Playboy

by Logan Chance

  No reason to rock the steady boat of relationship bliss. Right?

  Of course, I’m right. Why wouldn’t I be?

  The next morning, I wake with Chelsea in my arms. I’m a lucky guy. One of the luckiest.

  I get ready, then kiss her cheek as I head out. “I’ll be back soon.”

  “Have a good day at work,” she says, still a little groggy with sleep. And it’s all so domesticated. And you know what? I fucking like it. I like her in my bed. I like her in my life. I’ve never had this before. Never wanted it. And now I do.

  I lean in and kiss her cheek again. “Yeah, thanks.”

  “Bye,” she mumbles and rolls back over.

  I almost enjoy being her husband. That’s fucked up, right?

  I shake my head, erasing those thoughts as I grab my camera bag and head out the door.

  Sunny LA is on my side today. Everything will go my way today. Even the birds high in the sky sing a little song of luck for me.

  I head downtown, for my first stop of the day—the courthouse.

  I climb the concrete steps, two at a time, and enter through the front doors, heading over to security. This’ll be a breeze. Vegas weddings must get annulled all the time. There’s probably even a separate form just for that.

  I find the right place, and when I get called to the counter, I smile at the prim lady in navy behind the desk. “Hi, I need to get my marriage annulled.”

  “Fill out the forms and get your wife to sign the papers.” She slides me a stack of papers. “Then bring them back and file,” she says in the most monotone voice ever.

  “Wait, she has to sign?” I ask, completely flummoxed.

  “You can have her served.”

  “Well,” I wipe a bit of sweat from my brow, “she doesn’t really know we’re married.” I smile and she gives me a frosty look as if I’m the craziest guy on the planet.

  “Well, she’s going to have to find out.”

  I wince. “It was a drunken night in Vegas,” I explain, hoping she’ll be more understanding. She isn’t.

  “Sir, maybe you want to consult with a lawyer.” She pushes the paperwork at my hand and calls the next person in line.

  Fuck.

  There goes all of my hopes of having an easy annulment.

  Crushed, I walk out of the courthouse with no earthly idea of how I’m going to tell Chelsea we’re married.

  It never really hit me about how serious this situation is. She’s my wife. I thought I could just breeze in here and get an annulment and breeze back out.

  It never occurred to me it would be this involved. Tonight. I’ll tell her tonight.

  I’m fucked. I head home in a funk. I even tried to call the wedding chapel in Vegas to see if there’s any way I can get a refund, or something. They laughed and hung up.

  Once I arrive home, I no longer put it off. Chelsea will know.

  When I step inside, she’s standing center in the living room with a magazine in her hand. She raises it, staring right at me. “How could you do this to me?”

  “Oh, hey, are you rehearsing?”

  Tears stream down her face, and she stalks closer. “How could you?”

  “What’s going on?” I say, tossing my camera bag by the door.

  “Look,” she flings the magazine at me, “read this.”

  I catch the magazine before it hits my face and read the headline: New Hollywood ‘good girl’ married after a drunken night in Vegas to her playboy Bunny Hunnies photographer while on location, and we have the photos to prove it.

  It’s a long headline.

  I flip the pages. Oh no.

  “Chelsea, I don’t…”

  “You promised me no one would ever see those photos.” She marches over to me. “You promised.” She sticks her finger into my chest, poking me.

  “Ow, listen, let me think.”

  My mind races. How did someone get their hands on these pictures? I glance at my camera bag. Someone at work? Randall? No. Fuck.

  I rush over to my bag, searching through it for my memory stick. I should have uploaded the photos to my Mac, but with everything going on, I forgot. How could I be so careless?

  “Jonah, are we really married? Do you remember anything from that night?”

  I blow out a deep breath. “Yeah, we’re married. I was trying to handle the annulment before you could find out.”

  She pales. “So, it’s true? We’re really married?”

  I move closer to her. “I was going to tell you.”

  “When? On our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.”

  My lips lift ever so slightly into a small grin at her words. “No, tonight. I planned on telling you tonight.”

  “A day late and a dollar short. The studio let me go.”

  My grin dissipates and anger courses through me at my stupidity. “What? Why? Over this?” I hold the tabloid up a little.

  “They deemed me a liability. Apparently, the good girl image they were trying to portray doesn’t fit with drunken weddings and sex photos.” She chokes back a sob, and my chest aches for causing this. “Something about not wanting any scandals mixed with this production.”

  “It isn’t a scandal. We’re dating now.”

  “How did they get those pics?”

  “I have no clue.” I scrub a hand down my face. This is so fucked up.

  She rubs her temples, closing her eyes. “I can’t believe this. It’s all too much.”

  “Chelsea, there’ll be other roles.”

  Her eyes spring open. “You just don’t get it, do you? How can I trust you?”

  “Chelsea, when we…” A knock at the door interrupts my words.

  I move to answer it.

  “You have a lot of explaining to do, asshole,” Declan barges through the door, thrusting a tabloid magazine in my face.

  “Declan, what are you doing here?” Chelsea asks.

  “I told him I’d break his face if he ever hurt you, and I’m here to deliver. This is my sister, dude.”

  Oh fuck.

  No.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  “I can explain,” I say. But what do I say? What the fuck do I say?

  Chelsea and Declan stand, staring, waiting for me to make it all better.

  I scrub a hand down my face. Let me get one more fuck out. “Fuck.”

  It always makes you feel better.

  “We got drunk in Vegas.”

  “That’s it. I’ve heard enough,” Declan shouts, connecting his fist with my jaw.

  And it’s lights out for me.

  When I come to, Declan is gone, and Chelsea stands over me with an ice pack in her hand. “Jonah, you’re not who I thought you were at all.”

  “Yes, I am.” My head pounds as I try to sit up.

  She shakes her head. “No, you’re not. I’m going to stay with Declan. I need to figure things out.”

  “No, Chelsea. Please.”

  Tears trickle down her face. “Where’s the papers, and I’ll sign them.”

  I don’t want her to sign them, but I’ve hurt her enough. I haul myself up, grab the papers from my office, and keep my mouth shut like a steel trap as she signs with a shaky hand.

  26

  Chelsea

  “Asshole,” Gidget shouts.

  “Shh, Declan is sleeping,” I say, sliding snacks on to the breakfast table in Declan’s kitchen. Chips, dip, peanuts, and chocolate chip cookies. Plus, my two good friends, Gidget and Garcia. Everything needed to mope and wallow in regret.

  “Asshole,” she whispers.

  “I disagree,” Garcia says, pointing a chip at her. “I’ve known Prettyboy for two years, and he’s not an asshole.”

  “He could have said something,” Gidget answers back. “Marriage is a big deal.”

  I slide in at the small table and listen while they debate over what I’ve filled them in on the last hour.

  Garcia leans his forearms on the table. “He didn’t know how to tell he
r.”

  “Are you kidding?” Gidget shakes her head, not giving an inch. “She lost a movie role. A movie role.”

  “But she was there, too.” Garcia looks over at me. “What were you thinking? I don’t care how good the sex is, you do not let the photographic evidence out of your sight.”

  “True. You win that one.” Gidget shakes her head at me. “You take the memory stick immediately.”

  I cover my face with my hands. This is all so surreal. How did this happen? Isn’t it funny how you wake up happy and completely oblivious to the fact your world is about to be upended? I had no idea when I rolled out of bed this is where I would be right now.

  “I truly don’t see why this can’t be worked out,” Garcia reiterates, leaning in a bit over the table to really emphasize his point. “They are in love.”

  Gidget’s head whips to me. “Aww, sweetie, do you love him?”

  That’s something I haven’t admitted to myself yet. But… “Yeah, I do,” I tell them. “I know you probably think it’s too soon, but I’ve loved him since I was a teenager.”

  “No,” Gidget says, pulling her leg in the chair to rest her chin on her knee, “I don’t think love follows a timeline. Who’s to say when is the right time? It’s a feeling that’s there before you put a name to it. And if you name it six months from now, instead of two months, does that make it more acceptable?”

  “Girl, that was fucking deep,” Garcia says.

  We laugh.

  “And you’re right,” I tell Garcia. “We both got married. And if we’re being honest, drunk or not, I don’t think I would have denied him. I just hate that he didn’t tell me.”

  “Well you need to figure out if you can forgive him,” Gidget says. “I didn’t realize love was involved. Love trumps everything. As long as no one was murdered, maimed, or otherwise hurt.”

  “He’s not a bad guy,” Garcia says, gently. “Sure, he was a dumbass, but aren’t a lot of men? Myself not included, of course.”

  “I know he’s not.” I give a half-hearted smile. “I just need some time. I don’t understand how he could think I shouldn’t know.”

  Gidget watches me, and sympathy pulls her face down. She’s as droopy as I am. “I’m really sorry you lost that part.”

  Garcia reaches in to give me a half hug. “It’s going to be okay, baby girl. It’s hard to lose trust in someone. People fuck up. And this was a big one. Whatever you decide, I got your back.”

  “What’s this?” Declan asks, leaning against the entryway to the kitchen.

  “Did we wake you?” I ask.

  “Not really. I was dreaming about tits,” he says as his lip quirks up into a smile.

  Gidget’s eyes go wide at my brother’s words, and I place my hand on hers, grabbing her attention. “He’s in medical school to become a plastic surgeon.” I stare at Declan. “That’s what you meant, right?”

  He smiles bigger. “Sure.” He steps further into the kitchen, grabbing a chip and popping it into his mouth.

  “Look at those muscles,” Garcia whispers over to Gidget and I. He picks up the small blue bowl and smiles. “Would you like some nuts?”

  Declan shoots a smile at Garcia and laughs. “No, man. I’m good.”

  Gidget’s cheeks flush. “He has his own nuts, he doesn’t need yours.” Her eyes widen. “I mean, fuck.” She shakes her head as Declan laughs harder.

  “Oh, I’m sure he does,” Garcia says in a low voice.

  “Guys, seriously,” I warn. This is gross. Watching Garcia and Gidget fawn all over my brother, with his no shirt wearing self, and messy blonde hair, makes me want to hurl. Ugh.

  “You guys talking about my boy Jonah?” Declan asks, grabbing another chip.

  “Yeah, he was wrong for what he did,” Gidget says, gazing up into Declan’s eyes.

  Declan shrugs. “Maybe so. But, I’ve never seen him so into any girl before in my life.”

  His words warm me up and later, after they’re gone, and I’m burrowed under a blanket on Declan’s couch, I let it sink in—we were married. My orgasm face is out there for everyone to see. I trusted him. Sure, in hindsight, I shouldn’t have been so quick to agree, but I had no reason to doubt him. Who thinks of all the what if’s in the heat of the moment? He had no reason to think someone would steal them, I guess. Does that make us both guilty? Maybe. And now, the movie is gone. Poof.

  Well, this has been a valuable lesson; it’s all fun and orgasms until a picture of you riding your boyfriend ends up in a tabloid. Worse than any of that? The thing that makes my chest feel like it’s been stepped on? We were married. How could he not tell me that detail? How ironic the guy I always dreamed of being with was my husband, and I didn’t even know it. And now I have to divorce him. Should I be this hurt and angry? I think so. My heart isn’t sure.

  27

  Jonah

  Losing Chelsea because of my own stupidity is well, stupid. I should have fought more for her. I shouldn’t have let her walk out that door.

  On my way to work a few days later, I drop off the annulment papers by the courthouse and file them. Soon it’ll be official, my wife she will be no more.

  “There he is…Mr. Sincock,” Tim greets me, laughing at his not so funny joke.

  The past couple of days everyone and anyone has ragged, congratulated, and offered advice to me.

  Honestly, I don’t know what to do.

  Do you know how fucking hard it was to file those papers?

  I walk through the halls of the Falcon building, heading to my office. When I enter, Declan stands, shrinking my office with his tall build. It’s been a few days since the incident, hopefully he’s calmed.

  But, still I’m leery.

  “Hey,” he says.

  I say hey back and drop my camera bag atop my desk.

  “Sorry about your face.”

  I rub my jaw. “It’s ok, you didn’t mess up the sexy.” I crack a smile, and he grins back.

  “I really am sorry. I saw that article and lost it.”

  “I still don’t know how they got those pictures. Someone sold me out.”

  Declan narrows his eyes. “You think someone from here?”

  “I have a few suspicions.”

  “Well, let’s go confront some people.”

  “Dude, this is my job. I can’t go yelling at people in here with no evidence.” I make my way over to my chair, sit, and fire up my computer. “Trust me, I’m ready to tear this fucking place apart.”

  “Yeah, I feel like I need to do something.”

  “How’s Chelsea?” I hold my breath waiting for his answer.

  “She’s fine.”

  Fine isn’t enough. I need more. “She still hate me?” Of course, she does, I’m sure.

  “She doesn’t hate you. It’s a fucked-up situation, and she just needed a few days. You two should talk.”

  “Yeah, I keep going to call her, then hang up. I don’t know what to say anymore.” I click to my personal email and am overwhelmed by all the emails in my inbox. “Holy shit.”

  Declan walks over beside me. “What?”

  “What is all of this?” I click through a few of the messages, and it’s all job offers and people wanting to buy photos from my website.

  “Dude, you’re famous,” Declan says, slapping my back.

  “Hardly.” I shut off the computer. “I’m not taking any new job offer. I cost Chelsea her career, I’m not going to gain off it.”

  Stan steps into my office, and smiles—a wicked grin.

  If I were a bettin’ man, my money would be on him after the failed date.

  “Hey, Jonah, love the pictures of your wife in the tabloids.”

  Wrong thing to say. Declan moves in before I can. “You might want to watch your mouth.”

  “Who are you?” Stan pushes back.

  “I’m his wife’s brother.” He crosses his arms, anger rolling off him, and Stan takes a step back.

  “Stan,” I say, fury building. “How is it tha
t magazine came across those pictures? Not many people have access to my bag. And I do remember asking you to grab my lens cleaner.” I lean back in my chair and his eyes bounce between us.

  “No, she probably sold them to further her career,” he finally chokes out. “Besides, how would I know those were on there?”

  “Maybe, you were you looking for the picture of Chelsea losing her top at the beach, and you just got lucky?”

  Stan doesn’t say anything for a good thirty seconds, before getting defensive. “She’s a whore.”

  Declan moves closer to him. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

  “Or what? Maybe Jonah should keep better tabs on his equipment.”

  “You’re a fucking asshole,” I say, standing.

  Glenda walks past my office, and peeks her head in. “Gentlemen, what’s going on in here?”

  We all stand down, like high school when the principal walks by. But, this is real life, not some code of students against the teachers.

  “I think Stan here stole those pictures of Chelsea and sold them to the tabloid.”

  Glenda eyes him. “Is that true?”

  “You can’t prove that.” Stan smirks.

  “Theft of another person’s property is against company policy.” She turns toward me. “I’m assuming it was stolen while at work.”

  “It absolutely was,” I say.

  “You can’t prove anything,” Stan says again.

  “Stan, my office, now.” Glenda glides out of my office.

  “What a dick,” Declan says. “I want to teach that motherfucker a lesson.”

  “Yeah,” I sit back down in my chair. “if he stole those pictures and ruined her career, I’m going to make him pay for it.”

  “Good, let me know if you need my help.” Declan leans against my desk. “So, you gonna talk to her?”

  “She lost this role because of me.” I shake my head. “It was her dream.”

  “Well, I think you were too.”

  “What are you talking about?” I turn my computer back on so I can glance at the messages again.

  “When she was younger she had a thing for you.”

  “Yeah, right.”