Anyone but Him

by Cassie Graham

  “TBD?” she inquires and I can hear her smile.

  “You got it. Let’s go. This weekend.”

  “The promo tour over?”

  I sigh. “Yes and no. Yes, because it’s done for me, at least. I was told I didn’t need to be there for any more interviews until the press junket starts in November. They don’t want too much hype so early in the game.”

  She snickers. “Because you’re just that famous?”

  “You so get me, Whitley Hayes. So, what do you say?”

  She takes a few seconds to answer, and I can imagine her chewing on her thumbnail, smirking because she knows I’m on the edge of my seat, waiting for her answer.

  “Dammit, woman,” I groan.

  She giggles. And it’s the giggle I haven’t heard much of in the past month. The same giggle that needs to be laughed every day. “Yes, Jennings Cohen, I’ll make myself go on vacation with you to gorgeous Mexico and force myself to have a good time.”

  “Christ,” I laugh, covering my mouth, dragging my fingers down my lips. “Don’t make it sound like such a chore.”

  “Well,” she quips. “I’ll try my hardest.”

  “At least there’s that,” I joke, acting exasperated.

  “So, that means I’ll see you the day after tomorrow?”

  I crane my neck to look at the calendar hanging on the kitchen wall. “Yes ma’am. I have promo in San Francisco tomorrow morning, then I’ll head home.”

  “You do not have your own jet,” Whitley admonishes as we pull onto the tarmac next to my plane.

  I give her a sly look and put the car in park. Taking the keys out of the ignition, I jump out and walk to the passenger side, opening her door.

  “Umm, no?” I laugh. “It’s on loan from the studio.”

  Whitley exits the car and shoves my shoulder. “Really?”

  “No, not really, crazy.” I pull out our suitcases and set them upright. “It’s my jet. Flying commercial doesn’t really work for me anymore.”

  She deflates. “Oh, I guess that’s true. Jesus,” she sighs, pulling her sunglasses off. “I’m dating a man who has his own jet. This is so weird.”

  Throwing Whitley’s designer duffle bag over my shoulder and pulling the handle up on my suitcase, I begin to walk to the stairway leading into the plane.

  Our pilot, Captain Stewart, greets us as we approach. “Good afternoon, Mr. Cohen.” His eyes look to Whitley and smiles. “Hello, Miss Hayes.”

  He’s been my personal pilot for almost two years now, and Whitley is the first woman besides Bradley’s wife, Sophia, that has ever been on board. The look he’s giving me right now borderlines on wonder and proudness. “Mr. Cohen, may I speak to you before I head into the cockpit?” he asks, as he salutes Whit and she walks up the stairs and into the cabin.

  “Sir,” he starts. “There was word on the radio this morning that a rogue fan broke through the barriers and made her way to the plane. We searched the entire aircraft, and cargo storage area and she was nowhere to be found.”

  I roll my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. A website found out where my plane was being stored a couple of months ago, and fans congregate here every day, hoping to see me fly off. I hadn’t seen anyone standing outside the fence when we drove in, so I’d hoped we were in the clear.

  “Very well. You did all you could do, Stewart. Thanks for the heads up.” I pat his shoulder.

  He opens his mouth, then closes it, looking worried.

  “What is it?”

  “Sir…” he drags out his term of endearment. “The rogue fan was reportedly Amy. Amy Wilkinson.”

  I feel my face drain of blood and I gulp down the worry in my throat. “Amy? Shit, that’s not what I was expecting.”

  Amy was a fan who has been with me since the beginning. She’s followed my career from my first commercial and on to my Oscar win. About a year ago, though, her infatuation with me had grown significantly and her letters became more and more—disturbing.

  She broke into my Malibu house right after I received my first really graphic letter. Enclosed was a naked picture of her, a letter professing her love and a….a vile of blood. It creeped me out, and I reported the break-in, but the police never found out who it was that somehow got through the security gates in the front of the community. I did, and not because I’m incredibly CSI savvy. She left another vial of blood and a lock of hair. I kept that tidbit to myself. Well, not really, I tossed it in the trash and went on my way. But, the longer I let it go on, and the more I didn’t acknowledge her, the more obsessed she became. Soon, she was waiting outside the gates of the community to jump on my car. She’d find her way to wherever we were filming and she’d loiter and mock anyone near her. She became a liability. So, I did what I had to. And it pained me. A fan is a fan. I’m thankful for each and every one of them. But she was getting out of hand. She was becoming menacing. She’d found a way to work her magic around my bodyguards whom I hired to keep her out. She was a sneaky little thing, and I couldn’t outsmart her. And I did the only thing I could think of. I ordered a restraining order and she’s now legally obligated to stay at least one thousand feet away from me at all times. That includes her letters as well. She was no longer allowed to contact me in any way. The last I heard, she had checked herself into a mental rehab center and was on her way to getting help.

  Looks like that didn’t stick.

  “Thanks for the heads up, Stewart. I’ll make sure and be careful.”

  His eyes fall to his feet and he fidgets in his shoes. “Please do, sir. I would hate to see anything happen to you.” He stops to give me a knowing look. “Or that pretty little lady you’ve got.”

  I give him a smile and offer my hand. His bright green eyes squint as he looks to me, fighting his grin. Under his Captain’s hat, his brown hair waves in the breeze. He’s not much older than my dad by the looks of it, and I think he’s taken it upon himself to look out for me. When he’s not flying my plane, he’s also my chauffeur. It’s not everyday that I use him, mostly because I like to keep myself as normal as possible, but when I do, he always finds a way to impart wisdom unto me, and I’d like to think we’ve grown to be friends. So, when he does take the time to make sure I’m okay, it brings me some joy. My life may be a crazy storm of premiers, junkets and fans, but I’ve met some wonderful people doing what I do.

  Moving away from Stewart, I give him a wave. “Stay awake.”

  “I’ll only catnap.” He winks and moves to the back of the plane to check whatever it is they do back there.

  Chuckling to myself, I board the plane. Stowing Whitley’s bag into the overhead compartment and mine underneath the sofa seat, I look around. Whitley isn’t in the main cabin area and I wonder if she’s made her way to the bedroom.

  Opening up the door to the one room in back, I find her sitting on the bed, with her eyes closed and a smile playing on her lips. She’s nestled into the bed so snuggly, I contemplate making myself comfortable next to her.

  “What are you doing, Pretty Girl?”

  She opens her eyes and that smile playing on her lips is gone, replaced with worry. “Just…thinking. I guess.”

  “Oh yeah?” I inquire. “About what?”

  She takes a moment to close her eyes again and lets her head fall to the side. “Us. This. My life.”

  “Aren’t you happy, Whitley?”

  She sighs. “Most days, yes. Some days, no. I’m complicated, Jennings. I don’t know if what you’re doing with me is worth it. I don’t know if I’m worth all of this.” She lifts her hands up and opens them, trying to showcase the jet. “I’m no one.”

  I sit down next to her, and grab her hand, bringing it to my lips. “You’re someone to me. You may not think you’re worth all of this, but I assure you, you are. You’re worth this and so much more.” I let my eyes fall on her. “Your worth isn’t measured by your past, Whitley.”

  She huffs. “It is, though. And,” she stops to take a deep breath. “When my past comes
to bite me in the ass, you’re going to run in the opposite direction.”

  “Look at me.” I give her a stern stare. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Everything that you’ve gone through, your past, it doesn’t define you. You can stop running.”

  A tear falls from her beautiful gray eye and she shakes her head. “That’s the problem, Jennings. If I stop running.” She clears her throat. “If I stop running…I just can’t. I don’t know any other way. And you spending all this time and effort on me, it—well—it scares me.”

  “I’m here now. It’s one thing to run alone, scared and unsure. But, now you have a running partner. Someone to sweat and endure pain. Someone to take the path with you, unsteady and curvy as it may be. I’m not giving you up because you’re afraid. I’m putting up a fight to keep you because your past is just that—in the past. No one moment can define who you are in the present.”

  Her tears freely fall from her eyes onto the pillow and I bring my body close to hers, wrapping my arm around her stomach, giving her comfort the only way I can think of.

  We sit like this until the engine begins to roar to life and the stewardess walks in to tell us it’s time to take a seat in the cabin.

  “Are you in or out?” I whisper against her ear.

  She exhales, nudging her head closer to my mouth. “I’m in.”

  “Can you tell me where in Mexico we’re going, now?” Whitley queries as she lifts her glass of champagne to her full, pink lips.

  I stretch my legs out on the chair in front of me, next to Whitley, and shake my head. I’m hell bent on watching her reaction as we fly over the ocean.

  She pouts, letting her bottom lip protrude a little, which makes my mouth water. “You’re evil, you know that?”

  I lift an eyebrow, but say nothing.

  She laughs into her glass, challenging me. Her eyes go dark and she downs the rest of her drink.

  “Thirsty, are we?” I joke.

  She shrugs a shoulder, setting her flute down. A tiny drop of champagne sits on the rim of the glass and Whit catches it on her finger, bringing it to her mouth, dragging it down her clavicle, leaving a trail of wetness in its path.

  I sit up straight.

  Slowly, her finger travels down her chest to the mound of her breasts where she traces the top of her shirt. Goose bumps follow and my hand craves to touch her flawless skin. Biting her bottom lip, she cups herself and my eyes shoot to the stewardess sitting in the seat at the front of the cabin.

  Clearing the lump in my throat, I don’t look away but say, “Brenda, can you please close the door?”

  As the slide of the door indicates our isolation, I watch Whitley’s hand in awe.

  Mouth open, Whitley doesn’t look away from her movements. We’re both in some sort of sex infused trance and I’m sure as hell not going to be the first to break it.

  Deliberately, she skirts her hand lower, over her shirt to the edge of her pants, her eyes seeking mine.

  My mouth goes dry. I’ve never been in a situation where a girl—let alone my girl, openly initiates this.

  What the fuck is this, anyway?

  It’s hot, dick. Shut up and watch your girl.

  Right.

  Using both of her hands, she unbuttons her pants and pulls the lapels apart, showing me her patterned underwear.

  Don’t ask the pattern, it’s not important.

  Caressing and teasing the skin just above her naughty bits, she tugs at the fabric. Adjusting myself in my seat, I tell my soldier to chill out.

  Slipping her fingers inside her jeans, her hand disappears and I bite my lip to the point of pain. Not being able to truly see what’s going on is killing me. Her head falls back, and her cheeks flush in pleasure. She moans and concentrates on finding her release. Eyes closed, arm ridgid, she looks…goddess-like. She’s Aphrodite and I’m under her spell. Enthralled in every movement she makes, I can’t bring myself to breathe. I can’t bring myself to blink.

  She opens her eyes, and smirks. “Where are we going, Jennings?”

  This woman is going to kill me.

  “What,” I breathe. “Who cares? Keep going.”

  “No.” She shakes her head.

  Maddening. Cunning. Diabolical. She’s a fucking genius.

  I take a couple of shallow breaths; sweat breaking out on my forehead.

  “Playa del Carmen. Christ, Whit. We’re going to Playa del Carmen,” I submit. I’m no match for her woman ninja-like brain. My cock is concrete in my jeans and if one of us doesn’t get a release soon, I might bring this plane down with my own explosion.

  With a satisfied and victorious smile, she begins to touch herself again and I watch as she pushes herself higher and higher, flying above the plane and into infinity.

  THE VIEW OF THE OCEAN as we descend closer and closer to the airport is astounding. My hand moves just above my heart and I pat it.

  Thump, thump.

  This is real. This is what’s important. Remember this.

  “It’s beautiful, Jennings.”

  He takes my hand and laces our fingers together as the Captain announces it’s time for us to land.

  “It is,” he agrees. But, when my eyes move away from the window, he isn’t looking outside, he’s staring at me.

  The landing gears hit the pavement with a brain-wracking wham, and we safely make it to solid ground.

  “The flight wasn’t too bad, right?” Jennings asks.

  I shake my head. “I’d say it was…satisfactory.”

  My little game won me some major points, and it was sort of fun to watch Jennings squirm in his seat.

  I’m not this girl. I’m not the confident woman who touches herself in front of men. I’m not. But, something about Jennings giving me a chance, knowing that he’s in for some serious shit—it makes me brave. I want to make him happy.

  “Welcome to Playa del Carmen, Jennings and Whitley,” the Captain says over the intercom. “I hope you have a nice vacation, and we will see you soon.”

  I unbuckle my seatbelt and wait for the stewardess to pass by us so I can steal a moment with Jennings before we exit the plane.

  When we are alone, I stand up next to him. “Listen, I’m sorry…about earlier.” I look down, knotting my hands together.

  “Hey,” he whispers, touching my chin with his finger, tilting my head to look at him. “You know the really great thing about dating someone who’s an actor?”

  My lips quirk and I raise my eyebrows.

  “I’ve already met some pretty dramatic and obnoxious people. You being worried about me, and having a slight freak out doesn’t even register on my radar. Please don’t apologize.” He kisses my forehead.

  Thump, thump.

  Remember this feeling.

  Jennings unloads our bags from the compartments and we exit the plane. A red carpet lies on the ground in front of the stairs and I turn to give Jennings a look. “Red carpet? Really?”

  I snicker and he shrugs. “It wasn’t my idea. It’s just something Stewart does.”

  “Stewart?” I question.

  “The Captain. I didn’t introduce you?”

  “Nope.”

  Jennings cups his hands around his mouth and he shouts Stewarts name.

  “Sir?” he says, jogging to us.

  “I’m very sorry. I didn’t properly introduce you two.” His eyes sparkle my way. “This is Whitley, my girlfriend. Whit, this is Stewart. Pilot, chauffeur, and friend.”

  Stewart offers me a handshake and I place my hand in his. With friendly eyes, I can easily see why Jennings is close to him. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Same to you, my dear.” And if I’m not mistaken, the slightest blush cascades over his cheekbones.

  “You want to drive to the boat, or shall I drive you?” Stewart asks.

  Jennings looks to me. “Let’s drive.”

  Screams emanate from somewhere in the distance and Stewart turns around, walking toward a woman in a designer suit, holding a clipboard. Li
ght blonde hair, and rectangular glasses, she looks to be my age, and very professional. Her cherry red lips twitch when she looks at me, but she masks it with a bogus smile.

  “Hi, I’m Hilary.” She shakes my hand in one curt yank, turning to Jennings. “Jennings, I’m sorry, but they’re here. It might be best to travel with Stewart while you’re in town. I’m afraid your location was leaked.”

  Jennings rolls his eyes and rubs his stubbly-clad jawbone. “Hilary, this is Whit—” He motions at me, but he’s unable to finish because she cuts him off.

  “Not important right now.”

  My head rears back slightly. Well, alright, then.

  “We need a decoy.”

  Jennings huffs, seeming unaffected by her assertiveness. “Fine.”

  “I’ll have you get into that SUV.” She points behind her to a tinted window black truck. “And, Carl, here.” She points to a guy standing behind us. He looks slightly like Jennings. “Will take Whitley in another car.”

  I begin to panic and my hands start to shake.

  Jennings ears bellow with smoke as his face turns red. “What? No. Whit is coming with me. I don’t give a shit what you or Rendell thinks is best. She’s coming with me.”

  “But.” Hilary shakes her head.

  “No.” Jennings puts his hand up, stopping her. “She comes with me, or you can go home. Got it?”

  My eyes dart back and forth between the two as a stare down commences. I’ve never actually seen Jennings in actor mode, but holy shit, it’s sort of scary to watch him not take anyone’s bullshit. Not that I’m complaining. I don’t want to go in a car with some random guy.

  “Jennings…” she begins. “I only have your best interest in mind. It was reported that you left L.A. with a woman. They described her down to the gray eyes.” She shoots me an angry glare and I can’t help but give her a bitch look back.

  Jennings crosses his arms in a stance that screams authority. “I don’t give a shit. I’m only going to say this one more time. Either she goes with me, or I have Stewart personally fly you back to California tonight.”