Say It Sexy (10 page)

Erica squirmed and blushed, focusing her interest on her colorful margarita glass while at the same time trying to look like she was perfectly at ease.

“It’ll be fine,” Gwen said. “I’m just curious to know Tyler’s thoughts on soap operas. So tell me, Tyler,” she encouraged. “You’ve won an Academy Award already. Surely, you know more than I.”

To my surprise, Tyler straightened in his seat and folded his hands on the table, looking for all the world like he was actually happy to engage with the rest of us. “But you wouldn’t value my opinion if I hadn’t.”

Gwen pursed her lips in thought. “Probably not as highly, no.”

“At least you’re honest,” Tyler said, reaching for some chips.

“Does anyone else want a margarita?” Erica asked.

“Look, Vickers…” Tyler’s eyes locked on Gwen. “To each their own. Different people enjoy different types of entertainment. Variety is the spice of life and all that. There are just…some forms of entertainment that take more talent to produce.”

Crystals of ice appeared in Gwen’s eyes like slivers of moonlight. “And you think your work is superior to mine because soaps use substandard actors?”

“Oh, no, no…” Tyler shook his head, and I felt a bit of tension uncoil from the air. But the pressure soared right back to critical when he continued. “Not just substandard actors. Substandard scriptwriters, substandard soundtracks, camera, equipment, mics, stages, settings, characters…everything. It’s a cheesy business designed for a cheesy target audience who can’t appreciate a finer production. That’s all. No need to get your panties in a twist over it.”

I winced. Jesus, I’d even known it was coming, but Tyler’s brass balls were still a little too huge to be believed.

“My panties are just fine,” Gwen said, and the table got suddenly very quiet. “And I disagree with you.”

Tyler sighed, pressing his hands against his forehead. “And I guess we’re pretending for a moment that I care.”

“Well, I
do
care.” Gwen raised her chin. “I care about this whole show and how it turns out. You may be here just for a paycheck, but how our show comes across to viewers means a lot to me. For your information, soap operas portray the pains and pleasures of life in a way that all viewers can understand. The actors have to be relatable, because they endure the same problems we all do.”

“The same problems?” Ty echoed. “As in breaking nails, misplacing your boyfriend, and sleeping with a jet-setting brother you never knew about? How is that relatable? That’s so completely opposite of the target audience’s real problems. Soaps are all about rich people.”

“Tequila shots.” Erica threw up her arms and opened them, as though she’d just scored the Super Bowl’s winning touchdown.

“Not true,” Gwen said, deceptively calm. “The characters might be rich, but their problems involve love, loss, and betrayal, all the things normal people experience every day of their lives.”

I’d been sitting back listening to Gwen and Tyler debate. I really liked watching her. Listening to her. What could easily be mistaken as bitchiness was actually a feisty nature and a refusal to back down from something she believed in. I mean, come on, she’d started her career in soap operas. Of course it was a given she’d eventually confront Tyler about what he’d said. But the minute the words “love” and “normal people” escaped her mouth, I immediately stiffened and sat forward.

I don’t know why. It shouldn’t have mattered one way or another whether she believed in love or not. Maybe it was because I was thinking of her far too much. That I woke up in the morning excited to see her, and went to sleep the same way. Maybe it was because I wanted her in my bed, but I didn’t want her there if there was a remote possibility she was going to see our fucking as anything more than it was. Whatever the reason, I suddenly felt compelled to dispel her of the notion that love was a global concern.

“You know, Gwen,” I said. “Love isn’t a serious problem for everyone. Some people prefer life without it.”

Gwen looked startled and eyed me cautiously. There was a soft curiosity in her face. “Are you speaking from experience?”

Anger flooded through me that had nothing to do with Gwen and everything to do with Rachel and the pain and betrayal I’d experienced years before. “You bet your ass I am.”

“I think with love, preference is irrelevant. Love is a human emotion, a chemical reaction—an all-powerful
compulsion
—not something you can turn off and on at will,” Gwen said softly.

“Love is a
choice
,” Erica said, surprising me. And by the looks on their faces, surprising everyone else at the table, as well. She didn’t appear to be addressing anyone specific, more like reflecting on her own pain we would never know about. “Garrick can choose not to want it.”

Eyes wide, Gwen looked around the table. “Is that what you all believe?”

Shane and Tyler remained quiet. Watchful.

Gwen shook her head. “Because no one who thinks that can understand the core of a soap opera, which is targeted toward people who thrive on passion and love. The whole point is that no matter what horrible struggles or obstacles life throws at us, we can overcome them because of the love and support we receive through our relationships with others. And those relationships are never easy to maintain. They’re never perfect. But they’re worth it.”

What she was saying was too good to be true and I felt it was my duty to call bullshit. To stop her from spouting it to anyone else. Blind belief in love only resulted in disappointment and grief.

I held my ground. “What are you going to tell us next? That you believe in fairytales? Or was you mentioning Disney the first day we met indicative of the movies you truly watch?”

To her, love was the key to overcoming any obstacle? She had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.
No
idea.

She looked stunned then tilted her chin defiantly. “How can I expect you to understand? All your career has been about are explosions, gunfire, and ass shots.”

“Wow,” I growled, uneasily aware that the progress we’d made in the past week was disintegrating, and all because I was being an asshole. But for some reason, I couldn’t stop myself. It was like I was watching one of my films, unable to stop myself from making a colossal mistake. “You really boiled action movies down to three important components there. Sounds like you’ve indulged in a few yourself. Guilty pleasure?”

She folded her pretty arms over her chest. “Love exists, Garrick, whether you believe in it or not.”

“Love is a flare,” I fired back. “It ignites, burns for a while, then
dies
.”

“My parents have been married for thirty years, and they’re still going strong,” Gwen said. “That must be a pretty damned big flare.”

I smiled briefly, but even I had to admit it felt mean. “I’m sure something a little more substantial is holding them together, especially if your dad is the prime breadwinner in your family. If your mom’s hot, then maybe sex is a factor, too. But it’s not love, princess.”

Hurt flashed across her face, and it was like I’d suddenly been jerked back on a chain. What the fuck was I doing? Even if what I’d said was true about her parents, she had the right to believe in them and in love. Who was I to rain on her parade?

“You take that back,” she snapped.

But I wouldn’t. And I couldn’t stop, for some reason. “It’s true. Many marriages are for convenience, not love. The sooner you wake up to that fact, the more prepared for life you’ll be.”

“Guys…” Erica groaned.

“What would you know about love, Hollywood playboy who dates a new girl every two weeks?” Gwen said.

“Two weeks?” I guffawed. “Damn, girl. You could solve world hunger with the amount of faith you put in my ability to keep a relationship.
Try three days.”

“Yes, that’s only too clear. As you told me, the tabloids never lie, right?”

“For someone completely uninterested in yours truly, you sure seem to know a lot about me. Let me guess. You looked me up after we talked that day. And now you have it in your head that I’m some scummy player who slept his way up the Hollywood popularity ladder?” I asked.

“I’m right, aren’t I? Isn’t that what you just admitted?”

I wasn’t going to let her win this. “How many pictures did you scroll through before you had me pinned? Five? Twenty? Because I guarantee by the fiery shade of cherry in those freckle-dusted cheeks, you wish you were lucky enough to be in every single one of them.”

Her mouth dropped and she pushed away from the table. “I hate you.”

“Good,” I concluded, even as a giant boulder formed in my throat. It was like my mouth belonged to someone else, and no matter how much I wanted to stop it, I couldn’t. Finally, I ripped my gaze away from her and turned my attention to the other members of our party. “Anyone have an extra menu?”

“Here,” Gwen retorted, surging to her feet and flinging her menu at me. “I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.”

“Aw,” I mocked. “And here I thought dinner discussions were your thing.”

“Honey, don’t leave,” Erica piped up gently. “You haven’t eaten anything.”

“I’ll order room service instead,” she said, her eyes glistening. “Goodnight, Erica. Tyler. Shane.”

“Night, Gwen,” Tyler murmured.

“Goodnight,” Erica said sullenly.

Shane waved.

With that, Gwen spun around and breezed out of the restaurant, the swish in her hips reflecting the anger in her heart. I knew I had hurt her, but I just couldn’t let it go. “Was it something I said?”

“Dude,” Tyler said, without glancing up from his phone. “Freckle-dusted cheeks?”

I didn’t answer. I just stared at the menu Gwen had thrown and mentally cursed Rachel.

She’d really screwed me up. So badly that now I was hell-bent on wrecking other people and their hope for a future as a couple with someone they cherished.

How unfair was that?

Forty minutes later, after I’d forced down some food, I studied those around me. They didn’t look like they’d enjoyed their meal any more than me. I pushed back from the table. “I’m going to hit some bars. Anyone want to join me?”

Gwen

Unbelievable.
I couldn’t get away from him fast enough. I hate, hate,
hated
the fact that I’d let him get to me, that I’d left in such a huff, leaving Erica alone with the boys, but I had to put as much distance between myself and Garrick as I possibly could before I exploded.

“Stupid jerk,” I snarled, slamming the door to my hotel room. I threw my purse and card key on my bed and kicked off my heels on the way to the kitchenette. “Impossible, insufferable, irresponsible asshole.
The sooner you wake up to that fact, the more prepared for life you’ll be,”
I mocked in my best Gar-dick impression.

I picked up a pillow from the bed and flung it at the wall. It bounced back and landed on the floor.

“There is nothing more substantial than love, you moron. What a complete and total loser. My parents aren’t perfect, but they love each other. And I’m going to have a love like that one day. Just because stupid
you
doesn’t believe in it doesn’t mean it can’t happen. Just because Lacey is going to let Payton into her heart doesn’t mean I have to care about you or anything you think. I don’t care how hot you are. And no way would I want to be one of those girls in your stupid selfies.”

I was crying and sniffling. I couldn’t believe he was making me feel this way.

“I’ll bet you can’t cry on cue, you sorry excuse for a human being. ‘Cause that’s totally what I’m doing right now. As if
you
could make me cry, you jerk.” I quickly wiped my cheeks, furious at the thought that he
could
bring me to tears.

My phone vibrated in my purse. Figuring it was Garrick (Lyle had made us all exchange cell numbers last week) and infuriated that he’d have the audacity to call, I ripped it out of my bag and answered. “Are we seriously doing round two now?”

“Gwendolyn? Dear?” My father’s deep voice resonated from the other end of the line.

I froze, my spine suddenly encased in ice. My eyes flew open and, in spite of being rooted in place, I frantically tried to backtrack. “Dad. Hi. Um…I thought you were someone else.” I even tacked on a little laugh.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, not quite fooled yet. “You sound upset.”

“Oh, no,” I assured hurriedly. “Everything’s fine. I was just rehearsing some lines and answered still angry. Ha, ha.”

“Who the hell did you think I was?”

“Uh…no one.” Scrambling for a name, I blurted out, “Stacy.” Who was a makeup artist, not an actor. “Just one of the cast members helping me prepare for next week’s shooting. She was supposed to call me, so we could reenact the scene.”

“I see. Isn’t it your night off?”

Of course, he was keeping track of my schedule. “Yes.”

“Such a hard worker. That’s my girl. But I expected you to call by now. How do you like Albuquerque? They gave you a top notch suite, right?”