by Celeste, B.
“I didn’t have time,” I lie, glancing at the clock on my phone. “Isn’t it early there? I figured I’d text you before I went to bed that way I didn’t wake you.”
There’s murmuring in the background, her response to whomever soft before she focuses back on me. “I was up early with a friend. And surely you know I’d want more than a text from my husband.”
The implication of phone sex that our conversations usually lead to is heavy in her lust-ridden words. It makes my cock twitch in the jeans I changed into right after reshooting the last scene since Buchannan insisted it wasn’t up to par with the others. Normally, it’d piss me off to be told my work isn’t good enough. Despite the reputation I’m labeled with, I can admit when I’m sucking ass at work. Kinley watching my every move put me on edge, especially following the little one-on-one we had at lunch.
Nothing about what I sent her last night was mentioned all day, and part of me wondered if she even got it. But the persisting avoidance in her lingering gaze every time her eyes found mine between scenes told me she received everything. Her impressive quickness in looking away when I’d catch her watching me told me what I needed to know.
“Callum?” The name snaps me from driving down that dangerous path, making me cringe at the way my own wife refers to me by my last name like the industry does.
“Sorry.” I straighten my spine, rolling my shoulders back and try refocusing. “I miss you. I hope you know that.”
Marriage never used to be in my scope of vision when I was younger. Having a thriving career and traveling were the only two things my one-tracked mind could focus on. Every time an opportunity would arise to go out, I’d find excuses to stay in. Work would get me out of most situations where friends would try setting me up, but there were a few women I let in as welcome distractions.
By the time I met Lena, I’d made a name for myself across the world. No longer was I Corbin Callum from small town New York. My year spent in Lincoln only cemented my drive that got me to become Callum—America’s leading bad boy. Honestly, the title is laughable. Minus an altercation I’d gotten into with some paparazzi outside a hotel I’d been staying at who accused me of buying my way into a role I’d worked my ass off to get, I’d stayed clean in the media. I was known to drink a little too much depending on my moods, but besides pictures of me drinking at parties or smoking on sets if I have a shitty day, there’s not much else people can get from me.
I never stop people from calling me Callum because it beats them highlighting my real name for research purposes. I’m sure plenty of people have dug up pieces of my past with a basic Google search, but I made sure to clean up anything involving Lincoln so my new life wouldn’t intercept with my old one.
“I miss you too, baby.” She purrs the words that would undoubtedly lead to phone sex on any other day. The premise has me semi-hard, yet my mood is anything but ready to jerk off in the back of the car, much less in the condo we occasionally share.
Rubbing my neck, I say, “Listen, Len, I need to get back home and try getting some rest. It’s an early call tomorrow morning. We’ll be shooting pretty late too.”
There’s a pregnant pause between us that makes me flinch. “Okay.”
“I love you.”
Someone speaks to her from the other end of the line—a cousin probably. One of her best friends growing up was Silas, who’s only a year older than her. He was the one person I could talk to and understand without Lena having to translate when I visited her family on the island.
“Call me when you have time,” is her monotone response before the line cuts off.
Clicking my tongue and staring at the call ended message on the screen, I shove the cell into my pocket and make my way to the car. There are only a few vehicles in the lot compared to the packed spaces earlier.
Olivia left after talking to a few of our co-stars who seemed excited to begin filming more of their parts tomorrow. Today was a few essential scenes between Olivia and I, including a racier make out session that will lead to the first sex scene we’re expected to shoot bright and early tomorrow morning.
Her departing words for me were, try not to get too hard for me. I don’t need you poking an eye out.
Snorting as I settle into the backseat, I pull out my phone while we start out of the lot onto the busy street. I know it’ll take time getting home because the nightlife rush hour is insane. My fingers scroll through a few messages from friends before I find myself on Facebook typing the last name I should be interested in searching.
Kinley blocked me on social media months after I left Lincoln. I don’t blame her after I promised to keep in touch and never followed through. It was never intentional to hurt her, but life got busy when the jobs started picking up. My time became limited to filming, working out, and resting like my new manager and trainer suggested. I began doing everything in my power to be the actor that people wanted to hire without a second thought. Lincoln became a distant memory, but Kinley never did even if she thought so. How could she not? By the time I worked up the guts to reach out, her number didn’t work.
It was around a year ago when news broke about the film that I found a mutual friend’s post congratulating her on an interview she did with Entertainment Daily. Temptation had me clicking her name before spending hours going through the life she cut me off from. Everything she posted since shutting me out became my addiction in the little free time I had. Dating updates made me scowl, book accomplishments made me smile, and pictures made my heart tug a little tighter in my chest like it did back in high school.
Pausing when I see a selfie she took with Olivia and a few other cast members on set today, I study the background to figure out when it was taken. I never saw them stop and take pictures together, and I was on set a majority of the day. I’m full on glaring when I see a few more of the sets and a picture someone took of her and Buchannan talking off to the side of the bedroom they put together for tomorrow’s scenes.
“What the fuck is this?” I growl aloud.
“Sir?”
Wincing, I look up at the driver who’s looking at me through the rearview. “Sorry. Just something I saw online.”
He replies with a simple nod before returning his eyes to the traffic we’re stuck in.
Kinley went out of her way to avoid taking a picture with me. When I click through the comments and read them, I notice a few people ask where I am. Her reply? He was busy.
Nose flaring, I’m half-tempted to comment just to see what she’ll say. The post is public, so it wouldn’t be impossible. However, my fake name and passive aggressive remark would probably give me away. My old account had to be deactivated and then deleted when people were hacking into it after my career took off. The alias I use on the downlow is for keeping up with friends and family … and occasionally checking in on Kinley.
Turning my phone off, I stare out the window. They’re tinted, so I can people watch without any chaos ensuing. I learned the hard way what some fans will do for a quick picture. The last thing I want is to be trapped in backed up traffic that’ll take a police escort to get me out of just to see my condo before dawn.
“Want any music on, sir?”
I should probably learn the guy’s name since he was assigned to me for the duration of shooting. It’d probably make Kinley think of me better since our last conversation didn’t end well. For some reason though, I’m unable to conjure the simple question.
So all I say is, “No, thank you.”
Chapter Five
Kinley / Present
My leg bounces as I watch the crew put finishing touches on the set. The vases of artificial flowers lining the dark brown dresser are bright colors that liven up the otherwise plain room, which is exactly what I imagined for Beck. Her simplicity shows in every scene that showcases her home, rivaling the complicated nature of her relationship with Ryker.
Biting down on another Twizzler from my seat, my eyes scope out the remaining sets nearby. Everything they p
ut together exceeds my expectations. Half the furnished rooms make me envy my own décor at home, and they added the slightest details that made Beck and Ryker who they are—the wine, the pictures on the walls, the way Beck has to have every little detail perfected even though Ryker teases her about it.
There’s a playfulness between the two that makes you root for them despite knowing you shouldn’t. When my eyes lock on a picture of Olivia and Corbin off to the side, I hop off my chair and walk over to the display of frames lining the shelf near the bed.
Each one is layered with little knick-knacks and images of different people—some who I met already over the past few days, and some I haven’t seen at all. My fingers trail along the edge of the smooth espresso-colored wood when I stop dead in my tracks at one of the silver frames at the end.
“What the h—”
“I think it fits well,” a familiar voice says from close behind me.
Turning abruptly with the picture in hand, I hold it up between us. “How did they get this picture, Corbin?”
Corbin’s smile doesn’t waver when the cold tone of my voice ices the room. “Come on, Little—” My death glare stops him. “—Kinley. It’s a cute photo. Plus, a lot of authors have little cameo’s in the movies based on their books.”
Nostrils flaring, I shake the frame containing an awkward photo taken by Corbin’s mom a few days after my seventeenth birthday. My hair is in a messy bun, my smile is too big, too fake, and I’m pretty sure I’m looking at Corbin who was making faces behind his mother’s back. At that point, our friendship-turned-more was rocky and awkward.
“Do I look like Stan Lee?” I hiss, gripping the picture tighter in my grasp. “It doesn’t even make sense. It’s a nice gesture, but it shouldn’t be here. It doesn’t go with the others.”
Humor dances in Corbin’s eyes, making them the stupid shade of white I used to get weak-kneed over. “People have pictures of friends in their houses. It fits just fine.”
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath to calm myself down. “How did they get it?”
When he doesn’t answer, I open my eyes and narrow them at a face I told myself to keep my distance from. His lips draw in, in a telltale sign of guilt. It’s a silent admittance, but one I know all too well.
I’ve studied that look plenty of times since he kissed me goodbye after his graduation party. I didn’t know it at the time, but he had the same expression on his face. How long had he known what his life would turn out to be? How long did he know I wouldn’t be in it?
Tears want to well in my eyes, but I force them back behind the wall I’ve built. It’s cracked and leaking, but strong enough to hold the emotions that want to burst from the seams. Too many defenses have failed me before, and this is all I have—fake hatred mixed with real anger. A deadly combination when silver eyes see right through the façade.
“I just suggested they get a picture or two to display around set,” he finally admits, lifting his shoulders in an easy shrug. “They thought it was a great idea and figured you’d appreciate the random cameos. You know, mixing real with fiction.”
I shake my head and place the frame back where I found it, staring at the smile young me is casting to young Corbin.
“Why Corbin?” I ask quietly. When he doesn’t answer, I gesture around us. “Why Ryker? Why this movie? Why now?”
His lips part, but nothing comes out.
I take the Twizzlers out from the bag hanging on my shoulder and slam them into his chest. Only a few are missing since he gave them to me. I couldn’t get myself to accept the gift, but the sugar was exactly what I needed when my nerves got the better of me this morning.
“Why the candy?” It comes out a broken whisper that has his lips curving down. “You shouldn’t have bothered. With the food, the candy, the note. The note. There’s no point, so why?”
He takes a step forward despite the little room between us already. The tips of his expensive looking shined black shoes tap my basic heeled wedges that I got from the clearance rack at Target. Nothing about my floral wrap dress screams money or class like the button-down white shirt tucked into belted black dress pants does on his slim frame. I know Ryker’s signature look—the rolled sleeves, the three top buttons undone, and the messy bedroom hair.
I also know Corbin Callum even though I wish I didn’t. He dresses to impress. To play any part. And he plays it well, just like he always has.
The best friend.
The loving boyfriend.
The heartbreaker.
“There’s always a point,” he tells me quietly, keeping his hands tucked into his pockets. His gravelly tone has the power to make me come undone, and I hate it. “It’s an apology, for one.”
Now I’m rolling my eyes and moving around him, bumping his shoulder with mine to get some air that isn’t full of his woodsy scent. “You’re a little late on that front.”
“I won’t deny it,” he agrees. “I can make excuses as to why things happened like they did, but the truth is, I let my career take precedence.”
I say nothing.
“I chose success,” he continues, turning to face me as I pretend to study the rest of the room. Thankfully, the crew has finished and let us be.
“Shock,” I murmur.
“I chose … me.”
I stifle a giggle, but it turns into an unattractive snort. Stopping in front of the vanity attached to the dresser, I study my reflection. I look tired, but not overly so. The bags beneath my eyes are only noticeable if you look close enough. My bottom lip is chapped from the amount of times I wet and nibble on it, which I’ve subconsciously done a lot since watching my book play out in front of me.
My cheeks though … they give me away.
They’re colored with the faintest tone of pink, a natural color since Corbin came back into my life. It’s hard not to blush when he pays you attention, especially with the memories I have of us together all those years ago.
The touches, kisses, whispers.
We were young and sloppy and invincible back then. That’s where we went wrong. Heartbreak was inevitable as soon as we thought nothing could touch us. Eventually, something did.
Reality.
Dreams.
Us.
Looking down, I say, “You always chose yourself, even when you made pretty promises. They were just words and I always knew it. It was my fault for falling for them.”
“Kinley—”
“But everything else?” I conclude, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “Everything else was your fault. You can apologize as many times as you want, I forgive you. I forgave you a long time ago because holding onto that resentment was too much.”
He’s smart enough not to say anything.
“But I’ll never forget.”
His chin dips in silent acknowledgment.
Taking a deep breath, I paint a smile on my face when I hear people’s voices getting nearer. Flattening the wrinkles from my dress, I turn on my heel and watch Corbin play with the candy I shoved at him.
Not knowing what else to say, I walk away and back toward the chair with my name on it. Buchannan is by his, greeting me with a big smile that gives me a weird feeling in my stomach. He stretches out his arms for a hug, which I reluctantly give to him.
He seems nice, but no hug should feel as slimy as his. His hold is too tight and too long and his eyes like to roam where they shouldn’t.
Clearing my throat, I say, “The set looks amazing. You guys have brought this to life perfectly.”
He touches my arm, and I try not flinching away from the contact. “I’m glad you like it, darling. We should talk more about what you think sometime soon.”
I know his intentions aren’t innocent, so I simply nod and say nothing as I take my seat. When I look up again, Corbin is glaring at Buchannan with a dark expression on his face.
And for some reason … I smile.
Chapter Six
Kinley / 16
It’s dark by the time I cloc
k out and say goodbye to everyone at the restaurant. The Friday night crowd has the bar in the back room packed and the kitchen smelling like onion rings. My stomach growls over the greasy scent as I zip up my jacket and walk out the front doors.
“Hey.”
I yelp and swing my arm out of instinct, nearly colliding my fist with the side of Corbin Callum’s pretty face.
He dodges the strike by ducking down and raising his hands up in defense. “Whoa! Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
My heart is still racing in my chest when I take a step back and stare at him. “Then why are you lurking outside a restaurant at almost ten o’clock at night? That’s creepy.”
“I saw you inside earlier.”
“Still creepy.”
He chuckles, shoving his hands in the large pocket of his gray sweatshirt. Instead of the black jeans and tee he sports at school, he’s in blue jeans, worn sneakers, and a big hoodie with red AC/DC lettering and the drawstring missing.
His chin dips toward the door. “My family came here to eat dinner and I noticed you were bringing clean glasses out from the back.”
I shift my weight from one foot to the other and shiver when a gust of wind smacks into me. “Did you get lost or something? That doesn’t explain why you’re still here.”
His teeth dig into his bottom lip to suppress a smile. “I live across the street. Thought maybe I’d catch up with you when you got done tonight. Say hi.”
I blink. “Well … hi.”
I start walking down the gravel driveway that leads to the sidewalk. I’m not sure if I’m really surprised or not that he follows. His footsteps easily match mine until we’re walking side by side, coated by the darkness from the blown streetlight.
“Do you need a ride?” he asks, hands still in his pocket.
I shake my head. “I don’t live too far.”
He continues to follow me. “My mom would kill me if she knew I let you walk home alone in the dark.”
