Just Like in the Movies

by Heidi Rice

  And then Ruby.

  Her soft smiles and hungry kisses, her incredible rack and the taste of her – so sweet and exotic – on his tongue. Then the tight clasp of her body as he shot his load in two seconds flat. He would be humiliated, if the memory of that moment wasn’t giving him a morning boner.

  But then the hours after his titanic orgasm came back too, and the woody wilted. It had taken him until two am to finally fall asleep, and he still hadn’t got much straight in his head, but listening to Ruby’s soft snores, stroking her lush curves, inhaling that exotic scent, he’d figured out one certain truth from the whole cluster fuck of yesterday. Sleeping with her last night had not been his smartest move.

  His whole existence had been crushed and mangled yesterday with his mother’s news – like a steel girder under too heavy a load – and sleeping with Ruby had been a way to un-crush and un-mangle it – to feel normal again. To feel better than normal for a few hours at least.

  He breathed in the addictive chicory scent of the coffee and detected the salty aroma of bacon. His stomach grumbled. And the guilt and shame threatened to gag him. To add insult to injury not only had he used her for sex last night – mind-blowing unforgettable sex – but then he’d stayed the night.

  Ruby was cooking him breakfast. As if they were some kind of a couple – which they weren’t, not really.

  He rolled, or rather bounced, off the too-soft bed and located the clothing he’d flung off yesterday neatly folded on a vintage armchair in the corner of the room.

  After getting dressed, he followed the scent of coffee and bacon down the apartment’s hall, his stomach rumbling all the way as he listened to Ruby’s soulful voice caress the lyrics of the show tune that had gotten them both arrested what felt like a lifetime ago.

  Reaching the doorway of the kitchen, he propped his shoulder against the frame and stopped dead, taking the opportunity to watch her unobserved.

  She wore a silk robe decorated with sunflowers, tied tightly around her waist, her bounteous curves jiggly beneath it as she stirred a pan full of eggs. Was it any wonder he’d taken what she offered last night? Not just taken, gorged himself on it. And her. She was so good just to look at. He loved the way she moved, the way her forehead puckered in a frown of concentration, the quick flicks of her wrist to push her wild hair out of her eyes as she worked. Watching Ruby gave him a buzz that went beyond the sex.

  Something warm spread across his ribs then sunk low to glow in his empty stomach. Filling it up with … Comfort? Contentment? Desire? He wasn’t entirely sure what he was feeling. But whatever it was, it probably wasn’t good news.

  Not least because his parents – between them – had managed to screw her best friend over, years before he died.

  He cleared his throat.

  She startled, flicking some of the eggs on to the countertop and clutched her hand to her beautiful rack. ‘Luke? You’re awake.’

  ‘Yup.’ He stayed where he was, resisting the urge to wedge himself behind her, wrap his arms around her waist, sink his face into that wild spray of hair and breath in her delicious scent. Not much he could do about the revitalized boner though, so he ignored it.

  ‘Good morning, Ruby,’ he said, even though it wasn’t a good morning. He’d screwed up last night and now he had to fix it.

  She laughed, the rich full sound making his woody even gladder to see her.

  ‘Someone woke up very perky,’ she said, a little breathlessly as her gaze drifted down to the bulge in his shorts. ‘Shall we put this on the back burner?’ she asked. ‘We’ve got at least an hour before Jacie gets here.’

  He frowned, realizing how simple it would be to jump her again.

  ‘Don’t tempt me,’ he said, surprised how much he wanted to take her up on the offer. But there was nothing simple or easy about sex with a woman like Ruby. She would have hopes, expectations, which he couldn’t possibly fulfil. They were going to be working together until the end of the month and things could get awkward between them if they didn’t establish boundaries. ‘I could use some food. I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning.’

  ‘Oh, okay,’ she said, the spike of concern and curiosity in her voice making him realise he owed her an explanation.

  ‘Take a seat at the table, and I’ll serve this up while it’s still hot,’ she added.

  She brushed her hair behind her ear, and he imagined kissing the spot on her neck he’d got attached to last night.

  Get a clue, Devlin. Not gonna happen.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said, as he strolled into the living room.

  There would be questions, questions she deserved answers to, but he would wait until she asked them. He’d never been good at emotional conversations, especially after a hook-up.

  His mouth watered as he straddled the chair at the small table in the living room and watched Ruby serve up breakfast.

  As he shovelled in the crispy bacon, fat sausages, hot buttered toast, fried tomatoes, and herby eggs, he ignored the continued twist of anxiety in the pit of his stomach.

  Ruby was an adult. She could make her own decisions. He’d used her, but she’d enjoyed herself. And like Jake in the cowboy film they’d watched a week ago together, he hadn’t been able to quit her last night.

  ***

  Ruby stirred a couple of sugars into her coffee and admired the spectacular view in her living room, still not quite able to believe Luke hadn’t vanished in the night. Or made a speedy exit as soon as he woke this morning.

  She’d left him sleeping earlier and started putting together a man-sized breakfast to calm her nerves, totally resigned to probably eating it alone.

  She wasn’t taking anything for granted.

  But her spectacular booty call was still here. Looking buff and built and beyond gorgeous with his 8 a.m. beard scruff, his creased T-shirt and stretchy boxers, eating the meal she’d cooked for him as if it were the last supper.

  ‘I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning.’

  Why hadn’t he eaten? What had happened to him yesterday to change him from the practical pragmatic, we-can’t-have-sex-under-any-circumstances guy of their hair rinsing date into the rumpled, reckless, and ridiculously hot let’s-bang-ourselves-senseless sex machine who had come to her last night?

  Not that she was complaining. Now she knew what Luke was capable of in the sack, his hotness quotient had hit the stratosphere. But there was something off about the whole scenario. His unexplained disappearance yesterday, the slight edge of desperation when he’d taken her to bed last night, the frown which contradicted the impressive ridge in his pants this morning. Last night hadn’t been the Luke she’d come to know. Luke had always been hot. But playful, insatiable Luke had been scorching.

  The old Luke was back now with a vengeance, though. She knew what was coming. She’d had the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech enough times before to see the signs. But this felt different. Was it because the sex had been so hot? Was that why she felt bereft at the thought of getting the usual brush-off? It had to be. Because she had known last night, even as it was happening, that Luke wasn’t himself and their hook-up was unlikely to be repeated.

  She took a long gulp of her coffee watching Luke over the rim as he took his time mopping up the last of the breakfast juices with the final slice of toast.

  ‘Did that hit the spot?’ she asked, as he pushed his plate away.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘And then some.’

  She smiled. ‘I’m glad.’

  The frown was still there on his forehead, telegraphing what he was about to say. Even so, as he opened his mouth to say the words she had been expecting, ever since falling asleep in his arms last night, her heart did an unfortunate little jitterbug in her chest.

  Hello, cock-eyed optimism.

  ‘Ruby, about last night …’ He paused. ‘I’m sorry. That wasn’t … It wasn’t meant to happen.’

  ‘I know,’ she said, keeping the easy smile firmly in place, even as the jitterbug in he
r chest died. ‘But I enjoyed it immensely, so I’m not sorry. And I don’t think you should be either.’ She crossed her legs, struggling to ignore the pulse of heat between her legs.

  Down, girl.

  ‘Unless of course you didn’t enjoy it as much as I did,’ she added, not caring her cheeks were probably glowing now too.

  If a girl couldn’t fish shamelessly for a compliment when she was getting the brush-off from the best-sex-of-her-life guy, seriously, when could she?

  ‘You know I did,’ he said, but he was still frowning. ‘I’m sorry because …’ He looked down at the empty plate, brought his hand up to tap his fingers on the table. She waited, for him to come up with the right words, fascinated despite everything at how hard it seemed to be for him to find them. She would have assumed Luke had given women the brush-off a ton of times before, he’d been so confident and hot last night in bed. She imagined every woman he’d ever dated had probably fancied themselves in love with him at least a little bit. Awesome hook-ups could do that to a woman.

  At last, he raised his head, his stare doing interesting things to the glow in her knickers. ‘I’m sorry, because I used you last night, to make myself feel better about … about some stuff. And that’s a pretty shitty thing to do to anyone.’

  Her heart rate started jitterbugging again at the sincerity in his voice, and the regret. She couldn’t tell him that was easily the sweetest most chivalrous brush-off she’d ever gotten, from any guy – or he might get the impression she was expecting more from him than hot sex, when she never had. But she filed the thought away.

  She covered his hand, to still the nervous tapping. Then released it again, so he didn’t get the wrong impression about that either.

  Time to set him straight.

  ‘Luke, I knew something wasn’t right, when you arrived here last night looking so lost and alone and smelling of rum. And I took advantage of your awesome oral sex skills anyway, so I’m really not sure who used who.’

  ‘Huh?’ His eyebrows popped up, and her smile became genuine.

  Men were such adorable dopes sometimes.

  ‘But be that as it may …’ Moving swiftly on. ‘What stuff was bothering you? Do you want to talk about it?’

  It was a risk, she knew that. He’d just told her she had no hold on him, which she totally got. But as a friend, she wanted to help, if she could, by doing something other than just taking advantage of his ninja cunnilingus skills.

  ‘Not really,’ he said. The frown was back with a vengeance.

  ‘Then you don’t have to,’ she said, reaching for the plate. She’d expected that response and she wanted him to know this wasn’t about her curiosity, this was about him. If he wanted to talk about it, she was a good listener. If not she was equally good at not pushing.

  But as she stood to lift the plates off the table, he grasped her wrist.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said, the edge she’d noticed the night before back in his voice.

  She sat down, and he let go of her wrist.

  ‘Actually, I kind of do …’ he said, a wary look clouding his expression, ‘have to talk to you about it.’

  ‘No, you really don’t, Luke,’ she replied. ‘Just because we hooked up last night. And used each other,’ she added, glad when a rueful smile lifted his lips. ‘It doesn’t make whatever happened to you yesterday any of my business. Okay?’

  Luke was a super private guy. She didn’t want to make this any more uncomfortable for him than it had to be.

  She reached for the empty plates again.

  ‘It’s not just about me though,’ he said and she let go of the plates again.

  She could hear the brittle note which had been missing last night. It saddened her to hear it again, but what saddened her more was knowing that without it, Luke wasn’t really Luke.

  ‘It’s about Matty and my dad, and my mom …’ he continued. ‘And it’s kind of about you, too. And The Royale.’

  The mention of Matty brought with it the hard hit of grief Ruby had somehow managed to dodge this morning, ever since waking up with Luke’s arm thrown over her hip and her clitoris still humming … But even as her lungs squeezed, and her eyes stung, the grief tugging at her again, she couldn’t tear her gaze away from Luke’s troubled expression.

  ‘It is?’ she said, because he’d lost her, the guarded look on his face only saddening her more. Whatever this was about, it was even harder for him to talk about than finding the perfect break-up line.

  ‘Yeah, it is.’ He propped his elbows on the table and scrubbed his hands over his face, then swore softly. He raked his fingers through his hair as he straightened, and finally met her gaze. ‘I went to see my mom yesterday.’

  Her brain knotted around the logistics. ‘You flew all the way to New York and back in a day?’ Was that even possible?

  ‘No.’ He barked out an unamused laugh. ‘She’s in London, preparing for a one-woman show at the National next month.’

  ‘She is? But that’s wonderful,’ Ruby said, although she couldn’t imagine what that had to do with her and Matty and The Royale. ‘How cool. Is that why she rang you last week?’

  ‘It’s not wonderful. Or cool.’ The furrow on his brow became a chasm. ‘My mom brings drama with her wherever she goes, she can’t help it. And she didn’t call me a week ago, she called you.’

  ‘She was probably only trying to get hold of you though. I mean, why would she …’

  He clasped her hand, squeezed her fingers to silence her. ‘Ruby, she called you because she had something to confess to you.’

  ‘She did?’

  ‘To confess to us both. And what she told me explains why Matty left me half of The Royale. It’s kind of messed up.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  He ducked his head. Whatever his mother had told him he was extremely unhappy about it.

  ‘She told me Matty and my old man were lovers. Not just lovers, hopelessly in love. They met on the set of The Sorrento Summer, and had a secret affair while Falcone was filming the scenes in London. They used to sneak into the Serpentine after dark to go swimming, and to make love.’

  ‘One Summer in Sorrento,’ Ruby corrected him, her mind racing as her chest collapsed in on itself.

  Matty had known Falcone. Had been in love with Falcone. And Falcone had loved him back. For real. And he’d never told her? How was that even possible?

  She thought of all the nights when they’d talked about their mutual obsession with Falcone over the years, poured over the actor’s best movie moments. She could still remember vividly the day they’d both heard about Falcone’s death, when she was twelve, and doing her illegal Saturday job manning the ticket booth at The Royale. She’d been hopelessly in love with Falcone, or rather his bad boy persona, ever since she hit puberty. While other girls had swooned over Leonardo DiCaprio and Channing Tatum, she had been enthralled by a guy who was practically old enough to be her granddad.

  But she hadn’t been as devastated as Matty by his death. Matty had insisted they run a midnight screening of Boy Blue, Falcone’s B-movie debut from the late-seventies, on the day news of the actor’s suicide broke. They’d had a packed house of hipsters, movie buffs, Matty’s friends and a contingent of blue rinse matrons who must have taken speed to stay up all night. She’d found Matty in the projection booth before the show, tears rolling down his cheeks as he re-looped the old 35mm projector they’d cleaned up for the occasion. She’d been shocked because Matty never cried. Or certainly not in silence – with real tears and without an audience.

  She’d wondered briefly then if he had known Falcone. After all, the actor had once had a world-famous love affair with Matty’s sister, when Matty was still talking to her. But when Ruby had asked, he’d simply stared at her for the longest moment, and shaken his head.

  Then she’d gotten a grip and realised Matty couldn’t possibly have known Falcone, because no way would Matty have kept it a secret. Matty didn’t keep secrets, especially not juicy ones conc
erning himself and one of the most iconic celebrities on the planet. And he’d never kept any secrets from her.

  Only he had.

  Her throat hurt and her eyes burned.

  Matty had kept a lot of secrets. The secret of his will, the secret of the theatre’s catastrophic debts, the secret of his feud with Helena, the secret of his love affair with Falcone, the secret of why he’d wanted his ashes scattered over the Serpentine in the hours after dusk …

  What else had he kept from her? And why had he? Perhaps she hadn’t been as good a friend to him as she always thought.

  ‘What did you say?’ Luke asked.

  ‘One Summer in Sorrento,’ she repeated. ‘That’s the name of the movie you’re talking about. The only movie Falcone made with your mother.’

  ‘Right …’

  ‘Do you know what happened? How Matty’s affair with Falcone ended?’ she asked, not sure she really wanted to know, because it must have ended tragically. But feeling she ought to know, because Matty had been her friend.

  Offering solidarity and sympathy from beyond the grave wasn’t going to do much good, but at least she could finally quash any of the little resentments she’d felt when she’d first found out about his will.

  ‘Can’t you guess?’ Luke said, the edge in his voice confusing her.

  Was he mad about something?

  ‘No … I … Matty never mentioned any of this to me,’ she said.

  Luke huffed out a breath, the frown catastrophic now. Why was he so tense? Was this the news that had disturbed him so much last night? Turned him into a man she didn’t recognise? Made him seem wounded, and vulnerable?

  Her head began to hurt because she didn’t understand any of it anymore.

  ‘My mom happened,’ he said. ‘That’s how it ended …’