Chasing Stars (23 page)

“Damn girl, bad mood?” He smacks my derriere, treading to the minibar.

“Bite me.” I scramble on the floor, seeking my cell phone. Maybe Will replied. Trembling, I retrieve the phone, from behind the couch. Nothing. Disappointment rushes through me. Whatever.

“Where are we going after the premiere?” I snatch a tiny bottle of vodka from Tarry’s hands.

“Whoa, what’s with you?” With a curious look is on his face, he fetches another bottle.

“Let’s say, I messed up, but it is for the best.” I gulp the drink, grimacing as it burns my throat.

“
Fabric
, that’s where we will hit tonight, if you don’t mind unisex toilets.” He chugs the vodka and wipes his mouth. “Does your foul mood have anything to do with a certain tattoo artist?” he inquires.

“Hell no. Why would it?” I lie.

“You are a magnificent actress, how is it you can’t lie to save your fucking life?” he nods with amusement.

“Fuck you, smart-ass.” I walk to the bar and grab a bottle of Jack Daniels.

“Easy there, peaches. You have to walk the damn red carpet.” Tarry steals my bottle and swigs it down. “Did you fall for the bastard?”

“I, uh, I don’t know. It is all so confusing.” I shrug, and walk out to the terrace. I shiver from the cold breeze.

Tarry follows me, he lights a cigarette, and we stand in silence for a few minutes, watching gray clouds rolling across the sky.

“You guys were together for a while. You’ve never been more than a few dates with anybody, so he must have meant something to you.” He drapes his arm over my shoulders.

“I think I got more involved than I should have.” I stare at the silver-gray sky.

“How did you manage to keep it out the tabloids?” He drags on his cigarette.

“A stroke of luck, I guess. The few times we ventured out, we went unnoticed. One of the many perks of Manhattan.” I remember being so intoxicated by his presence that I never worried about paparazzi.

“What happened that has made you so depressed?”

“I am not depressed,” I utter. But am I?

“Come on, peaches. I have never seen you so down. Did he do something to hurt you?”

“No,” I mumble. “Will is great. But we can’t be together, we are too different.”

“You want to know what I think?”

“No.”

“Well, I think, you are just too afraid of your feelings. I also think that you owe it to yourself to explore whatever happened between the two of you,” he says, staring at the horizon.

I hear two long and then two short knocks at the front door. I stroll back to my room and swing the door open.

“Hi, Marina.” I lean over to give her a kiss on her cheek.

“Hey, baby,” Stefan says as he storms into the room.

“Not you, too.” I roll my eyes.

“Huh? What?” Stefan ushers in the makeup artist and the hairdresser.

“Apparently, Portia dislikes the word
baby
.” Tarry smirks as he closes the terrace door. He lounges on my bed and opens his fourth bottle.

“Since when?” Stefan frowns. “Anyway, these are Clara and Mauricio. They will do your hair and makeup.” Stefan approaches an armoire and hangs a vintage Versace gown for tonight’s premiere. The gown reaches the floor, draped with thousands of crystals. It weighs a ton.

“The limo will be here for you at eight, sharp.” He turns to Tarry. “Are you riding with Portia?”

“Yeah, sure, man,” Tarry says, eyeing Clara, with his bloodshot eyes.

What a man whore, I think. “Marina, we are hitting Fabric after the premiere. Do you guys want to come with us?” I inquire.

“Sure. Since it is a Chloe-free night, we might as well go clubbing.” Marina flashes her perfect white teeth at me. Her parents are Swedish and Jamaican, which makes her an exotic beauty.

Stefan places a jewelry box on the desk. He waves a manila folder my way before sliding it inside the desk drawer. “Here is a list of the questions I approved for tomorrow morning, in case you want to go over them.” He kisses my cheek.

“Bye, ba—oh, never mind. See you in a few.” He stands by the door. “Oh, and Damon checked in a couple hours ago, he will be joining you tonight.” He shakes his head while pulling a smirking Marina out of the room with him.

“You were fantastic!” My costar Damon Ridge whispers in my ear as he escorts me out of the theater. His hand, firmly on my naked lower back, sends shivers up my spine. He is extremely handsome and amazing in bed, I might add.

“Love you Damon and Portia,” screams a fan.

“Love you, too,” I yell back.

“Jeez, no fun sharing the limelight with you, people seem to ignore me.” He smiles as we pose for the fans waiting outside for a glimpse of us.

“C’mon, these teenager girls are certainly not here to see me, Mr. Modest,” I reply. Damon and I have been separately touring different countries, until now.

“A picture, please,” someone pleads. I approach the barricade and sign a few autographs. I grab a teenager’s camera and snap a picture of the two of us.

Doing what he does better, Stefan directs a six-foot-five security guard to haul me away. I smile to the fans, huddling behind the barricade. I blink a few times from the flashes and wave one last time, before Stefan smilingly shoves me inside the waiting limo. Marina and Tarry are already inside the car. Damon sneaks inside and slides next to me.

Tarry greets us with flutes of champagne, “To the best damn blockbuster of the fucking year.” He raises his glass.

“Cheers!” We all toast.

I tilt the flute and relish the sparkling liquid as it tickles my throat. I am thirsty for the sedation the alcohol can grant me. My lips turn up, in an artificial smile, and I can’t help but wish for Will to be with me. Twelve-step program, here I come.

“Hey, Damon, you want to go to Fabric with us?” I bat my lashes at him.

“Yeah, I am in, baby.” And yes, I cringe at the word, but Damon doesn’t seem to notice.

After ditching the premiere gown, I don a comfortable outfit and wait for the others. I search my purse for some damn pills. I realize that I ran out, but I hadn’t gotten a refill while in New York. Damn Will. He set my mind at so much ease, I forgot about getting high.

I hear a gentle knock at the door and answer without checking.

“Hey, Damon, come in.” I step back and he enters. “Do you have anything on you?” I ask bluntly.

“Whoa. Are you dry?” He smiles, and fishes in his pocket. “Will this do?” He lights up some weed and hands it to me.

“You look stunning, babe.”

“Thanks,” I mumble taking a drag. That’s Will’s line, dumbass. Can Damon say
only
the wrong things tonight?

I am wearing a pair of Blue Cult jeans, an Armani camisole, and my silver stilettos. Crap. I know Will loves these pants and it upsets me that he will not be taking them off me tonight.

I hand Damon the pot and notice that his cobalt blue eyes are hungrily undressing me. Damon is one of the most handsome actors in Hollywood. Not trying to be vain here but yeah, he is smitten with me. Although the chemistry between us sparkles and we had all kinds of fun during filming, I know better than to fall for his type. Besides that, once upon a time, Will captivated me. Now, no one else does.

I sway slowly his way, closing the gap between us. I place one of my hands on his chest and fix my eyes on him. I grab his wrist and bring the pot to my lips.

Fire flares in his eyes as he stares at my lips as I take a drag. He lowers his mouth to mine, and I exhale on his lips. He sucks in the smoke that swirls from my mouth and kisses me passionately.

Damon is hot as hell, and he can kiss like no one. My hand clasps his head, intensifying the kiss. Flames ignite between my legs. His tongue assaults inside my mouth. His breath is minty, reminding me of when we hooked up during the filming of
Once upon a Dawn
. He always had a delicious taste on his lips. Oh, the naughty things we did on the set.

Two long and two short knocks bring me back to reality.

“To be continued, baby.” His husky voice slams me and brings me back into
my
fucking reality, where Will is a part of my past. I snatch the pot from Damon’s fingers and drag deeply.

“I will hold you to it,” I say. I need something stronger, not this crappy pot.

“Tarry, perfect timing,” I say and hand him the pot.

“Stefan and Marina are waiting for us down at the lobby.” He takes a puff from the pot, crushing it into an ashtray before we leave.

“Are you sure?” Tarry asks for the tenth time, trying to convince me not to use the cocaine.

“Am I fucking twelve?” I roll my drunken eyes at him, and gulp down my dry martini. “And since when did you become such a prude?”

“Hey, no need to get feisty, peaches. I just, don’t want you to do anything you will regret tomorrow,” he says.

Reluctantly, he lines up the white powder, and hands me a rolled paper. The VIP room gives me semiprivacy I don’t really care to have. I snort two lines of coke and feel weightless and energized. Tarry escorts me back to the dance floor. And, as if we are British royalty, the crowd parts for us.

I spot Stefan and Marina making out to the sound of a Cold Play song and my heart clenches. Damon enlaces my waist, pulling me closer for a slow dance. My stomach coils, and I want to vomit at the memories the song brings me. Fuck you, Will. You had no right to imprint your damn self in every area of my life and certainly not in the midst of my favorite band.

I glance up at Damon. He looks amazing and all eyes are on us as we dance to the stupid song. His lips crush against mine and, even though I don’t feel remotely close to swooning, I enjoy the kiss. Relief sweeps through me when the song ends. My blood runs faster and cools my veins. I welcome the exquisite feeling. Some fast songs follow and I dance nonstop, trying to exorcise any trace of Will in my mind and soul.

Sweaty and wasted, we leave the club around three in the morning, and I am alert and electrified.

“My feet are killing me!” I slur euphorically. My head spins, and all my nerve endings prickle. I have enough energy to run a marathon.

“Here, baby, I’ve got you.” Damon sweeps me off my feet. I squeak and let out a laugh. He silences me with a kiss, my fingers run through his hair. I am not sure, but I think someone snaps pictures of us. I don’t care. I am in a good place and Will is not allowed here. Not now and not ever again.

As we wait for the limo, I notice Tarry approaching with an arm draped across the shoulders of the platinum blonde Norwegian with long legs we met earlier. She seems as intoxicated as he is. I recall having seen her on the runway before; I think she is a Victoria’s Secret model.

Stefan tosses Marina over his shoulder, and whacks her ass when she fidgets. “Oh, woman, stop squirming, wait until we are in the room,” I laugh at the very drunk Stefan. He doesn’t drink much, so it is hilarious to see him so tipsy.

The limo arrives and we all get in. Throughout the short ride, Damon and I make out. We don’t realize when arrive at the hotel. Tarry gets out and looks at us.

“Come on, guys! Wait until you’re in the room.”

Though I notice a sting in Tarry’s high-pitched voice, I giggle. “Alright, overbearing brother.” I jump out of the car, almost losing my footing. Tarry steadies me.

“Easy, peaches.” He pulls me aside before Damon is out of the car. He asks, his voice full of concern, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I need this, Tarry,” I squeak. What the hell, since when does it hurt so much to be with one of the hottest guys in Hollywood? “I’ll be fine.” I turn and stumble into Damon’s arms.

We kiss and paw each other on our way through the hotel. Damon slides the cardkey in and, on his ninth attempt, opens the suite door.

“Finally.” He smirks and closes the door. His lips imprison mine and his hands rip my camisole, tossing it to the side. I giggle. He roughly unclips my hair, groaning as it cascades over my shoulders. He hauls me inside my bedroom and throws me on the bed. The length of him is on top of me. He presses down and kisses me until I am breathless. He pushes away and gazes at me with his hooded blue eyes, and says, “Oh, baby, you are so incredibly beautiful.”