Not in the Script (37 page)

I hold up a hand. “Whoa, um … no. Definitely not me.”

Brett finally smiles. “Nah, I didn't mean it like that. Payton just needs to find someone
like
you, to give him a reason to change. Because … well, you've gotta know this by now … because that's what you've done for
me
. I'm crazy about you.”

I wait for him to laugh, but after a few seconds of staring at his hesitant smile, I glance away, stunned and embarrassed that I hadn't listened to Jake—to McGregor, to anyone. I look back up at Brett to apologize for misleading him, but his lips suddenly press into mine, and I can't talk … I can't move.

My arms drop and my plate falls to the floor. “Brett …
stop!
”

I sink to the floor to pick up my cookies, to get away.

Brett stoops too, and takes one of my hands. “Oh man,” he says. “I didn't think you'd freak out like this. We kiss all the time.”

I pull my hand back. “Only on set, where it's fake.”

“It hasn't
felt
fake,” he replies, sounding desperate to explain himself. “And your friend, I just heard her say that you … that you're in love with me.”

The bright room seems to twist around us. “But I'm not. And you've told me all along that you didn't want to date me.”

“Yeah, I know things started out that way,” he says. “The more I was with you, though, the more I liked you. But I knew you'd never want me the way I was.”

“Brett, I'm … I'm sorry …” I can't finish, so I just leave the atrium, my legs moving at a much slower pace than my racing heart.

No girl should ever look as good as Emma does at the premiere if she expects a guy to keep his distance. But once we're at the after party, her smiles seem forced. I thought we were past this, but has Rachel still found a way to make Emma feel guilty about us?

When Sophie doesn't have enough sense to push away a couple of Brett's lowlife buddies, I have to go over like a protective big brother and snatch her off their menu. And while I dance with Sophie, Rachel just stares at me—her shoulders rising and falling as if she's about to bawl. So for my best performance of the night, I ask Rachel to dance. But instead of getting a wink of approval from Emma, she spins around and leaves the ballroom.

Things actually go downhill from here. I prefer the deathly nervous Rachel I met at the limo to the Energizer Bunny mouth she turns out to be. And one dance isn't enough, oh no. She talks me into another. When she tries for a third, I tell her my mom is
tired so we have to leave. Then on my way out of the building, I catch a glimpse of Emma racing into the women's bathroom, but she doesn't see me.

Brett is right on her heels before she enters the door, so as he passes me, I ask, “What's up with Emma?”

He whips back around, his face red. “You know chicks. I can't give her enough of what she wants, so she's hitting the stalls to cry about it.”

What does
that
mean?

With Rachel staying at Emma's, I don't dare call or text, so I spend a long, sleepless night trying to figure it all out.

When Devin and I pick up the girls the next morning, Rachel already has the whole day planned out at Old Tucson Studios, which is famous for Western films. In Rachel's seemingly rehearsed words, “This will give us a chance to walk in the legendary footsteps of Jimmy Stewart and Ingrid Bergman.”

I'd rather walk in the legendary boots of Harrison Ford and Bruce Willis, but whatever.

Emma had her sunglasses on when I first saw her today, and she doesn't take them off a single time during our hour-long drive. She won't even speak unless she's directly addressed, which leaves me to deal with Rachel on my own.

As we approach the gates to the studio, Rachel whips out her phone and says, “Okay, guys, I'm live tweeting this whole day, so let's pose here at the entrance!”

“No way,” I reply before I can stop myself. And then I scramble for a polite explanation. “Sorry, but I'm really uncomfortable with social media. And I've already posed for a truckload of cameras this past week. Can't we just … I don't know, relax today?”

Rachel laughs, then suddenly realizes I'm serious. “Oh my gosh, really? But I told my followers—I have like, ten thousand now—that I'd share every little detail, so …”

She shrugs, and I feel like I've been hit in the stomach by a wrecking ball. I don't want this day to suck for her. I turn to Emma for help, but she's gone off to the ticket booth.

“Jake's just being modest,” Devin says, and I give him a look because this isn't a good time for his jokes. “You know my sister is his agent, right? Well, she's
really
protective of Jake's face—something to do with … the more it's seen, the less it's worth? Anyway, he's gotta be careful or my sister gets ticked.”

“Ohhhh,” Rachel says. “All right. That makes sense. Then I'll just have to take photos of everything
but
Jake. Which is … darn.” She glances back to me. “Can I take just a few pictures of you, if I don't post them?”

I'm about to agree, even though I think she'll likely burn the photos later, but Devin scrunches up his face, and replies, “That
might
be okay, but you'd probably need written permission from my sister, and she's out of the office right now. In Milan, I think.”

“Yep, Milan,” I say, which is the only true detail about this story. How could I have forgotten that my wingman is a Level-Five Master of BS? But Rachel buys all of it, so once we begin our two-hour tour of the studios, she's happy again. She snaps photos like crazy and her fingers are flying to get
every little detail
up on Twitter.

And I'm being nice to her in every way I can, without flirting.

I actually would have enjoyed the tour if I wasn't dying to know what was wrong with Emma. Devin is confused too, so once we're on our own for a sec, about to eat lunch, he says, “You told
Emma I know about you guys, right? She's sorta brushing me off, like she wants to make it clear that she isn't interested.”

“Yeah, she knows,” I reply. “It's gotta be something else. I need to get her alone.”

That's all I have time to tell him before Emma and Rachel join us with their food. A dramatized shootout has just started on the other side of the studio grounds, so the lunch crowd has pretty much cleared out. The table we're sitting at is a tight fit—half the length of a regular picnic table, and on its own behind an old wood-planked restaurant called The BBQ Shack, where we've just snagged some ribs and fries.

The weather is nice today, not too hot, and trees shade the table—but Emma still doesn't take off her sunglasses. Maybe she just wants to watch my reactions without Rachel noticing? I put my own sunglasses on so I can do the same thing with Emma.

Devin and I devour our barbecued ribs and fries in five minutes flat, leaving us to sit and watch the girls pick at their plates. “I know who Jimmy Stewart is, but who's the Bergman chick?” I ask, just to make conversation.

Rachel looks at me like I've grown a third eye.

Ten minutes later, I'm well educated on all things Ingrid Bergman, and Rachel caps off her lecture with, “Basically, anyone who hasn't seen her in
Casablanca
should be shot.”

Devin coughs, and I almost say, “
Casa
-what?” but I'm afraid Rachel will make me watch it with her tonight, snuggled on a couch with a box of tissues.

Rachel's next party piece is even worse. “Let's play movie trivia!” she says. “Jake, who won the 1972 Oscar for Best Actress?” I only stare at her. “Oh, c'mon! Liza Minnelli. This one's easier: what film won Best Picture for that year?”

Seriously? “Sorry,” I say, “but you've
really
gotta dumb this down for me.”

Emma laughs, which snaps me out of my stupor. “Maybe something more on this level,” she says. “What classic movie is about a theme park with dinosaurs?”

“
Jurassic Park
!” Devin and I reply together.

“Lucky guess,” Emma says. “Which species of dinosaur ate the lawyer?”

“T. rex!” I tie with Devin again, and we high-five like we're brilliant.

Emma's face has life in it again, and she's about to say something else when someone kicks me—making me jolt—so her focus goes to my reaction instead.

“Oh my gosh!” Rachel says, apparently the one who delivered the deathblow to my ankle. Her hands are all over me now. “I'm so sorry! How did I kick
you
?”

Emma and I straighten up at the same time. I've been trying to cheer her up by playing a game of footsie, so our feet were twisted together like pretzels when Rachel apparently tried to kick
her
, not me. “It's okay,” I reply. “I was just … stretching my legs.”

“Oh, cute!” she says, looking at me as if I'm a newborn kitten. “Anyway, I was about to tell you that if I had little brothers like Emma does, I'd watch more adventure shows. But my acting coach encourages a study of
serious
films I can benefit from. You know, professionally.”

“
Jurassic Park
made a serious load of cash,” Devin says. “Doesn't that count?”

“I guess, if you're only concerned about the bottom line,” Rachel replies. “But I just remembered something super funny! Emma had the biggest crush on a boy in fourth grade who was
obsessed with dinosaurs. She made me sit through a full day of dinosaur movies so she could impress him with prehistoric talk. She even took notes.”

Emma buries her head in her hands, laughing, and I bust up too.

It will be a few days until I can see her again so it's killing me to be on the opposite side of this table. Devin brought my mom down here for the premiere, but I'm taking her back to Phoenix tonight and staying there until Rachel leaves. Then we only have five working days left before a two-week hiatus, when Emma is going home to Arkansas.

“Emma's parents would've died if they knew she liked this kid because he was such a troublemaker,” Rachel says. I laugh even harder now, imagining Emma studying about dinosaurs behind closed doors to impress a pint-size punk. “But she's always had a thing for bad boys—it's that wild streak in her, which is why McGregor hired her. Only, McGregor thinks it's more dormant than it really is.”

“Whatever,” Emma says, forcing a laugh. “His ‘second nature' casting is loony.”

“You told me just a few months ago that you thought the theory was brilliant,” Rachel says. “That it explains why you always go after guys you should stay away from.”

Since I'm one of the guys Emma has tried to stay away from, I'm curious to see where this topic will go. McGregor is definitely right about
me
. I do wish, at least sometimes, that I could listen to the devil on my shoulder and not care about anyone but myself.

And every once in a while, that's exactly what I do.

“I don't
go after
bad boys,” Emma tells Rachel. “I
don't
,” she adds, and looks at me. Then, as if she suddenly remembers who
her real date is, she turns to Devin. “I just happen to find out they're wild after I start dating them. So … um, Devin, is there anything dangerous I should know about
you
?”

Devin glances at me. “Jake and I accidentally started a field on fire once, with a stray bottle rocket. Is that dangerous enough?”

I've already told Emma that story, but she smiles big anyway and starts to say something else, when Rachel cuts her off. “Sorry, Devin, but
accidentally
doesn't count. You pretty much need a Surgeon General's warning slapped on your chest to turn Emma's head. I mean look at the list …” Rachel ticks off a few of Emma's pre-Hollywood crushes, then moves on to the two jerks she dated before Troy. Then she says, “Troy was a total player too, and now there's Brett—well, sort of. Emma's already liked him
forever
, but she's playing hard to get now. She's a real tease when she wants to be.”