by Dani McLean
It was hard to maintain a relationship when you couldn’t make plans too far in advance or had to cancel last minute. It was why most actors dated in-house. They understood the chaotic hours and hectic responsibilities. That you could be in the middle of a romantic dinner, but if your publicist called out of the blue, you damn well better pick up, unless you wanted whatever media shit storm to railroad you without having a game plan.
But, if I was going to be really honest with myself, and I did prefer to be, I was lonely. Sex was great, and I could always find someone to satisfy me, but I wondered what it might be like to see someone for more than one night. To wake up next to them, spend a lazy day together, or come home to them after filming.
The whole ‘one-night stand’ dance was getting a little old. What I wouldn’t, couldn’t, admit to Sarah was that she was right. I did want a relationship. I wanted someone to come home to, someone to talk to, someone who made me laugh, supported me, and built me up when I felt like an imposter. I wanted to have someone steady and familiar to anchor me when the press was driving me crazy, someone down to earth but interesting, someone with their own life but who wanted me as much as I wanted them.
I thought of my dad and the life he’d built for my mom and us, and I wanted that for myself. I wanted to be the kind of man he was.
But until I could offer any kind of stability, what sort of partner could I really be? What sort of future could I offer someone?
I sighed, scrubbing at my dry eyes. Where the hell was I going to meet a gorgeous, smart, interesting woman when I spent all my time between sets? And even if that woman existed, would she really want to put up with all of this?
And was I ready for it if I met her?
5
Audrey
One year.
A whole 365 days since I’d been officially divorced. It almost felt like yesterday that Brad and I had gotten together, and yet I couldn’t be further away from the person I’d been then.
We’d met in college. It had been my first time out of my parent’s grasp, though even from a distance, they had found ways to hound me over poor grades or my choice to have a life outside of school.
Meeting Brad had been a breath of fresh air. He’d been confident and enthusiastic. I’d enjoyed being attractive to someone who seemed as interested in knowing my mind as they were my body. The sex was decent, too. Much better than the handful of encounters I’d had up to that point.
Although he was always far more ambitious than I ever was, it had been a nice change from my parents’ overbearing pressure always to do better. Be better.
Hindsight was a real bastard. Looking back, I saw it for what it was, a sideways move from my parents’ hovering judgment to the guilt trips and control of my husband.
The weight that lifted the day the divorce was official was beyond what I could describe. The best I could manage was some clichéd metaphor about light and dark, and there was probably a Katy Perry song about it, but mostly I just felt free.
For the first time in ten years, I had no one but myself to please, and so I did just that. Tiff helped me find a new apartment, and soon after, David had come up with the money to get his start-up off the ground, allowing us both to leave Empire Distributions behind for something more passionate and personal.
I’d just gotten myself comfortable on the couch when Tiff messaged me.
Tiff: Where are you?
I contemplated calling her back before I remembered she was working.
Me: At home, why?
It was a Tuesday night; where else did she think I’d be?
Tiff: You know why. Today is D-Day.
Meaning, divorce day.
Me: I know what today is. I just don’t want to make a big deal of it.
Her response came seconds later.
Tiff: Fuck that plan. Come to the bar. Dress very sexy.
Immediately, I knew she was trying to set me up.
Me: Sorry, can’t. Tonight’s the night I’m having dinner with the president.
In a word, she leaves no room for argument.
Tiff; Reschedule
I groaned to myself, knowing I was going to give in. As comfortable as I was, getting dressed up always boosted my confidence, and frankly, I could use some of that today.
Me: Fine. Be there in 15.
As quickly as I could, I freshened up, skipping the shower in favor of a quick spritz of my favorite perfume. I slipped on the only lace underwear I owned and pulled out a comfortable sleeveless turtleneck dress that hit me mid-calf.
It wasn’t what Tiff would call sexy, but it was soft and loose, and I felt good in it. It went back into the wardrobe a minute later when I read Tiff’s next message.
Tiff: Put that damn black turtleneck back and wear the slutty red mini I got you for your birthday. Then get your ass here. QUICK.
After slipping into the strappy red dress, I grabbed my purse and headed out the door.
When I arrived, I found the bar predictably quiet. It was only eight p.m. on a Tuesday, after all. A handful of people were scattered around, tucked away in the private booths along the back wall. The main bar was empty save a single man talking politely to Tiff as I approached. His back was turned to me, and the breadth of his shoulders feeling vaguely familiar. He appeared to be my age, with a clean-cut look and sandy blond hair.
I walked to a chair farther down the bar, but Tiff turned her head and motioned to the seat next to him. “It’s easier if you sit here, gorgeous.” She was using her customer voice, but there was a dangerous glint in her eyes.
Easier, my ass.
Hiding the roll of my eyes behind closed lids, I took the seat next to him and hoped to God I looked casual doing it.
Tiff began mixing me a drink, and I became acutely aware of two things: one, the man beside me smelled incredibly good; smoky and sweet, like a vanilla pod held over a flame; and two, how intimately close we were sitting, making my nerves spike.
I chanced a look at him without fully turning my head. Even from this odd angle, I could tell his looks went beyond just conventionally attractive. Both his sleeves were pushed up, and I cast my eyes down to where his bare forearms were leaning on the bar next to me before tamping down the desire I felt as I admired the strength of his hands. There was a vein flowing from his wrist that I was itching to trace.
Suddenly, I was self-conscious. Tiff’s intentions might be good, but even I knew when I was out of my league.
Before he could notice me looking at him, I focused on the drink Tiff had placed in front of me. Crushed ice filled the glass, surrounded by a mottled brown concoction. Of all the things Tiff had put in front of me, this ranked low on the display factor.
My nose wrinkled. “That might be ... the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”
One delicately arched brow was raised as Tiff slid the drink closer to me. “Well, you can shut the fuck up because it tastes amazing.”
Next to me, the man tried to cover up his laugh with a cough, and I had to stop myself from instinctually turning to him, like a moth to a flame. “The last time you said that, I regretted it.”
Tentatively I brought the glass to my nose for an experimental sniff and had to admit I was pleasantly surprised. “Mmm, is that cinnamon?”
She hummed her acknowledgment. “And star anise. It really offsets the gin.”
Immediately, I put the drink down and eyed Tiff. “You know how I feel about gin.”
From beside me, the man spoke, and there was a teasing note to his voice. “And how is that?”
We both turned towards him. Thankfully, Tiff answered his question. I was too lost in my first direct look at him. Handsome didn’t even begin to cover it. Gorgeous, maybe? Beautiful, definitely. The basics registered somewhere in the back of my mind, but it was his eyes that mesmerized me. They were small but kind, emanating warmth and sparkling with undisguised humor. Bright, bold, expressive. So damn expressive. Devilish even. They shined as he met my gaze.
“She can
’t stand it.” Tiff reached forward and moved the drink over to him. “You look like an adventurous man. Care to try something sweet and spicy?” I somehow held back my groan.
Holding my gaze, he took the offered drink and raised the coupe to his lips, giving a small nod to both of us. “Cheers”
His mouth was plush and pink as a fresh rose, like a shade of Mac lipstick I was sure I owned but hadn’t worn in years.
When he lowered the glass to lick his lips, I had to avert my eyes.
“That’s pretty good. Not what I’d normally drink, but good.”
Tiff was unsurprised. “Thanks, I know.”
Turning to me, he said, “And she is right, you can’t taste the gin at all. You should try it.” He held it out to me.
It was tempting, but I had a strong feeling I was going to need my wits about me tonight, and gin was not the way to do that. “Oh, no, thank you.”
“Go on, Auds, weren’t you just telling me how you want to try new things?” Tiff was not so subtly nodding in his direction. “Come on. I’ll make you a fresh one. Or would you prefer something special tonight?”
I know what you think you’re doing; I wanted to say to her. But the best I could do with the gorgeous man next to me was glare at her and hope she understood.
From her barely disguised chuckle, I knew she did.
“Just a glass of the prosecco will be fine. Thank you, Tiffany.” The use of her full name always annoyed her.
She moved gracefully behind the bar to get my drink. “You’re lucky I love you, refusing a perfectly good drink like this. But since we’re celebrating, I’ll allow it.”
“What’s the occasion?” The man beside me asked.
“Um,” I stumbled. Thanks, Tiff. Well, it was nice while it lasted. “It’s … an anniversary.” My throat tightened. “A year since I got divorced.”
“One year since you were free,” Tiff corrected me, a glass of prosecco now placed in my hands.
“You’re divorced?” He sounded curious, surprised even, but not judgemental. Still, I couldn’t help but recall Will’s accusing tone from the other night.
Swinging on my seat to face him, I asked, “Are all men scared of a woman who’s been in a long relationship before, or are you all expecting us to just wait patiently as virgins until you show up to rescue us?”
Oops. Might have gone too far there. I fully expected him to huff and leave, so I was shocked by his hearty laugh.
I apologized. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I had a bad experience recently.”
“Any man scared of a woman with experience isn’t worthy of you,” he said, sounding genuine. Which was unfair because I knew it was a line, yet it worked on me anyway.
“I’ll drink to that,” Tiff said, holding up a glass of water. She wouldn’t ever drink while she was working, but I appreciated the sentiment. “To freedom.”
“To new experiences,” the man added with a wink, and I hid my blush by taking a sip of my drink.
“I wish dating were easier,” I admitted, repeating the thought I’d had since I decided to put myself out there again.
Tiff leaned against the bar. “I keep telling you. Casual sex is the way to go.”
There was movement in my periphery, but I kept my eyes on Tiff. Sarcastically, I responded, “Sure. As long as I don’t mention the divorce, I don’t have anything to worry about.”
Tiff regarded me with a smirk like she knew something I didn’t, and then she’d pulled away to attend to a customer at the other end of the bar, leaving the handsome stranger and me alone. My fingers traced the slender stem of the glass before I finally gave in to the urge to look at him again.
That sparkle was still in his eyes as he watched me; a small curl set in the corner of his mouth, the faint indent of a dimple visible beside it. It was new, having someone wait. Having the time to decide what I wanted and the space to act on it. Unfortunately, all my thoughts were fairly singular right now, mostly just a growing list of all the places I wanted to touch him.
Small laugh lines appeared as if he could read my thoughts before he turned pensive. “Can I ask what happened with your ex?”
I sucked in a slow breath. Where did I begin? “The short of it is, we fell in love, we fell out of love. Then he left.”
“Any particular reason?”
“Any particular reason you’re asking?” I challenged.
Those eyes smoldered. “Just wondering what would make a beautiful woman like you fall out of love.” He slowly took a sip of his drink, not breaking eye contact, “I wouldn’t want to make the same mistake.”
Heat crept up my cheeks, and without really thinking and definitely without meaning to, I gave him the honest to God’s truth. “It wasn’t working for a long time, but we kept it going even though we were both miserable. Brad wanted someone who could give him more.”
“And what did you want?”
His question took me by surprise. I knew the answer, of course, but it wasn’t anything I’d allowed myself to voice out loud. My eyes darted over to Tiff, who was far enough away that I knew she couldn’t hear us. Quietly, I said, “To be enough.”
The power of those eyes hit me hard. They were blue, I could tell now, but it was the force of them, the way he looked at me like I was something precious, something wondrous; it was too much. I turned back to the bar and swallowed another sip of wine to steady my resolve. “What about you?”
“I’ve never been married.”
“Not for you?”
“Not yet. I’m too focused on my career right now and don’t have time for a relationship beyond something casual.”
“And you enjoy that?” I was genuinely curious.
“Absolutely. I like women, and I like sex, and I’ve had a lot of both. I know that sounds cocky, but it’s true.”
“Actually, I find your blatant egotism refreshing.”
“Really?”
“God, no.” It felt good to laugh this freely. Despite his cockiness, something was disarming about him. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I was drawn in, addicted to his piercing gaze, like he was trying to decipher me. “Although I do like your honesty. If there’s one part of dating I hate, it’s the half-truths and fake personas everyone puts on to impress. It’s exhausting. If casual sex means not having to worry about all that, then sign me up.”
He leaned in. “I like it. It’s fun to figure out how to get under someone’s skin, and even better to get under their clothes.” We weren’t touching, but the closeness of him was making me light-headed.
“Jesus.”
“That’s usually what they say.”
“Oh, my God.”
“That, too.”
“Stop, seriously,” I said, laughing and pushing him back.
Tiff returned to top up our drinks, and as they talked to each other, I enjoyed a moment to observe him and appreciate how open he was.
That openness was reflected in everything about him. The relaxed outfit, dark jeans and a navy sweater, fit his form to a T but weren’t showy. He knew how attractive he was, and while he didn’t seem to flaunt it, he absolutely owned it. He was comfortable in his skin, and my hands twitched against where they had been resting between the short hem of my dress to keep it from riding up and hiding the soft curve of my waist. I pulled my hands away with effort and tried to muster up the same confidence that he exuded so effortlessly.
When he caught me admiring, he winked before turning back to Tiffany to finish his point. “It’s the kind of TV show where everyone is young and beautiful, and the storylines range from unrealistic to ridiculous. But it’s a great crew, and I get paid to act, so I can’t complain.”
Of course. That explained why he looked like he’d come out of a catalog. “Oh, so you’re an actor?”
“Audrey.” Tiff sounded scandalized, “Please tell me you’re joking. I hate television, and even I know who he is.”
Well, now I felt sheepish. “Sorry,” I offered to both of them.
/>
“Don’t apologize. It’s refreshing.” He held out his hand, “Jackson Ward. Nice to meet you.”
“Audrey Adams.” I slipped my hand in his, and if my mind was distracted by desire before, touching him ratcheted it up even further. Now I wasn’t just thinking about all the places I wanted to touch him, but all the places I wanted him to touch me.
I cleared my throat. “So, tell me about your job.”
He proceeded to describe the banalities of show biz, and I was listening, I was. There were a lot of similarities in our industries. But mostly, I was entranced by the passion he had for his work. Those hands—those hands!—kept jumping into the space between us as he spoke, occasionally brushing against me and setting my skin aflame.
But, by far, his jaw was his most distracting feature. I couldn’t help but notice the way the muscles flexed and moved, telegraphing his thoughts even when he wasn’t saying a word. I could have lost myself watching them shift and change, studying his face like a sculptor.
“Sounds a lot like my job,” I said, hoping that if I kept him talking for a little bit longer, I could figure out the next move.
“How so?”
“It’s like performing a mating dance every time I meet a new client, and anytime you see them after that, there are smiles and hugs and ‘how is the misses?’ But a lot of it is only for show.”
“A lot of wank is what it is,” Tiff added.
“I mean, it’s not that bad,” I couldn’t help adding defensively.
“Auds, please.”
I relented. “Ok, fine, yes, it can be terrible. At a certain level, the niceties aren’t real, and if you aren’t careful, it can lure you into a false sense of friendship with people, which can backfire big time. But as long as you remember it’s a professional relationship, you can avoid problems.”
