by Roxy Reid
It’s ok, Joshua, she says. You can trust me.
And then she takes me in her mouth.
My alarm goes off, and I wake with a gasp.
Fuck.
I sit up and swing my feet over the edge of the bed. For a minute, I just sit there, breathing, trying to get my heart, and other things, to calm down.
It’s not news that I’m attracted to her. I know that. Attraction is just that… attraction. It doesn’t mean anything.
We’ve been working together closely, pretending to be engaged. Add in attraction, and the fact that Sienna Bridges is a hell of kisser, and it’s not shocking that I’d dream about her.
As long as I keep everything strictly professional in real life (or as professional as you can be in the context of a fake engagement) there’s no reason to freak out. A dream is just a dream. I’m a man, she’s hot, my body reacted. It happens.
I mean, I’ve obviously had a sex dream before.
Granted, this is the first time in years I’ve had a dream about a specific woman.
I ignore that inconvenient truth and jump out of bed, planning a long hard workout.
I’m going to hell. I really am.
Because a few weeks ago when Sienna asked if there were any other public events we should be attending together, I told her about Poppy’s science fair.
At least it’s outside in the courtyard, instead of in the cafeteria, so the din of small children screaming about science can float up into the afternoon air, which does help. A little.
But the din isn’t the reason I asked Sienna to attend. No, I asked her to attend because I am tired of getting hit on at my child’s school functions. This seemed like a perfect job for a fake fiancée pre- wildly inappropriate sex dream. Post sex dream, it somehow seems like crossing yet another line that shouldn’t be crossed.
At least Poppy likes her.
I’ve explained to Poppy that she’s not really getting a new step-mom, that this is a secret acting game we’re doing for Daddy’s work. There’s a risk Poppy will still tell people — she’s eight, after all — but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. There’s no way I’m screwing with my kid’s emotions by lying about something that big to her.
I’m a few feet away in line for the punch, but I can still keep an eye on both of them. Sienna crouches to ask some questions about Poppy’s experiment, which has something to do with which of the fabrics used in my action hero costumes would actually hold up the best in a real-world fight. The answer, unsurprisingly, is none, and Poppy’s having a great time explaining that to all the adults around her. She even drew a stick figure of me without clothes, and my hair on fire, to illustrate.
She’s pretty damn cute, if I do say so myself, but Sienna’s going above and beyond cute-kid-at-the-science-fair duty. She’s asking follow up questions, challenging Poppy to think deeper. I can see Poppy frowning in concentration as she thinks through the answer, and I feel a a new burst of pride in my kid.
“You know what Poppy said when she saw pictures of you two on the red carpet?” Brittney says behind me, and I jump.
I tend to get jumpy when I don’t get enough rest. And having Sienna in my dreams is not particularly restful. Not that I’m thinking about that dream. Shit. New topic. Find a new topic.
“It’s good, you’re finally here,” I blurt. “The principal was giving us crap for not volunteering more, and I’ve been keeping up my end, so–”
“When Poppy saw you both on the red carpet, she said, ‘Look Mommy, she has glasses like me,'” Brittney says, and I still.
I look over at Poppy and Sienna, and now that I know what I’m looking for, I can definitely see hero-worship in my daughter’s eyes.
It’s sweet as hell, but a part of me wants to scoop Poppy up and steal her away from future heartbreak. Don’t fall for her, I think. She’s not staying.
Not that Brittney can know that. I love Brittney. She has many good qualities. Keeping other people’s business secrets is not one of them.
I turn back to Brittney, forcing a smile on my face, “Well, that’s cute.”
“Ha! I knew it. That’s your acting face,” Brittney pinches my arm and drags me out of the courtyard and around the corner, to an outdoor corridor thing where we have some privacy.
“Spill it, King,” Brittney says.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, rubbing the spot on my arm where Brittney pinched me.
“You’ve never even gotten close to the aisle, and now you’re engaged to a woman you’ve known a month, who’s ten years younger than you, and she’s your employee.”
“She’s not my employee–”
“It’s close enough, Josh,” she crosses her arms. “I’d ask if she was pregnant, but you never offered to marry me when I was pregnant with Poppy.”
“No, but I did let you name her Poppy.”
“Be serious, Josh! What’s going on?”
I cross my arms and stare mutinously at my feet.
I don’t want to talk about Sienna with Brittney. Or anyone.
Brittney throws up her hands, “I’d think it was some weird overzealous plot for one of your business projects, except you’ve got smitten-face when you look at her.”
I look up at that. “I do not have smitten-face!” I hiss.
“Why would you care if you have smitten-face if she was your real fiancée?” Brittney hisses back.
“Smitten-face isn’t even a real word!” I shout, startling the moms in pastel yoga gear who have just come around the corner. They take one look at me, then one look at Brittney in her tight ripped jeans and her I Fucked the Patriarchy and All I Got Was This Lousy Shirt t-shirt. And then they retreat back to the science fair.
I look back at Brittney just in time to see understanding dawn on her face, “Oh hell. It is some weird work thing that you’re doing for reasons that I’m sure make sense in your mixed-up Joshua head. And the problem is you’ve really fallen for her.”
“It’s none of your business,” I say furiously.
“It is my business if it hurts Poppy,” she says, and there’s no sympathy in her voice anymore. This is mamma-bear mode.
“It doesn’t hurt Poppy. I told her the truth,” I think that over. “Well, a child appropriate version of the truth. She knows it’s not real.”
Brittney’s face softens, “But do you?”
“Excuse me?”
Brittney and I both turn to see Sienna standing at the entrance to the courtyard. She looks back and forth between Brittney and me, before addressing Brittney, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Poppy was asking for you.”
Brittney gives me a look that says we’re not done with this conversation, and then she tosses her long blond hair and struts back into the science fair like the pop-star she is.
Sienna watches her go, and then shakes her head, “My life has gotten so weird. I saw her Starlight concert for my 21st birthday. And now she’s mad at me for dating her ex.”
“She’s not mad. She’s just… concerned.”
“Uh huh. Sure,” she holds out her hand. “Come on. Your daughter wants to tell you all about why your costumes are unrealistic in an apocalypse scenario. Also, you should do a lap of the other kids’ projects because you’ve got some young fans who are trying very hard to play it cool, and it’ll be fun to make their nights.”
“Only if you guard me from the moms,” I say, and she laughs.
I take her hand and let her pull me back into the noisy din, the way she would if this were real. I shove Brittney’s worries aside — and ok, my worries to — and focus on Sienna’s hand in mine, and my whip-smart daughter’s bubbling enthusiasm as she tells me everything she knows.
12
Joshua
I can’t get Brittney’s words out of my head and pretending to be a couple at every event I’m invited to isn’t helping. Every time Darian texts me and Sienna that we have another event — we’ve got a group text going, since Sienna says I don’t give her enough warning to find dress
es for these things — I feel like when you’re a kid in school and the teacher assigns you a group project with your crush.
And, fine, after more X-rated dreams than I want to admit to, I’ll say it: I have a crush on Sienna. She’s smart and beautiful and funny and good with my kid. And every time I think I have her pinned down, she does something that surprises me. She says it’s because I don’t hang out with ordinary people, and Darian agrees, but I don’t think that’s it.
There’s nothing ordinary about Sienna.
I mean, sure, technically, on paper, she’s ordinary. I guess. But I can’t get her out of my head. When she casually mentions another client, or something she’s in to, I go home and look them up so I can ask better questions the next time I see her. I light up when she texts me about something, and then crash after we finish the conversation, because I know she’s not going to text me again that day.
We seem to have developed an unspoken one conversation a day rule. I don’t know who started it, me or Sienna, but I’m hanging onto it with the tips of my fingers. It’s the only thing standing between me and texting her every time I see something that makes me think of her.
Which, let’s face it, is more than I like to admit. The other day a co-worker was eating mac and cheese, and I had to fight the urge to text Sienna.
What was I going to say? Hey, remember how you like cheese? Cause I do.
I’ve told Darian a little of what’s going on. A very, very little.
He thinks this is just because I can’t ask her out. He says normally when I like someone I ask them out if it’s appropriate, or shift them into the “not available” category in my mind and move on. But with Sienna, I’m stuck in this thing where it’s definitely not appropriate, but also all of the play-acting we’re doing keeps this giant What-If sign perpetually blinking in the front of my brain.
I’ve kissed her a couple of times, since the after-party, but always sweet and gentle and quick. Perfunctory. Never when I’m on the edge of control. And definitely not when she’s making jokes about the man she’s going to meet after me.
I’m not normally jealous.
Then again, I’m not normally faking a relationship with a woman who is not actually into me and by definition is going to leave me in the dust.
I mean, she’s a little into me. That kiss was… she was there in it with me. You don’t get a kiss like — or the dreams that follow — when only one person is into it.
And sometimes when she laughs, and she looks at me…
But, as my mom would say, longing looks are a dime a dozen, and co-star chemistry is just a lucky professional break. If she hasn’t said she wants more, she doesn’t want more.
And Sienna Bridges hasn’t said she wants more. Believe me, I’ve been listening.
So when Sienna asks if I want to get out of town with her to inspect the site for the launch, I jump at the chance. Partly, because I want to see her. Partly, because it feels like all of L.A. is closing in on me, and I’m getting restless.
But mostly because I’m looking for a way to pop this stupid crush bubble I’m in. And maybe if we’re working together again, just working, focusing on the project, not putting on some lovestruck show for everyone else… Maybe then I can get myself to look at her and see the incredibly competent but otherwise ordinary woman Darian keeps telling me she is.
I look at the clock and jiggle my leg. Technically, I should wait fifteen more minutes before heading over to pick Sienna up so we can drive to the site together. Maybe twenty. I don’t want to appear overeager.
My phone buzzes, and I glance down.
Hey, the meeting ended a little early, so I’m ready if you want to get an early start?
I’m out of the house in a flash.
Sienna gestures to her surroundings with cocky satisfaction, and a smile so big I can’t take my eyes off her. “Am I right, or am I right?”
“You’re right,” I say. “My vineyard is the perfect place to have the launch. It feels like a way to show off the wine, and tap into the farm-to-table movement…”
“... but it also physically gets the reporters onto your turf, and away from the competing noise of the city, and subliminally reminds them how successful all of your other business ventures have been, which is just one more reason why they should take you seriously,” she finishes.
I survey the landscape. Sienna’s right. The rolling fields of vines and the enormous sky would be enough, but the winery itself is a former Franciscan monastery, and the Spanish stonework adds an element of timelessness and gravitas, mixed with that sense of promised reinvention you get when old buildings are repurposed.
“My only worry is that the two hour drive out will be a barrier, and we’ll end up with lower attendees,” I say, but Sienna just looks smug again.
“Since it’s your property, we don’t have to rent it. So I’m re-purposing that part of your budget for luxury shuttles. Add in your personal draw, and restrict the guest list just enough that everyone who gets invited feels special, like this is an event that can’t be missed…” she shrugs, all fake humility.
“Ok, I give in,” I say with a grin. It feels like I say that a lot to Sienna. Both in real life and… not in real life. “You’re brilliant. I can’t wait to see it all come together.”
“Speaking of…” she twists her engagement ring, sliding it on and off her finger. I like the on motion better than the off. “How’s it coming with the casting? Has… You Know Who signed?”
“She’s not Voldemort,” I say dryly.
“No, but she is more intimidating than Voldemort,” Sienna says. She raises an eyebrow, “Well?”
I make a face, “Apparently she’s got a competing offer for another movie that would be filming at the same time. She’s leaning toward ours, but she wants to meet with their director and get a better sense of the project.” I lift her left hand to my lips and kiss it absently, “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me for a few more weeks, darling.”
“Joshua!” Sienna tugs her hand away from me, blushing. “What are you doing? No one’s here. We don’t have to pretend.”
Shit. She’s right. I shouldn’t have… she’ll figure out...
“I’m not pretending,” I finally say. “I’m just… practicing.”
“I don’t want to practice,” Sienna rolls her eyes, and trudges across the courtyard to measure how much space we have in the place she wants to put the stage. “Heaven help me if you get any more practice,” she mutters.
Hey. What’s that supposed to mean?
Whatever it means, practicing isn’t in the ground rules. No matter how much I wish it was. The idea of touching her when it’s just us, no one watching…
I shrug off the thought, restless, and go to help Sienna measure.
After hours of working together, we’re finally heading back to the city. I’m driving down the highway, and it’s all I can do not to speed recklessly. I thought getting out of the city would help, but if anything it’s made this edgy feeling worse. I feel like I’m crawling out of my skin.
In the small enclosed space of the car, I can smell Sienna’s perfume, and I hit the gas harder than I should.
Do you know what’s real Josh?
We turn a bend, and Sienna gasps. To the right, the Pacific roils and flows beneath us.
“Oh, Josh,” Sienna breathes. “That’s beautiful.”
And she’s right. In the heart of the city, I forget how close we are to the wild of the ocean.
Pacific, my ass. There’s nothing peaceful about that ocean.
We pass a mile marker, and suddenly I realize where we are, “We’re coming up on my favorite beach,” I say.
“Really?” Sienna asks.
“When I first moved out here, and I was going to audition after audition and I wasn’t getting anything, I’d drive out here. I had this shitty car — one time it broke out here, and I had to spend the night — but yeah, I’d drive out here and I’d go down to the beach and just breathe.”
Sienna looks out the window at the ocean, “There are other beaches closer to L.A.”
“I think the distance was the point. I just had to get away from it all.”
I keep my eyes on the road, but I can feel her turning to look at me.
“Then let’s go now,” Sienna says.
“What?” I say. “We can’t. I’ve got paperwork. I’m sure you’ve got launch details. We should get back.”
“You’ve been in a funk for the last few weeks. If this is where you go to recharge, and we’re right here, then let’s go.”
We’re getting closer to the beach exit, but I hesitate. For some reason, taking her to that beach feels more personal than letting her into my house ever did. There’s also the risk that if we go together, there will always be a little bit of her imprinted on those sands. We’ll go our separate ways, and I’ll go back to my beach to move on, but it will be as suffused with Sienna as the rest of my life is.
“Please, Joshua?” she softly asks. “I haven’t been to the beach in forever.” And without another thought I take the exit.
I’m like a fucking marshmallow when this woman asks for something. It’s going to be so embarrassing if she ever notices.
We’re not even to the beach yet, but the winding drive down to the access point is already calming me. We roll down our windows, and the salt air washes over me like a balm.
We park, and even though the small parking lot is empty, we stash her purse and my briefcase in the trunk.
We clamber over some rocks to get down to the sand, and when Sienna loses her footing, she grabs my arm for support, and for a moment it feels like everything is right in my world.
Do you know it’s not real, Josh?
We take our shoes off when we get down to the sand, and stash them behind a rock. I like seeing my lace-ups nestled next to her practical heels.
“Well?” Sienna says, looking to the right, then the left. There’s empty beach as far as the eye can see, bathed in that golden-hour light that makes everything it touches look like something out of a fucking fairy tale. “Which way do we go?”