Bittersweet (21 page)

“Yes or no,” he whispers right into it.

“Yes,” I say, swallowing hard. He pulls back and looks into my eyes.

“Mmm. You know I love to hear you say that.” His gaze gives off a heat that makes me want to strip off his clothes right here on the street.

“Greg—” My intention, my need, is right there in my voice. Is Maxine home? I don’t know if I care. But I stop, biting my lip. We need to take this slow. “Wh-what time tomorrow?”

He takes a step back, and he takes a deep breath, trying to calm down too. “Early. Be ready at nine. I’ll come pick you up.”

I smile, feeling weirdly shy now. “All right then.”

He reaches down and takes my hand, kisses my knuckles, then leans over and kisses my forehead, then last, reluctantly, brushes his lips to mine, like he’s worried he won’t be able to leave it at that. I know the feeling.

“Cathy,” he says quietly. “Thanks for… Thank you.”

I reach up and touch his face, my heart pounding with the intensity of everything I’m feeling between us in such a short space of time. He smiles a little and then turns, and my hand slips away.

“See you tomorrow,” Greg says.

He pushes his hands into his pockets and walks off without another word, of course. I watch him go, pushing away the tiny ball of worry that there could be a rocky road ahead of us.

It’s ten to nine in the morning and I’ve tried on nine or ten different tops with my denim shorts. Strappy, long-sleeves, cap-sleeves—you name it, I’ve rejected it. It’s kind of hard to know what to wear when you don’t know where you’re going or what you’re doing. Finally I decide if I’m going casual on the bottom, I’ll go kind of fancier on top. I slip on a loose white button-down silk shirt, roll up the sleeves a little, and make sure it’s
un
buttoned enough to leave only a little to the imagination. Just as I finish up and check my reflection for the hundredth time, I hear a rumbling engine outside. I look out and see a red vintage convertible Corvette pulling up to the curb, with a familiar dark mop of hair in the driver’s seat. A totally pathetic girly thrill makes my stomach flip, and as I hear the engine cut out I stride down the hallway to knock on Max’s door.

“Maxi?” I poke my head into the door cautiously, worried since I last got an eyeful of Todd’s bare, hairy ass when the sheets had slipped. “He’s here. Wish me luck,” I whisper.

They got in late last night, but thankfully her man is fully covered this morning. I’d filled Max in sleepily when we bumped into each other in the hallway heading to the bathroom at three in the morning. A restless night’s sleep meant extra cover-up and fretting for me this morning.

“Have fun, honey,” she croaks. “Take the pepper spray, huh? Just in case.”

I shake my head and smile, closing her door again quietly. When I arrive downstairs I see Greg leaning against the car, arms folded, sunglasses on. Which I would be mad about given they hide those gorgeous eyes, if they didn’t look so damn sexy on him.

“Sweet ride,” I say, slowing down as I stand in front of him on the pavement and put one hand on my hip. “Should I have brought a headscarf?”

He stands and takes a step toward me, smiling. “You know I like your hair all messed up,” he murmurs, and leans down to kiss my cheek slowly, inhaling deeply. I find my lips parting, and swallow. “You look beautiful, by the way,” he adds, then takes a step back finally and turns to open the car door for me. “Sorry I didn’t buzz up. I still don’t know your apartment number.”

“Well, I still don’t know exactly where
your
apartment
is
,” I counter, and he nods.

“We’ll have to rectify that,” he says, looking at me over the top of his shades so I get a glimmer of glinting blue. I take a deep breath and get into the Corvette, trying to look graceful, and grin up at him as he shuts the door and runs around to the other side to get behind the wheel.

“Where did you get this car anyhow?” I ask, pulling on my seat belt and feeling an entirely inappropriate buzz as the engine roars to life, vibrating the leather seat underneath me. Greg turns to me and revs the engine again before we pull off, grinning as though he’s aware of the effect it’s having on me.

“Well, there are perks to playing Ethan Scott, one of which is that he drives a pretty awesome but totally unlikely vehicle. Production let me swipe it for the day.”

I nod appreciatively. “Nice.”

He reaches over and pulls an old-school map out of the glove box, hands it to me, and taps it. I see a spot circled on it that looks to be about a three-hour drive from Dogwood. “You’re going to navigate,” he says. “You’re up to that, right?” He checks his mirror for traffic and then pulls out.

I scoff. “What is that, some kind of cliché about women not being able to read a map?”

He glances at me and then returns his eyes to the road. “No. I have every faith in you, Cathy.” He lifts his hand off the gear stick and rests it on my naked knee. “I meant, you’re sure you’ll be able to concentrate?” He edges his hand further up my thigh, and I’m both glad and sorry that I didn’t wear a skirt for further … access.

“Hey, focus on the road, frisky,” I say, trying to keep the needy tremor out of my voice. “So where are you taking me anyway?” I try and get a clue from the circled destination on the map, but it’s a small town unfamiliar to me, just over the border in North Carolina.

“Well now, if I told you it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it,” Greg retorts.

I shift in my seat and a few minutes later point out the exit onto the highway heading south. When we get onto it, the wind begins to whip through my hair, and Greg turns to me and grins as I brush my eggplant-colored locks out of my face and reach into my purse, attempting to find something to put it back in a ponytail. No luck.

“Not sure I’m all that into surprises,” I say, raising my voice to be heard over the roar of the engine and the rush of the wind. I tell myself to try and relax, but he’s not the only one who doesn’t like not to be in control.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, turning briefly to me and looking over his sunglasses again like he really needs to know. I reach over and run a hand up his arm as it stretches out to the steering wheel, feeling the contours of his muscles contract.

“Yes. I trust you.”

He looks back at the road without saying anything else, and I wonder if I’m imagining a slight look of worry crossing his face as he does.

“OK then,” he calls back, and we’re silent for a while, until I see the next exit and we head off the highway and onto a quieter, more winding open road. The noise is less deafening now, and Greg reaches over and clicks on the radio. Motown begins to blare tinnily from the old speaker system and he gives a self-satisfied grin.

“You like this station, right? I seem to recall getting serenaded when you were ogling me in the parking lot that time.”

I pull a face, but can’t help chuckling. “I wasn’t
ogling
you.”

“Uh huh. I know how you’re just all about objectification.”

As I study his handsome, smiling profile it’s kind of hard to disagree, though there’s more to what I like about Greg Moran. A lot more… He starts singing along to the radio, and I’m actually surprised at how good a voice he has. Guess you have to be OK at singing to be a theater kid. He glances over at me encouragingly, and I laugh again and join in, getting so into our little Marvin-and-Tammy duet that I almost miss our next turn. We’re both in such a good mood that it’s hard to believe our awkward period ever happened.

We see a gas station up ahead, and Greg suggests we pull in and get some drinks and top off the gas. I get out as he fills up the tank, and stretch my legs, heading into the little store attached to it to browse the shelves. I pick up some gum and a cream soda, then hear the bell go over the door again as Greg comes in and takes off his sunglasses. When he spots me, the most beautiful smile breaks out on his face, making me blush. I’m starting to feel sort of giddy, and I think it’s because, for the first time in a long time, I’m not worried. I’m just happy.

Greg comes over to me, looks in the fridge and picks out a bottle of Coke, then takes our stuff to the register to pay for it along with the gas. I follow, and can’t help nestling in beside him as he pays the bearded guy ringing us up. He smiles down at me and kisses the top of my head, chuckling at the no-doubt crazy state of my hair.

“Don’t forget this,” I say, picking up his cell, which he’s left resting on the counter so he could pull his wallet out. I jump as it starts to buzz in my hand—and my eyes widen as Greg suddenly reaches over to snatch it out of my hand.

The action is so swift, almost angry, that the snuggly, mellow feeling of a few seconds ago is instantly gone. He looks down at the screen and his shoulders visibly tense and then slump again. I had caught the caller ID—
Quentin Carter
. Greg’s eyes look apologetic, but he turns away from me and answers quickly.

“Q, hi,” he says, sounding businesslike. The bearded guy behind the counter is holding out change in his hand, looking irritated, and I take it from him and walk past Greg, pushing back through the door with the bell jangling loudly. As I walk over to the car, I hear Greg telling Quentin Carter, “Listen, now’s not a good time— I don’t know why she’d assume that… It’s fine, Q, she knows we work well on screen. I’m fairly certain she’s not going to do anything to jeopardize that. Jesus, the woman is nothing if not career-oriented…”

I open my cream soda but it suddenly tastes bitter on my tongue. I guess he must be talking about Bethany. Again, she has to get in the way. The jumpy way he snatched the phone makes me think he thought it was “B” calling now. Maybe I’m kidding myself to think he was being honest about how deeply the two of them were involved.

As I hear the store’s door open again and Greg comes out, I get back into the Corvette and clump the door shut, trying and failing not to seem too sulky.

“Sorry about that,” he says, getting in and turning to look at me. “It was my agent. God knows why he’s fielding work calls on the holiday weekend, but… I’m sorry.” He’s frowning, and I can see his jaw clench as he fumbles to put the key in the ignition, but I reach over and still his hand before he turns it.

“Greg—was that about Bethany? I hate to sound like a paranoid girlf— Um, I mean… I just don’t want you to jump every time the phone rings, worrying it’s her. If you two were, like,
together
together, it’s cool. I meant what I said. I trust you. You’re with me, and we’re here just in the moment, right? So if—” I stop as he leans over and brushes his fingertips over my lips, but then he sighs, looking down in his lap.

“It’s not Bethany I was worried about calling.” He swallows nervously. “I… I thought it might be—” He stops and lets out a weird, low—and yes, kind of sexy—growl. “This isn’t what today is about.” He looks at his watch and starts the engine, shaking his head. I don’t stop him, even though I know my expression is sort of confused. He doesn’t pull away yet, but turns back to me, his eyes searching mine. “You’re right. We need to focus on the moment. Today is about you, not any of my shit. I promise you, this is the only thing I want to think about. Being with you. Here, now.” His hands leave the steering wheel as the engine rumbles, waiting to be gunned, and he reaches over for mine, entwining his fingers between my own, leaning in and kissing me deeply. As he moves away, he has his little furrow between his brows. “I’m not going to let anything ruin it.” He says it almost to himself.

As we drive out of the gas station and back out onto the road, he still seems preoccupied, and I reach over and rub the back of his neck, feeling a little hot as he groans softly while I massage the muscles there.

“You all right?” I ask quietly. “Was everything else OK with your agent?” I can’t help feeling that again we’ve slipped from happy-go-lucky to dark and preoccupied, and it’s almost frightening how much I want to comfort him, to tell him it will all be OK, even though I’m not sure myself that it really will be.

“Yeah,” he says, but drawing out the word as though he’s not quite certain. He’s quiet for a moment. “You know, with Bethany… She requested me personally,” he says, and my hand stills. “She wanted me to play the part of Ethan because she saw me in a play and I guess she liked the look of me or whatever. We had dinner in New York, then I screwed up my courage to get the flight to LA for another audition with her.” He turns his head a little and I see a wry smile on his lips. “I didn’t think I’d get it but she basically wouldn’t let the producers choose anyone else. Lucky they liked me too, in the end. But since she thinks she’s responsible for getting me the role, she’s kind of a little … proprietary.” He presses his mouth into a line like he tastes something sour. “I just have to be careful, because she’s one of the ‘names’ on the show. If things get fucked up between us, it won’t be her ass they fire, you know what I mean? And the team behind the show like the idea of the two of us together, of course, because they think the viewers will be into it, once it airs. But a show-mance just isn’t my thing.” He shakes his head, and my fingers creep back onto his neck. He exhales a long breath, turns his head a little toward me, glancing away from the road. “You are.”

I bite my lip to keep from grinning. I’m really glad he explained a bit more about Bethany, and I feel like an idiot for making a big deal of it—to him, and in my head. I lean over and kiss him, and he chuckles against my lips. “Hey, frisky, I’ve got to focus on the road, remember?” he says. “We must be almost there.”

I pull back reluctantly and check the map, seeing us pass the town sign for a place called Colby, which is the one he’s circled on the map. He slows down as we drive along the main street, and I take in the cute little town—it’s even more quaint than Dogwood. Greg looks around and then finally pulls up in front of a small wooden building that has a sign that says
Trattoria Trapani
. He jumps out of the car, grinning at me, and comes over to open up my door just as I’m about to get out.

As we walk up to the steps, a buxom older woman appears at the vine-arched door to greet us.