focusing on ’making it.’

  Maybe dating is just what I need to keep these crushy feelings I have for Jonah at bay.

  Stan at work has been flirty. He’s actually cute with his dirty-blond hair and dimples.

  Maybe I’ll take the plunge.

  After I leave lunch with my dad, I head into work to autograph a few photos. Stan smiles at me when we pass in the hallway.

  I smile back. Bigger than is really necessary. Thank god no one’s around to hear what I’m about to do. I stop and call after him.

  “Yeah?” He smiles, a brilliant white toothy smile. It’s a little too perfect. Like Ken. You know, Barbie and Ken? Yes, Stan is the equivalent to Ken. Hm. Maybe I don’t want to date. I’m more into the tall, dark, sexy, glasses wearing type. But not Jonah.

  Speaking of, I glance over to the cubicles in the main area just as Jonah leans over to whisper in a blonde-bombshell’s ear. Ok, maybe I should date.

  “What are you doing tonight?” I ask.

  His eyes shine. “Uh, nothing. Want to go out?”

  I love a man who jumps on the opportunity, because I’m not sure the words would’ve actually come out. “Sure,” I agree.

  We exchange details, and I breeze past Jonah.

  “What were you two talking about?” he asks as I pass.

  I keep walking.

  7

  Jonah

  Hours later, I leave work and head home. The past few shoots have weighed heavily on me. It’s getting harder and harder to snap pictures of Chelsea all the time. And I do mean hard. When I step inside, I study my place. Living with a girl is different. It started slowly, the transformation, but as each day passed my bachelor pad has turned into something more. A potted plant here. A candle there. I scan the open space for anything new.

  Magazines still on the end tables. Gaming system still intact. Kitchen spotless. Ok, maybe not that much has changed, but it does smell different. Like peaches or something girly.

  “Chelsea, you here?” I call out.

  “Yeah, I’m back here.” Her voice is soft and I head toward it.

  She stands in the bathroom in little grey shorts and a tight black tank curling her hair with a hot rod, or iron rod…or whatever they’re called.

  And there it is. The major transformation. The bathroom counter is one disaster of beauty products and other random girl stuff I have no clue what it’s all for.

  Is that thing for makeup? I grab a silver scissor-looking tool. “What is this?” I say, stepping inside the war zone.

  “Eyelash curler.” She twists a lock of hair around the thing in her hand. Steam rises and amazingly, her hair doesn’t catch on fire.

  “Where are you going, anyways?”

  I set the eyelash contraption thing along the counter and scan all the makeup and bullshit littered over the marble. It’s odd, because she doesn’t look like she’s even wearing anything. It’s magic.

  “I have a date,” she beams. “I know you always have your game night tonight, so I decided to get lost.”

  I run my hands over more of the makeup causing a tube of lipstick to roll off the counter. I stick my other hand out and catch it just in time. Sweet Peach. “Ah, there. I saved it.”

  “Wow, you’ve got great ninja reflexes.” She laughs as she finishes off her hair and runs her fingers through it. All that work to undo it. Go figure.

  “Yeah, I was the top student in ninja school.”

  “Oh, I bet. Did you get all the awards?” She smiles at me through the reflection of the mirror.

  “I don’t like to brag, but yeah, I got a few gold stars, a few ninja stars. A few black belts.” I lean in closer, and her eye’s drop to my lips. “What I do have are a very particular set of skills, skills that I have developed over a very long career, skills that make me a nightmare for people like you.”

  “And when you find me, you’re going to kill me? Taken, Liam Neeson, yeah I know it,” she whispers.

  And time stops. Or maybe my heart.

  “You may be my movie soulmate, except the whole Gladiator thing. We’ll have to work on that.” I wink at her.

  She licks her lips, and my eyes focus in on it. “So you believe in soulmates?”

  “True love is your soul’s recognition of its counterpoint in another,” I quote.

  “It’s a little cheesy, but I like it,” she says, saying the next line in the movie.

  I clutch my chest. So I keep going, “I read it on a bumper sticker.”

  She shines. “I love that movie.”

  The fact she can recite Wedding Crashers back to me is a major plus in my book. Wait, she sh
ould not be in my book.

  I back up and set the lip gloss tube on the counter. “So, who’s your hot date with tonight?”

  “Stan.” She grabs the tube, opens it, and smears it on her lips.

  I’m stunned by how closely I watch her put it on. How much I want to taste it. “Stan from work?” Nah, nah, can’t be.

  “Yes,” she says so nonchalantly. So matter-of-factly.

  “Are you kidding?” Red-hot anger ignites deep within. I don’t even know why I’m so mad. I mean, sure, Stan seems cool. Hell, I don’t even know anything about him. I don’t do background checks on guys at work on the off chance they’ll date my little sister. Fuck, she’s so not a sister. There’s no way I’d look at a sister the way I do her.

  I shake my head.

  I might need to start running checks on everyone at work.

  She lifts one shoulder in a half shrug as she walks out of the bathroom.

  Of course I follow her. I don’t like this one bit. “No way am I letting Declan’s little sister go out with Stan the axe-murderer man.”

  “Jonah, calm down. He’s not an axe-murderer. You watch too many movies. I’m a big girl.”

  “No, you’re not. What else do you know about Stan?”

  She taps her finger to her chin. “He enjoys long walks on the beach at night.”

  “The beach at night is the perfect spot to use his axe.”

  “Oh my God, Jonah.” She laughs, shaking her head.

  “Besides, no one really enjoys long walks.”

  She places a hand to her hip. “Really? Why not?”

  “Well, because they’re long.”

  She laughs, entering her room and shutting me out. “I’ll be fine,” she calls through the wooden door.

  8

  Chelsea

  Maybe I’ll get lucky tonight. In more ways than one. Maybe if I do, all these re emerging crush like feelings will be squelched once and for all. It’s as if they’ve been lying dormant all these years, waiting for Jonah Marshall to resuscitate them. And now he has to make things worse by upping the irresistible factor with movie quotes. I never would’ve guessed that Jonah’s love for movies might surpass my own. Talk about an ovary explosion. Well, maybe Stan will make my body and mind react like Jonah does. I slip on my heels. My short, slinky black dress falls slightly off one shoulder and sends just the right message for a first date: I’m not into you yet, but we’ll see what happens.

  When I step out of my bedroom, Jonah waits, his back propped against the wall, arms crossed. My heart flutters in my chest.

  “Guess this movie quote,” he challenges.

  “Um, ok?” I cross my arms, waiting.

  “I’ve always depended on the kindness of strangers.”

  “Jonah, what are you doing?”

  “I have a dating theory.”

  “Oh yeah, what theory is that?”

  “Just guess the quote.”

  I stall. I’ve heard it before, but god, I can’t think around him. I shake my head. This this is ridiculous, Oh, wait. “A Streetcar Named Desire.”

  A look of confusion mixed with surprise fills his eyes. “I, uh, can’t believe you know that quote.”

  He steps closer. Retreating and escaping his magnetic pull is my first instinct, but I don’t.

  “Ok, so what’s this theory of yours?”

  “Ask him the quote. If he gets it wrong, the date will bomb.”

  “What?” I put a hand on my hip. “You can predict the future with movie quotes?”

  “Yeah, I can.”

  “Jonah, you’re ridiculous. I have to go.”

  “Just trust me. Try it.”

  “Maybe.” This is the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard of. “Wish me luck,” I say on my way to the door.

  “Good luck,” he says very smug. “Text me if I’m right, which I’m pretty sure I will be.”

  Jonah jinxed me. He didn’t guess the quote. And my unlucky streak continues. The date didn’t just bomb, it was a disaster. Here’s why:

  When the guy says meet me at seven, and he shows up forty-five minutes late, well, it’s probably not going to be the best date ever.

  When a guy doesn’t hold the door for you and let’s it nearly hit you in the face, well, he’s rude. I know this isn’t the 1950’s and chivalry is dead, but it is the first date and all.

  When a guy orders a bottle of red wine without asking. I like white.

  When a guy won’t stop chewing his food with his mouth open. That’s not something I really want to see.

  When he talks endlessly about how lovely his ex-girlfriend is.

  When he pats your butt on the way out of the restaurant.

  When the girl you’re on a date with can’t stop thinking about someone else, a certain photographer, it’s doomed.

  Jonah was right. And so was Gidget. I need to lock my door so I don’t try to sneak across the hall.

  9

  Jonah

  For the millionth time tonight, I check my phone for a text from Chelsea. Nothing.

  “Big plans?” Declan asks.

  “Chelsea’s on a date. Just wondering when she’s going to get back.”

  “A date?” Declan asks as Booker and Ethan both hoot and holler. It’s game night, and we’re all situated around my living room. Booker and Ethan on the couch, me on the floor, and Declan in the recliner. They’re all testing my patience. All night the same thing: ‘Gonna kick your ass, Playboy.’ ‘Who’s going down tonight?’ And yes, so far, I’ve beaten everyone at each video game we’ve played.

  I’ll let you in on a secret… I’m pretty fucking good. Call it good eye-hand coordination, or call it the art of knowing my opponent, but all night, I have been murdering these motherfuckers in Call Of Duty.

  We usually get together every Friday night, play a few rounds, bet on who’s going to win, and every time I take their money with a smile.

  You’d think they’d wise up, but they never do.

  “Yeah, with Stan. I don’t know,” I say, pausing the game.

  “Ah, fuck, Jonah. I was about to go all postal up on your shit,” Booker says, slamming his controller down.

  “Dude, be careful with that. It’s an elite controller,” I say back.

  He better not have broken it. That’s just shy of two hundred bucks right there.

  “Who’s Stan?” Declan asks.

  “We playin’? We not playin’?” Ethan smirks.

  “Shut up, fucker,” Declan barks at him. “Turn the game back on.”

  “Calm down, I was just checking the time.”

  “Someone’s in love,” Booker says as I unpause the game.

  “Shut up,” I tell him.

  “Can we play before I get sick. Jonah knows better than to date my little sister. She’ll be home soon,” Declan adds.

  “Yeah she’s probably just indisposed at the moment,” Booker jokes, using air quotes.

  “Shut up, man. That’s my sister.” Declan focuses on me. “Can we just play already?”

  We continue playing, and I don’t check my phone anymore. Although, I really want to. No way did Stan guess that movie line. No way in hell.

  Not too long later, the front door opens.

  “I’m home. Did you miss me?” Chelsea’s cheery voice fills the space.

  Declan stands. “How was the date?” he asks, heading into the kitchen to grab another beer.

  Obviously, I take Declan’s guy out in the game since he got up and left his man vulnerable.

  She smiles as she drops her handbag on the bar. “Oh,” her eyes meet mine, “it was great.” She returns her attention to Declan. “How was your night?”

  He mumbles ‘fine,’ while I watch her for any signs she had a great time. She’s not giving me anything.

  Declan returns to his chair as Chelsea makes her way past us.

  “Chelsea, you like this guy?” Declan calls out to her.

  She smiles and it brightens up the place. Right before she heads down the hallw
ay, she taunts, “Maybe.”

  As soon as her door slams shut, Booker laughs. “Your sister is kind of hot.”

  “Don’t even look at her,” I shoot off to him.

  It pisses me off Booker would say that. I don’t know why, but it does. I mean, it’s Declan’s sister.

  A while later, they leave, and I throw away the beer bottles and place the controllers in the drawer of the entertainment center.

  “Did you guys have fun?” Chelsea asks, stepping into the living room, wearing pink sleep shorts and a white shirt.

  “Yeah.” I put the last controller away, and head into the kitchen where she rummages through the fridge. “Didn’t your date feed you?”

  She spins around and gives me a thumb down. “It was horrible.”

  My chest warms seeing her reference Gladiator, and I grab a stool to sit on. “Tell me, did he get the quote?”

  She grabs a pear from the fridge and chops it up. “No, he looked at me like I had two heads. I mean, he’s funny at work. But, he was kind of, how do I put this? An ass.”

  “How?” I watch her chop and watch even closer as she brings a piece to her full lips. Not for nothing, but she does have a nice set of lips. Full and pink.

  “Well, he’s a little self-centered. He kept bragging and bragging.”

  “Oh, yeah. I hate when they brag,” I joke.

  “I’m serious, Jonah.” She sits down next to me. “You’re a player so you wouldn’t know.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She raises a brow. “Do you even like the girls you go out with?”

  “Sure, I do.” I chuckle.

  She raises her brow higher. “Seriously. Do you even talk to the girls you go out with?”

  Ouch. “Yes.”

  She nibbles on a slice of pear. “Well, this guy had no clue. Then, as we were leaving the restaurant, he patted my butt. Like coaches do to their football players when they get off the field.”

  I grin. “Maybe he thought you were a good player.” I laugh. “Or maybe he thought you played a good game.”

  “Ha ha. I’m serious. He was a loser.”

  “So, no second date?”

  She shakes her head, her long blonde hair tumbling down her back. “No.”

  I want to fist pump the air. “Sorry, that sucks.” I’m lying, it doesn’t suck. Part of me is thrilled she had a horrible time.