Say It Sexy

by Virna DePaul

  “Oh,” Rachel hissed with an unspoken threat, poisonous glare locked on Gwen. “Isn’t that cute.”

  “You stay the hell away from her,” I warned quietly.

  She sighed and fluffed her hair. “Just as you’ve risen in popularity over the last two years, so too have I, Garry. I’ve got all sorts of connections these days. We’ll see how long you and your new squeeze last. It would be such a shame if something popped up and tarnished her reputation.”

  I tightened my fists. “Rachel, I swear to Christ. I will bury you.”

  Unaffected and confident, she stepped into me. “I’m going to have you back, Gar-bear. You remember, I’m sure, just as well as I do that I always get what I want. Ta, sugar.” She tapped the tip of my nose with a delicate boop of her taloned finger, winked, and sauntered off, leaving me to roil in my anger.

  In a fog, I walked to Max’s car, yanked open the door, and slid into the passenger seat. I slammed it shut and locked the doors on the off chance that Rachel would appear again like a creature from a horror movie. My mind couldn’t make sense out of what had just happened. There was no worse moment on the galactic timeline that Rachel could have appeared. Just when a silver lining had peeked out over my horizon, her clouds descended.

  Was this some sort of sick, cosmic joke?

  I sat back and gritted my teeth, trying to will away her image, her scent, and the sound of her voice. But the horror of discovering my brother’s betrayal and Rachel’s infidelity crashed over me. In a matter of seconds, she had reduced me to the shocked shitless nineteen-year-old I had been.

  It happened on a Friday night. I was supposed to attend a cast party for Blast Zone, and had called Rachel to invite her. Saying she felt under the weather, she told me to go ahead and have fun—to text her when I was on my way home and that she’d wait up. We had moved in together the Christmas before, and had shared an apartment since. I drove to the party and stayed for half an hour before I grew bored and realized making appearances wasn’t worth it if I couldn’t see her at the same time. So, without texting, figuring I would surprise her, I sped home. I even stopped at the store to pick up a gallon of Rocky Road and a bottle of pink moscato first.

  Yeah. That was how whipped I was.

  She loved sweet things. And I didn’t mind doing stupid stuff like that for her. When she was happy I was happy. I figured we could have our own cast party on the comfort of our sofa. Lastly, I picked up a Redbox movie. I couldn’t recall the name now. I unlocked the door to our place and walked in.

  I found Rachel on our couch alright—with her legs wrapped around my older brother, Dominic.

  I had blocked out the rest. I vaguely remembered shouting, throwing a few punches, smashing the moscato on the counter, and hurling the gallon of ice cream at the television. And Rachel, standing in the midst of it all, had cried buckets of tears before it was through. The image I remember most distinctly was standing up from beating the tar out of Dominic, looking into her face, into those summer sky blues, and realizing that none of those tears were for me. They weren’t even for my brother, jeans still down, who lay on the floor cradling his broken nose. They were for her alone. She had been caught. And life as she knew it had ended.

  So, I packed a duffle, walked out of the apartment, and never looked back. I didn’t tell my parents about what happened. I couldn’t bring myself to ruin things that way. I couldn’t tell them why I didn’t show up at Christmas anymore, or attend mass on Easter Sunday. The two bonds, family and true love, that I had held tantamount to God as the most unshakable forces in the universe had both come crashing down on me the same night. I had been planning to propose the following weekend on Thanksgiving Day.

  To escape, I booked a Caribbean party cruise instead, my family under the illusion I was working on a last minute shoot in Cancun. Ever since then, I hadn’t stopped partying. I hadn’t stopped living in the fast lane. The quicker my life sped by, the sooner I left her behind.

  How had she caught up with me?

  The answer bubbled up in my brain, and so did the memory that I was supposed to meet Gwen at Jordy’s in five minutes. But I was no longer in a good place, no longer the smooth operator thoroughly engrossed in taking Gwen on our first date. I knew that if I went now, I’d screw up everything. I would soundly flout the one chance she had given me to prove I was worthy of her. Yet again, potential bonds would break apart before my eyes. I tried to talk myself into going, tried to shove my buzzing, clamorous feelings into their box labeled Past and get over it.

  But I couldn’t.

  Because I still hadn’t dealt with Rachel’s betrayal. It was a bridge I hadn’t reached the end of yet.

  Fishing my phone from the pocket of my jeans, I dejectedly punched in a text to Gwen. I couldn’t call her. She’d hear it in my voice.

  So sorry. Something came up. Rain check?

  I waited for a reply for ten minutes, staring at the screen with bated breath. Finally, she replied. Heaving a sigh of relief, I opened the message.

  Don’t bother.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Gwen

  “I can’t believe I fell for it,” I mumbled lethargically, staring blankly out of Erica’s passenger side window. The day’s exhaustion settled into my bones. All I wanted to do was curl up in bed with a warm blanket and a whole cookie sheet of gooey cinnamon rolls.

  “Honey,” Erica said from the driver’s seat, reaching over and giving my leg a pat. “You really shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

  Swiveling around to face her, I glared. “You saw him with that girl. You know exactly where he went and why he canceled. He didn’t even have the decency to call me because they were probably already locking lips in the back of her car.”

  Erica set her mouth into a grim line and I could tell she stood in the midst of a heated mental debate with herself. “I know this looks bad, but I didn’t get that vibe from him. He’s really not like that. Besides, I can’t even picture him with a girl that plastic anyway. He’s into you. He thinks you’re gorgeous. Have you seen the way he looks at you? Just wait until those pictures come out. It was like you two were the only two people in the world during that photoshoot. Even I was close to swooning—”

  Unable to hear anymore, I snapped, “He was probably just playing a part. He’s an actor, Erica. You’re an author. It’s a completely different line of work with completely different laws and expectations attached. We lie for a living.”

  With a heavy sigh, Erica stuck turned her key in the ignition. We had pulled off the road on the way to Jordy’s when Garrick’s text came through.

  “Would you like to go out?” she asked, throwing a chipper note into her voice and a small smile on her face. “Have a girl’s night? I’m sure he has a good explanation, but I don’t want to see you sit around and sulk about it until he gives it to you, sweetie.”

  “No,” I replied softly, sinking into my seat. “Just take us to the hotel, please. I have to call my father for the weekly report anyway.”

  Erica stared at me for a moment. I could feel the weight of her eyes and her disappointment, and potentially her pity, settle on my shoulders. She put the car into drive and pulled out of the parking lot in front of the local theater. We cruised up Central, headed for I-25. Crowds had already gathered outside of the bars and restaurants, milling about like clusters of merry insects, their smiling faces probably illuminated by the neons hanging in the storefront windows.

  But I couldn’t see any of it very well.

  Because I had tears in my eyes.

  * * *

  We arrived at Nativo Lodge roughly twenty minutes later. Erica had caught me crying on the way and managed to talk me into having a drink with her at the bar of Saguaro del Rio. We chatted for a while, the majority of sounds from me being the clink of ice against my glass. Erica had a flare for tequila. Margaritas just seemed to agree with her. She kept trying to buoy my spirits, which felt nice, but ultimately futile. I kept my phone beside me just in case my fathe
r texted. He typically did when he got off work, or out of whatever business meeting required his undivided attention.

  The time crept by and Erica’s chatter faded into background noise while my attention drifted over the glossy, dark, multi colored marble countertop. I even caught myself slouching, I felt so depressed. I desperately wanted to enjoy the moment with her, but I couldn’t yank myself out of the funk I had fallen into. Erica had been correct about me jumping to conclusions about Garrick and Ms. Parking Lot, but what else was I supposed to think? The optimist in me suggested I give him a call, or shoot him a text. My last one had been a little harsh.

  But hadn’t he deserved that?

  At eight thirty p.m., Erica gave me a squeeze and headed out to meet a few fellow authors. I floated off to my room, my single rum and Coke still buzzing through my system. Once inside, and seated on the edge of my bed to pull off my boots, I quickly realized it was nowhere near enough to knock me out for the night. I dropped back in my bed and alternately kicked my stripped plush sock covered feet up.

  I should have taken Erica up on her offer for a girl’s night. As crappy as I felt at the bar, it wasn’t nearly as bad as the wave of despair, regret, and shame that washed over me alone. Receiving my father’s text a while later, I dialed his number. I had never been so relieved to hear his voice, if only to distract me from my own thoughts.

  Pacing my room to steady my nerves, I rattled off the usual agenda of events, goals, gains, and promises, assuring Dad that I wasn’t seeing anyone and the relationship I had with my lead, the Maze boy, remained strictly professional. Guilt crept up on me fairly quickly. I hated lying to him, and not just for the fear of his reaction if he ever discovered the truth. Lying to him meant lying to Mom, something I knew I could never directly manage over the phone or face to face. She would never know, but she would believe my every word, which somehow made the act exponentially more detrimental and treacherous.

  Dad told me he and Mom had just watched Episode Two and loved every moment of it, except of course for the parts I was with my lead, which comprised roughly half of the running time. I shrugged it off.

  An hour after our call, I found myself lying in the exact same position I had been when I toed off my Uggs. Five minutes later, halfway to my dresser to fish out my newly laundered pajamas and shed my skirt, I heard a commotion in the hall.

  “Hey!” Shane’s voice announced cheerfully. “There he is!”

  I froze, hand hovering over the drawer handle, and listened to heavy footsteps stalk down the hall.

  “Dude, what’s wrong?” Shane asked.

  “Don’t fucking touch me,” Garrick sneered.

  Blinking rapidly, I rounded on the door. Garrick’s voice had sounded raw, powerful, and primed for battle. What had him in such a foul mood?

  “Whoa,” Shane agreed, presumably backtracking and pulling his hand away. “Okay, man. What’s up?”

  “I’m going to bed,” Garrick grumped.

  Was he angry about the last text I’d sent him? Glancing over my shoulder, I checked the digital clock on my nightstand. 9:45 p.m. He had surely had enough time for a hookup in the last few hours. Maybe he had only just received the text because he had turned his phone off? It seemed the most plausible explanation, and there had been ten minutes or so of lag time between when I got his rain check message and countered—time enough for him to turn off the device and attend to Ms. Parking Lot. In the next moment, I swore off Max’s Challenger forever.

  But what had he expected my reaction to be anyway?

  That’s fine, have fun with your sleaze and let me know?

  And how could my reaction incite such anger in him? He had been the one to stand me up! Curious, irritated, hurt, and torn between wanting to comfort and kill him, I hurried to my door.

  “I feel really bad for your mattress,” I heard Tyler mumble.

  “Shut up, Tyler,” Garrick snapped. “Just leave me alone.”

  I opened the door in time to see Garrick stomp by, headed for his room. “Garrick?” I questioned incredulously as Shane and Tyler slunk back into their rooms.

  “Don’t bother, ” he dismissed, breezing by.

  I grimaced. “Garrick, wait,” I insisted, hurrying to swing around in front of him and plant myself in his path. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

  He avoided my eyes, making to dart around me. “Nothing.”

  My irritation escalating, I poked him square in the chest. “I think it would be a good idea if we talked.”

  “Not right now, it wouldn’t,” he snapped.

  “Listen to me! Will you just wait a moment? You understand why I reacted the way I did, don’t you?”

  “Get out of my way,” he warned, locking eyes with me. “This isn’t about you.”

  “Isn’t it? I don’t get why you’re this upset! You’re the one who stood me up for some other girl! After all that talk about us and what we could be and wanting to try and—”

  “What girl?” he guffawed insincerely, having the audacity to look offended.

  I came unglued. “The girl I saw you with when you were walking to Max’s car! Don’t try to deny it, Garrick! I know you went with her instead of taking me to dinner. Did things not go your way?”

  His eyes widened, as if appalled. “Move!” he boomed, sending a tremor of fear through me. In that moment, he reminded me a little too much of my father and I wavered in my resolve as a series of flashbacks hurtled through my mind. The terrifying leer in his eyes looked more akin to a lion than a man. I had no idea what comic force seized me by the throat and squeezed out what I said next.

  “N-No!” I fired back. Gritting my teeth together, I willed fresh tears away and balled up my fists. “You owe me an explanation!”

  He snorted his indignation at me. “I don’t owe you a god damn thing!”

  “Then just do it so I’ll get out of your face!” I exclaimed, my voice cracking. “Isn’t that what you want?”

  I heard a door open down the hall. Garrick must have seen the alarm in my face, having realized that we had been arguing in public and what had been said could be easily interpreted as a lover’s quarrel. He reached around me, shoved his key card into a slot, and pushed the door open. Backing me into the room, he shut and bolted the door behind us.

  My throat went dry when I attempted swallowing. I realized, heart starting to beat erratically, that I had never been alone in a bedroom with him before. His bed lay only paces away, the sheets pulled taunt and meticulously made, suggesting that housekeeping had stopped by while we were out. The curtains hung closed and the only light in the room shone from a single bedside lamp, giving the impression of absolute privacy. Even intimacy.

  But that wasn’t why we were there. Focus, Gwen.

  “So,” I prompted, standing awkwardly in the heart of his suite. If Garrick noticed the tension, or my currently warring feelings, he gave no indication of it, completely absorbed in his own mind with his cold, bullet colored eyes fused to the floor. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong? Are you going to tell me the truth?”

  “The truth about what?” he mumbled.

  “The truth about her,” I clarified. “Who is she?”

  Garrick heaved a sigh, losing some of the tension in his shoulders, slouching forward as he carded his fingers through his hair. He stalked by me and took a seat on the edge of his bed.

  “Park it,” he mumbled, hunched over his knees, broad shoulders somehow smaller, in a defeated pose.

  I swallowed hard. It’s only to sit, I told myself. I crossed to him and did as he asked, or rather commanded. Worrying at my lip, I wrung my hands discretely.

  “You were right,” he muttered.

  My heart plunged into my gut. “Oh,” I said softly, assuming he meant that I was right about him blowing me off to spend his evening with the woman from the parking lot. I nearly sprang to my feel and sprinted toward the door.

  “I was in love once.”

  I froze. Surely I had heard him wrong
.

  Love exists, Garrick, whether you believe in it or not.

  Love is a flare. It ignites, burns for a while, and dies.”

  Shocked, I turned my head to gawk at him, memories and hurtful words storming through me. His voice, our conversation at the restaurant, came into sharp focus. Struggling to wrap my mind around his confession, I blinked and clumsily sputtered, “What?”

  Garrick averted his eyes. “The girl you saw me with. I dated her for four years.”

  Four years?! My mind reeled.

  What would you know about love, Hollywood playboy who dates a new girl every two weeks?

  Two weeks? Damn, girl. You could solve world hunger with the amount of faith you put in my ability to keep a relationship. Try three days.

  “Then why did you say all those things? Why lie to me?” I whispered, unconsciously scooting closer to emphasize how much I desperately wanted to understand. “Why did you try to convince me you’re immune to it? That love’s not real?”

  He cocked his jaw askew, bounced his knee a few times, and shook his head. “I caught her cheating on me. And until recently, I didn’t think love was real.”

  Until recently, he’d said. I swallowed hard, immediately feeling a spark of hope in my chest, something I suppressed as he continued speaking.

  “I hadn’t seen her since it happened,” he continued. “She showed up out of nowhere, and it tanked my mood—took a bomb to it. I didn’t want to take it out on you, because I had to work so hard to get you to trust me enough for one date. The date would have been ruined, as would my chances with you, if I had arrived in the state I was in.”

  Breathless, I stared at him, eyes wide and probably a shade lighter than pale, if not green. A storm of guilt, surprise, and pity descended on me, replacing every ounce of anger. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. I should have given him a chance to explain on his own time. I should have listened to Erica. Garrick wasn’t always the playboy I thought he was.