“I can’t believe how many bottles of wine we went through,” I murmur, resting my cheek against his shoulder, “Why don’t I feel more hungover after all that?”
“Guess we burned most of the booze right off,” Jack chuckles throatily, giving my ass a naughty squeeze. “Who would have thought that Calista Benson was such a sex fiend?”
“Excuse me,” I laugh, giving him a playful punch, “But I consider myself more of a Jackson Cole fiend than a sex fiend, thanks.”
“I’ll take it,” Jack grins, brushing the tousled hair away from my face. “But seriously, how do you feel this morning? I know things got a little...vigorous, there at the end last night.”
The vivid memory of Jackson bending me over the leather couch and taking me roughly from behind as the view of New York City sprawled out before us nearly makes me come again on the spot.
“I may be a little sore,” I allow with a mischievous smile, “But it’s the good kind of sore. I promise.”
“That’s good,” Jack murmurs, looking me straight in the eyes, “You’ll tell me if things ever get too heated for you, right?”
“Christ Jack, what do you have in mind for next time? Some Fifty Shades of Grey shit?” I laugh, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and stretching out my arms.
“Hey, you made the suggestion first, not me,” he replies, sitting up behind me. He wraps his arms around my waist, kissing down along my neck.
“My only suggestion for the time being is breakfast,” I tell him, savoring the feel of his lips against my skin.
“Let me order up some room service,” Jack replies, giving me an affection squeeze before pulling himself out of bed.
He strides across his bedroom in the altogether, totally at ease. I’m amazed at how comfortable we already feel in each other’s company, and elated to find that nothing about our dynamic has changed in the morning light. We’re still the bantering, supportive friends we’ve always been...only now we get to screw like rabbits, as well. Talk about having your cake and eating it, too. Though my current appetite isn’t exactly for cake…
Jack slips into a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, tossing a second tee shirt to me. I wrap myself up in the garment, loving the feel of it against my bare breasts and belly. Only now, I don’t have to bury my nose in a shirt to savor his scent—my whole body smells like Jackson Cole. I’ll never get enough of that.
I pad out into the main room of the suite as Jack calls in our breakfast order. Settling onto one of the stools that line the kitchenette counter, I reach for my purse and pull out my phone.
“No,” Jack says firmly, snatching the device out of my hand.
“What do you mean, ‘no’?” I ask, grabbing for my phone and missing as he holds it up out of my reach. Seeing as he’s got more than a foot on me, height wise, this isn’t much of a challenge for him.
“No, you’re not allowed to look at your phone,” he tells me, dangling the device over my head. “Not today.”
“I’m not really in the habit of taking orders, Jack,” I say tersely.
“What do you mean? What about all your Fifty Shades fantasies?” he teases.
“I don’t have—That was a—Give me my phone back!” I demand, “I need to check emails, and see if Bernadette is cool with watering my house plants, and—”
“Callie,” Jack says frankly, “Please. Don’t check your phone today. As a favor to me.”
“But why not?” I ask, crossing my arms.
“Because,” Jack explains, sitting on the stool beside me, “The second you look at your phone, you know what you’re going to see? Millions of pictures, and tweets, and bullshit articles about us. And they’re not going to be flattering.”
“You don’t know that,” I reply.
“Yes I do,” he insists, “That’s exactly what happened to me and Avery, the second she moved to LA and started spending time with me. And we weren’t even a real couple! Just imagine what the media is going to have to say about us.”
“Us...” I echo, trying to swallow my goofy grin. “So, do you consider us an ‘Us’ now?”
“No semantic bullshit before I’ve had my coffee, I beg you,” Jack laughs, shaking his head, “But I mean, yeah. Of course I think of you and me as an us. A team.”
“And by team…Do you mean ‘couple’?” I suggest breathlessly.
Jack looks at me for a long moment, his dark brown hair tousled with sex and sleep, the scruff on his chin just a hint thicker than usual. The joking expression fades away from his face as he meets my gaze in all seriousness.
“I don’t exactly have a good track record, when it comes to being part of a couple,” he tells me.
“Well, that makes two of us,” I reply. “But records are meant to be broken, right?”
“The problem with my record is that it’s public,” Jack goes on, his brow furrowing, “The entire world has an opinion about my romantic history. Especially the bit about me being ‘engaged’ to your sister.”
“But that wasn’t real,” I insist.
“To the tabloids, it was,” he says, shaking his head. “And that means that you and I being together is not going to go down easy with them. They’re going to give us hell, no matter what we do.”
“Jack,” I say softly, glancing down at my hands, “I was entirely cut off from my family at eighteen. I’ve spent the past decade entirely on my own, with about ten bucks to my name. My twin sister just died at the age of twenty-five. I know what hell is. A few bitchy blog posts aren’t going to stop me from going after what I want.”
“And what is it you want, Cal?” he asks, his voice rasping ever-so-slightly. “For you and me to be a couple?”
“Sure,” I laugh nervously.
“I need a yes or a no,” he says, “This is too important for ‘sure’.”
“Then...yes,” I breathe, after a long moment. “Yes, Jack. I want to be a couple. I want to be with you. I’ve always wanted that.”
“So have I, Callie. So have I,” he replies, reaching for my hand on the counter. “Ever since we were a couple of angst-y, punk-ass kids who couldn’t wait to throw their lives away and follow their batshit crazy dreams.”
“I’m just glad our dreams led us back to the same place,” I whisper, squeezing his strong, sure hands.
“Me too,” he murmurs, moving his lips toward mine, “Me too...”
“Room service!” calls a cheerful voice from the other side of the front door.
Jack and I roll our eyes, laughing at the interruption. Our intimate moments have always had a tendency to be derailed, only now it doesn’t matter. We can just pick up right where we left off again.
How incredible is that?
After we devour our incredible breakfast and drink about a gallon of coffee each, we’re finally ready to start our day. It’s Saturday, a day free from sets, and lines, and costumes. We’ve been shooting City in Red at such a breakneck pace that I’ve almost forgotten what free time feels like. Luckily, Jack is here to help me while away the hours.
We hop into the shower together, unable to keep ourselves from indulging in a quick, sudsy fuck. I could get used to this 24/7 sex-on-demand, that’s for sure. I’ve always been a pretty sensual person, but I’ve never had a partner who made me feel this ravenous before. It’s like my appetite for Jack only grows more immense every time we have each other.
Once we’re all cleaned up from our less-than-squeaky-clean, Jack and I plan out the rest of our day.
“First of all, no internet,” Jack begins, “That rule stands. No cell phones, no computers, nothing. You got me?”
“Copy that,” I reply, “But how are we supposed to go out and have an awesome day off in the city if the paparazzi are out for blood? Are you sure we shouldn’t just stay in and marathon Friends on Netflix or something?”
“First of all, fuck no. Secondly, we’ll manage,” Jack assures me, “We can’t stop living our lives just because some asshole photographers don’t understand the idea of p
ersonal space.”
“OK,” I reply, “You’re the expert. So, where should we go?”
“Somewhere they’ll never think to look for us,” Jack says, with a conspiratorial glint in his eye.
“Where would that be for you, the public library?” I tease him.
“Ha, ha,” he barks, catching me before I can dart away. He trails his lips down my throat, biting ever-so-lightly as he murmurs, “Let’s go to Coney Island.”
“What?” I laugh incredulously, “Jack, it’s February.”
“Yesterday was February,” he corrects me, “Today is March first! Spring is in the air. It’s all romantic and shit.”
“We’ll still freeze our asses off on the boardwalk,” I remind him.
“Come on Cal,” he replies, “You know I’d never suggest anything that would endanger that fantastic ass of yours. It’ll be fun!”
“You are nuts,” I inform him.
“And you need to loosen up,” he shoots back, “Bundle up and let’s go. It’ll be great—you’ll see.”
“You owe me a whole bunch of oral if it’s not,” I warn him, going to put on some extra layers of clothing.
“You can count on that regardless,” he grins back at me.
“Keep talking like that and we’ll never make it out of this room,” I laugh, my thighs clenching together as a pulse of desire throbs between my legs.
“Just want to give you something to look forward to at the end of the day,” he winks, “Now go on. Suit up. We’ve got a long afternoon ahead of us.”
To my amazement, our makeshift disguises actually work. Buried under huge coats, scarves, hats, and sunglasses, Jack and I are able to sneak out of The Rogue and onto the subway. We figure that the last place anyone will be looking for a couple of big time movie stars is on public transportation, and we seem to be right. The F train ride out to Coney Island takes a while, but soon enough we’re taking in the crisp winter air from New York City’s most iconic boardwalk. The place is pretty deserted, given the chilly temperatures. I’ve got to hand it to Jack, he’s got a knack for romantic gestures.
We grab ourselves some classic Coney Island hotdogs and stroll down the long stretch, ducking into the aquarium when we need a respite from the cold. As the afternoon passes, I find myself forgetting about the fact that the entire world is probably talking about us right now. We’re just two people, enjoying a Saturday afternoon date and some junk food to boot...or so I try to convince myself. But I can’t entirely let go of the dread I feel whenever I think about checking in with the real world again.
“What’s with the face?” Jack asks as we lean against the boardwalk railing, looking out across the deserted beach.
“Huh?” I ask, snapping back to the present.
“You’re scowling,” he points out, “Are you upset that the amusement park is closed? I promise I’ll bring you back when it’s actually spring. I’ll even throw in a little cotton candy if you like.”
“What a charmer,” I smile, “But no, today is awesome. I was just thinking...”
“Yeah?” Jack prompts, giving me a playful nudge.
“It’s just...kind of a shame, in a way. That we missed out on being together before the whole world knew who we were,” I say, a bit sadly. “I almost wish I could go back to the night of my parents’ party, when I ran away. Not the shitty part with Daryl. The part where we kissed for the first time. Maybe if I’d stayed just a little while longer, tried to work things out, we could have been together this whole time. We could have known what it was like to be together as nobodies—just a couple of aspiring actors living in a crappy apartment, saving up pennies for a beer or two. Maybe all those years in between then and now didn’t have been so lonely.”
Jack looks out across the expanse of sand and sea, taking in what I’ve said.
“It killed me to see you go that night,” he finally says, leaning his elbows on the icy railing, “And I spent so much time wishing it had happened differently. Wishing you had stayed with me. But you know something? I think that was wrong of me. You had to get out of that house, Cal. Just as much as I had to get out of mine. We had to destroy everything we had, everything we were, so that we could become the people we wanted to be. It was hell, not having you in my life. But I needed that time to become my own person. And I think you needed it too. And I mean shit, we’re twenty-six, Callie. Not exactly knocking at death’s door, am I right? There’s still plenty of time for us.”
“I guess so,” I laugh softly.
“There’s nothing we can do to change the past,” Jack goes on, slipping his arm around my waist, “Why even bother thinking about it at all?”
“I guess sometimes it feels impossible to shake off,” I shrug, “With everything our families put us through...how do you just forgive and forget?”
“I’ll let you know when I figure the forgiving part out. But as for forgetting, well…it’s pretty hard not to forget the entire rest of the world exists with you standing in front of me,” he smiles, kissing the top of my wind-blown hair, “Come on. Let’s keep walking before we freeze to death out here.”
We lace our fingers together and set off down the boardwalk once again. Though I certainly want to get out of the cold, I’m reluctant to let this moment end. There’s only so long we can ignore the media frenzy building around us. Sooner or later, it’s going to rise like the swelling tide and try to swallow us whole.
Better enjoy these last few moments on dry land while we can, I guess.
Chapter Fifteen
And it turns out, a few final moments is all we get after all.
Our good luck with avoiding the media has run out by the time we make it back to the hotel. A surging pack of reporters and photographers have The Rogue surrounded by the time we arrive, blocking all entrances and exits. Jack and I have no choice but to hold our heads high and try to barrel through the mob as best—and as fast—as we can. We keep our hands firmly clasped as we approach the hotel, unwilling to hide our brand new coupledom. There’s nothing for us to be ashamed of, after all. Nothing.
“There they are!” we hear a reporter shout from somewhere within the herd.
“They’re back!”
“That’s them!”
I feel the breath rush out of my lungs as the mob begins to close in all around us. Jack puts a protective arm around my shoulders and attempts to lead me through the thick crowd. Flashbulbs spark all around us as reporters clamor and shout in our direction. I can’t make out what any one person is saying, but I catch enough snippets to get the gist.
“How long have you two...?”
“Are you sleeping together...?”
“How is he in the sack, Callie...?”
It’s an obnoxious line of questioning, and a total invasion of privacy, but I manage to grit my teeth and keep my eyes straight ahead, just like I was coached in media training.
“Never give them anything they can use,” Jack counseled me on the subway ride home. “It’s like when you’re being arrested. Anything you say can and will be used against you.”
We’re just about to clear the pack of reporters, the hotel doors are just a few paces away. But as I prepare to break into a dead sprint and launch myself through those very doors, someone stops dead in my path. Jack and I skid to a halt before the brazen individual standing between us and The Rogue.
I recognize the man at once with a sinking sensation in my gut. His shock of dyed-silver hair and orange spray tanned face are unmistakable. I’ve never met him in person before, but I’ve seen his face on a million magazine covers and trashy TV shows. His name is Garland Hayes, the most vicious celebrity “reporter” in the business. He goes out of his way to eviscerate his subjects in the name of gossip. Nothing is too personal or too sensitive for Garland Hayes to use as ammunition.
And right now, it seems that he has his sight trained on us.
“Jackson Cole, as I live and breathe!” Garland grins, his blindingly white teeth gleaming.
“Move, Garland,” Jack growls, placing his body between me and the mudslinger. But his efforts only pique the interest of the notorious Mr. Hayes.
“And you must be Callie Benson,” he gushes, reaching a manicured hand toward me, “I was such a big fan of your sister. Never a dull moment with that one, right. Too bad about the whole overdose thing!”
“Overdose thing?” I snarl. “You mean my sister’s untimely and tragic—”
“I told you to get out of our way, Hayes,” Jack says again, cutting me off.
“Yeah, I heard you. I just don’t really feel like it,” Garland says, giving us a wink. “Not until you spill about this little scandal of yours.”
“There’s no scandal,” Jack says, stepping around the petty man.
“You don’t think so?” Garland replies, his eyes wide with mock innocence. “Avery Benson ‘accidentally’ offs herself, and you take up with her twin sister not a month later? That sounds like a scandal to me. Or anyway, it sounds mighty convenient for the two of you.”
I spin around to face Garland Hayes, unable to contain my anger any longer. “You call losing a sister convenient?” I spit.
“Callie, don’t,” Jack insists, trying to pull me away.
“If it lands you a movie deal and a hunk like Jackson Cole, then absolutely I call it convenient,” Garland grins back at me, producing a cell phone from his pocket. He trains the camera on me, video taping my reaction. “Word on the street is, you two have been going at it for a long while. The whole time Jack and Avery were engaged, to hear some people tell it. The poor dear was so heartbroken that she decided to end it all. What a shame.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Jack snaps, “Take your soap opera bullshit and shove it up your—”
“So you two don’t have a history?” Garland cuts him off, looking back and forth between us with an evil glint in his eye. “There isn’t some sort of longstanding, romantic entanglement between Jackson Cole and the lovely Benson twins? Because I have sources—”
Damaged In-Law Page 15
