by India Lee
“It didn’t even happen!” Freddie said, covering his face with his hands. “I just wanted everything perfect and in place before we did it. I don’t know what I was thinking. I really wanted it to happen but we ended up getting distracted by building a treehouse.”
“I think you built that treehouse because you were scared,” Marlie said. “I think if you really wanted it to happen then, you would have made it happen. Whether it was in a stinky barn at the risk of getting caught or something else. Did you ever get around to kissing him?”
“No. And now it’ll never happen because I live here and he lives there and it’s been a damn decade since and we don’t even talk anymore,” Freddie frowned. “But I still have my daydreams…”
“Hey. Listen to the wise old woman when she says to forget the daydreams. If you still want to make it happen, there are always ways,” Marlie replied. “You can’t keep waiting for the perfect circumstances because they may never come. I’m such a believer now, I swear. I never, ever, in my life thought I’d be approaching retirement age in the midst of a brand new career. It took me a long time to come to the realization that I needed to do what I want, no matter what obstacles were in the way, and like you, I was blessed with ‘a little bit crazy.’” She toasted Freddie and Gemma once again, smiling a silly smile. “And of course, a little bit of alcohol always helps.”
~
Champagne always got to Gemma like no other alcoholic beverage did and it was working like a fertilizer on whatever “little bit of crazy” she had growing in her system. She stood outside of Damian’s suite at The Strathorne, where he was staying until he got everything together for his new place. Gemma heaved a sigh, sending a quick text to Zoe.
I’m going to do it. Now. I’m outside his hotel room.
Gemma had barely realized she’d sent the text when she got one in return. Are you asking me for the blessing you already have? Get on it. She laughed, putting her phone back in her purse before knocking on Damian’s door.
The sound made her stomach turn. She had been brave from the moment she left the restaurant and said goodbye to Freddie and Marlie, up until the moment she got to the door. But the silence that followed turned on the nerves, making her question whether she was making the right move.
She had never really made a first move with a guy before, and it felt all the stranger that she was about to do it with Damian. Though Freddie and Marlie hadn’t realized it, their stories and conversation had made the decision for her that night. Unlike their fashion careers, Gemma’s hadn’t started on a completely crazy whim. She had had the connections and support from a team of people already in the industry. It wasn't nearly the same kind of risk that they had taken to get where they were.
So Gemma felt inspired to do something crazy – after all, she hadn’t done anything quite so crazy in years. Granted, the last truly crazy thing she’d done was probably enough to last her a lifetime, but that whole Croatian cliff-diving stunt she’d pulled was in a moment of total desperation. It involved no prior thinking whatsoever. This time, it was different. Although, as she waited for Damian to open the door, she felt that same sense of adrenaline and fear.
Just as she was about to knock again, the door opened. Damian stood there in a t-shirt and basketball shorts, rubbing his eyes as he peeked out at her. As adorable and sweet as he looked in that moment, he was also overwhelmingly sexy. Have you always looked this good? She exhaled.
“Hi,” she breathed, smoothing back her hair. Gemma did a quick scan of her pink sundress, hoping there weren’t any stains that she had missed from dinner. She realized how possible that was, considering how drunk she was as she ate.
“Well, hey.” Damian’s smile was groggy and adorable as he reached out to hug Gemma. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see you,” she said, realizing her words were just a little bit slurred. “Did I wake you or something? Can I come in?”
“Please do.” Gemma followed Damian into the suite. His neatly packed suitcase was open and sitting on his desk. The plush sheets of the bed were turned down and ruffled.
“I did wake you,” she said, pouting as she turned towards him. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Damian shrugged, sitting himself down on the bed. “I like waking up to you.” He patted the spot next to him.
“Even at two in the morning?” Gemma asked.
“Especially at two in the morning,” Damian replied, a teasing smile curling his lips. Gemma felt her breath catch in her throat as she studied him. Though he looked tired, she could see his bleary eyes still watching her, lazily taking in the image of her standing before him in a sundress in the middle of the night. Gemma returned the smile, walking towards the bed with a slight stumble. “Wait a minute,” Damian stopped her, grabbing her by the waist. “Ah, I thought so.”
“Thought so, what?”
“Two A.M. surprise visits don’t usually happen unless someone’s a little intoxicated,” he said with a laugh. Gemma could feel his strong hands resting low on her waist, holding her up rather effortlessly. She could feel his breath skim her collarbones. Before she realized it, she had climbed up on the bed with him, pushing Damian back slightly as she straddled him.
“So I had a little to drink,” she breathed, wondering how and where she’d found her sudden courage. Probably something to do with how damn good he looks. “What does it matter?” Gemma gave Damian one quick shove so that he was lying flat on his back in the mess of down comforters and pillows. He looked up at her, stunned as she leaned into him. She giggled as she pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his heart race.
“Gemma…” he said, shaking his head. “What are you doing?”
“Do you really have to ask?” Gemma half-groaned as she lowered herself to him, feeling her own heart race in her chest. But before she could reach him, he stopped her. She opened her eyes to see Damian holding her back by the shoulders as he sat up.
“Let’s get you some water,” Damian said, putting his arms around her waist and standing up. Gemma gasped as she felt herself lifted off the bed, knotting her ankles around his hips as he walked. She giggled, despite herself, stroking his hair as she rest her lips on his neck. She felt him flinch at the contact before he set her down on the couch. Gemma watched as he walked to the counter, pouring her a glass of water from a pitcher. She admired every muscle that involuntarily flexed as he did so.
As her body jumped to its feet, Gemma realized she was no longer in control of herself. She was beyond the “little bit of crazy” that Freddie and Marlie had been talking about. She was officially in “a whole lot of crazy.” A part of her remained somewhat conscious of her actions, but the vast majority of her had tunnel vision and couldn’t, or wouldn’t, stop her body from carrying out its goal.
Taking the glass from Damian’s hands, Gemma set it back on the counter, turning him towards her. She put her hands on his torso, letting them run up the thin fabric of his shirt as she reached behind his neck. She bit the corner of her curving lips as she looked up into his eyes. He watched her, motionless. He swallowed as she let her fingers slip into his neckline, touching his bare skin.
“Gemma, let me call you a car or something, okay?”
Gemma’s arms dropped to her side. She blinked and then stared at him, her eyes wide with sudden shock and embarrassment.
“You don’t want me to stay?”
“No, I mean,” Damian shook his head. “You know, you’re right. It’s late, you should stay. Take the bed, I’ll crash on the couch.”
“So, you don’t want to…” Gemma blushed furiously, immediately stopping her sentence. She could feel a lump in her throat as her eyes burned. Oh God, she thought, feeling more clear-minded than she would have liked. What the hell did I just do? Damian’s shoulders slumped as he sat himself down. He propped his elbow on his knee, a hand clasped over his mouth as he watched her.
“You’re drunk,” he said. “And it’s getting kind of clear that you’re mor
e drunk than you think you are. So, look. Why don’t you stay so I can look after you and make sure everything’s okay?”
“No, you know,” she shook her head, grabbing her purse and making a beeline towards the door. “I’m fine. I’m sorry, I think I just...” She quickened her step, feeling Damian get up to follow her. Luckily, her fingers wrapped around the doorknob before he reached her. With a yank, she swung the door open so she could flee out into the hall. “I’m gonna go. Goodnight. Sorry.”
~
Oh God.
For the next forty-eight hours, Gemma cringed hard at the thought of her impromptu visit to Damian’s hotel room. In her totally sober state, the recollection was all the more painful. She had debated whether or not to even tell Zoe what happened, but knowing that Zoe was eventually going to ask, she decided to send a single text explaining exactly how it had gone down.
I showed up at his room, he sent me home – no joke
Zoe called immediately, pressing Gemma for details. But she needed some time to let the wound heal. Recalling any portion of it aloud was best left for seeing Zoe in person, in case she needed an emergency hug to keep from violently shuddering at the awful memory. And she wasn’t sure if it helped or hurt that she hadn’t heard from Damian since.
Gemma had expected some sort of contact from him, even if it was just a quick update on how his new place was doing or any other one of their usual texts. It seemed most like him to pretend their encounter wasn’t worth talking about and resume business as usual. But she didn’t get any texts or calls. Not a single one. She had even double-checked to make sure her phone was functional, though she knew it was. With Fashion Week just around the corner, her phone was constantly ringing and buzzing with calls and messages from all those helping her arrange the event.
Just when Gemma had given up on hope for hearing from him, she finally got an email from Damian. To her dismay, she was one of many recipients.
Hey all. My good friend Gavin has suggested taking advantage of an empty house and throwing a party before I start moving my stuff in. Gotta say, I really like the idea of celebrating my new place with all of you before there’s anything in it for you to destroy. Saturday, 9pm – bring friends – I’ve got everything else covered.
~
“I still feel like it was my fault,” Zoe said as Gemma lay on her bed.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Gemma groaned. “I would have eventually made a move anyway and I would have eventually gotten turned down, so it’s not on you at all.”
“I don’t think you were necessarily turned down.” Zoe turned from her closet, throwing a number of dresses out next to Gemma. “But I definitely feel bad that it all went down that way. Gives me secondhand embarrassment shudders just to think about it.”
“Thanks,” Gemma said, throwing a pillow at Zoe’s head. Zoe caught it, tossing it right back at her.
“But that’s why we’re doing this, right?” She held up two dresses in each hand. They were both much more “Zoe” than they were Gemma, in that they were a type of sexy that she wasn’t sure she could pull off. “We’re going to show him your intentions without all that vodka in your blood.”
“I don’t really even want to go tonight,” Gemma said, sitting up. “I’m seriously still so embarrassed. I wasn’t even drunk enough to forget it all and that’s really what I need in order to continue functioning as a person.”
“Again, I think Damian just didn’t want to take advantage of a drunk-off-her-ass Gemma. I don’t think it means he’s not into you, okay?”
“If he were actually into me, I don’t think he would have stopped me like that,” Gemma said. She groaned into her hands, trying to force the memories out. “But I’m also definitely the worst flirt in the world. I was probably so bad that I turned him off if he were ever actually into me.”
“Not gonna lie, if you’re telling the whole truth, that sounded pretty bad,” Zoe laughed. “But I’m sure he just brushed it off as the drunk girl-next-door blunder that seems to happen to people like you.”
“Are you saying I’m not sexy, Zoe?” Gemma laughed. “Because you can just say it.”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. You know you’re sexy, so shut up.”
“I’m not sexy the way that all of Damian’s recent girlfriends are sexy though,” Gemma said. “You can’t really deny that.”
“You’re just a different kind of sexy.”
“You realize that’s the go to consolation phrase for girls who aren’t actually sexy, right?”
“Please stop with this shit, or I’m going to hit you,” Zoe said. She held up a white tank top with a pair of black leather pants. “If you wanna be Maxim type of sexy, then here you go. You’re perfectly capable.” Zoe shoved the two pieces of clothing into Gemma’s lap. “And you are going to the damn party because I’m going to the damn party. I don’t wanna be alone with Gavin and his douchey jock buddies from Klein Sports because that just sounds like the actual worst.”
“Fine.”
“Alright then, buddy. Let’s get you sexy.”
Surprisingly, Zoe was fairly indulgent of Gemma’s moping as they got ready for the party. She singlehandedly got her dressed before pulling out her hair tools and makeup bag. Gemma lay horizontally across the bed, pouting at the ceiling as she let her hair hang off one end so Zoe could straighten it.
By the time Zoe was done with her, Gemma could hardly recognize herself. Over the past years as a performer, she had taken on many personas. Being a fan of haute couture, most of them were more structured and thought out, neatly put together to create specific looks. Even when she wasn’t on stage, she had a similar taste.
Only after seeing her reflection did she realize that her look over the course of the years had been largely “girl-next-door,” as Zoe had put it. Being in the fashion industry, she thought she had a decent grasp of “sexy.” Her lavender catsuit that she had worn when she met Tyler – that was undoubtedly sexy. The Thierry Marc photo shoot that she had done with Damian – that was sexy. It’s not like Gemma didn’t know sexy – she had created and lived it for years.
But dressed in the plain white tank top over the black leather jeans, she was the simple but undeniable sort of sexy that came so naturally to girls like Zoe or Madison or Aubrey. It was the kind of ensemble that basically shouted “I don’t need to wear anything fancy because sexy is just in me.” And it was definitely a new feeling for Gemma. With her wavy hair straightened, her brown locks were glossy and long, nearly reaching her waist. As far as makeup went, Zoe had gone for simple as well, using a charcoal shadow to give Gemma smoky eyes and a light peach lipstick for nude lips.
“I did good,” Zoe commended herself, nodding at Gemma’s reflection.
“You don’t think it’s weird that I never dress like this and I’ll be walking into Damian’s place looking this way?” Gemma asked. She was looking for some reason to be insecure about what she was about to do, even despite the fact that she kind of felt… good in the outfit.
Zoe shook her head of wild hair, seeming to read the confidence in Gemma’s expression despite her skeptical words. “Girl. Not if you own it.”
~
It’d been awhile since Gemma had seen this much attention. Or maybe it was the first time she’d seen this particularly male-heavy kind of attention.
A surprising amount of people filled the three floors of Damian’s unfurnished Brooklyn home. Gemma looked around to see players from the Knicks, Giants, and Jets dancing alongside faces she didn’t know. She could see the way every man in the room was looking at her, their eyes trailing from whatever had previously held their attention to Gemma’s leather-bound legs striding through the house. Gavin didn’t approve.
“Jesus, Zo. This is so disturbing. I hate it,” he said, shaking his head with a grave expression. Gemma laughed as Zoe beamed, hanging on Gavin’s stiff neck, looking into his eyes as they refused to meet hers.
“Then that means I did a bang-up job because yo
u’re not supposed to like it, broski,” she grinned. “Come on, don’t be mad. Look at me.”
Gavin did as he was told but he faced Zoe with a deep frown between his brows. “Now I have to spend the entire night looking after her.”
“No you don’t, Buzzkill Bob,” Zoe groaned, flashing Gemma an apologetic look. “Don’t worry, not gonna happen,” she mouthed, though Gavin could easily read her berry-stained lips.
“Really, now. And what makes you so sure?”
“I dunno,” Zoe said with feigned innocence as she shrugged off her cropped motorcycle jacket, holding it in her hand and standing before Gavin in just her skintight mini-dress. Fluttering her lashes, she suddenly covered her mouth with a dainty hand. “Oh my goodness, is that star shooting guard of the Brooklyn Nets, Dante Gibson, over there? With a bunch of friends who I’m pretty sure were perving on me before? I have to go get his autograph,” Zoe said, mischief twinkling in her eyes before flouncing off in Dante’s direction, looking over her shoulder and daring Gavin not to follow her. Gemma watched Gavin shake his head and laugh, letting himself watch Zoe’s saunter from the back before downing the last of his drink.
“Alright, I’m going over there,” he told Gemma.
“I know you are.”
He laughed. “She’s the worst,” he said, fully charmed despite his words.
“Don’t I know it,” Gemma snorted. “But somehow, that makes her a good friend.”
Gavin shrugged, trying to frown at Zoe as she peeked over at him from across the room, surrounded by a group of guys who looked up to see what Zoe was looking out. Their attention went quickly from Gavin to Gemma. Groaning, Gavin turned to her, plucking the lapel of his blazer. “Any chance you’d wear this?”
“Nope.”
“Fine. Just don’t make me punch any of my clients tonight, okay?” he said before slow jogging over to Zoe and sweeping her away from her forming crowd of admirers. Gemma laughed just as a voice squealed behind her.
“Oh my God, girl, are you kidding me?” A small hand smacked Gemma’s butt before she could turn around. When she did, she saw Azura stood there, fully admiring her look. “You look fucking awesome. I mean, you’re always hot, but damn girl.”
