Say It Sexy (25 page)

She wandered off to do some socializing on her own.

I talked to people. I drank. I had a genuinely good time, all the while keeping my ears and eyes on Gwen. And it was getting harder and harder to stay mad at her.

When she broke away from a girl she was talking to and walked toward me, I took her hand and tugged her into a quiet corner.

“We need to talk,” I declared, struggling to keep my eyes on her face and off of her tantalizingly curvaceous body.

Gwen swallowed thickly, her pretty jeweled greens darting around behind me for any sign of eavesdroppers. “Okay,” she agreed, not without reluctance.

“Today. On set. That was your dad, wasn’t it?”

She nodded sheepishly.

“Why didn’t you introduce me when you got my text? You completely ignored me, and we were standing a stone’s throw apart. I saw you read it. You could have at least told me that he was coming. What was it? My clothes? My hair?”

Gwen licked her lips, loosened by the alcohol. “I had no idea he was coming, Garrick. It caught me completely off-guard too. I panicked. I’m a damn good actress, but I haven’t practiced hiding my feelings about you from him. And I was afraid he’d see right through me.”

I huffed to convey my irritation. “We already talked about this. I can take him, Gwen. What the hell is so bad about our dad knowing that you’re happily coupled with a sexy guy like me?”

She thumped me in the chest. “Garrick, I wanted to introduce you. I did. I just… I got scared. You haven’t been coached on what to say.”

I balked. “You have to coach me on what to say? What’s the point of him meeting me at all if I have to pretend?”

With a huff of frustration, she massaged her temples. “My dad is a time bomb, Garrick. I don’t expect you to understand. I’ve had bad experiences in the past, experiences that led to another guy I was seeing getting hurt. And I don’t mean in the emotional sense of the word.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Did these bad experiences result in
you
getting hurt? Does your dad hit you, Gwen?”

Her eyes widened and when she looked away, I could barely swallow past the lump in my throat. “Oh God. Oh baby. Tyler said there were rumors about abuse but—“

She shook her head vigorously. “No, no. My dad, he’s never hit me. But he does have a temper. He does scare me sometimes. But I know him. He’d never hurt me. He just wants the best for me.”

I wasn’t sure I believed her about her dad not hurting her. I wasn’t even sure she realized how scared she looked of him. “Gwen,” I began.

“Garrick, I’m trying. Give me time.”

“How much time do you need?”

“I’m not sure. And I know that’s a cop out, and a vague answer—not what you’re looking for. I’m sorry I ignored you today, and made you feel crappy. It was a horrible thing for me to disregard you like I did. But trust me. It would have been much worse if I had introduced you, and things went even the slightest bit wrong.”

Frowning, I looked away until she gingerly slipped her fingers under my chin and turned my face toward hers.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, a sheen of tears appearing in her eyes. “I really am.”

At last, I nodded, adopting what I could of a smile.

“You’ll meet him,” she promised. “Someday. And I’ll work on it. It’s not you. It’s me. And it’s him. Can’t we just forget it and enjoy our time together here?”

I uncrossed my arms, threaded our fingers together, leaned in, and kissed her. “I’d like that.”

Logan and Stephanie, climbing up on a fold-out chair, switched off the house mix, directing our attention to them. After explaining the directions of the drinking game about to begin, they made sure everyone had a drink in their hand. Then all of us, possibly thirty people, stood around a laptop and played Thunderstruck.

From there, the night came in flashes.

*

After an exceptionally awkward and hilarious round of Pass the Orange, Tyler put his phone in his pocket and actually started
talking
.

*

Erica pulled Shane onto the small square of empty space that served as a dance floor.

*

Gathered around the beer pong table, Erica and Gwen shot against Tyler and Shane. I stood with Logan, cheering them on, and watching Gwen’s face, glow hearts sketched onto her cheeks, light up.

*

“How can you drink so much?” Gwen slurred, sleepy eyed and grinning as she clumsily reached for Erica’s hand.

Erica took her hand and pulled her close, which was probably a good idea because Gwen looked as though she might fall over. “It’s the only way I can shut my brain off,” Erica answered.

*

At some point, Alice Barnhart showed up. And Tyler suddenly looked stupid happy.

*

Logan, Erica, and I teamed up against another trio and played flip-cup. And, by some fortunate glitch in the cosmos, we won.

*

Soundly drunk, the girls hiccupped and giggled their way into the bathroom together, where they surely plotted the destruction of all males… and took a billion selfies for the next fifteen minutes.

*

Gwen, Stephanie, Logan, Erica, Shane, Tyler, Alice, and I congregated for a round of strip poker.

*

“No way!” Tyler exclaimed to Alice. “You’re
flowerbombbarista
?!”

Alice laughed, nodding. “I can’t believe you’re
hardwired15
!”

“Is this even real life?” Tyler exclaimed, talking animatedly with his hands.

“I don’t know,” Alice cackled, unable to stop as she lifted her hands to cover her flushed face.

*

Erica had Shane in the corner, and they were kissing like their lives depended on it. Momentarily confused, but too delightfully drunk to care, or string more than two thoughts together, I pounded back a round of tequila shots with Logan.

* * *

Shortly after three a.m., Gwen decided that she wanted to go home. We caught a cab with Uber less than five minutes later. Nestled beside me in the backseat, my arm strung around her, Gwen’s eyes kept fluttering closed. She had to be exhausted, especially in light of the fact that partying was practically a foreign concept to her. Still dressed in Stephanie’s clothes, as she had been afraid to ruin her dress in the process of pouring herself back into it, she lifted her head. She pouted up at me.

“Do you like Steph better than me?” she asked, her voice assuming a silly sort of childish quality, adorably slurred from the liquor.

“Why would you ask that, goof?” I chuckled.

With a huff, Gwen nuzzled into the crook of my neck. I could still smell the Midori, limeade, and vodka on her breath. Kissing her would be like sucking on a starburst, and my sweet tooth was jonesing for a taste. “Because she’s fun. She’s really fun and nice, Garrick. She let me borrow her clothes. Look.” As if I hadn’t noticed, she directed my attention to her shorts.

“Yes, baby. She did.” I gave her hair a kiss and squeezed her gently. “No, I don’t like her better than you. I don’t like anyone better than you, to be perfectly honest.”

“Good,” she stated bluntly. “Because I would bleach these and she would never ever ever get them back if you did.” Punctuating the promise with a stiff nod, she gave me a lopsided smile.

“Does that mean you’ll go out with me tomorrow night?”

Her brows furrowed in confusion.

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” I explained. “I made reservations at a nice restaurant. Nothing fancy. Just in case. But if you’d rather not—”

“No. I do. Want to go out with you tomorrow. Tomorrow would be…perfect.” She leaned in to kiss me softly and I grinned like a crazy person. With a sigh, she resumed her contented position on my shoulder, then promptly fell asleep. It took us half an hour to get back to Nativo.

The driver pulled off the highway and cruised into the parking lot of Nativo Lodge just as I felt myself start drifting off too. We rounded the corner toward the front entrance only to be suddenly bombarded with a storm of camera flashes.

Gwen

“What the hell?” the driver said, sitting up straighter.

I sat up like a shot from my Garrick-shaped niche, suddenly wide awake in the path of the incoming throng of paparazzi. Surrounding us, they blocked all access to the road. Commotion and questions buzzed around the car like a swarm of hornets. I heard my name called over and over as reporters tried to get my attention from outside the window.

“Oh my God,” I choked, gripped by nausea and an intense burst of panic.

“Get us out of here,” Garrick ordered the man in the driver’s seat, his arm tightening around me. “I’ll pay you whatever you ask.”

The driver glanced into his rear view mirror, the vehicle now at a full stop, and gave a sigh of dismay. “Sorry, man. But I just paid this car off. And I’m not about to drive over anybody and land my ass in jail. You’re going to have to get out.”

At some point, I had started trembling. I only noticed because Garrick took me by the upper arms, turned me to face him, and gave me a shake of his own. “It’s going to be fine. We’ll be fine,” he assured me. “Just hang on to my hand, okay?”

I nodded dumbly. Quickly, Garrick shrugged out of his jacket and helped me into it.

This was bad. This was so incredibly bad.

“How did they know?” I forced out, struggling to keep my voice from cracking as my arms shot through the sleeves. “I didn’t post anything. No one posted anything!” The night had gone so well, so wonderfully without a hitch. That it had to end this way felt almost surreal.

“I don’t know. Keep your head down and watch your step. Don’t you dare let go of my hand,” he commanded. “We’ll get inside and up to my room. Hopefully, the security guards will play escort, and get the crowd under control soon.”

“Okay.” I swore with the strength of a mouse. Not only was I in another woman’s clothes, but they were pajama quality at best. I was getting out of a taxi at 3:30 in the morning with my male lead. It looked horrible from every angle, no matter how it would be spun the next morning.

Garrick counted to three and opened the door, keeping an iron grip on my hand. The pressure, and slight pain of his bruising force, kept me on my toes, sobering me up enough not to trip on the asphalt. I kept my dress tucked under my free arm and my fingers tightly hooked into my heels as he strung me along. The hellish clamor around us only escalated and the flashes bled together, creating a giant flood of constant, blinding light. Half of the paparazzi tore into Garrick. The other half zeroed in on me.

“Gwen! Over here! Smile for the camera!”

“Holy cats! Are you two dating?”

“Have you just come from a party?”

“How’s the nightlife in Albuquerque?”

“What’s your favorite club?”

“Rough Friday night, Miss Vickers?”

“There has been talk of a serious relationship developing between you two. Can you substantiate this claim?”

“How long have you been seeing each other?”

“What’s it like to be dating Garrick Maze? You’re both so different.”

“Are you two exclusive?”

“Can you give us any insight on
Straightlaced
? What can we expect?”

“Have you been intimate?”

“Is this just a stunt to promote the relationship between Lacey and Payton?”

I shut my eyes tightly, trying to block it all out, and tripped on the curb. Garrick caught me before I fell, but the surprise knocked my heels out of my hand, and we were swallowed up in the sea of reporters by the time I scrambled to collect them. Garrick reeled me in and wrapped me up in his arms. My head throbbed.

“Are you hurt, Gwen?”

“A little too much to drink tonight?”

“Why are you dressed like that?”

“Gwen.”

“Gwen!”

“GWEN!”

“Leave me alone,” I whispered, feeling the drink, the dread, and the humiliation crawling through me like parasites. Garrick kept me close, trying to blaze a trail through the wall of people. Like I vowed, I never released his hand. The questions kept coming, rising like the tide. They had caged us and crept closer, closing us in, thrusting microphones in our faces. Why I picked now of all times to grow a spine, I couldn’t say. I had had more fun tonight than the last five years combined, and they had to ruin it all for the sake of a cover story.

“I said leave me alone!” I shouted, hand jutting out to smack away the microphone practically against my lips. This only incited a fresh wave of more pressing inquiries, and my irritation steadily compounded.

“Wow! We’ve never seen you make an outburst like that!”

“What’s wrong, Ms. Vickers? Trouble in Paradise?”

“Yes! It’s you!” I barked.