Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
“Y ou’re staring,” Cata said.
Sunny dragged her gaze away from the family at the next booth in the Waffle House. Two dads, two little girls. One dad was cutting up the younger girl’s waffle. With its mountain of whipped cream and strawberries, it was too much food for her to eat, but they’d let her order it anyway. The way the men kept their attention on their daughters, helping them color on their placemats before their food came, their easy conversation and smiles, made her chest ache.
Cata pressed her lips together, and Sunny focused on her own cooling waffle.
“I still don’t like it,” Cata grumbled, setting down her fork.
She threw her arm around Cata’s shoulder and hugged her tight. For the first time in a long time, nothing was looming over her: not her lack of acting prospects, not the hunk of unmoving Mercedes in the parking lot. She was about to drive her newly functional car to Los Angeles, where her agent—she hoped—had contacts who hadn’t blacklisted her. It didn’t hurt that she’d be sharing the ride with a man who’d made her salivate with a flash of stretched-tight undershirt. “Sometimes you just know. Same way I knew we’d be friends when we met last fall. Gabe’s okay.”
Cata flashed her a bullshit expression. “Text me every day. And we need a code so you can signal me if he’s coercing you.”
“A code? Coercing me?” Sunny grinned.
“Yeah. If he’s looking over your shoulder to make sure you’re saying you’re okay, but you’re really not. Tell me…” She drummed her fingers against her chin and looked up to the acoustic ceiling tiles like they’d inspire her.
“I’ll tell you I’ve decided to give up acting.”
“Perfect.” Cata smiled at Sunny, but anxiety lingered in her eyes.
“I promise, he’s a Boy Scout. He fixed my car. The starter, the brakes, all the belts and hoses. His friend, Ramirez, when he dropped off the car, said they’d gone to six junkyards to get everything, made sure the parts were perfect. Plus he added all these safety features, like a backup camera and forward collision warning. It purrs like a kitten now.”
“A kitten, huh?”
Sunny shoved away her empty plate and wiped at her sticky fingers with a napkin. “Yeah. It’s in better shape than when my grandma handed it down to me in high school.”
Cata leaned forward to peer into her face. “Is it only your car’s engine that’s purring?”
Sunny crumpled up the napkin and tossed it into the puddle of syrup on the plate. In her best Scarlett O’Hara voice, she drawled, “Why, I have no idea what you mean.”
“Maybe he wasn’t just a cheap way to fix your car. Are you, like, into him?”
Sunny couldn’t meet her friend’s eyes when she said, “Of course not.”
He had some sort of The Rock thing going on with his height and the muscles moving under his T-shirt and those big hands with their long fingers, her kryptonite. His face was pleasant, too. Friendly, before she’d handed him his DNA results. Open, except when she’d asked him about the driving. Even that stubborn bottom lip was a little sexy. Biteable. Sunny bit her own lip to contain the drool. Then she voiced the thing that confused her the most. “I don’t get why a guy like that doesn’t drive. He lives in a nice townhouse, wears the most gorgeous dress coat you’ve ever seen.” Though maybe it was his inverted-triangle frame that made the coat look so good. “Dude could definitely afford a car. A nice one. He could probably rent one for less than what he spent on parts for my car.”
Cata sipped her coffee. “Maybe it’s some kind of power trip to be driven places. A Christian Grey thing. Maybe he’s, like, a secret billionaire.”
Sunny shrugged. He’d seemed pretty down to earth. Did secret billionaires get grease on their hands? His had been rough, callused, like he worked with tools and not at a desk like he’d said. The memory of his palm sliding across hers sent a shiver down her neck.
The best part? She’d be leaving his ass in Vegas. So even if he got those big hands on her lady parts, there was no risk of anything more. It was her favorite kind of relationship, the kind she couldn’t screw up. One with a built-in end date. A seven-night engagement like some of the plays they’d run in high school. Not like her parents’ decades-long sham of a marriage.
She checked her phone. “Time to go.”
Cata slid out of the booth, and Sunny followed. Cata tugged her into a tight hug. “I’ll miss you. Text me, okay? Even after you get to LA. When do you think you’ll get there?”
Tightness gripped her belly. “The show starts filming in two weeks, but we can make the drive in four days, tops. I’ll have plenty of time to get there, settle in, audition. Learn my lines if it all goes well.”
At the register, Cata paid, which only made Sunny’s eyes prickle more. Together, they walked out to their cars and stood between Cata’s Honda and Sunny’s Mercedes.
Cata sniffled. “Be careful out there. Wait, I’m supposed to say, break a leg.”
“That’s right. You be careful, too. Especially in the snow.”
“You won’t have to worry about that where you’re going.”
“No.” Sunny wouldn’t miss the icy winter roads. “You’ll have to come up with an excuse to come visit me. A psychology conference or something. I’ll show you the sights. We’ll even take a tour of the stars’ homes.”
“I want to see J. Lo’s house.”
“’Kay.”
They hugged, and when they pulled apart, Sunny’s lungs felt tight, like she couldn’t draw a full breath. But like her old drama teacher used to say, you close a curtain on one show to make room for another. She might be leaving Cata, but she’d be reunited with her parents and auditioning in a week.
Somehow, that happy thought didn’t balance out her sadness.
After Cata’s taillights disappeared from view and Sunny’s breathing evened out, she checked her phone, which had been buzzing in her pocket.
Mom: When will you be home?
Sunny sighed and texted back.
Sunny: In a week, maybe less. Why?
Mom: We need to prep you for the show.
Prep me for the show? Did she mean run lines for the audition? If so, it’d be the first time her mother had ever offered to do that. Happiness fizzed in her belly.
Sunny: Don’t worry, I’ll be home in plenty of time.
Might as well start now. She opened the door that didn’t creak anymore and slid into the driver’s seat. She tossed her phone into her purse and set it in the back seat.
As grateful as she was for the free repairs Gabe had made, Cata was right. His request to be driven to Las Vegas was weird. Would he ride in the back seat like Cata had said, like a billionaire? If he were a billionaire, he’d have his own limo to ride in. And a driver.
Was this going to be uncomfortable? She wrinkled her nose as she turned the key in the ignition and the engine woke with a purr.
Not if she could help it. She channeled the leading ladies from every romantic comedy she’d ever watched. She’d get herself and Gabe over the weirdness. She’d play her role, like always.