Just Like the Movies

by Natasha Preston

  She would never ask me to stay here but this is the closest I’ve felt her wanting to.

  “Hey, tell me what’s up.” I run my hand up her back, the other under her perfect butt, and I carry her into the living room. “We’re going to talk now.”

  Taking a deep breath, she slides down me and with her head bowed, and she wipes her tears away. When she looks up, there’s a smile on her face. “I can think of something better to do?”

  Tempting. Very, very tempting.

  “Indie…”

  “Okay, I had an emotional moment. I’m allowed those. I’ve missed you, and you didn’t tell me you were coming home today.”

  I step closer until her chest presses against mine. “You really missed me, huh?” I ask, stroking my fingers down her cheek. I can’t touch her enough. She’s real. She’s here. She’s perfect.

  “Like crazy. I love that we’re together but this long-distance stuff is not easy.”

  “Still think you can do it?”

  Her eyes stare into mine, and I see what Mila means. There’s fresh sadness there. “Yes, I can do it.”

  Is that because of me? We finally sort ourselves out and get back together but it’s not conventional. We won’t be able to spend every day together. We won’t wake up in the same bed every morning.

  “Good. I don’t think I could ever let you go.”

  She wraps her arms around me, and my name is a whisper on her lips.

  I press a kiss to the top of her head and hold her. “Tell me you’re not busy this week… and until January.”

  “Is that how long you’re home for?”

  “I leave January twelfth. Until then, I’m all yours.”

  Her smile widens. “I’ll take that.”

  “And in February you’ll come to me? You have a half-term then, right?”

  She presses her lips together. “I’ll have to see what my work schedule is like, but I could probably make a long weekend work.”

  “A really long one. I want to show you everything out there.”

  Laughing, she sighs. “You got it. Now, are we going to your bedroom or not?” Her eyes widen. “Wait! Where are your parents?”

  “Oh, we’re going to my bedroom.” I bend down and sweep her into my arms. “Parents are out. Prepare for a lot of orgasms.”

  Thirty-Four

  Indie

  Well, he certainly wasn’t talking himself up.

  I’m lying in Spencer’s bed, absolutely spent after three orgasms. His parents have gone out to dinner and to watch a movie. Spencer’s is still in the cinemas. I bet they end up watch that again. They’ll probably be home soon, but I can’t seem to force myself to get up.

  Best surprise ever was him opening that door. I was so relieved to see him. Now I won’t be alone, I can breathe.

  Being with him is addictive.

  There is nothing to fear in my house anymore, but I still don’t like being there.

  Mum is doing well. Her treatment was hard at first, but she’s much more positive now. I visited for the first time.

  We cried and talked, avoiding the loaded topic of our past and present, but it was nice to talk rubbish and drink tea. I didn’t know how nice, actually. She picked some hymns for Dad’s funeral. It will only be her and me singing them. Dad will be buried on January fourth. It’s the first date we could get.

  Mum was shocked that it would take so long, but actually it gives her more time to heal before we say goodbye. The risk of relapse is lessened if she’s stronger. She hinted at still being there then. I don’t care how long it takes; we’ll pay for whatever treatment necessary.

  I’ll leave if she starts again. I won’t have any other choice.

  Spencer lazily draws patterns on my arm with his fingertips, bringing me back to him. I’m used to living a rollercoaster: highs with my friends and lows with my parents. The ride seems faster now.

  “LA is dumb.”

  He laughs. “The distance is dumb.”

  “Yeah, fine.”

  “I’m here now.’

  For a month. How am I going to spend so much time with him and then say goodbye? We’ll sink into a routine, seeing each other every day, and then he’ll go. It’s more time than I thought I’d get, though.

  I don’t know what’s worse. Weekends together here and there, or a solid amount of time.

  “How long do we have before your parents are home? I don’t want to be up here when they get back.”

  His eyes sparkle. “They know we have sex.”

  “Yes, they heard.”

  I squeeze my eyes closed and try to force the memory away. Neither of them said anything—they didn’t need to.

  He laughs again. “Indie, they really don’t care.”

  “I do, remember? Let’s get up. I’m hungry, anyway.”

  “Ah, yes, you were promised dinner.”

  “Uh-huh, and all I got was my boyfriend.”

  His lips press together, suppressing a smile. “How awful for you.”

  I just used the B word.

  “It’s okay. He’s pretty big in America. Here, too, since his movie came out in cinemas.”

  “The only thing I care about being big in is you.”

  Gasping, I sit up. “How crude. Come on, time to feed me.”

  “All right.” He groans, getting up and putting his clothes back on.

  I do the same, making sure to flatten my hair so the bird’s nest doesn’t give us away. Spencer turns to me as I rake my fingers through my long hair. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to fix this.”

  “Right,” he says slowly, like I’ve just licked his windows.

  “What are you cooking?”

  He shrugs. “No clue. I’ll see what they’ve got.”

  “Ugh.” I drop my hands from my hair. “I’m going to shower. There’s nothing I can do with this knotty mess.”

  “Aren’t you afraid that my parents will know what we’ve been doing?”

  “Shut up. I’ll be quick.”

  Spencer laughs all the way down the stairs. I race into his en-suite and break the record for fastest shower ever.

  Once out, I towel dry so fast, I almost sand a layer of skin off before I dress and blow dry my hair.

  I finally look normal.

  Spencer puts a dish into the oven and turns to me when I go downstairs. “Dinner will be about five minutes.”

  The way he’s looking at me makes me forget that I’m hungry.

  “Tell me we’ll find a way to say goodbye after a month.” The words slip right out of my mouth without permission.

  Smiling sadly, he pins me to the spot with his gaze and walks over. “Indie…”

  Yeah, there are no words. Nothing can make this easier. Long-distance is hard. Missing someone you love is kind of like wondering around without a soul. Everything seems pointless.

  But, I have a lot to do. Mum will need my help now more than ever. We have to get her better, and with Spencer in LA, I’ll be able to devote a lot more time to her. Who knows how long she will be in rehab for. The initial time is twenty days, but with her grief thrown in, it could take longer. Elliott said she can stay if they don’t mutually agree that she’s reached a certain point on her road to sobriety. Of course, he’s willing to let her stay; we’re paying a lot of money. They can have it all if I get a mum.

  Spence places a lingering kiss on my forehead.

  “Everything will be okay.”

  My mouth parts. I close my eyes and sink into his embrace. I’ve needed to hear those words so badly. He’s not even talking about Dad’s death or Mum’s rebab, but I still needed Spencer to tell me everything will be all right.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, tears stinging my eyelids.

  We stand in the middle of his kitchen, clutching each other like he’s leaving today as we wait for dinner.

  Thirty-Five

  Spencer

  I feel the pain she carries radiating from her.

  Mila is more percep
tive than I thought. She’s right about Indie. Something really is very wrong.

  “Are you okay?” I ask. Please talk to me.

  She nods.

  “Everything okay at uni? At home?”

  Whatever the issue is at home, she doesn’t respond to the question like I thought she might. There’s no tensing of her body, no pulling away from me. It’s like she’s asleep, standing up in my arms. Who is she trying to convince here?

  “Yeah, why?” she asks.

  “You seem… sad.”

  She pulls back. Her dark eyes peek at me through long lashes. “I’m not sad. It’s hard being away from you.”

  “I’m right here.”

  “For now.”

  “You can ask me to stay,” I tell her. “You can ask anything from me now, Indie. I’m yours.”

  The corner of her mouth lifts. “Not happening, Hollywood. I can deal with missing you, I just have to let myself be sad sometimes.”

  “I don’t want you to be sad ever.”

  “Well, that’s impossible. Sadness isn’t bad, Spence. It means you care.”

  The timer on the oven beeps. I don’t move.

  She nudges me. “I’m fine. Let’s not think about when you leave anymore, okay? Can we just enjoy being together?”

  I study her face, as if the problem is written there and I just need to look hard enough.

  “Has that always been the issue?” I ask.

  “What?”

  “The reason you sometimes seem distracted.” She says nothing. “There are a thousand things happening in your head, and you only tell me about three of those. Let me in, Indie.”

  “I’m a woman. I think a lot about literally everything—mainly uni and trying not to fail. I think about the best way to start my career, where I want it to go, and what I need to do to get there. I think about buying my first house, getting a dog, and taking long walks in the evenings. Mostly, I think about you, how scared I am that it won’t work… and how much I love you.”

  I suck in a breath. “I thought I was going to have to say it first. Damn, Indie, I love you so much it consumes me.”

  Her smile steals my breath for a second time. I press my lips to hers, kissing her long and deep, neither one of us caring that the oven is still shouting about the soon-to-be-ruined dinner.

  She runs her hands up my arms, and I hold her close. Moaning, she slides her tongue against mine, and my dick strains against my jeans.

  I back her against the wall and hook her leg over my waist, pressing against her.

  “Spence,” she says against my lips. “Dinner.”

  It’s like she wants me to do something about the dish in the oven, but her hands are clawing at me like she’s also trying to get me inside her.

  I break the kiss and touch my forehead to hers. “Jesus, Indie.”

  Her smile almost knocks me off my feet. “Oops, got a little carried away. I’m hungry.”

  “So am I.”

  “Keep it in your pants, Hollywood. I’m talking about food.”

  “I’m going to get you some dinner, and then I’m taking you to a hotel.”

  “So that your parents can’t hear me screaming your name?”

  I groan. “Don’t, or we won’t get as far as dinner. Sit down. I’ll bring it over.”

  Her fingers loosen, and I step back.

  Indie watches me open the oven, getting a face full of hot air as I take our dinner out.

  She laughs and cranes her neck. “What did you make?”

  “Spaghetti carbonara.”

  Silence.

  I look up. “What? Shit, Indie, what’s wrong?”

  Her face is ashen. She shuffles back. I put the dish on the counter, and within the two seconds it takes to do that, she’s sprinting.

  “Indie?” I call, running after her.

  What the fuck is happening?

  I get to the bathroom just as she locks me out. “Indie?” I shout, knocking on the door. She’s retching. “Open up. You’re being sick!” I knock again but she ignores me. “Indie, babe, please open the door. I thought you were better.”

  She throws up again. Jesus.

  “Indie, please let me in.” I lean against the door, useless. It’s a couple of agonising minutes before she says anything.

  “I’m fine,” she rasps.

  “You’re not fine. You’re being sick.”

  The toilet flushes, and I hear her open a cabinet.

  “Indie?”

  “Just rubbing toothpaste all over my teeth and mouth. Please go away.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. What just happened?” I wait, and no reply comes. “Indie?”

  The door unlocks. She rubs her forehead.

  Her eyes are bloodshot. “I’m sorry. I thought I was over the bug. I hope you don’t catch it, too.”

  I frown. “You’ve been fine for a while.”

  “Mostly. It’s been on and off.”

  There has to be more to it. No one has a sickness bug this long. My heart races. “Do you think you could be pregnant?”

  “No. It’s not that at all.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I finished my period a couple days ago. It’s the time of year. There’s a sickness bug going around uni. I think we’re all passing it back and forth to each other.”

  “I’m worried about you.”

  “I’m sorry. You don’t need to. It’s my own fault. I’m still trying to continue uni and work while being ill, and it’s not helping.”

  Is she lying? Why would she lie about being unwell? And I’ve just witnessed her being sick.

  “I should go and get an early night. I’ve not slept well.”

  “Indie…”

  “Spencer, I’m okay. Or I will be. Lesson learnt. I need to listen to my body when it tells me to slow down.”

  “You’re going to take some some time off work and uni?”

  She nods. “I don’t have another shift until after Christmas. The full-time staff don’t want time off then; the tips are too good. I’ll take the rest of the week off uni, though.”

  “Let me come home with you.”

  Her blink is heavy, like I’ve suggested something so outrageous, she needs a minute to consider whether or not I’m being serious.

  I’m asking to take you home, not to be my accomplice while we do over a jeweller.

  “Is that not okay?” I ask.

  “Um, no, of course it is, Spence. But you shouldn’t stay. You might catch whatever it is.”

  I can almost feel her panic. Her tongue has been in my mouth.

  “I don’t care.”

  “Well, I do. I want to enjoy Christmas with you, and we can’t do that if you spend weeks hugging the toilet. Come on, I’ll let you tuck me in. Then you can come home and… eat.”

  She walks out of my house like she’s afraid of catching something in it. I drive us, for the very first time, to her house. She’s told me the road before, but I don’t know which house.

  We park in her drive, in a tiny cul-de-sac, and she gets out. There are no cars here but there could be in the garage.

  My pulse races as we walk to the front door.

  Indie lets us in and flicks the light on.

  It’s small, and the décor is a little outdated, but it’s clean, tidy, and smells like that Fresh Linen Zoflora my mum is obsessed with. Someone keeps the place spotless.

  I look around like a kid at Disneyland, taking everything in and committing it to memory. I can’t believe she’s let me come in. This is huge.

  “Where are your parents?” I ask.

  She keeps walking towards the stairs. “They’re away.”

  Away? “Anywhere nice?”

  Shrugging, she leads me up to her room. “Visiting friends. If you say anything about the amount of pictures I have of you and us, I will kick you.”

  She closes the door behind us, and I begin to snoop. With a wide smile, I check out every photo pinned to a sage-coloured board on her walls. Her room
is modern, with a white wood bed, matching furniture, sage bedding, and an armchair. She has a laptop sitting on a desk, and vanity table beside it. The stuffed toys I’ve won her are at the end of the bed.

  Indie has decorated her room but not the rest of the house. Not her responsibility, I suppose. I don’t know what she was embarrassed about. This place is nice.

  But the aging décor probably isn’t the reason she’s never invited anyone in. I want to meet her parents before I go back to LA.

  Thirty-Six

  Indie

  Spencer is standing in my room.

  I rub the ache in my chest.

  All I can think about is getting him out of it. He studies the pictures on my pinboard with a little too much interest.

  It’s the one time my house has been safe to bring him back to. But I’m still lying to him, and I hate myself for it.

  Dad will never come home.

  I want to be honest, to open up and tell him everything. The words just won’t come out. No matter how much I understand that my parents drinking isn’t my fault, I still feel like I’m less because of it. I just want to continue being me to the people I love.

  No one needs to know. I can’t see Mum wanting to tell strangers all about our past. If things work with Spencer, I can say that Mum and I are working on our relationship after never being close, and Dad died from liver failure. It’s not only alcoholics who are at risk from that.

  Of course, he will ask when Dad died. He’ll be pissed that I didn’t tell him at the time. There is no way around that one, so I’ll just have to accept that he’s going to be annoyed.

  “Indie,” he says, circling his arms almost all the way around me. Protecting and comforting, nothing is quite as bad when he is here. He’s my human shield. The protective bar on the rollercoaster’s carriage. “Are you feeling okay?”

  I close my eyes and lean on him. “Tired.”

  “Why don’t you get ready for bed. I’ll wait here until you fall asleep.”

  I shake my head. No way. I need to make sure that he leaves. What if rehab call?

  “It’s okay. I think I’ll have a bath first. Go home and get some rest.”