Remember When 3: The Finale (Remember Trilogy #3)

by Torrest, T.

  I elbowed him for such a lame dig.

  I started thinking about Trip’s father, and an unexpected guilt crept into my brain. I realized I’d never get the chance to let him know how grateful I was to him. I may not have ever liked the guy, but it was time to give credit where credit was due. “You know… You can say what you want about the guy being a dick, but he’s the one that brought us together. Twice.”

  “Well, this time, yeah, but…?”

  “Our first kiss. Remember?”

  His eyes softened at that, reliving the memory along with me. His arm tightened protectively around my waist as he said, “Your sad brown eyes looking at me like I was the only one who could make your world right is what brought us together for that first kiss. That, and the fact that I was crazy about you.”

  Chapter 11

  PEACE, PROPAGANDA AND THE PROMISED LAND

  The windows of my Mustang were actually steamed over as Trip and I made out in the backseat.

  It was freezing outside, but inside the car… well, let’s just say it was much hotter (and not just because of the cramped quarters). I’d just dislodged my foot from under the passenger seat as Trip wrapped my newly-freed leg around his waist, grinding his hips into mine.

  There was something so indescribably sexy about being fully clothed and hooking up like a couple of teenagers in the back of my old car. We thought the Mustang would have afforded us a bit more room after the make-out session in his truck a few nights back, but we’d started to realize car sex isn’t what it used to be. Don’t get me wrong, it was hot. Just not the most comfortable place.

  He had his face in my cleavage as his hand started to slide down the front of my jeans. He was revving up to round third when he slammed against me roughly, causing my head to knock against the window.

  “Ow!” I laughed out.

  That stopped his motion as he started laughing, too. “Fuck. We’re too old for this.”

  That might have been true, but in my eyes, he’d always be a seventeen-year-old boy. Wait. Is that weird?

  We untangled ourselves from each other’s limbs and found a more comfortable position, Trip sitting normally, while I lounged out sideways along the backseat, my legs across his lap.

  I’d picked up some take-out from Thyme—Norman’s only five-star restaurant—and brought it over to his house for dinner with his mom, sister, and Sandy. After we ate, he and I went out to find a secluded place to have dessert. We were parked behind the abandoned strip mall at the edge of town, and it wasn’t until that moment that I realized how ridiculous that was. I’d suggested getting a room at The Norman Inn, but Trip thought the place was a dive (he was right), and he was hesitant to be seen anywhere out in public. The paparazzi knew he was home and had been practically camped out on the street out front of his mother’s all week. I didn’t know how he managed to get to my house without being followed on the other days, but that night, he had to scrunch down on the floor of the backseat with a blanket over him just so we could get out of the driveway.

  If things continued like this, however, we were both going to explode.

  He rubbed his palms along my legs, a mysterious, guilty smile cracking his features. “Hey, uh… I know it’s short notice, but I’m heading back tomorrow night.”

  What? He’d just gotten back here. It was like he was trying to beat it out of Dodge. I didn’t expect him to stay in Jersey indefinitely, but I was crushed that he was heading back so soon.

  He must have seen my face fall, and explained, “I just got the call this afternoon. Gotta get back to work. The show must go on.”

  Dammit. I felt like he’d only been back in my life for a minute, and now we already had to confront the long-distance relationship we were setting up for. Six days? That’s all I get? Really, God?

  I played his fingers with my hands, and said more casually than I felt, “Oh. Yeah, I know. I mean, I don’t have to like it, but I understand.”

  At that, his mysterious smile turned into a full-force grin. “Why don’t you come back out with me for a while? You’ll love L.A.”

  My heart just about leapt into my throat. “Are you serious?”

  I don’t know why I was so surprised by the invitation. I mean, we’d pretty much solidified the decision that this thing was happening for us, that we were going to be together. I guess things had just happened so fast—well, after a decade-and-a-half, I guess the word fast doesn’t really apply—that I hadn’t really thought about the logistics of it all. But hell. I’d been in limbo since the night I packed up my apartment in New York. It was finally time to put the California Plan back into effect. It was almost as if I’d sub-consciously set up my life to be able to take off at a moment’s notice. No apartment to deal with, no nine-to-five to keep me tied in town.

  Yet… he’d only asked me to come out to L.A. for “a while.”

  I followed my new lay-it-all-out-there rule and confronted him, flat out. “Trip… I want to go with you. I do. But just exactly how long is… ‘a while’?”

  His head fell as his shoulders started shaking. “You know, this new brain-vomit version of you is going to be a real pain in the ass sometimes.”

  “Thanks a lot!”

  “Look. You’re coming to California with me, end of story. I’m not letting you out of my sight. Last time I left here without you, I ended up engaged to the wrong girl.” He gave my hand a good squeeze and added, “I’d like to think the right one will be sitting next to me on that plane tomorrow.”

  My stomach dropped out from inside me, my brain in a full-on panic. What he’d just said almost sounded like… a proposal. Almost.

  He must have seen me go pale, because he tried to lighten the proposition. “It’s just that I don’t expect you to pick up and start a whole new life at a moment’s notice. That’s all I meant by ‘a while.’ I figure you’ll want to come back to Jersey at some point.” He grabbed both my hands in his again, smiling into my eyes, throwing away that whole “lightened proposition” thing when he said, “You know, so you’ll have time to plan for the arrangement to become more… permanent.”

  Cue the marching band.

  Screw it. How could I say no to that man? Why would I want to ever again?

  I had a big, doofy grin on my face when I answered, “Okay. Yes. Of course I’ll come to California with you! I lost you twice already. I’m not stupid enough to do it again.”

  Trip actually let out a breath, and I was startled to find that he thought there was a chance I would have answered otherwise. I decided to press my advantage.

  “But… I have a condition.” I twined my fingers in his and bit my lip. He knew I was going for it. I expelled my request on a hasty breath. “I want to go to the Oscars.”

  Trip’s posture slumped and he dropped his chin to his chest. I didn’t know what that meant, but I could see the smile playing at his lips.

  “What?” I asked.

  He shook his head and raised his eyes to mine. “I thought you were going to ask for something else.”

  Before I could inquire about that, he said, “Which is the only reason I’m even considering this. You know I don’t do the award-ceremony thing.”

  That I did. For all the years he’d been out in Hollywood, for all the Golden Globes and Oscars and MTV and People’s Choice Awards… he’d never made an appearance at a single one. He’d been nominated a bunch of times, even won quite a few little statues, but they were always accepted in absentia.

  So, no. Trip didn’t do the award-ceremony thing.

  “Why is that, exactly?” I asked. I’d always wondered, but could only come up with my own answers over the years. Stage fright? Too nerve-wracking?

  He leaned back and swiped a hand over his face. “Shit, Lay. I don’t know. I didn’t even go to our prom because I heard I was a shoo-in to get King.”

  I literally did a double-take as I stared at him in open-mouthed shock. “Whaaat?”

  “You never knew?”

  “Well, I he
ard the same rumors, I knew you were at the top of the list, but you never told me that’s why you didn’t go. But what does that have to do with going to an awards show?”

  His lip curled into a snarl as he blurted out, “Because it’s the same thing? Because it’s stupid? Because it’s a big popularity contest?”

  “You seem to have fared okay in that department. You’ve got an Oscar, for godsakes!”

  “Amongst others.”

  “Bragging now, are we?”

  He sighed. “A little. Okay, yes. I’m bragging. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel great to win those things.”

  I gave him a see? face.

  “But, I don’t really think they mean anything. They’re just… They’re just nice to have, I guess. I mean, really. In the grand scheme of the universe, who really cares about some stupid actor winning an award?”

  I grabbed his hand again. “Understood. But in your little universe, the universe in which you make your living, I think it happens to be pretty phenomenal. It’s nice to be acknowledged for all that hard work. Besides, you’re not even nominated for anything this year. You won’t have to suffer the indignity of actually getting up on that stage.”

  That made him chuckle. “You’re right. I’m not nominated. But I will have to get on that stage.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’ve been bugging me for years to be a presenter. I always declined because I wasn’t ever going to even be there. If I go, there’s no way I’ll be able to get out of it.”

  I weighed that for a moment. “If?”

  He sighed heavily, rolling his neck from side to side. If it weren’t for his twitching lip, I would have been duped into believing he was trying to come up with a way to let me down easily. His gorgeous face turned in my direction as he gave me a sham dirty look out of the corner of his eyes. God. I freaking died every time he did that. “Okay, fine. You win. When.”

  I gave a yelp and threw my arms around him for a hug. “Thank you! We’re going to have so much fun. Just you wait!”

  He couldn’t contain his laughter.

  * * *

  The next morning, I called my agent, Diana. She was based out of the main office located in New York, but I tried to schedule my visits on the days when she’d be in the New Jersey branch. The city wasn’t a far ride from Norman, but Paramus was a hell of a lot closer. For days like this, the phone was even more convenient.

  I wasn’t much looking forward to reporting on my non-progress on Book Three. I had a few half-assed ideas to pitch, though, and I figured she’d be able to help me nail down the one I should dive into first. But forty minutes into our call, we hadn’t even touched on the subject of my next work of fiction. Diana was more interested in my real life.

  Of course I had to let her know I was going to be out of town. She was my agent, after all. But I guess I was so excited about where I’d be going, that I managed to slip the name Trip Wiley into the conversation. What followed was a solid half-hour of Diana gushing about my boyfriend’s movies, peppered with the occasional plea for me to bring him by the office and introduce them.

  God. Even the straitlaced, ball-busting Diana Cavanaugh wasn’t immune to The Great and Powerful Trip Wiley.

  Then she said something even more shocking. “So, does this mean I’m finally going to get the real story between you and the movie star?”

  It was only surprising because I’d really thought we’d gotten past that in the almost five years since I’d been working with her. But in my life, I’ve learned to never say never.

  More importantly, I’ve learned to never say no to Diana Cavanaugh.

  “I don’t know, Dee. That story doesn’t have an ending yet.”

  Chapter 12

  JUST LIKE HEAVEN

  We scheduled a late afternoon flight out to L.A., and I tried to forget how much I hated to fly. It truly scared the hell out of me, but I figured I’d better get used to a bi-coastal lifestyle. Flying first-class made it just a tad easier to change my opinion on airplanes, however. Actually, it made it hugely easier. I was pleasantly surprised to find that most of my aerophobia was caused by claustrophobia, and not so much the whole winging through the sky thing. I wished I had discovered first class years ago.

  A few photographers were lurking at the gate, and got off a bunch of shots as Trip and I were getting off the plane. I was tired from the flight, but took Trip’s cue and smiled as we walked past briskly, but not rudely. It was strange to be smacked with his world within only the first few seconds of entering it. I was still getting used to the idea that he even lived like that, when BAM! Welcome to Hollywood.

  I figured after six hours crammed onto an airplane, I probably didn’t look my best. I hoped the pictures were boring enough that they’d never turn up in some magazine or something. What was the story there? “Trip Wiley And Some Random Chick Get Off An Airplane”? Fascinating journalism, kids. I’ll be sure to frame your article and hang it on the wall next to my LIFE cover of the Kennedy assassination.

  Stepping out of the airport was like stepping out onto a different planet. After suffering through yet another long winter in Jersey, arriving in Los Angeles was like going from black and white to full-on Technicolor. With the time change, it was still fairly light out, and I was so invigorated to see all the green of southern California.

  Swimmin’ pools. Movie stars. Beach Boys music piped in on every corner.

  Not really, but it felt like it should have been.

  Our driver pulled the towncar in front of the Beverly Hills TRU, parked in a spot reserved for registration, and I breathed a sigh of relief that we hadn’t been followed by any of those pesky photographers from the airport. As we got out, Trip asked, “Are you seriously planning on staying here?”

  It had been a much-discussed topic on the plane. Trip wanted me to stay at his house, but I insisted on staying at a hotel. The whole week had been such a whirlwind and I wanted to give him time to get used to the idea that I’d be invading his life.

  We made our way through the lobby, and I swear, every eye in the place turned our way. Trip pasted his movie-star-smile onto his face and ignored all of them, save for the concierge behind the desk who welcomed him by name. “Mr. Wiley. Welcome back. We were all very sorry to hear about your father. How did everything go back home?”

  Trip had turned into him by this time, so he was able to answer appropriately, “Thank you, Jim. Everything went very well. Of course we’re all saddened by the loss of a good man, and I’m sure the TRU won’t be the same without him. But I see everything’s in order here?”

  Jim puffed up a bit with pride as he answered, “Of course, Mr. Wiley. Miss Wilmington is making sure of that.”

  When Mr. Wilmington’s health had finally taken its ultimate turn for the worse, Claudia had stepped into his vacated role as Chairman of the Board. I thought it was more of a figurehead-type position—you know, keeping with the family name and all—but apparently, she was actively running the show. Good for her.

  Trip introduced me to Jim, then checked me in under the name Mrs. Martin Bishop. Still with the freaking Redford characters. He smiled cheerfully at his name choice, but he wasn’t very happy about having to kiss me goodbye. He pulled me behind a potted tree and planted his lips on mine. What started out as a simple goodbye kiss quickly picked up a bit of steam. I hoped none of the tourists in the lobby could see us, or worse, pull out their cameras and start snapping photos.

  We were both a bit jetlagged from the flight, so while half of me wanted nothing more than to drag him upstairs with me, the other half just wanted to crash for the next twelve hours.

  But there we were, right there in the lobby, our goodbye kiss turning heated.

  Screw sleep. Some things were more important. I needed this man between my thighs more than sleep. More than food. More than air.

  He slipped an arm around my waist and we followed the bellboy to the elevators along with the baggage cart that held all my stuff. On
ce the doors closed, Trip didn’t waste any time. He slid a hand right down my spine, teasing his fingers under the waistband at the back of my jeans. I stood perfectly still, even though I wanted to slap his hand away. I could’ve killed him for playing games with the bellboy right there in the cramped elevator. Either that, or jumped his bones. I wasn’t sure which. In any case, the ride to the penthouse took forever.

  We were shown to our room, and Trip promptly tipped the bellboy. As soon as he was out the door, we started tearing at each other, our clothes strewn all over the floor. Trip shoved me onto the bed and pounced on top of me, kissing his way along every inch of my body.

  “No way, pal. It’s my turn,” I teased, as I rolled him to his back and straddled him, kissing his neck and running my hands along his smooth, hard chest.

  The light from outside had started to dim, and I was reminded of a dream I once had, during a time when the mere thought of having this gorgeous man back in my life was an abstract idea at best. And yet, there he was, right there, his hands clasped behind his head, his eyes closed, a contented smile pasted to his beautiful face, lying right there underneath my naked body, the reality far better than any dream could ever be.

  I kissed him, brushing my mouth along those full, sensual lips of his, savoring the taste of him, the feel of his heart rushing under my palms. A possessiveness overtook me as I pushed back against his torso, trying to brand myself into his skin. I had waited for this, longer than any woman should have been asked to wait. And now, he was mine.

  I earned him.

  Trip wasn’t feeling very patient at that moment either. He released his hands from behind his head and grasped my hips, pulling me toward him and spearing himself into my body. I gasped as I rocked against him, feeling the fullness of his hardened length plunging inside of me, claiming me as his own.