Say It Sexy (14 page)

Gwen

The world buzzed by me as I made my way back to my hotel room, which somehow shone like a temple, a sanctuary, to my crazed mind. If anyone called my name or asked me to slow down, I didn’t notice. If God himself had sent a glory of angels to sing me to a halt, I would have completely ignored it. Rounding the corner into my hallway, uncaring if I dripped the entire trip, I made a beeline for the third door.

With a swipe of my card key, I swept through the door and shut it soundly behind me, pressing my back against the sturdy white wood and panting for fear that I’d faint and fall over.

My eyes frantically searched the floor for answers.

What had come over me in there!

I could still feel him on my lips and the racing of my heart like a frantic bird in the cage of my ribs. I could feel the butterflies storming around in my stomach and glimpse the fireworks that had flared before my eyes. The explosion of chemistry and desire had catapulted me into a state of being, of desperately wanting, that I couldn’t even name! It had felt the same the first time we’d touched, and what had shocked me the most was when I realized that he must’ve experienced the same barrage of sensations that I had since the first day at Sun Studios. I hadn’t imagined my desire for him, and it swam so much deeper than mere physical attraction.

Bless him and his gorgeous honey colored eyes, he remembered when he’d come to my door at two a.m. and that had shocked me stupid. It had surprised and thrilled me to think maybe, just maybe, I darted through his mind as often as he darted through mine. It had thrilled me so much,
I
had kissed
him
.

Me!

And in that moment, all thoughts of my father, all inhibitions swirling around the future of my career and what could be at stake when getting involved with a man like Garrick, jumped ship in a matter of seconds. The traitors! As a matter of fact, I had felt absolutely no trace of fear for my father’s rage while Garrick held me in his arms. Pitched headlong into the riotous rush of
too much too soon
, I floundered.

Was this why he irritated me so? Had I wanted him this badly all along? The lingering liquid heat between my thighs certainly attested to that answer.

What would Erica say? Should I even call Erica? Who could I call? Go to? Talk to?
Certainly not my mother, because any information would leak back to my father in the time it took Albuquerque’s weather to change. I could call Vi, but she worked night shifts. Plus she didn’t know Garrick, not the way Erica did.

I pushed my trembling hand back through my wet hair, uncertain if the dampness came from the humidity in the sauna or the fact that sweat still beaded on my skin from that amazing, glorious kiss. Coming up from the door like a shot, I ripped off my towel and shed my bathing suit on the way to the bathroom. I flipped on the shower and, without waiting for the water to warm, I jumped inside.

“Shit!” I shrieked at what felt like icicles pelting my back. But I folded my arms and, like a stubborn statue in a snowstorm, forced myself to stand there. The heat coursing through me ebbed, trotting away to the sound of chattering teeth. The water warmed after what felt like an eternity, but was probably only a minute and a half. I did a little dance in place to kick the blood back into my veins. I untangled my arms and let them hang limp at my sides. Leaning back, I slid down the turquoise tiled wall to sit on the cool shower floor.

I wanted to cry, scream, giggle madly, victory dance, and swoon all in the same cycloning space of time.

“That arrogant, insufferable asshole is the hottest thing I have ever seen,” I whispered with a moan, tipping my head back to bump it against the wall several times. “You know better than this. What are you, doing, Gwen? Why can’t you find a nice, quiet, country boy? Why does it have to be a Hollywood heartthrob?”

The answer rammed into me like an oncoming train.

Why?

Because, in spite of all my efforts, in spite of my predetermined prejudices… I was falling for Garrick Maze.

Erica. I had to call Erica.

* * *

“
What!
” Erica exclaimed excitedly, suddenly sitting upright on the edge of my bed.

“I know,” I groaned, flopping unceremoniously face first into my plethora of pillows.

“I can’t believe this is actually happening,” she announced, her syrupy voice unusually enthusiastic. “It’s like watching my book in real life!”

Assuming a frown and glancing up at her through my mess of wavy, unkempt hair that I had never dried after my cool-down, I mulled that over. Expression going slack and heart melting into a puddle of hot, gooey realization, I whined. “Nooo. It is, isn’t it?” I moaned, sinking back into my coverlet.

Erica clapped her hands and chuckled. “So, dish, honey! How was it?”

“Amazing,” I mumbled.

She shimmied her broad, frail shoulders. “Thinking of doing it again any time soon?”

My hand shot out, grabbing a stray pillow and I chucked it at her.

She caught it and cuddled it against her chest, propping her chin on top. “Well, then. What are you going to do now?”

With a sigh, I turned over and cast a despondent look at the ceiling. “I don’t know. I guess… It’s his move.”

Garrick

I dropped onto the wooden bench, still reeling from shock.

What I wanted most was a bottle of bourbon and a rousing dose of the independent
I don’t need a woman
reality I had left behind. Or maybe what I longed for even more fervently was to sprint after Gwen and make her indisputably mine in front of several witnesses. But, unlike Gwen, I had visible evidence of my desire for her tenting my shorts that needed to disappear before I could skip out into public space like a normal human being. Running my fingers through my hair and scrubbing my face with my hands, I groaned.

We had kissed before, at the read-through and during a few other practices. But the true passion I had felt lurking behind her lips then hadn't been exposed to me until now. Everything I had simultaneously longed for and dreaded came upon me like a massive rain during monsoon season. I had it
bad
. Not only did I like kissing her, but I wanted to do it again, as often as possible. Denying it was no longer a viable option. I could feel my priorities shifting involuntarily, yearning to pursue Gwen and put her on a pedestal above all the rest.

My chest heaved. My heart hammered. Worrying at my lip, I shifted uncomfortably, denying myself the urge to find release while savoring the memory of how she’d looked and felt and tasted in my arms. For all I knew, a mother and daughter could walk in at any moment and that was the last thing I needed plastered all over the morning grocery store magazines. Gwen would never talk to me after an exposure like that.

Or would she?

What shocked me most was the fact that she kissed
me
. I had anticipated the opposite happening, especially considering I had initiated contact moments before only to have her stare, mortified, back up into my face afterwards.

How could I get her to kiss me again? How could I ask for permission, or plan around her skittish, strangely explosive nature? The reward certainly outweighed the risk, but I'd have to be tactful about how I went about reaping it. Things could either fall into place perfectly, or shatter into an irreparable mess. Who was Gwen? She certainly wasn’t the ice queen she had shown me at times, not with a smoldering kiss like that.

When my raging ache had abated enough to be tolerable, I righted myself, stalked out of the sauna, and wrapped my towel around my waist.

Should I talk to someone? Tell someone? Who could I talk to?

My dilemma about friends came roaring back to me, as did my reservations to opening myself up to anyone. Rejection sucked, I knew, though I had never experienced it myself. But worse still was betrayal. That, I could still practically taste. No one had the ability to disappoint or betray me so long as I never let them in. However, I wanted to let Gwen in, and I wanted her to afford me the same courtesy. I wanted to be the one she leaned on and confided in. And to my utter shock, I suddenly wanted to be the one to make Gwen's vision of love go from dream to iron clad reality.

How could one girl turn me this upside down, inside out, and batshit crazy with one—no make that two—amazing kisses?

How could I profess my feelings to Gwen without scaring her away?

How much would come out of my paycheck for punching a hole in the wall to my right?

Shit. I needed to get it together.

After stepping out of the sauna and fishing my phone out of my gym bag, I scrolled down to Liam’s number. I called. After five rings, it went to voicemail. And I couldn’t bring myself to leave a voicemail. He was probably partying. He was probably high, drunk, or both.

I left the pool, wandered the maze of hallways, and finally stormed into Shane's room. I found the door ajar, propped open with the silver attachment at the top. Irritable and frustrated and damned near ready to explode from confusion, I planned to make a beeline for the fridge and the bottle we hadn’t killed last weekend.

Shane and Tyler stood in the middle of the suite. Seemingly startled, so much so that Shane fumbled with and dropped the book, presumably a prop, that he had been holding. They looked up at me. I paused, staring back at them, when I realized how close they stood together.

"Uh," I began, eyes darting between them. What the hell had I just walked into?

Shane did a good amount of stammering, talking with his hands, but saying nothing coherent.

"Don't get any smart ideas," Tyler warned sardonically, moving away from Shane to drop onto the overly cushioned ottoman and swipe his Galaxy from the coffee table. "I was teaching him about intensity. His character is battling some serious demons standing in the way of his sexual orientation."

“Oh. Cool.” I breezed by them to the kitchenette, tore open the freezer, and yanked the Jim Bean from the top shelf.

"Whoa. Man, what's wrong?" Shane asked, finally finding his voice, probably glad for the shift in subject.

I debated whether or not to spill the beans as I twisted off the cap. Tyler beat me to it.

"It's pretty obvious to me. Something happened with Gwen. Nothing else, with the exception of getting fired, could rile him up this much."

"Shit!" exclaimed Shane, rounding on me. "You didn't get fired, right?"

I leveled him with a dour stare.

"Another fight?" Shane inferred in disbelief. He opened his arms, hands open and inquiring, and lifted his shoulders. "You hardly know one another. What do you guys even have to fight about? Did she not like your trunks, or something?"

"Oh, no,” I mumbled, voice gravelly. “She liked those," I murmured.

Shane went silent. Tyler looked up from his phone. They both stared intently, waiting for me to continue. I realized that this would probably devolve, quickly, into some chatty gossip session that I really didn’t want to be a part of. I contemplated locking myself in my room and hoarding the bottle to myself.

"Forget it," I silenced before either one could prompt me to elaborate.

Mercifully, neither one pushed me farther. "Why don't we go do something?" Shane suggested.

"Such as?" Tyler droned, attention once again ensnared by his phone.

"We could drive up to Sandia Peak, if anyone has a car. A bunch of people keep telling me to see it. Maybe Lyle would let us borrow one? We could take a six pack and chill for a while."

"The overlook would be closer," Tyler suggested in his
this isn't a request
voice. "I'll lose service that far up."

"No phones allowed, man," Shane countered, as if he had a death wish.

Tyler sank deeper into the chair, expression slack and disinterested. "I don't see why I need to put my agenda on hold for Garrick's emotional constipation."

He knew, I realized. Tyler had probably known from the instant I walked in that my secret feelings for Gwen had been actualized, and how much it dug at me.

Wow, I realized. This felt… strangely like… having friends.

"Erica has a car," Shane revealed. Fishing his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans, he pulled open his contacts and scrolled through them. "I'll shoot her a text."

The way he was talking about Erica, it seemed they’d become better friends than I’d realized.
Were
they just friends?

In many ways, Erica was basically a bro when it came to their crew.

I couldn't help but wonder if the recent developments between Gwen and myself would not only make it back to Erica, but also drive an awkward, uncomfortable wedge between all of us. Not that I particularly cared. Just because I had plans to ease my way into Gwen's life if she'd have me did not mean I suddenly considered these people on par with true companions.