I turn to her expectantly, and she launches into her explanation. “Christian is an actor.”
“I knew that already.”
“Not like how everyone in LA is an ‘actor.’ He’s the real deal. Christian is famous. A celebrity.”
This all sounds so ridiculous; I have no idea how to respond.
“He didn’t tell you he was so successful because you’re the first person in years who’s not after him for his status or his money. But he’ll explain everything to you later when you talk. Now, he sent me to make sure you were okay, and that you made it to work on time.”
My head is ringing with new information. Christian, a famous actor? A celebrity?
“What we think happened here,” Penelope continues, “is that someone must’ve spotted him coming out of your house this morning and called the press. Or maybe the paparazzi had been stalking him since last night? There’s really no way to know. Point is, you’re busted now. I’m afraid we won’t be able to get the press off your back entirely. We’re going to try to manage them as well as we can from our end, but there could always be some scumbag following you around.” She looks in the rearview mirror. “It’s already a good sign no one’s tailing us.”
I make a mental note to add “crazy paparazzi are not chasing my car” to the positive aspects of my day.
“Anyway, the press shouldn’t be allowed on campus,” Penelope adds in a brisk, professional tone. “So at least they should leave you alone at work. But the curb in front of your house is a public space, so if some rogue paparazzi decides to stalk you there, there’s not much we can do about it.”
The words “rogue paparazzi” are so out of my frame of reference that I remain stunned into silence. The concept belongs in a parallel universe, not my quiet life.
We arrive on campus, and Christian’s assistant parks the car in a drop off spot.
“Is this entrance okay?” Penelope asks.
“Yes,” I manage, still too overwhelmed to articulate more.
“I know it’s a lot to take in, but I promise the paps aren’t too bad once you get used to them. Unfortunately, they’re par for the course when you’re around Chris.”
And then it hits me: I’ve been dating a superstar and had no idea. How? True, I never watch TV, but am I really so out of tune? It’s something Johnathan always accused me of, that I live too much in the clouds, and apparently he was right.
“This is my card.” She hands me a crisp white rectangle. “If you have any problem at all, call me. I can handle almost any situation.”
I take the card from her. “Thank you.”
I want to ask a million questions, but not to her. Only Christian can give me the answers I seek.
How mad should I be at him?
I count to ten.
Right, Lana. Better to hear his side of the story before I jump to any conclusions.
“What time do you get off today?” Penelope asks.
“I should be done at five,” I say.
“Great. Christian has asked me to pick you up again. I can take you back to your place, or to his house to…” For the first time since we met, her speech falters. “…talk things through, you know?”
“Do I have to decide now?”
“No, later is fine. I’ll wait for you here at five. Sound good?”
“Yeah, thank you.”
Still in a haze, I get out of the car and walk the familiar paths to the Engineering Department, heading for my office. Inside the building, the familiarity of the halls and the no-paparazzi-allowed policy are comforting.
Also, since I didn’t walk to work, I have half an hour to spare before my first lecture. So, instead of dropping by the office only to gather the lecture material, I sit down at my desk, power up my laptop, and google Christian Slade.
I stare, dumbstruck, at the number of hits.
About 135,000,000 results (0.49 seconds)
The top search result is a Wikipedia page, followed by an IMDb profile. As for the little row of image results, it’s a string of pictures all featuring him on the cover of a magazine in different macho poses.
Different poses, same headline: Sexiest Man Alive.
Lower on the page, there’s everything from videos and interviews to movie trailers and gossip columns about his love life. I scroll down till the end of the webpage and note the news articles about his past relationships.
Wow, he’s sure been busy dating a lot of beautiful women.
I don’t recognize any of them, but they all seem to be celebrities.
I open a new tab and google Isaac Newton, to get perspective.
About 68,000,000 results (0.48 seconds)
So, apparently, my boyfriend is twice as famous as the man who discovered gravity.
But is Christian even my boyfriend?
I thought last night was the beginning of something, but what is a Hollywood megastar doing with me?
I’m so confused. I need a second opinion.
So I call Winter.
“Hello-aww,” she picks up on the third ring with half a yawn.
“Sorry, did I wake you?”
“Mm-hm, but it doesn’t matter,” she says, still sounding groggy. “I should get up anyway. What’s up?”
“Do you know who Christian Slade is?”
“Yeah, sure. Everyone knows. You’d have to live under a rock not to know.”
“Well, I didn’t know!”
“Okay, fine, honey,” Winter says in a yoga-teacher tone. “Why are we talking about Christian Slade first thing in the morning, anyway?”
“He’s Closet Man.”
“Wait, what?” Now she sounds alert.
“Turns out my struggling actor wasn’t quite as struggling as I thought.”
“Whoa. I mean, wow! How… I don’t know what to say.”
“Me neither. I woke up this morning and my house was surrounded by paparazzi. At first, I thought they had the wrong person, but then this girl, his personal assistant, shows up to escort me to work, saying Christian couldn’t come himself as his house, too, was swamped by the press. I mean, can you believe this?”
“No, it’s so… so… How?”
“How could I not know?”
“Yeah. I mean, when the dude told you he was an actor, you didn’t look him up?”
I flare my nostrils. “Winter, how many years have we been living in LA?”
“Twelve, thirteen?” I can picture her scrunching her face to do the math. “Why?”
“And how many men have you met in that time who’ve told you they were actors?”
“Okay, I get your point!”
“Did you google all of them?”
“No, fair enough.”
Point made, I move on to the pressing issue. “So, what do I do now?”
“Well, you kissed Christian Slade, so, kudos to you, girl. If the sexiest man alive was interested in kissing me, I’d let him have his way for as long as he wanted.”
I bite my lower lip as I say, “Actually, we did a bit more than kissing. He spent the night. His assistant says someone must’ve seen him leave this morning and called the press.”
“Hell, Lana. You had sex with him? You saw the Christian Slade naked?”
“Last time I checked, that’s the only way to do certain things.”
“Sorry, it’s too much to wrap my head around. So you didn’t recognize him, and he never told you? Not even a hint? How did he pull it off? Where did you guys go for your dates?”
“I’ve been thinking in the same loop nonstop since I got here. Listen, I don’t have time to dissect everything now, but are you free for lunch?”
“Yeah. I have an appointment in Rancho Park at eleven; I can drive up to you when I’m done.”
“Perfect. Text me when you’re here. I finish my morning lecture at eleven thirty and I have nothing else until three.”
“All right, I’ll see you later.”
&nbs
p; “Later.”
I hang up and still have enough time to click on one video before class.
It’s a clip from a movie, a romantic scene.
There’s a beautiful, super-attractive blonde standing outside a motel. Christian comes up from behind, and the woman, without turning, says, “Laurie, don’t.”
“Why not?” Christian asks, looking all serious and angsty.
“Because we can’t,” the blonde says, turning. “Because it’s wrong. Because it would be so hard.”
The camera now does a close up of Christian’s face. His expression changes from tormented to that mischievous/playful pout I like so much, before he delivers the cheesiest line ever: “Nothing worthwhile has ever been easy.”
That seems to do it for the woman, because she launches herself into his arms and they make out against a column as the background music reaches its crescendo and the girl’s hair twists in the wind in an epic, romantic moment that’s so Hollywood I could gag.
The video ends, the screen freezing on a static thumbnail of the kiss airbrushed with fairy lights and the title of the movie written in bold characters at the bottom.
I stare at the image a little longer, and something churns in my gut. I wonder if recognizing so much of him in a movie scene is more cute or creepy. And I’m not sure what the proper reaction should be to seeing the man I’m dating pretend-kiss another woman on camera. But it’s making me long for Christian to kiss me again. I want those lips pressed on mine.
As do half the women on the planet, apparently.
The video is a little shy of ten million views and has over twenty-two thousand comments.
I read a few.
Tanja Kaplan, 1 year ago
I’m not gonna lie, this is one of my absolute favorite movie kisses. There’s something about it, they did it just right.
2.1k Likes 25 Comments
Ceyda, 2 months ago (edited)
When he said “why not….” the emotion in his voice ♥♥♥
764 Likes 14 Comments
Sofia Murphy, 5 months ago
Christian is so hot I can never stop loving him :-*
418 Likes 5 Comments
Then it’s mostly a series of CHRISTIAN SLADE I LOVE YOU, CHRISTIAN MARRY ME messages all shouted out in capital letters.
The man sure has some dedicated fans.
My head begins to spin again. Looks like tens of thousands of women around the world are in love with him, or at least with the idea of him.
And it’s like a “You’ve got competition!” alert goes off in my brain.
I don’t give myself space to dwell on the realization. It’s time for my thermo fluid dynamics class, and I owe it to my students to be one hundred percent focused on delivering the best lesson I can. Hell knows I’ve already been distracted enough lately. Any thought of the sexiest man alive will have to wait.
Twelve
Lana
“I swear I never went so deep into a Google Search rabbit hole,” I tell Winter as we sit to eat salads at a table outside the food court.
“And what’s your conclusion?” she asks, removing a plastic fork from its wrapper.
I take out my set of metallic, reusable, non-polluting cutlery, and say, “I’m overwhelmed, and I still have no idea what to do, or what this means for us.” I stab a piece of feta cheese. “Do you think it’s possible to have a normal relationship with a man so famous?”
“Normal, probably not,” my friend says in a sage voice. “But extraordinary, why not?”
“I don’t know… Aren’t celebrities supposed to all get married between themselves?”
“No, plenty of actors marry civilians.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” Winter nods as she picks out the olives and sets them to the side. “Matt Damon married a girl he met in a bar, right?”
“Who’s Matt Damon?”
Winter rolls her eyes, exasperated. “You’re hopeless, you know that?”
“I don’t watch TV.” I shrug and dig my fork into the salad.
“Well, gotta start now.”
“Be honest. You seriously think I could fit in that world? I’m so not Hollywood.”
“So? I can’t pretend to know what dating one of the most famous actors in the world entails, because I have no clue. But whatever the hassle, is Christian being famous enough for you not to want to pursue the relationship?” Winter adds more dressing to her salad. “How far along are you with the man, feelings-wise?”
“This morning I would’ve told you that I haven’t felt so alive in years and that everything seemed possible.” I reach across and steal one of her discarded olives. “I was so happy, and I hate that I’m only filled with doubts now.”
“Are you mad he didn’t tell you?”
“Christian tried to tell me last night… before…”
“You two got naked?”
“Yep.”
“Please explain: how does someone try and fail at telling the truth?”
“He told me he hadn’t been completely honest with me about his life—his job, more specifically.” I shove the last forkful of spinach into my mouth and sort the trash according to recycle bins. “And I said it was okay to wait, that he could tell me whenever he was ready.”
“Weren’t you curious?”
“More prejudiced,” I admit. “I thought Christian wanted to confess he’d lied about acting for a living. I expected him to say his real job was at an accounting firm or something, not that he was the most famous actor on the planet.”
“Darling, no one with that face would work at an accounting firm.”
“Right? I feel like an idiot. How could I be so naïve?”
“Don’t blame yourself.” Winter reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. “Mr. Sexiest Man Alive should’ve told you.”
“I’m withholding judgment on that until I hear what he has to say.”
“So what’s the real problem here?” Winter asks, reading between the lines.
I twist my fingers in my lap. “After what happened with Johnathan, I feel like I’m being blindsided again. I’m not even sure I’m ready to risk my heart on someone else, and Christian is the kind of man who makes women fall hard and fast…”
Winter snorts in agreement.
“I was already scared of how he made me feel before,” I continue. “And now this… I’m afraid it’s all going to be too much. That I’ll end up in a far worse place than crying in a closet this time. I’m terrified of the kind of heartbreak you don’t recover from. Remember when we talked about chest pains?”
“Sure.”
“Christian is not someone you leave without having palpitations.”
“Honey, I’m sorry to tell you, but there’s no other kind of relationship worth risking your heart on. And even if you called it off now, judging from the shining light in your eyes, it could already be too late. Are you in love with the guy?”
A wave of heat warms my cheeks. “Don’t be absurd. Way too soon for that.”
“Mm…” She eyes me skeptically.
“I’m serious. I swear I’m not in love with him.”
“Yet,” she insists.
“Yet,” I concede.
Winter wipes her mouth on a napkin and, with a mischievous grin, asks, “So, how was making love to him? As great as it looks on screen?”
I can’t help the smile that spreads on my lips. “Emotionally, it was as intense as being sixteen and losing my virginity, but without the inexperience and awkward fumbling. He… he’s great in bed.” I blush again.
“Look at you, all sexed up! Sounds even better than in the movies.”
“Now you get why I’m so scared?”
“I do, sweetheart, I really do. But you’re the most determined, courageous person I know. You can’t let fear dictate your actions. It’s no way to live.”
“Courageous? I’m not brave at all.”
“No? Y
ou’re kicking ass in a field that’s dominated by testosterone and you snatched up tenure at a top university while barely in your thirties…”
“That makes me smart and perhaps determined, but not courageous.”
“Okay, how about this, then?” Winter leans back in her chair. “Every weekend you venture into the most dangerous neighborhoods of the city to tutor kids who don’t have access to a fancy education, and don’t tell me you don’t risk at least being mugged every time you go there.”
I open my mouth to protest, but I can’t deny what she said is true. “Okay, maybe I don’t have a problem walking through a dark alley at night, but you know I’m an introvert. People are scary. And is it so wrong for me to wish Christian was a regular, un-famous guy?”
Winter laughs at that.
“What?” I say.
“Most women dream of dating a movie star, and he had to go find the one girl who’d rather he be a nobody.”
“Not a nobody; just someone who doesn’t have millions of women fantasizing about him, that’s all.”
Winter’s smile turns evil now.
“What’s going on in that sadistic mind of yours?” I ask.
“Oh, I can’t wait to see my sister’s face when she learns you’ve rebounded with Christian Slade.”
“Why? She likes him?”
“Dragged me to most of his movies…”
And as low and vindictive as it might sound, the revelation gives me a little, vengeful twinge of satisfaction. “Imagine when she finds out I would’ve never met Christian if I hadn’t followed her and Jonathan to their hotel rendezvous.”
“Even better.” Winter keeps grinning and raises her cup. “Cheers!”
I clink my refillable bottle against her cup, and ask, “What are we toasting to?”
“To karma, the biggest bitch ever…”
***
As five o’clock draws near, I confess my professionalism slips a bit.
I do my best to focus on the lecture I’m giving, but I can’t help checking the classroom clock every other minute. Already, convective heat transfer theory isn’t my favorite subject to teach. And conservation equations are such a bore; it’s hard to stay focused when all my brain wants to do is to skip ahead and decide on an action plan.
To the Stars and Back: A Glittering Romantic Comedy (First Comes Love Book 4) Page 9
