Summer Attractions

by Beth Bolden

  Gabe slipped on the sweatpants and ducked next door, dressing quickly and gathering some of the reading for his upcoming courses. He let himself back into Jemma’s room, her head barely raising in acknowledgement as he settled on the bed, back against the headboard, and began to read.

  The room grew dark as the day stretched on, and Gabe leaned over and flipped on a lamp. Another hour and his stomach growled, so he got up to dial room service. Jemma was lost to a document on her laptop, frantically typing away, then deleting half a paragraph, then starting again. When he asked her what she wanted to eat, she just waved a distracted hand, so he ordered her a club sandwich.

  The food came and he ate, flipping on the TV with the sound on low, though Jemma’s concentration felt so total that it probably wouldn’t mattered if he’d turned it up.

  She placed a handful of skype calls to different people—co-workers at the Five Points, it sounded like—for information and research that they seemed to agree to send to her electronically. She talked to Duncan for five minutes and it sounded like he wanted the article finished as soon as she could get it done, because with Kimber setting a world record for most gold medals won by woman at a single Olympics, she was hot news. Jemma assured him that it would be done, even as she made faces at her laptop screen.

  There was lots more frantic typing and even more frantic deleting, followed by long minutes of muttering as she read through what she’d been sent.

  Gabe flipped the TV off and lay down, his lack of sleep from the night before catching up. When he woke again and opened his eyes, it was still dark but Jemma wasn’t at the desk. The light in the bathroom was on, though, and he was just about to go check on her when it flipped off and she emerged into the low light of the room.

  “You’re done?” he asked and she nodded, her smile bright enough to light up a whole city block.

  She crawled into bed and mumbled into his chest, “I didn’t forget about you, you know.”

  He opened and closed his mouth, trying to find a way to say what he felt, but then he heard the unmistakable rumbling of her falling into a sudden, deep sleep.

  Reaching over to flip the last light off, he told himself that they had lots of time to talk about it. Less than a week left in Rio, but really an eternity of time in LA. As much time as he’d need to sort himself out.

  Jemma slept six hours, then woke and Gabe ordered more room service she ignored as she went through the article and re-edited.

  Gabe hovered over her shoulder, reading bits and pieces as she had a series of calls, the last with Duncan and the Five Points lawyer, as they combed the text for any possible liability.

  “Go out, get out of this room,” Duncan as they said their goodbyes. “Go get a nice dinner on me.”

  When the call finally ended and Jemma collapsed into the chair, eyes closed, exhaustion and relief warring on her features, Gabe suddenly knew what he should do.

  “Do you want to?” he asked gently, reaching down and sweeping her hair out of the way so he could knead the tense muscles of her neck and shoulders.

  “Want to what? Sleep ten thousand years?” Jemma practically purred as she rolled her neck with the movements of his hands.

  “Well, sleep obviously,” Gabe said, checking his watch. It was only 2 PM. “Take a nap, maybe, and then go out tonight.”

  “On Duncan, right?” Jemma asked drowsily.

  “He can pay for something else,” Gabe said firmly. “This one's on me.”

  She twisted her neck and looked up into his eyes, her own full of unspoken questions he wasn’t sure he had answers to yet. “On you?”

  “On me,” he clarified with zero hesitation. If he thought about it, which he hadn’t really, they’d basically been dating since Jemma arrived in Rio.

  “If you insist,” Jemma said, her voice slurring with sleep, but a tiny smile curled up the corners of her lips.

  “Let’s get you in bed.” Gabe leaned down and picked her up from the chair, crossed the room and deposited her gently on the bed. He tugged off her sweatpants, no ulterior motives whatsoever, and actually made sure was properly tucked in. Her hair fanned out, dark and wild, against the cream of the pillow. There was a deep peace in her expression as she drifted off, as if she knew she’d done exactly what had needed done, and there was zero doubt in her mind that it was right thing.

  He sat on the opposite edge of the bed as she snored, tiny delicate snuffles that he shouldn’t have found adorable and did anyway. He should sleep too. He could feel the tug of exhaustion at the corners of his mind. He hadn’t been doing the writing the last two days, but he’d been right there with her, being as much of a support as he could.

  But even that thought wasn’t as calming as it should have been and instead of lying back and falling asleep, he silently crept out of her room and into his, where he changed into workout clothes and headed to the hotel gym.

  On his way down, he texted some people and pulled some strings, and tried to ignore the sneaky thoughts that weaseled into his brain despite his fatigue. He couldn’t wait to see the way her smile lit up her face when she saw what he’d planned. He couldn’t wait to see what she’d say. He loved the way she looked when she discovered something new for the first time, her eyes big and round, like she could absorb an experience just by looking at it.

  He loved . . . .Gabe wouldn’t let himself finish that thought, antsy and anxious.

  He lifted weights until the sweat burned in his eyes, then switched the treadmill and set a punishing pace, jogging for several miles before finally stepping off the machine.

  Staggering up to the room, he checked his phone, did a mental fist pump at the texts he read through. The whole plan was coming together. Using the last bit of energy he had left, he set his alarm and collapsed sweaty and face-first into the sheets.

  He was waiting in the hallway for Jemma to finish dressing when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

  It was old-fashioned, but lounging on the bed they’d been sharing while she got ready for their date felt like he wasn’t giving quite enough weight to the path he’d chosen to take, so he’d slipped into the hallway to wait for her.

  Like he was any boy and she was any girl and he was nervously waiting outside her door for their first date. It was more romance than he’d thought he wanted with Jemma, but so much had changed since the afternoon he’d picked her up at the airport.

  Digging his phone out of his pocket, Gabe saw it was Nick. He hesitated. This was absolutely terrible timing, but so much of the time Nick had been groggy and out of it with pain meds, and he hadn’t had much time to talk to him since putting him on that plane headed back to LA. So Gabe picked up, hoping he could keep it short and sweet without giving too much—or anything—away.

  At some point he needed to tell Nick everything that had happened. Right now was definitely not that time.

  “How’re you feeling?” he asked, leaning against the wall, hoping his deliberately casual pose would put him in the right frame of mind for the phone call.

  “Much better,” Nick said, his voice sounding clear for the first time since that terrible night.

  Gabe was undeniably relieved, but he also felt a small niggle of worry that Nick’s return to mental clarity meant their conversation just got so much harder.

  “They finally let me go home,” Nick continued. “And of course that meant I went right to the office.”

  “Of course,” Gabe said, that small niggle of worry growing into briskly flowing stream.

  “I heard all about Jem’s big interview. She really nailed it.”

  “You read the article?” was all Gabe could say, simultaneously bursting with pride at how pleased Nick sounded and dread at where he thought this might be going.

  “Did more than read the article. Went over all her notes. I can’t believe you snuck her into the Olympic Village. I feel like you must have a secret history as a spy I don’t know about.”

  “You know everything,” Gabe answered weak
ly.

  “Not everything, I don’t think,” Nick said very evenly, and there it was. The insinuation he’d been fearing Nick would make.

  Gabe just ignored it, all the while knowing that if Nick had guessed, there was no way he was getting away with anything as simple as changing the subject. Nick was a brilliant interviewer; once he wanted to know something, he usually found it.

  “I thought it was an important story. When Jemma asked me to help her, it was hard to say no.”

  “I bet it was,” Nick retorted slyly.

  Gabe bristled. “It wasn’t like that at all.” No, it hadn’t been sexual at all, Gabe knew that. It had been so much more complex, and that alone was terrifying.

  “You snuck her into the Olympic Village. Just because she asked.”

  “Because she asked and because she had a good reason!” Gabe knew his voice was getting shrill.

  “You mean, she was a good reason.” Nick paused, and Gabe hated the way he could hear his heart pounding in his chest. They were in the middle of an argument and he hadn’t even known they’d begun one. “I was in the hospital,” Nick chided, a little more gently, “not dead. I saw your Instagram, which I might add, I’ve never seen you actually use. And there you are, posting selfies and all these bright, happy shots. Very unlike you.”

  “It’s just pictures,” Gabe grumbled. He should have realized Nick followed his Instagram, when he’d remembered that he’d had one and thought maybe he should post the pictures he took somewhere. He also hadn’t realized how obvious it might be to someone who knew him. Lina had picked up on Jemma right away; he’d assumed he was safer from Nick, who was recovering from a serious injury and was thousands of miles away.

  Of course, it wasn’t a head injury. He should’ve remembered that. He’d just been too caught up in the way Jemma smiled when he said something clever, and the way she laughed at his bad jokes, and the way she reached for him as much as he reached for her.

  “But is it just sex?” Nick persisted.

  Gabe ground his teeth together. He didn’t like this at all. He’d known he’d have to tell Nick at some point, but not like that. Not with Nick dragging it out of him like it was something to be ashamed of.

  “At least give her a little more credit,” Gabe retorted.

  “I am,” Nick said with steely tone. “I’m not talking about her. I’m talking about you. I know you had a sorta crush on her, way back when I hired her, and now that I’m not there and you’re both suddenly thrown together, it’s not a surprise that you might act on it.”

  God, he’d thought he’d been a lot more circumspect back then. Her article on Colin had been so well written—funny and clever and witty—and her press photo had been sitting carelessly on Nick’s desk when he’d come over to watch the game. He’d been a little blown away that he’d enjoyed her writing so much and then that she was so pretty. It had been a killer combination, and after a few beers, Nick had teased him mercilessly about it.

  But that had been almost a year ago. Jemma had only come up a handful of times since, mostly because Gabe avoided the subject like the plague.

  “I don’t . . . I don’t like her,” he practically growled. “It’s not like that.”

  “You don’t think I’m mad?” Nick asked, clearly, amused, which pushed the wrong button—or the right one, if you were Gabe and you were looking for a reason to yell.

  “We’re just fucking,” Gabe burst out. “We’re not really together. She just . . . she didn’t want to cooperate at first, and then we got drunk and had sex, and now she will. That’s it.”

  Gabe knew it was wrong the moment he said it. He knew he didn’t mean it. Technically yes, that had been the excuse that he’d used at the beginning of their fling, but it had never been true. The truth was that he’d been partial to her since that night a year ago, before he’d ever even met her. Then he’d met her and laughed with her and danced with her and fallen so much harder than he’d ever dreamt he could.

  Nick went silent on the other line, like he’d almost stopped breathing.

  That was almost certainly why Gabe could hear the door click softly behind him, the sound quiet in the hall but detonating like a grenade in his mind.

  He knew before he even turned around that she was going to be standing behind him. And that she’d heard every stupid word he’d just said.

  Jemma stood there in some kind of trance, like maybe if she moved or spoke or breathed, then that might make what she was experiencing real life and not her personal version of hell.

  Gabe looked properly anguished, clicking off the call without even bothering to say goodbye. But then what did it matter, she thought bitterly, he couldn’t do any more damage.

  “That . . . that wasn’t what it sounded like,” he said lamely.

  Jemma took a single controlled breath. Something that must have been pain and anger and embarrassment coalesced into a single ugly ball in her stomach, but the truth was, she was still blissfully numb. “Was that Nick?” was all she asked tightly, even though she already knew the answer.

  He looked ashamed, but a petty, hurt part of Jemma didn’t give a shit. She pressed him again. “Was that Nick? Was that who you were talking to just then?”

  “Jemma . . .” he started to say and she stopped him with a hard look. “No, you answer my damn question. Was that Nick?”

  The moment hung between them, stretched to its maximum capacity with everything they weren’t saying. Every nasty word she mentally flung at him. Every groveling apology he clearly wanted to make.

  “Yes,” he finally said.

  Jemma gripped the purse she was holding; a flimsy, beaded thing she’d bought at a tiny stand near the beach. She’d been so excited to use it for the first time, on their first real date. She’d been so stupidly hopeful that he hadn’t even waited until they got back to LA to take this first official step.

  Now all that beautiful hope felt like bitter ash on her tongue.

  She turned and started down the hallway even though she didn’t know where she was really going. Away from him, her mind helpfully supplied. Anywhere he isn’t.

  Reaching the elevators, she reached out and jabbed the down button. She could go get her room changed, maybe, even though she knew the hotel was at capacity. At the very least she could get her keys changed so he could never casually let himself in.

  “Jemma,” Gabe said breathlessly from behind her.

  Of course. He’d followed her.

  She turned. “No,” was all she said.

  As she waited for the elevator to reach their floor, Jemma felt him behind her, could practically feel the excuses he was running through in his head, the plans he was half-creating and discarding. All to make this go away.

  Well it wasn’t going away. He’d said it, and he’d said it to her boss, like she was some sort of random girl that wasn’t going to need Nick’s professional respect in the future. There was no taking it back.

  The elevator dinged its arrival and Jemma walked in, wishing she hadn’t just been expecting them to head downstairs together, happy and carefree and still intact, just five minutes before.

  She let all her anger pour into her expression and turned to face him silently, staring right into his bleak expression as the elevators shut between them.

  She didn’t know where to go, and at first Jemma hovered uncertainly by the elevator bay, wondering if she should even try to get her key changed. But the thought of trying to explain even a portion of what had just happened was overwhelming and Jemma didn’t trust herself to get through it without bursting into tears. She couldn’t stay in the lobby either. The fear that he might still try to follow her and make her listen to a half-assed apology finally sent her through the front doors outside into the growing dusk.

  It was even worse outside, every street she wandered down familiar because she’d already walked them all, and she hadn’t been alone.

  Finally Jemma ended up at the beach, because sand and water and sky was always sand
and water and sky. She settled down on the ground, watching but not really seeing as the tourists packed their bags and shook out their beach towels.

  It grew darker and her mood shifted almost imperceptibly from the dull ache of hurt feelings to the scorching fire of uncompromising rage.

  As she sat there, digging her fingers into the sand, Jemma thought about what a fucking idiot he was. He’d been the one to ask her to go on a date. And then only to turn around and less than twenty-four hours later claim to her boss that, no, he didn’t like her. He’d only done it so she would be some nice little biddable female, too besotted to dare to question his authority.

  Jemma burned with anger, her eyes dry as she stared out at the distant waves. It didn’t matter that she knew deep down that he didn’t mean it, didn’t matter that he’d almost certainly regretted it the moment it came out of his mouth. He’d still said it and he’d still told someone who was supposed to respect her. That wasn’t sort of the thing that she planned to forgive quickly or easily. Or ever.

  Something Rio had taught her was that Jemma was responsible for the best version of herself. She couldn’t blame Colin for falling in love with her or for not falling out of love with her on a convenient schedule. She could only blame herself for letting the guilt of it swamp her and leave her stuck in a rut for years.

  She couldn’t change Gabe’s stupidity or his blindness. All she could do was make a promise to herself that she wasn’t going to accept anything less than the spectacular. She deserved better.

  With that promise echoing in her mind, Jemma hailed a cab and took a taxi to an expensive restaurant she’d been eyeing since she’d arrived. She bought herself a delicious celebratory dinner and as she sipped her red wine, tried to forget how lonely it felt.

  She knew she was better off alone than with someone who didn’t treat her with respect, but the thought didn’t quite stick.