“You’ve never had fast food before?”
“I have….just not in about three years or so. I’ve been on a constant diet since moving to LA.”
“You, my good sir, are missing out.”
“I’m not a sir,” I point out while elbowing him.
Flustered, he shrugs. “Old habits, I guess.”
Whatever that means.
I finish up my burger, with no qualms about whether I have grease on my shirt or mustard on my face. We spend the remainder of our makeshift dinner date talking about our favorite cities. I feel a little bad for thinking so lowly of Caspian when we first met. He’s actually a pretty stand-up guy.
Afterwards, I turn on the TV. I hand him the remote, and he puts it on some sort of sports game. I don’t know which one. They chase a ball and wear uniforms, that’s where I get lost. He hasn’t offered to leave, and it’s almost midnight. We’re getting dangerously close to the whole are we or are we not sleeping together breaking point. I don’t have too many one-night stands under my belt, and Barrett is the only one I’ve been with in years. I’m rusty, unshaven, and out of practice, plus I’m not looking for a relationship just yet. My break up with Barrett hasn’t even gone public. As much as I’m attracted to Caspian, I’d rather not go there. If he lived in LA, that would be different, but he lives on the road with a different bed, possibly a different girl,every night.
I cover a giggle as Caspian begins snapping his fingers and yelling at the screen.
“Fuck yeah!” he yells. He looks my way once the excitement has died. “You don’t like sports?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Not really.”
“You’re so cute when you wrinkle your nose.” He reaches out to touch my nose, but I pull back.
“I don’t wrinkle it often.”
“Have you given any sport a chance? Come on, you’ll like it. We’re rooting for the team in the blue.”
I watch alongside him for a few minutes, and soon I’m caught up in the thrill. As the sweaty guy throws the ball in the hoop, Caspian hollers again. I sit up on my knees and clap my hands, only because he is. I have no idea why this is so exciting, but I’m excited that he’s excited. He shakes his head and changes the channel.
“Nice try, Ginger. I won’t make you endure anymore, but go to a live game sometime. It’s more exciting.”
“Okay. I’ll try. How long have you and your band been together?” I ask.
“Since high school so about ten years.” He looks away, and I get the feeling he doesn’t want to talk about his band which is surprising since he acted like music was his life last night.
“And you play the guitar?”
He bobs his head a bit and bites his lip in a way that is totally sexy for a guy. “Sí, but I can play all the instruments.”
I let myself fawn over how adorable he is for a brief moment. It’s hard to explain how he acts, but comfortably shy would be the easiest words.
“Like all of them? Really? No way!” I smack him in the shoulder with my arm. It’s weird that he said Sí, when he isn’t Hispanic, but I assume it’s another one of his talking quirks. He said goodbye in Italian yesterday too.
“Yes, really. Sometimes I swap it up a bit depending on my mood.”
A tiny part of me wants to get to know him better, so I continue asking him questions.
“You spoke Spanish a minute ago? Do you speak fluently?”
He takes his glasses off and wipes the lenses clean with the bottom of his shirt. “I do. Growing up, I lived only a short distance from the Mexican border, so I went there a lot with my friends. My family and I try and make it down to this orphanage at least once a year. We’ve been going for years. Those kids are amazing. They don’t have much and the place is falling apart, but it feels good to give back and build something with your own two hands.”
“That sounds hot and boring.” I know that I sound disgusted, and maybe I am. Does he really spend his spare time building orphanages? This guy is just too good for words.
“Don’t be so quick to judge. It’s not boring, it’s humbling. If you go anywhere, Australia is the most beautiful place in the world. Oh, and Germany was fun. I’m trying to hook up a tour to Japan soon. Ever been to any of those places?”
I shake my head. He’s had time to go everywhere, do everything. Me? I’ve spent the past three years of my life trying to climb the social ladder of one town. “I’ve never left the states, but I went on a cruise to Jamaica once. Is that part of the US? ”
He laughs, and I feel stupid for asking such a silly question. “Oh you’re missing out. Promise me you’ll go on vacation there the next time you have a chance.”
“Deal. So who are the other guys in your band?”
He stills, but eventually answers. “Booker, Leo, Fiz, and Aly.”
Aly? Is that a girl or a boy? I don’t ask at the risk of sounding too into him. “And which one was the shabby unshaved guy who was glaring at me last night?”
Caspian laughs, his voice melting the iciest and most cynical parts of me. “That’d be Booker.”
“He doesn’t like me?” I say it more like a statement instead of a question. It’s obvious. He really doesn’t like me.
“He’s just protective. We’ve been friends since we were kids. Anyway, what about you? You always listened to music?”
“Well, I did a lot of musical theater as a kid.”
“Why didn’t you stay in theater? What made you move to California?”
My good mood vanishes. He had to go and start asking hard questions, huh? I don’t feel like explaining my parents. “I—I just wanted to be on TV. I wanted to be famous.”
He studies my face for a moment, but lets it go. “You’re not as stuck up as you try and make yourself out to be, you know?”
His hand moves out across the bed onto my thigh. If I don’t breathe, I swear I can feel his hand shaking. I take a deep breath, and entangle my hand in his. The tips of his fingers are rough, from years of playing guitar, but there’s warmth in his grasp and security in his gaze. It’s been a long time since anyone has taken a moment to really get to know me. I realize we’ve been sitting quietly for several minutes and clear my throat. “You’re sweeter than my original impression of you.”
“Why? Because a few rock stars have the reputation of being womanizing jerks? Get this. I’m not a rock star. I’m just a guy. Just Caspian.”
“I mean it. No one’s ever taken care of me like you did. I half expected you to walk out the door when you saw what type of shape I was in, but you made sure I was all right. It was unexpected.”
“Let’s just say, I’ve had some experience with the bottle before.”
“A parent?” I ask. I feel a bit nosey, but then again that’s me, I always speak before I think. He doesn’t answer, only gives me that crooked smile.
“I’m really glad you agreed to hang out with me tonight,” he says. He removes his hand from my leg, kicks off his shoes, and fluffs the pillows before we lay back. “You said you had a bad day earlier?”
I stare at the TV screen, barely able to keep my eyes open. “Yeah…I had an audition for this movie which they canceled on me. Then I find out that my bank account has been hacked into which isn’t that bad because they’re gonna fix everything, but some other stuff happened earlier this week and it’s beginning to feel like I have the worst luck in the world.”
“There’s no such thing as luck. Life is what you make it, baby girl.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and types for a minute. I wonder whom he’s messaging. The ex-girlfriend? I’m a little confused as to why I’m suddenly jealous. I can’t really care about this guy I just met. Can I?
“Tell me everything I need to know about you in two sentences,” I say.
He puts his phone down and thinks for a long minute. “I’m on the road fifty weeks out of the year, and hope to still be doing the same thing when I’m old and gray. Music is my life.” He pauses like he’s done.
“Out of all th
at. You choose to tell me things I have already guessed about you?”
“You told me to tell you everything you needed to know about me.”
“So you’re on the road all the time. What about if you have a family? You gonna bring your kids on tour?”
“Uh, I don’t have any of those plans in my future.”
Another reason why we will never be together, I suppose. “Oh.” Is all I can say.
“I really need to get going. We leave early in the morning, and you look like you’re about to pass out.”
I mean to protest, but don’t say a word as he stands up and straightens out his tie. The bed moves as he sits back down to put his shoes back on.
“It was nice meeting you, Ginger.” He leans down to give me a small kiss on the cheek. Warmth runs down my body, as his lips press against my skin. I struggle to swallow as he pulls back. Just from that tiny touch, I can barely hold myself up with my arms. I lean against the headboard before I fall over from lack of air. He isn’t even trying to get in my pants. He turns toward the door. He’s really leaving.
“Wait,” I call out as the hotel door opens.
“Yes?”
“Are we ever going to see each other again?” I wince as the words leave my mouth. That sounded so desperate.
“There’s a good possibility.” He gives me a small smile and sticks his hands in his pockets before letting the door slam behind him. It was sort of a fun adventure while it lasted, but it doesn’t matter. I will never see him again.
Barrett sticks a fork in his pasta and twirls it around. “You totes missed it. I got a hole in one while you were goofing off in Nashville. Bam!”
I nod, but focus on my dinner. There isn’t much to say. I could defend myself and tell him I went for my career, but I really don’t want to talk. I’ve been home for a few days now, and things have gone back to normal. Parties, reading scripts, and shopping.
He’s spent the past hour talking about his new sponsor deal and all that’s happening on our soap opera. They have decided to reshoot the last two episodes because we aren’t certain if the network will be renewing Timelines after this season, and won’t know until late March. Normally, I’d find this fascinating, hearing his onset stories and funny things that have happened, but not tonight. For the third time in a row, Barrett’s story is interrupted by the sound of his phone. He stops talking and begins texting. I swallow the last bit of my water, which is bland and tasteless, and motion for the waiter to fill me up again. Barrett is drinking wine and my mouth waters at the sight. A red wine would pair so nicely with my dinner. For the antioxidants, of course.
“Are you going to ignore me most of the night and continue to text some slut on your phone?” I ask him while cutting up a piece of my baked fish. It tastes like cardboard, and I hate fish. I wanted pasta, but Barrett gets pissed when I eat anything with carbs. I don’t want to hear him moan and complain, so I have opted for the food that doesn’t cause a fight.
“She isn’t a slut,” he mumbles under his breath. I have no clue who she is, and he will never tell me. My head falls down so I finish eating. I know, I know. Why do I put up with his assholeness? Well it’s easy; our publicists insisted we make an appearance tonight.
“I just got back into town, could you at least pretend to spend time with me on our fake date?”
“Geez, Ginger. Do we have to go through this again? In public, you’re my girl. We’re supposed to act like a couple. So act like we’re in love. After someone gets a few shots to put in that trashy magazine, we can go our separate ways. ”
I study him, trying to remember what I ever saw in him. Was it his sexy, blond hair? He always keeps a five o’clock shadow, and his teeth are a perfect shade of white. Everything about him screams California surfer. I used to find that so adorable.
“How much longer? How much longer do we have to pretend like we’re in love?”
“A few more weeks, perhaps?”
I drop my fork on my plate. “Ugh, I can’t do this, Barrett. You promised me you were gonna be nicer!”
“I’m trying, Ginger.” Yeah right. People are beginning to stare. They whisper out of the corner of my eye, so I lower my voice and lean closer.
“Fine, let’s just drop it and eat.”
“That’s my girl.” He smiles and as if on cue, he rewards me with a minute of his time.
“How was Nashville?”
“Horrible, I forgot how much I despise that town. The casting agent hated me as well, but I did break in my new heels. Oh, and I picked up the cutest dress. ” I take another bite of my food as I talk with a plastered on fake smile.
“That’s nice…”
Looking up, I notice he’s fiddling with the buttons on his phone again. My stomach churns. I’m not hungry anymore. I push my seat away from the table and stand up. If I make too big of a deal, the cameras will know something is up. Frankly, I don’t feel like dealing with the aftermath.
“Please excuse me, but I need to use the powder room.”
He waves his hand at me as if to give me ‘permission’ to leave the table. I grab my clutch and take a leisurely stroll toward the bathroom. My exit has to be as smooth as possible so no one will notice how angry I am. In this day of age, you have to always be prepared for a camera. I throw the stall door open and sit down on the toilet. Crossing my legs, I pull my phone out and begin surfing the web. I scroll through dozens of unchecked emails and a bunch of work updates that I don’t care about. My agent has some appearances lined up for next month, but nothing major. An email from Caspian Norwood catches my eye.
I wasn’t expecting anything from him, ever. With a sharp intake of breath, I click on the email.
Ginger,
I’m in Atlanta tonight and just finished up a show. I was going to wait to email you, but decided it doesn’t matter. I know you probably never expected to hear from me again, but you didn’t scare me off. You were the first thing on my mind this morning. Just had to let you know ;) Hope you’re doing well back in LA. It only seems appropriate to ask you about the weather, but since I’m not too sure what to talk about, I figured I would tell you about my day. We played in this old club tonight, so old I was afraid the ceiling would cave in when we turned the amp on. My drummer, Booker, threw a drumstick and hit me in the eye. He has a tendency to get too excited while playing. Thank God, I had my glasses on or else it could have been ugly. It started a minor band spat, but we got over it and celebrated with a jam session. We’ve been together so long, nothing could keep us mad at each other. Let’s see, what else has happened? Oh, I cyber stalked you the other day. That was interesting. I read that you’re dating that douche bag actor, Barrett Montgomery. You have like a million more Twitter followers than me. Oh, and your profile picture is incredibly hot. I hope that I haven’t freaked you out with this email. Feel free to put me in the spam folder. We play down in Florida in just a few more days, and then we are heading up north for a few more stops before heading to the west coast. I’m scheduled to be in LA in late March. You never agreed to meet me, so I am assuming that this is a yes? - Cas
I sigh as I press reply. He knows about Barrett.
Dearest Caspian,
I’m glad that your bandmates are getting along. I must say, I’m mortified that you have been cyber stalking me. I hope you know that most of that stuff is not true, and if it is, it’s not the whole truth. As for the meet up in March, how about we wait until it gets closer to the time?
-Ginger
After I send the message, I feel a little cruel for being so unkind and cold sounding. I don’t want my bad night with Barrett to affect my mood so I open up a new message.
Caspian,
I hope that you don’t mind that I call you Caspian. Sorry if my other message sounded rude. I’m having a bad night, and I don’t want to take it out on you. You asked about Barrett. We dated off and on for over two years. It’s a complicated situation that I don’t want to get into, but he will soon be long behind me. I suppos
e we are both newly single. We should start a singles club. Ha, ha. I did enjoy meeting you and listening to your band play. Hope your show in Florida goes smoothly.
-Ginger
Reluctantly, I stand up. Barrett has to be wondering where I went too. Normally I would put up with his crap, but today I’d kill myself before having to spend another minute listening to him talk about himself. Which is a horrible thing to think considering my cousin did actually try and kill herself. God, I’m awful, but...whatever. I stop by the table and tap my foot endlessly for a minute before Barrett even notices me. His empty, shallow eyes travel up to meet mine.
“What?”
“I’m not feeling well. I’m going home.” I pull out the last bit of cash from the bank and leave my portion of the bill. I can’t wait to get my new debit card. Paying with cash is so inconvenient. I’d rather flash my black card.
“Do you need a ride?”
“No thanks, I didn’t drink, remember?” He doesn’t say anything else, or maybe he does and I’m not listening. Nevertheless, I spin on my heel to go home to my empty house. A few paparazzi stand outside, and as soon as I make it to the front door, the lights flash in my eyes, and the yelling begins.
“Does this mean the rumors that you and Barrett have broken up are false?”
“What do you have to say about your boyfriend’s infidelity?”
“How’s your night going, Ginger?”
Not in the mood to chitchat, I ignore them and wait for the valet to bring me my car. It’s pretty much a given that they follow me wherever I go. Sometimes they hide in the bushes outside of my home, but not often.
Once home, I take a shower and get ready for bed. With a glass of wine in hand, I grab my laptop and climb into my large king-sized bed. I love doing late night shopping from the comfort of my own home. I don’t have much to buy, except a few last minute things for the baby nursery I’m decorating in the spare room downstairs. A bribe for getting her to let me watch him? Yes. I love kids.
A chat notification on my Gmail dings.
The One Thing Page 5
