Acting on Impulse

by Mia Sosa

  I watch him warily, my gaze narrowed on his face. “You get one pass. Is this how you want to use it?”

  “Yes. I will never screw up like this again. But tell me why you don’t want me.” His eyes plead with me for understanding. “Is there something else you’re not telling me?”

  He looks so earnest with his hands against his chest and that ridiculous lock of hair sweeping over his forehead. I can’t offer him anything but the truth. “I want you. I won’t pretend about that. But I don’t want everything that goes along with being with you. I dated someone who desperately wanted to be in the limelight, and it didn’t end well for me. He’s a city councilman, and Philadelphia’s notoriously light on celebrity gossip. It wasn’t fun. What would that say about me if I put myself in the same situation?”

  “Always forward, never backward.”

  Thank goodness, he gets it. I’m relieved he does. “Yes.”

  He shakes his head. “But I’m not your ex-boyfriend.”

  No, he isn’t—and that doesn’t work in his favor. “Don’t you see? The risks are even greater with you. I don’t want to go down in the annals of history as someone you slept with. That doesn’t ever go away. What happens when I try to secure investors? Is that the first thing they’ll see about me when they search Google? And when we fizzle, what happens then? With Mason, I learned about my breakup on a local radio show. With you, I’ll hit the big time. And I just don’t want to swim in the fishbowl you live in. So you’re right. It’s not the same situation. You’re Mason times ten.”

  He stares at me for several beats before he speaks. “Mason. He’s your ex?”

  “Yes.”

  He grabs the back of his neck and gives me a bitter smile. “I hate him.”

  “No you don’t.”

  “I hate how he’s affecting my life, then.”

  “Fair enough.”

  I’m thinking about Mason differently now. Maybe I was meant to go through that experience with him so I could avoid going through one on a grander scale with Carter. Maybe the universe was preparing me for Carter?

  I lean against the wall, claiming a spot beside him. “So you understand?”

  Still leaning against the wall, he turns to his side, and I do the same.

  The fiery determination in his eyes is my first clue that he’s not fully ready to accept defeat.

  “Yeah, I understand,” he says. “You should know this, though. I will always take no for an answer, but the minute you say otherwise, you’re mine, and I won’t hold anything back.”

  That’s the second clue.

  Philly Water Cooler

  6/3/2017

  Heard Around Town

  By Maisie Hunt | Leave a comment

  Remember Tori Alvarez, the badass fitness instructor who snagged Mason King by challenging him to a push-up contest? Well, the plot thickens. Celebrity Watch Online is reporting that she and TV actor Carter Stone are an item. HGL traces the relationship back to a trip to Aruba, where both Alvarez and Stone traveled in May, according to separate tweets from their Twitter accounts. They followed the trip with a cute exchange on Twitter, in which Alvarez said Stone couldn’t handle her fitness regimen, and Stone jokingly responded that her challenge had been accepted. A photographer then spotted them entering the same gym, which interestingly, is not the gym where Alvarez works. And it was after hours. And they couldn’t hide their affection for each other in front of Mi Casita, a North Philadelphia restaurant owned by Alvarez’s parents: A photographer for CWO snapped a pic of Carter pressing a kiss to Alvarez’s forehead. Swoon.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Tori

  IT’S EARLY AFTERNOON, and Ben and Nate have summoned me to the gym on my day off. I’m in front of my computer staring at the reason why. Last night, while I was telling Carter I didn’t want to date him, an entertainment blog reported that I am dating him.

  Eva nudges me to make space for her and reads the story over my shoulder.

  With a carton of ice cream and a spoon in her hands, she draws back and pins me with a confused gaze. “When did he kiss you on the forehead?”

  “He didn’t. That was the day he brought his family to the restaurant. I was upset about my dad, and he was wiping away my tears.”

  “And they placed you in Aruba at the same time.”

  I smack my forehead at that one. “I stupidly posted a photo of the beach on Twitter. Apparently, he’d done the same.”

  Eva shakes her head and puts a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth. “Nate’s going to kill you,” she says with her mouth full.

  “Yes, Mr. Stickler for Personnel Issues probably will. It’s his job after all.”

  She jams the spoon into the carton and gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Want me to come with you?”

  “No, I’ll be fine.”

  “Well, all you have to do is explain how this was all taken out of context, right?”

  “Yes,” I say in a soft voice.

  Eva’s eyes narrow. “Right?”

  I drop my head onto the keyboard.

  “Oh my God,” she shrieks. “You had sex with him?”

  “I did not.” I cover my mouth. Under my breath, I say, “But I might have given him an abbreviated hand job.”

  She leans in and cups her ear. “Say again? What’s that now? You gave him a blow job?”

  I push her away from me. “A hand job.”

  “Oh, well, that’s qualitatively different for these purposes.”

  I stand with all the feigned outrage I can muster. “I will not stand here and listen to this drivel.” Then I wave the ends of my robe like a matador and flounce to my bedroom.

  Behind me, Eva laughs. “I love you, woman. Don’t change. And don’t be ashamed of that hand action.” With the carton still in her hands, she follows me into the bedroom and drops onto my bed while I pull out clothes from my dresser. “Remember when you said you wouldn’t be tempted by Carter because you didn’t want to end up on Page Six?”

  I turn to her with several articles of clothing in my hands. “Yes, I remember.”

  “You’re on Page Six. Not literally but figuratively.”

  I tilt my head to the ceiling and let out a heavy sigh. “Your point, Eva?”

  “If everyone’s going to assume you had sex with Carter anyway, why not actually have sex with Carter? That way, you get something out of this, too.”

  Her mind works in depraved ways. It really does. But she’s planted the thought in my brain, and it’s growing like a weed. I shake my head as if to clear it. I must remain strong. I must. “Having sex with Carter would not help the situation.”

  She shrugs. “Fine. But I’m putting a Google Alert on him anyway. Just in case.”

  “I worry about you.”

  She sticks her tongue out at me. “I worry about me, too. And I worry about my best friend.”

  I drop the clothes on my chair and pull her up from the bed for a hug. She has my back. Always.

  With her mouth at my ear, she says, “Can you at least tell me this: If you were to use an emoji to represent his penis, would you use a banana or an eggplant?”

  I push her off me and roll my eyes. “Eggplant.”

  She hoots. “Get it, woman.”

  I pick up one of my tank tops and toss it at her. “Get out, woman.”

  Her eyes are teary with laughter as she leaves. “I’m going, but report back later. Can’t wait to hear about Nate losing his shit.”

  I’d happily wait decades for that.

  IT COMES AS no surprise to me that a reporter is waiting for me when I arrive at Hard Core. She appears young, and she’s chewing on her lip as she scribbles furiously in a reporter’s notebook. She just might have more butterflies in her belly than I do. Still, she has a job to do, so I steel myself for the barrage of questions that are sure to follow her friendly greeting.

  “Tori Alvarez, I’m Maisie Hunt from Philly Water Cooler. Could I have two minutes of your time?”

  Hunt’s approach
differs from the rapid-fire questions I’d anticipated. I’m inclined to listen to her, if only to prepare myself for any future harassment.

  Mouthing hello to the front desk clerk, I hand him my ID and tighten my hold on my gym bag before I face Ms. Hunt. “Sure, I’ll give you two minutes.”

  Her eyes startle. “Great, great. Well, uh, I just wanted to ask if it’s true that you’re dating Carter Stone.”

  I motion for her to follow me to a spot away from the desk. “I’m not dating Carter Stone. I’m his personal trainer.”

  “Um, okay. But Celebrity Watch Online is reporting otherwise.”

  “That may be, but Celebrity Watch Online doesn’t have the facts. Plus, Ms. Hunt, the picture doesn’t show Carter kissing my forehead. He was wiping my tears, about something unrelated to him. Something you would have known had you contacted me before republishing unoriginal gossip. That was sloppy journalism. There’s no story, and your job is not to make one up.”

  She fidgets with the pad in her hands. “I’ll correct that.”

  “Please do. Anything else?”

  “No . . . um . . . nothing else,” she stutters.

  “Have a great day, Ms. Hunt.”

  “You, too,” she says, a dazed expression on her face before she spins and walks away.

  I have no control over what she writes, but maybe she’ll be more thoughtful about her reporting in the future. Now to deal with Ben and Nate.

  I take back my card and shove it into my bag’s side pocket. I don’t attack the stairs as I typically do, mostly because I’m dreading the conversation I’m about to have. With my gut churning, I enter the office, where Ben and Nate are huddled together. They straighten when I collapse into my seat.

  “Everything okay?” Ben asks.

  I blow out a long, ragged breath. “A reporter intercepted me on the way into the gym to ask about my relationship with Carter Stone, but otherwise I’m doing splendidly.”

  Nate and Ben both lift their brows and glance at each other.

  “I detect sarcasm, Ben. Is that what you’re picking up?”

  Ben nods. “Yes, it has a certain je ne sais quoi to it. Inappropriate sarcasm under the circumstances, maybe?”

  Chin in one hand, Nate purses his lips and nods. “Yes, that seems right.”

  Why are they joking around? I thought they’d be pissed. Now my knee won’t stop bouncing. I adopt an authoritative tone. “You asked me to come in, and I’m here. Before you berate me for making poor choices, I’d just like to point out that he is not kissing me in the photograph, and I went to Aruba after the Mason debacle, not with Carter.”

  “Tori—”

  “Also, we’re not dating. This is mostly fabricated by the gossip peddlers.”

  Nate raises a brow again. “Mostly?”

  I should just shut up, shouldn’t it?

  Ben peers at me and drums his fingers on the table.

  “What?” I ask him in a strangled voice.

  As usual, Ben and Nate lob digs at me as though they’re playing volleyball with them.

  “We knew you’d be upset about all this,” Ben says.

  “Feeling guilty,” Nate adds.

  “Thinking you betrayed us.”

  “Ashamed.”

  “Oh, the shame.”

  Ben slices a hand across his neck, signaling to Nate that the comedy set is complete. “We’re not going to pretend we think what you did here was appropriate—”

  “But we’re not dating—”

  Ben raises a hand to stop me from defending myself. “Tori, give me a chance. Look, we don’t need to know anything as long as you tell us whatever is happening involves two consenting adults. If that’s the case, then this discussion is over.”

  I stare at Nate. In the past, he’s argued that the gym should adopt a formal policy about relationships between clients and trainers. “You’re on board with this?”

  Nate clears his throat. “Yeah, I’m on board.”

  “That’s surprising,” I say.

  “The longer I’m in this business, the more I realize nothing’s black-and-white. Sometimes we can’t help who we fall in love with.”

  If I had any gauze handy, I’d spin around and wrap myself in it like a dummy. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. It’s mortifying. And I need to end it, so I tell them what they want to hear, which also happens to be the truth. “Whatever it is, it’s between two consenting adults.”

  To sum up, celebrity gossip sites are reporting that Carter and I are dating, I’ve had to field questions from a reporter about my love life, and I’ve just had the most uncomfortable conversation in the history of conversations—with my bosses. Eva’s right. Not exactly in the way she put it. But maybe since my all-or-nothing approach to dealing with Carter hasn’t worked in my favor, I could try to bend a little and get something out of this, too.

  So far, the media coverage suggests only a passing interest in our relationship status. We don’t have to announce to the world that we’re dating. We could just enjoy each other here in Philly in private, for as long as we choose. Take it slowly. Avoid the cameras in the meantime. Reassess as the need arises. Right now, I simply need to be with him.

  I hope he’s ready.

  Carter Stone, I’m coming for you.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Carter

  I’M HOLDING MY phone away from my ear as Julian barks at me.

  “Are you listening to me, Carter?”

  My publicist, Dana, gave Julian an earful when she heard about the Tori story, so now he’s passing on the love to me.

  “I’m listening, Julian. This was taken out of context. There was nothing to tell Dana. There’s no relationship to acknowledge. Not yet at least. It’ll blow over on its own.”

  Julian grumbles on the other end. “She didn’t know what to say, Carter. That’s all. Usually you give her a heads-up about these things. Just keep us in the loop, okay?

  “Sure, I get it.”

  “And refresh my memory, is this the woman you planned to apologize to?”

  “Yeah, she’s the one.”

  He lets out a harsh laugh. “You and I have different definitions of closure.”

  I ignore his observation. “Let’s not pretend I can ever control what the press decides to report.”

  I also can’t control how Tori reacts to being the subject of press attention. But I need to make sure she’s okay. Which I’ll do as soon as Julian is finished berating me.

  He sighs. “Fine. Is there anything you need to give me a heads-up about?”

  “Nope.”

  “Good. Now, in other, better-guarded news, you have a date for your read-through with Gwen Styles.”

  “When?”

  “Next Tuesday or Thursday. You get to choose.”

  “But they said I’d have six weeks.”

  “Well, now you have four.”

  Shit. More games from Samantha Bell. She probably never intended to give me six weeks. Just trying to throw me off my game. I would have preferred more time. But as is the case with most aspects of this business, I don’t decide the when, I only control whether I show up on time. “I’ll be there, of course.”

  “I’ve already asked Jewel to make your travel arrangements. Just let her know which date.”

  “Thanks, J.”

  “You got it, man. I’ll check in next week.”

  I end the call and pace the length of the living room. Tori and I are due to meet again this evening, but I’m not even sure she’ll want to.

  I send her a quick text.

  Me: You okay?

  A minute later, my phone buzzes.

  Tori: I’m fine.

  Me: We should talk. Can I see you?

  She doesn’t answer immediately. I tap my phone on my thigh as I wait.

  Tori: Sure. When?

  Me: Now? I’ll come to you.

  Tori: No, I’ll come to you. I need fresh air. Address?

  Me: 230 W. Rittenhouse Square. I�
��ll tell the doorman to send you up.

  Tori: Okay. Also, fancy.

  Her side note gives me hope that she hasn’t written me off.

  My stomach gurgles. I haven’t eaten in three hours, a passage of time that’s been unheard of the last three weeks. I’ll scarf something down while I wait for her to arrive. Which is good. I need to focus on something. Otherwise, I’ll tie myself in knots trying to predict how she’ll react to my decision.

  Twenty minutes later, my intercom buzzes. I hit the push-to-talk button. “Yeah, Bill?”

  “Ms. Alvarez is on her way up, sir.”

  “Thanks.”

  I straighten the pillows on the couch and set a few stray glasses in the sink. I scan the room, picturing it from Tori’s perspective. It’s nothing like my condo in West Hollywood. Most of the furniture in here looks like it belongs in my parents’ house. But from the bedroom I can see Rittenhouse Park, and the massive stone half wall separating the bed from the rest of the bedroom is a nice touch.

  I sprint to the door when the bell rings. Fuck pretending to be unaffected by this woman. She’s occupied my thoughts since the day I met her. To pretend otherwise would be a waste of time. I swing the door open. “Hi.”

  With her head bowed, she lifts her hand in a weak wave. “Hey.”

  I want to lift her chin and kiss her worries away, but her demeanor tells me she won’t appreciate a show of affection. Go slow, Carter. She’s probably wrecked by the gossip. “Come on in.”

  She inches across the threshold and tightens her hold on her purse. She’s wearing a peach T-shirt dress and navy-blue Chuck Taylors. She points to my bare feet. “Should I take off my sneaks?”

  “Only if you want to.”

  She scans the living area. “Then I’ll keep them on.”

  I stand behind the kitchen counter as she takes a seat at one end of the sofa.

  “Want something to drink?” I ask.

  “No, thanks.”

  I grab a bottled water from the fridge and join her. After taking a quick swig, I set it down on the coffee table and place my elbows on my knees, making a steeple of my fingers. “I’m sorry about the press coverage. I did a piss-poor job of protecting you from their attention, didn’t I?”