Lovestruck in Los Angeles (18 page)

“I think you’re cynical.”

“I’m actually trying to pay you a compliment. Being the exception to the rule in a room like this is a good thing, Lizzie.”

“Well, thank you then. I guess.”

He leaned back into the couch, crossing an ankle over his knee. The picture of casual confidence, very Jackson. “I was a bit worried about you last year, you know.”

I stared at him. “You were worried about me? Why?”

“When everything went so nuts for Thomas after
Hostile
…I just didn’t know how he would react, you know. I mean, I
thought
I knew—”

“Jackson, what are you talking about?”

“It would turn a lot of heads, is all I mean. And I never thought that would happen to Thomas. He’s always been so steady. But I’ve seen it happen to so many actors. One day they’re you’re average, hard-working bloke, And the next…they change. It goes to their head. Messes with their confidence. I didn’t want that for him.”

“I don’t either,” I said softly. “But I don’t think he would ever change, not really.” There’s an almost pleading note in my voice, like I’m asking him for reassurance, and I feel immediately guilty for it. Disloyal.

“I don’t think he will either, Lizzie. It shocks me sometimes actually.” He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, and my back suddenly tightened at his touch.
He flirts with everything that moves
, I reminded myself.

“When I see the two of you together, you’re so…normal,” he said.

“And that’s a good thing?”

He laughed, low in his throat. “There are days when I would say no, to be honest. Days when I wonder why Thomas doesn’t act a little more like a movie star.”

“Like you and Killian and Lola, you mean?” There was a bite to my tone, but if he noticed he didn’t mention it.

“Well, yeah. I mean, it’s normal for someone in our position to throw around their money every once in a while. Or go out and really party, not just sit in a comfy little pub every night.”

“Thomas likes those pubs—”

“I know, that’s my point. Sometimes I’ve wondered if there wasn’t something wrong with him, not wanting to be out there living the life. But now…”

“What, you had some big change of heart?” I asked, eyebrows raised. “Seen the error of your flash ways?”

“I just see the two of you together and I realize that it’s real.” He was staring at me, completely serious. “You have no ulterior motive, Lizzie. It’s clear to anyone.”

“Of course I don’t—”

“But you also don’t see how unique that is in our line of work. Everyone is trying to get ahead. But not you.”

I blushed, not sure if he was complimenting me or not but feeling very exposed all of a sudden. Where was Thomas?

“I wonder if I’ll ever have anything like it,” Jackson murmured, and I realized with a shock that he was sad. I didn’t think I’d ever seen Jackson anything other than cocky and carefree.

“Of course you could, Jackson,” I said. “You’re a catch. A million girls would love to get to know you.”

“Yeah, but not for me. That’s my point. All this time I thought Tommy had it backwards, but I’m starting to realize it was me. He’s going to have a wonderful life with a girl who genuinely loves him. What am I going to have? How will I ever trust that someone is with me for me, and not because I’m Jackson Coles?”

I swallowed, feeling very sad for him. He sounded so desolate, so hopeless. “I don’t think it has to be that way,” I finally said. “I think if you really want it, you’ll find someone who doesn’t give a shit about all of this.” I waved, gesturing to the room. “But, you know, you’ll have to start looking outside of all of this to find it.”

He laughed. “Good point.” His gaze was feeling too intense on me, so I turned away, taking a gulp of champagne and pretending to look around the room. He watched me for a moment before finally changing the subject. “So, how’s Malibu?”

I breathed a relived sigh. “Beautiful. Just like you said.”

“And have you called my surf guy yet?”

I shook my head. “I’ve been staying pretty busy hiking, actually.”

He perked up at that. “I really got into hiking when I was out here a few years ago. Have you been to Runyon Cannon yet?”

We chatted for a few minutes about hiking trails we’d enjoyed, Jackson’s mood improving until I could almost pretend I hadn’t seen that moment of hopelessness so sad it took my breath away.

“Thomas!” Jackson suddenly said, jumping up from the couch. Thomas was walking toward us, his face drawn and tired. He didn’t seem surprised to see Jackson though and slapped his costar on the back in greeting.

“How are you, mate?” Thomas asked, but his eyes darted over to me. Was I imaging the accusation in them? I stood to join them, but he made no move to take my hand.

“I’m good, just keeping Lizzie here company while you worked.”

Thomas’s eyes darted to me again. “Sorry about that,” he said. “There was a bunch of people to talk to, and I couldn’t get away.”

“It’s no problem.” I gave Jackson a small smile. “It was nice to run into someone from home.”

“Did you want a drink?” Jackson asked, gesturing at Thomas’s empty hand. Thomas rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture I associated with him being stressed.

“No, thanks. I’m actually really beat.” He raised his eyebrows at me. “I’m ready to head home if you are?”

I felt a rush of relief. I didn’t think I had ever been so ready to leave a party. “Sure.”

Thomas and Jackson said their goodbyes, promising to meet up one day while Jackson was in town. Jackson then turned to me and pulled me into a hug. “Thanks for listening, Lizzie. Sorry to bring you down.”

I patted his back awkwardly, unable to ignore the look on Thomas’s face behind him. “It’s no problem.”

He released me, giving me a last smile, before turning to the party, his megawatt movie-star smile back in its proper place.

Thomas was quiet as we made our way to the door. He accepted my hand when I took his but granted no reassuring squeezes. Outside, he handed his keys to the valet, and we waited in the darkness, looking out over the valley stretched below us. “So,” he finally said, his voice tight. “What was that all about?”

“What?”

He didn’t look at me. “You and Jackson.”

Oh, God. I should have known he would get jealous. Thomas had once dated a girl who had been using him to get close to Jackson. To say it was a sore spot would be an understatement. But it still stung a little that he might doubt me.

“We were talking. He saw me standing alone and kept me company for a bit.”

Thomas blew out a loud breath. “I get it. I neglected you, and he swooped in to save the day. I can’t be mad because it was all my fault.”

“Why would you be mad anyhow?” I asked, my voice rising. This was ridiculous.

He didn’t respond, just stared straight ahead. I was about to demand he tell me what he was thinking when the valet pulled up with the car. Thomas moved to open the door for me, but I hopped down from the step and grabbed the handle myself, not in the mood for his chivalry. He sighed behind me before walking around to his side. I waited in the car while he tipped the valet, my arms crossed.

He got in and pulled down the driveway without a word. “Please buckle your seat belt,” I said, my voice as tight as his had been. He stopped at the gate, buckling his belt while he waited for it to swing open, but still didn’t say a word.

Fine. If that was how he wanted to be, that was just fine. There was no way I was going to make the first move here. I had done nothing wrong.

Thomas groaned suddenly, pulling the wheel sharply so that we were on the side of the winding, mountain road. He turned to me. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for, Lizzie. You don’t deserve suspicion.”

“Thank you for saying that.” I studied his face in the darkness. He still looked mad, or frustrated. Or maybe just tired. “We were just talking, Thomas.”

“I was watching you.” He turned his head slightly to stare out the front window. “He touched your hair.”

“I didn’t ask him to. And I didn’t reciprocate or give him any reason to think he should continue along that line.”

Thomas nodded, once. “I didn’t like it.”

“I didn’t like it much either. But it was nice having someone to talk to. It wasn’t much fun for me when you left me by myself.”

“I’m sorry, Lizzie. I really couldn’t get away—”

I put my hand on his shoulder. “I’m not saying you should have. I’m a big girl, and I understand that you were working. But it’s not fair of you to get mad at me for finding a way to pass the time.”

He turned back to me, his face softer now, and placed his hands on my cheeks. “You’re completely right. I’m sorry.”

He leaned in to kiss me softly, and I responded, slightly mollified.

“I promise I won’t act like a jealous ass again,” he said against my lips.

“I’ll hold you to it.”

He smiled and released me. “I’m exhausted. Let’s go home.”

We drove in silence, but it was much less tense than before. Thomas seemed to be in a better frame of mind, though I could tell he was still stressed. And clearly tired. I remembered that he’d been tired and somewhat drawn before we’d even gotten to the party. Was the Jackson thing only the tip of the iceberg? What else was bothering him?

My conversation with Jackson swirled in my head. How surprised he was that Thomas hadn’t been more affected by the success. How different he said we were from the rest of the couples in the room. And, more than anything, how sad and lonely he sounded when he told me about not ever finding something real.

My stomach hurt by the time we pulled into the garage. I was realizing some things about this business, about this life, that I had been willfully blind to. I had a feeling it was a lot harder, a lot more complicated, than I had ever realized before. It was clearly affecting Thomas right now, the pressures of the industry. And it clearly affected Jackson as well, though he’d been dealing with it for much longer.

As we walked into our beautiful, storybook home in Malibu, I felt a low thrum of fear that I couldn’t seem to shake. What if Jackson was wrong? What if Thomas and I weren’t different from the other couples at that party? What if we weren’t immune to the sadness and loneliness I had seen in the eyes of one of the most famous men in the world?

What if we weren’t strong enough to get through this?

Chapter Fourteen

The Saturday after Jenner’s party, I woke up feeling sick to my stomach.

“Lizzie?” Thomas asked sleepily from beside me as I sat up, rubbing my belly. “You okay, babe?”

I turned my head to tell him I was okay, and the small movement sent a rush of nausea through me. “I’m going to be sick,” I whispered, bolting from the bed. I ran to the bathroom, just barely making it to the toilet before I threw up.

Thomas was right behind me, rubbing my back and smoothing my hair away from my face. I groaned. “Go. You don’t need to see me all gross.”

“Yeah, right,” he said, dropping to his knees so he could better rub my back. I bent over the toilet and retched again and again. Finally, when there couldn’t possibly be anything left in my stomach, I sank back onto my heels and flushed the toilet.

“Here.” Thomas handed me a tissue, and I wiped my mouth.

I moaned. “I feel like I just got hit by a truck.”

“You’re all clammy.” He sounded worried. “But you don’t feel hot.”

“I think I just need to lie down.”

Thomas insisted on carrying me back to the bed then laid me gently on my side of the bed. “I’ll go get you something to drink. Apple juice? Tea?”

“Apple juice would be good.”

I had to make another run for bathroom before he even made it back. How could I possibly need to throw up again? I was hobbling back toward the bed when he returned.

“Damn it, Lizzie, you should have waited for me.” He put the juice on the table beside the bed and ran to me, swooping me up again.

“I can walk, Thomas. I’m sick, not an invalid.”

“I’ll carry you if I feel like it,” he said, helping me back into bed. He handed me the glass. “Drink slowly.” I took a sip, the taste and wetness feeling like heaven on my fuzzy, swollen tongue. “Better?”

I nodded, and he set the cup on the table again. “When did you start to feel bad?”

“Not until I woke up.”

“You were fine yesterday?”

I nodded. Thomas had spent most of the evening at the studio, not coming home until long after I’d fallen asleep on the couch with a book.

“Did you eat anything strange?” he asked.

“No, I ate here at the house yesterday. I had a sandwich for lunch and that leftover soup for dinner.”

He scowled briefly. “That’s hardly enough food for a whole day.”

“Well I’m pretty glad I underdid it right about now. Anything else I would have eaten would have just come back up anyhow.”

I didn’t get sick again for the rest of the morning, though I did continue to feel terrible, nauseated and weak. Thomas stayed in bed with me for hours, watching television and rubbing my back and arms. When he brought me some eggs and toast for lunch, I took two bites before promptly running back to the bathroom to throw it up.

“We’re going to the doctor,” he said once I was back in bed. He paced the room in an agitated manner I associated with him waiting for a review to come out. He was nervous.

“I’m not going to the doctor. It’s only a stomach bug.”

“You can’t hold anything down!” he cried, throwing his arms up.

“I’ll hardly starve, Thomas.” I held up my second glass of apple juice. “And I’m keeping hydrated, which is the only thing a doctor would be worried about.”

He sat down at the edge of the mattress. “I don’t like it, Lizzie.”

“I don’t like it either, but there’s not a lot I can do about it aside from rest, right?”

He sighed. “I guess you’re right. I’m going to go call Heidi.”

“Why? Does she need to know I’m puking my guts out?”

“I’m canceling my meeting.”

I shook my head vehemently, wincing when the nausea rose. I closed my eyes, willing it to subside. When it did, I looked at him. “No. You’re not canceling that meeting. Heidi’s been trying to set it up for weeks.”