by Kat T. Masen
Back in my room, I gather my things into a beach bag, careful not to forget the sunscreen since I’m known for turning into a lobster. My cell vibrates on the bed, perfect timing since I almost forgot to pack it. There’s a text from Wesley, the first time I’ve heard from him in five days.
Wesley: Did you know there are 10 alligators to every human in Louisiana?
My lips curve upward in a smile, but I’m quick to stop it as if he can see me, and I don’t want him to think a simple message will bring me so much joy. I can respond instantly, fall at the mercy of his charm, but instead, I hop in my car and crank up Alanis Morissette and channel some angry-girl music in hopes it will give me much-needed strength.
I settle on hitting Venice Beach, a popular tourist destination with so much to see and quirky entertainment right on the boardwalk. I welcome the bustling atmosphere, my thoughts need a good distraction and less time to ponder and think.
There is a group of young performers doing some dance that I watch for half an hour until it ends. The performers walk around the crowd, requesting a donation be given. I threw in a five—the young guy thanking then asking me for a date at the same time.
Despite the large crowds and busy sights to take in, my mind struggles to rid itself of the unanswered text that sits in my inbox. As if the cell gods are talking to me, it rings in my purse as I fumble for it in a mad rush to answer, only to be greeted by Emerson.
“Hey, a friend and I are heading to the beach. Do you wanna come with?”
“Actually, I’m kinda at the beach already.”
“Even better. We’ll come to you.”
I give her exact directions where I’ll be waiting, deciding to walk further to a less busy part of the beach where Emerson won’t be photographed. She’s quick to let me know she’ll be here soon and what she’ll be wearing since she wants to go unnoticed. Twenty minutes later, the sunflower hat that looks like it belongs in the nineties is right in front of me.
“Wow, you weren’t wrong when you said it was ugly.” I laugh, curious as to who would design a large straw hat with sunflowers all over it, and wait… are those ladybugs?
“If ugly were a person, even it would be offended. It’s the most hideous thing ever. My mom found it at a yard sale and bought it for Halloween one year. I wasn’t sure who she was supposed to be, though. Anyway, I look like a tourist, so no one will pay attention to me.”
The friend standing beside Emerson is Charlie, her lawyer, the very attractive woman who sat on the right of the panel when I was being interviewed.
“You remember Charlie?” Emerson asks, motioning for us to follow her toward the sand.
“I do. Nice to see you again.”
“And you.” Charlie smiles, leaning in for a quick hug which catches me off guard. “So, did Emerson tell you this was our kid-free day? I’m so excited.”
“Oh, you have kids?” I ask, trying not to be rude but admiring her youthful skin. “You look so young and fresh.”
Charlie and Emerson laugh in unison. “I don’t feel it. Yes, three girls.”
We find a spot in an almost-secluded section, setting up our towels and laying with our view facing the ocean. The water is gentle, not the normally rough waves that crash along the shoreline.
My towel is laid flat, and with my butt firmly in place, I lather up to avoid the scorching sun and its deathly rays. Both Emerson and Charlie have great bodies. It’s impossible not to admire their nicely tanned skin, curves in all the right places, and bikinis that show off their toned physiques.
I can’t be any paler. My bikini isn’t even a bikini. It’s a halter crop-top and little shorts. I bought it eight years ago when Phoebe and I planned a trip to Miami for spring break which fell through because we both got mono the day before.
“I really love your swimsuit. In fact, I love the dresses you wear.” Emerson compliments me, passing a bottle of iced tea which she retrieved from a cooler. “Not to sound ungrateful, I love getting free clothes, but I wish they would have me wear some different styles.”
I can’t relate. Emerson has a different life. Designers throw themselves at her, and she’s somewhat obliged to wear their designs. I shop at Target. Occasionally, Walmart. It wasn’t a problem until I arrived here. Emerson loves to talk about clothes, telling us about her fitness line and what new items will be on the racks in Australia.
I crave the girl-time, grateful that Emerson wants to hang out. We talk about life, their kids, Emerson’s current dilemma with Logan wanting another kid.
Charlie’s quick to give her two cents. “See, this is the problem with men. They have no concept of how difficult being pregnant is. Nine months of uncomfortable swelling, not to mention indigestion and heartburn,” Charlie complains.
“And gas. Do you know how embarrassing it is when you can’t control a fart in public?” Emerson adds, scowling behind her oversized shades.
I clutch my stomach, giggling at the thought. They both laugh as well, Emerson continuing her story of the time she accidentally silent-farted during a live taping on a show only to have the crew complain later about how much something stunk.
“Sorry, Milana. It’s not like we’re trying to put you off but just be warned.” Charlie giggles.
“Nah, all good. Don’t think that’s in the cards for me.”
“As in kids?” Emerson questions, propping herself up on her elbows.
“Yeah, kids, babies. Aside from my brother, I’ve never spent much time around them. They’re cute, but I don’t have this yearn for them like most women.”
“And this guy back home?” Emerson asks. “Haven’t you guys been together for a bit?”
“Oh.” Charlie grins. “There’s a guy back home? I always pictured that whole ‘guy back home’ to be this wholesome unbelievably gorgeous man with light eyes and messy hair. He wears a white tee and ripped jeans. Calls you some adorable nickname because he’s known you forever.”
“I think you just described Brad Pitt in Thelma and Louise. Does he wear a cowboy hat, too?” Emerson chuckles.
Charlie sits herself up, grinning. “Oh, and he’s a mechanic. A little rough but so sweet.”
I can barely contain my laughter. “That’s Liam all right. Everything but the cowboy hat.”
“Oh, do tell.” Charlie moves in closer to me. “Let me live vicariously through you.”
“Charlie!” Emerson scolds. “If Lex heard you say that, you’d be in the dog house forever. Charlie’s husband is one of those alpha possessive males. The kind you read about in books.”
“Um… hello? And you think Logan is not? Please, Logan is equally as bad as Lex. At least Lex can tolerate Julian being around. Whenever Wesley is anywhere around you, Logan turns into a creature of jealousy.”
A lump forms in my throat, my ability to swallow crippled by the mention of his name. I don’t want to show how much it affects me, trying to hold onto the part of the conversation that doesn’t quite make sense.
“You look confused.” Charlie laughs, taking a deep breath afterward. “Julian is kind of my ex.”
“Fiancé,” Emerson chimes in. “Married to Lex’s sister.”
“Oh, okay, wow. That’s, um… confusing, and awkward to be around him?” I raise my brows, curious to her response.
“Yes and no. I’m not awkward around him. Julian is mature and such a great guy. It just wasn’t right between us. He loves Lex’s sister. It’s just that Lex had a hard time adjusting. They’re much better now. They don’t exactly hang out alone, but can be in the same space and hold a conversation.”
She bumps her shoulder against Emerson, laughing at a private joke. “Unlike this one here. So, how much do you know about Wesley?”
Emerson rolls her eyes, falling back onto the towel and throwing the large sunflower hat over her face. “She doesn’t need to know about him. Trust me, you don’t.”
“I’ve met him twice. He’s a little, um—”
“Moronic?” Charlie adds with a grievance
. “Immature? Still hopelessly in love with Emerson which is why he’s holding onto the business?”
“Twice?” Emerson questions, sitting up. “I thought you only met him once at that meeting?”
Shit.
“I ran into him one day before that. I had no clue who he was. Accident at the coffee house. It kinda didn’t register until after that meeting with him and Jeff.”
“Oh, thank God.” She holds her chest, letting out a sigh of relief. “I thought he was trying to sway you into seeing him. He’s such a manipulator. Though don’t believe anything Charlie says about him being in love with me. That boat has long since sailed.”
“Um… excuse me,” Charlie interrupts. “Give me one other reason why Wesley would hold onto the business? He has money. That can’t be it.”
“He does it to piss Logan off. He’s competitive. It doesn’t mean he’s still in love with me. He just likes to be a pain in the ass. Anyway, can we change the subject, please?”
And just like that, we start talking about books.
I’m halfway into the conversation, still thinking about what Charlie said. Maybe Wesley is using me to get to Emerson. It makes sense. But then my mind wanders back to the last time I saw him, telling me how he can’t stay away from me. The more I try to analyze the situation, the more my head begins to hurt.
The two of them stop talking, both telling me to wake them in ten minutes. Ten minutes later, I hear both of them snoring. Motherhood looks exhausting, and I don’t dare wake them, giving them some extra time to nap.
I read Wesley’s text again, also thinking about what the media says about him. Mama will have a heart attack if I tell her I was alone with such a man.
I know I shouldn’t be entertaining this.
Or even be typing what my fingers so desperately do.
Me: No clue about alligators but now that you’ve informed me, I’ll cross it off my bucket list. So, you’re in Louisiana, I had no idea. I thought you fell off the face of the earth and landed in Narnia where cell reception doesn’t exist.
I hit send faster than you can say idiot. I instantly regret it until he responds seconds later, and my heart does this nervous beat like an adrenaline rush of some sort.
Wesley: I’m filming. Still around. Though, I thought you were in Narnia since you didn’t respond from the morning or my text from last week.
So, he’s waiting for me to respond? This guy is so hot and cold. One minute he’s telling me he can’t stay away and the next minute he creates this distance without even telling me. I’m not going to let him off easy.
Me: 6 hours is COMPLETELY different than 5 days.
I hit send, take a large drink from my iced tea bottle which instantly cools me down. My skin feels extremely hot, and I know I shouldn’t be in the sun for much longer. I wonder if Emerson minds if I borrow her hat?
Wesley: Remember, you didn’t respond. You sound a little worked up? I’ll be back next Friday.
The nerve of him! I’m typing faster than the speed of light, desperate to relay my wit and prove to him that he means nothing though everything inside of me begs to differ.
Me: That’s nice. I’m sure your housekeeper would love to know that. I, on the other hand, find that information irrelevant.
The bubble appears on the screen, longer than it should have. I find myself tapping my knee impatiently. This is the most annoying thing ever.
Wesley: Don’t start. I’m alone and nothing can come of this. Excuse the pun.
Wesley: And while you’re sitting there with a confused look on your face trying to understand what I just said, your ass is a turn on.
I’ll see you next Friday.
I throw my cell on top of my bag, letting out a huff which wakes the girls up. They both comment on how fantastic it was to nap without children, and how refreshed they are after only thirty minutes.
“Oh, Milana, you look red,” Emerson scowls, touching my face with her fingertip.
I want to tell her that her ex-fiancé knows how to push buttons when he wants, and perhaps the red face is from anger, not heatstroke.
“I should probably go, my skin is so Alaskan that I worry I’ll prune into a ball of sunburn.”
“You can borrow my hat?”
I laugh. “I’ll pass. I may not be the next fashionista, but that hat is awful.”
We all giggle, and with quick goodbyes, I make my way home.
Back at home, it doesn’t take long for Joe, our resident drunk, to comment on my appearance or even Mrs. Jones from apartment 2B. She has a remedy for sunburn because her ex-husband is as pale as you could get. I politely tell her that I may drop by later, slowly walking up the narrow stairwell toward our apartment. Even my bag on my shoulder begins to hurt.
As I turn the corner around the banister, I stand back in shock, staring at a body slumped against my door. The lighting is poor in the dark corridor, and the closer I move, his face begins to take shape.
I take a deep breath with fear and comfort.
“You’re here.”
I’m sure how to react. We were just on the phone, and he was there, and I was here.
“Hello,” I croak.
He stands up, practically throwing himself at me and lifting me in his arms. Taking a step back, he’s quick to tell me he misses me, placing his lips onto mine. My mouth forces open, welcoming his familiar taste as he presses against me, hard and full of passion.
Pulling back, slightly, I look deeply into his eyes.
“I miss you, too…” I smile, a little forced. “Liam.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Can we go in?”
I’m stuck in a daze, staring at him in complete shock. Though we just kissed, I’m without words, examining his profile and trying to allow this all to sink in.
Liam is here.
In Los Angeles.
A place he despises without even having visited.
He hasn’t changed much since I saw him over a month ago. His hair has grown slightly longer with drabby ends, yet still tied back away from his face. Most of the time he’s dressed in overalls, so the white tee and jeans are new. I recall our conversation at the beach earlier, chuckling to myself at the sight of him dressed this way.
“Sorry, how rude of me.”
“Milly, wait…” The palm of his hand grazes against my cheek, his lips meeting mine again, lingering with a soft suck of my bottom lip. Tearing away slowly, the angst builds up inside, my breathing hitches.
“C’mon, let me show you around mi casa.”
“Huh?”
“My place.” I chuckle, opening the door to Flynn sitting on the couch with some friends. It’s the first time I have seen these guys—possibly band members—lounging all over the apartment with empty bottles of beer sitting on the coffee table. Two of them have guitars in their hands, one singing a tune, and Flynn tapping his drumsticks against the table.
“Liam?” Flynn is equally surprised, standing up and grinning as he shakes Liam’s hand followed by that weird hug men do. “Milly didn’t say you were coming into town.”
Liam grabs my hand, clutching it with pride. “Kinda surprised her. You know, when you miss your girl, you just gotta do what you just gotta do.”
I’d never heard him refer to me as his girl, and I don’t mind it. Both of them, in this room, makes it feel like home. I can feel myself getting emotional, that same homesick feeling that took over my life the first two weeks here, reappears.
The last two weeks have been different, though. Guess I was distracted.
Flynn and Liam talk a little while longer, allowing me to slip into the bathroom and wash the sand off me and also to make an outfit change—my choice, nothing fancy—a coral-colored blouse that falls off my shoulders and some white shorts. Then, I realize how burned I am, and that color does nothing to hide it. I end up changing into something subtler.
My hair—irritatingly long in this sticky heat—is whisked up into a bun and away from my face. I wear makeup most
of the time but decide on some lip gloss since my face is bright pink and no amount of foundation will cover this.
Back in the living room, the boys are still chatting away. I motion silently for Liam to follow me to my room, a gesture he notices, quickly wrapping up the conversation. Luckily, Flynn is distracted by his bandmates, allowing us some privacy.
“Nice digs you’ve got here.”
“Really?”
“Okay, no. It’s nothing like back home. It actually makes back home look like a palace. I think I interrupted a drug deal downstairs,” he tells me, worried.
“Oh, Frank? Yeah, he likes to smoke weed.”
“Weed, huh?”
“Oh, c’mon, Liam, people do this kinda stuff back home. We were just oblivious to it. It’s more in your face here.” I sit down on the edge of my bed, gazing as he stands against my door. “So, you’re here.”
“I’m here.”
“But you hate flying.”
“You can’t hate something you’ve never done. It isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”
“Well, you’re alive.” I smile, playing nervously with my bedspread. “That’s a start.”
“You’re burned.”
“Really? I thought the tomato look was so in. I went to the beach today with Emerson and Charlie.”
“Charlie?”
“Emerson’s friend and lawyer. Remember, she’s one of the women on the panel who interviewed me. Not the bitchy one.”
“Oh,” he breathes, almost a sigh of relief. “Charlie is a woman.”
I laugh, scrunching my face. “Yes, she is. Would it have been different if she weren’t?”
He shuffles his feet uncomfortably. “I’m starving.”
“Me, too. There’s this awesome Chinese restaurant around the corner. They make the fortune cookies themselves, and I swear they print them out while they watch your every move.”