Celebrity Crush

Chapter 16 Jason

Chapter 16

What would Hugh Jackman do?

Jason

I SHUT MY car door and saunter into the pool area of Emmy’s hotel. As I cross the deck, I spot the gazebo with the hot tub in it, where Emmy was last night during our phone call. Red bikini bottom. White bikini top. Hair wet. Belly button dripping.

I clear my throat as I approach the door to room 136, shove one hand into the pocket of my gray athleisure pants, and rap on the door with the other. When she opens it, I have to fight to keep my jaw clamped shut.

I thought I loved red, but Emmy in turquoise is a whole other story. With her golden skin and shimmery blond highlights, she’s what the Caribbean Sea would look like if it were sexy and single.

“Hi,” I say, swallowing hard. I don’t want to gush, but there’s no reason not to compliment her. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you.”

I catch a whiff of coconut, and suddenly I’m drunk on pina coladas and getting caught in the rain. I hold out an elbow for her. On the one hand, I can’t wipe the smile off my face, but on the other hand, I need to keep it professional. Surely taking a girl to a party is proper, right? Except, when she looks this good, it feels like it’s not.

What would Hugh Jackman do? He’d open the door for her. I know that much. We’ll start there.

As I pull open the Alfa’s door, she spots #CelebrityCrush on the passenger seat. I left it there so she could see that, yes, even though it’s taking me forever, I am actually reading it, just like I said I would.

“You promised to autograph that for me,” I remind her, falling into the driver’s seat. “Hey, you just lost my page! And you didn’t sign it.”

“I don’t have a pen.” She doesn’t seem too apologetic as she relocates the book to the back. It almost looks like she’s shoving it under the passenger seat.

AC/DC fills the car as I hop onto the 405, and we’re both so quiet I’m wondering if I’m missing something important. Then I realize that this is the first time we’ve been together that hasn’t been booked and organized and scripted. Emmy’s hands tap nervously on her turquoise knees, and I’m inappropriately happy to see that they’re still bare of nail polish. I start wandering down a rabbit hole where those sexy hands are running themselves across my stomach again…

Nope, nope, nope. Stop, Jason. Bad Jason. Get back to professional. Speaking of professional… I turn the stereo down.

“So, hey, have you thought any more about that social media stuff we talked about last night?” The traffic is better than it should be on a Friday evening. It’s a friggin’ miracle we’re moving at all, honestly. I check my mirrors and accidentally cut someone off getting into the fast lane. Sorry, dude.

“Oh, yeah.” Her hands stop their drumming. “I posted something yesterday at the filming.”

The filming? Does she mean…? I open my mouth but no words come out.

“You know. The Hashtag Celebrity Crush filming.”

I feel like a tool. Did I invite her?

“You invited me, remember?”

“It’s coming back to me now.”

“You forgot.”

“I forgot.” Shit, I suck. I toss her my best puppy dog eyes. “I’m sorry. Filming is kind of intense, and with Lost Star still taping, life’s been a whirlwind. Can you forgive me?”

It’s true—my life has been consumed by work these last few months. And doing a movie is different from a TV show. Set changing all the time. Different people to work with. So many takes. There’s a huge level of stress.

She looks out the window. “There’s nothing to forgive. You were working.”

I’ll take that as a yes. “So what did you think?”

“I love that Miles turned it into a musical.”

“It’s good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is.” She shimmies from side to side and waves her arms to the choreographed moves.

“You learned it? Hold up!” I call up the playlist on my stereo and jump in one-handed so I can keep driving. I sing and half dance along to the series of Duran Duran song clips while Emmy struggles to keep up. I call out cues to help her with the transitions.

“Hands up! Push, push. The wave! The wave! Now we’re gonna do that whole thing again, but faster.”

Her moves are loose and carefree, and when she adds facial expressions, I find my smile stretching even wider. I ham it up extra extra , trying to score a giggle. By the time the song is done, we’re both laughing. It seems to have cracked whatever ice had formed over us.

“So, you want to hear about my social media ideas for you?” She twists in her seat and leans against the side door, facing me with her golden-hazel eyes shining.

“Absolutely I do! I’m on the edge of my seat.”

She holds her hands out, ready to launch into her vision. “We’re going to appeal emotionally to your fans. They always want to know more about you. They want to interact with you. They want to feel like they have some sort of connection with you. We’re going to give them that.”

“Okay…”

“You love to dance, so we can do TikToks. We can do some behind-the-scenes vlogs from Lost Star and Hashtag Celebrity Crush . We can even do some stuff with the both of us where they can live vicariously through me. We’re gonna give them the Jason Connor everybody loves—the funny, cute, charming, boy-next-door Jason—talking to them and with them wherever they are!”

I shoot her a sideways grin. “Do you really think I’m cute and charming? You don’t have to answer that. But for real, are you sure that’s enough to cancel the fallout from Breakupgate?”

“Oh, your friends are going to help with that tonight. At least I’m counting on it. The Lost Star cast are your friends, right?”

I scrunch my face in mock disbelief that she’s even asking me this. “Of course they are! Why wouldn’t they be?”

“Good, then it’ll be cake.”

Her confident smile eclipses the scenery bouncing by in the window behind her. I can tell she’s in her element with all this stuff, and I feel like maybe, with this beautiful siren reining in my social media stupidity, everything is going to be okay.

“So how much is this campaign going to cost me?” I ask.

She makes a scoffing noise.

“No, seriously. I can afford to pay a social media marketer, and I’m hiring you. So how much do you charge?”

Her lips twist to the side. “I’m supposed to fly back home tomorrow morning, but if we’re going to do this, I’ll need to extend my trip. How about two days in LA? All expenses paid.”

“That’s it?”

She nods. “That’s enough.”

“Deal.” I hold out a hand, and we shake on it.

I’m pretty sure our handshake lasts a beat longer than is normal, although I can’t prove it. But I’m not supposed to be flirting with her. It’s not my fault she’s so fun and beautiful that I can’t help myself. Speaking of not being able to help myself…

“Oh, I almost forgot!” The car swerves as I reach behind me where a small silver gift bag rests. I toss it onto her lap.

“You got me a present?”

I put on my nonchalant face. “Just a little something. No big deal.”

She digs into the tiny bag. “I hope it’s a puppy.”

I stifle a laugh and then switch to mock-apologetic mode. “If I’d known you wanted a puppy, I’d have gotten you a puppy…”

“It’s a new Fitbit!” She shakes off the tissue paper.

“It’s actually a smartwatch.” I point to the packaging. “It tracks your heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen sats, menstrual cycle…”

She nods, brow furrowed. “Are you concerned that I might not be tracking my menstrual cycle?”

I was just rattling off what I remembered reading, but now I realize it’s weird. “I, uh, yeah, well—” I search for a joke that doesn’t suggest I see myself being in any way involved with her menstrual cycle.

She lets me off the hook. “It’s okay. I love it. Thank you.”

Before I know what’s happening, she plants a quick kiss on my cheek.

I still feel the pressure of her lips as I pull onto Sunset Boulevard. Something is alive in my chest that feels like it’s been dead for way too long. I’m starting to wonder if this whole keeping-it-professional thing is just a way to torture myself. Nevertheless, I pull up behind Ramirez’s BMW and hurry around to open Emmy’s door for her, just like Hugh Jackman would do. Her eyes shine as she gazes up at Sean’s enormous mansion.

“You ready?”

She holds my arm in a tight grip as we enter through the towering doors, cross the opulent foyer, and pass the twin spiral staircases. Through the archway to the left, crew members are chatting in Sean’s large and well-loved kitchen. Through the archway to the right, beautiful people crowd around a wide stone fireplace. But I lead her straight through the living room to the patio, where the action always is.

Sean has high-end lounge chairs and papasans sprawled about so the whole place looks like his own private Skybar. The patio heaters glow orange under their sun hats. String lights trace a fairy path out to the ultra-mod pool and waterfall spa. Andrew is at the baby grand, as usual, playing show tunes. It sounds like he’s on Oklahoma! , the second Broadway show in his usual repertoire, which means our timing is good.

“Snaaaack!” Sean feigns an exaggerated run at me. I let go of Emmy so she doesn’t get hit by the shrapnel of his hug, which is really just an excuse to give me a noogie.

“Hello again, Miss Ellison.” He takes Emmy’s hand and kisses it with the flair of a Victorian gentleman, a match for his steampunk-inspired ruffled necktie, silk waistcoat with no shirt under it, and tall, shiny boots. “Make yourself at home.” He points out all the important areas to Emmy, including the three bars. “You gonna get this vision of a woman a drink, Snack?” His attention catches on something over my shoulder. “Oops, my buddy Idris just showed up. Gotta go!”

I give Emmy a tight-lipped grin. “Would you like a drink?”

“I’d love one.” Her smile is ear to ear. Sean has that effect on people.

Mount Ramirez spins on his stool as we approach the bar. Emmy’s eyebrows go up when she sees who it is.

“Sorry, man, but we kind of hit your car on the way in,” I joke, bumping fists.

“It was my fault.” Emmy holds out her hand. “I distracted him. Nice to see you again.”

Ramirez shakes her hand. “Likewise. I’m sorry to say this, but if Connor hit my car, there won’t be any more hugs because I’m going to break both his arms.”

“Ha ha,” I fake laugh. Then I add, “Just so we’re clear, I didn’t really hit your car. Please don’t hurt me.”

Amanda appears out of nowhere and hugs me from behind. “Jason Number Two! You’re here!”

I hand Emmy a glass of wine and introduce them. “Why am I always Jason Number Two?” I ask. “I’ve been wondering this for a while.”

“Because I always score the highest on the ‘Who Is Your Favorite Jason?’ polls,” Ramirez says. He knocks back the rest of his drink and nods to the bartender for another.

“I find the whole numbering system demeaning,” I say.

“Aww, poor baby.” Amanda pats my cheek, squeezing between us and Ramirez for a refill on her screwdriver. “So, how are you enjoying LA?” she asks Emmy. “Seems like you guys are having fun.”

“I love being back here,” Emmy says.

“She’s going to stay a few extra days,” I add.

“Lovely.” Amanda tugs my elbow not-gently. “Can I borrow Jason Guinness for a minute?”

I raise my glass to her naming convention.

Emmy smiles. “Of course! I’m sure Jason Rum and Coke will be fine company.”

“I do know a few good jokes.” Ramirez grins.

“I have one,” I hear Emmy say as Amanda steers me away. “There’s this bar on the top floor of a skyscraper…”

Once we’re out of earshot, Amanda whirls on me. “Two words, Connor. That video. ”

I do my cringey face, only for real. “Oh yeah. That.”

“What were you thinking?” She pushes me down onto one of the loungers by the piano. Andrew is deep into “The Farmer and the Cowman.”

“What? You were the one who told me to break up with Margarita.”

“I know, but I didn’t know you were going to do it on YouTube!”

I lean back against the cushions and groan. “Miles said to make it public. Otherwise I might get replaced with Zachary Tay.”

“You mean that Zachary Tay?” I follow her gaze to, sure enough, Prince Reese himself, elbow propped on the piano, tumbler in hand.

I snarl. “I thought this was a cast party.”

“You know Sean. Nothing can be small. Have you seen her since?”

“Who? Margarita? Yeah. We filmed the movie today, and she dropped Mattie off just before the babysitter came over.”

“And she hasn’t fed your celebrity crusher a poisoned apple yet?”

“I don’t think so. I think she’s finally accepted that it’s time to move on.”

Halle Berry arrives in my peripheral vision, and I get distracted because, secretly, she was my celebrity crush for my entire childhood.

Amanda grabs my chin and turns it back.

“Ouch! What was that for?”

“What’s up with you and Author Chick anyway?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s up with us.” I peek at Emmy, who is filming Ramirez with her phone.

“You sure about that?” Amanda grabs for my chin again, but I karate block her.

“Yes.” I shake my head. “No.”

Amanda giggles, and it’s a great giggle. I think half her roles were won with that giggle. I point to her glass. “How many of those have you had?”

Now Sean has joined Jason Ramirez and Emmy’s little party. He’s making big arm movements, tapping into his classical Shakespearean training as Emmy videos him.

“You can’t keep your eyes off her,” Amanda says, her wow face on. “Look at me!”

“Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Seriously, what is wrong with me? I feel all jittery and hungry and electrified. Either my blood sugar is low or I like Emmy more than I realized.

“I want you to be happy, Jason, I do.” Amanda frowns. “But you need to find someone you can have a real relationship with. Not a frolic.”

“A frolic? What is that? Is that a Norwegian hat?”

“You know what I mean. A frolic . Something that has no staying power.”

A Pacific breeze has arrived at the party, tickling the torchlight into flickers. It rattles the palm trees and mixes with the music and ambient conversation, awakening a melancholy déjà vu. How many times have I sat on this patio, hearing those same sounds? How many times with women? How many times alone?

“I wouldn’t describe Emmy as a frolic.”

“She lives on the other side of the country, Jason. Hashtag Celebrity Crush is going to come and go, and so is she. You need to find someone you can share a life with. Someone who will love you and Mattie for longer than a few extra days .”

She’s right, as usual. Emmy is leaving in two days. And how would that be any different from the one-night stands I’ve sworn off? I run a hand through my hair and sigh heavily. “Do we have to do this now?”

“I think we do.” Amanda catches me glancing at Emmy again. “Geez, you’re like a barracuda with a lure.”

“Would it be the worst thing in the world if we had something, even something temporary?”

Amanda sucks on an ice cube from her glass. “Listen up, Jay. First of all, I like Emmy. I do. I think she’s fun and talented, and I know having her around strokes your ego, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But one of two things is happening here. One, she’s hoping to get a chance at having a hot affair with her celebrity crush so she can tell all her girlfriends about it when she gets home, in which case you’re back to being a player. Or two, she’s got it in her head that her obsession with you is actual real feelings, and when it’s all over, she’s going to be brokenhearted, in which case you’re going to look like the asshole who took advantage of her.” She pauses. “And there’s a third scenario—that you’re just the ladder for her climb to the top.”

Her words throw a blanket over any good feelings I had left. Is Emmy hoping we’ll have a roll in the hay and then say our goodbyes? Does she want something more, something I can’t give her? Or is she flat-out using me?

Margarita’s voice resurrects itself in my brain. Face it, I’m the only woman willing to put up with you for more than sex.

“I just… I just really like her.”

Amanda throws up her hands. “Whatever. I tried. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I assure you, I don’t.”

“Well, you better figure it out.”

“That’s pretty unlikely as well.”

“I guess I’ll just go make friends with Zachary Tay then, since we’ll likely be working together.” She pretends to look for him.

“Mean girl.” I shoot her a hurt look before my gaze lingers past her toward the piano. Andrew’s wife, Renee, has joined him, and they’re singing together. There’s an easiness and warmth around them that is palpable. Occasionally, she hits one of the high keys for him, and they share a smile.

Amanda follows my gaze. “Wow, Margarita has really done a number on you.”

I’m thinking she’s right. Actually, I know she’s right.

“Listen.” She shakes my shoulders back and forth in a one-armed embrace. “I’ll help Emmy have fun tonight. You go talk to other people. Give yourself a little space. Keep it light. Easy-breezy. Stop at three drinks. You know. The basics.”

Andrew trails his fingers across the piano keys in the pause between songs. “This one’s for Jason Connor!” he announces. I wave and smile, acknowledging him and everyone else looking at me. It takes me a second to recognize the tune—“Desperado” by the Eagles.

I glance at Amanda. “Did you put him up to this?”

She’s got her Maelstrom face on. It’s ice. And knives. And laser beams. “We’re your friends, Jason. We want what’s best for you. And, selfishly, we don’t want to lose you on the Lost Star team. Can you just, maybe, keep it in your pants at least until you sign next season’s contract?”

“I love it when you get all ladylike.”

She sputters a laugh, and an ice cube shoots out of her mouth and lands on my lap.

I flick it off. “Classy.”

Emmy is now video-ing Zachary Tay by the pool. What is it with that guy and all the things I care about? I roll off the lounger to my feet and stumble once on my way to the piano. Singing along, I hold out a hand to Renee, who always reminds me of Meg Ryan in Top Gun , and gently lead her away from her husband and into my arms. I spin her slowly as I sing along to the mournful lyrics.

When the song ends, I hug Renee and give Andrew’s shoulders a squeeze. There, that should count as mingling. Emmy’s talking to the Chris trifecta now—Evans, Hemsworth, and Pratt. Holy cow, is there an Avengers reunion this week I wasn’t aware of? I’m dying to know what she’s up to. I grab another Guinness for me and a glass of pinot grigio for her on the way.

“Hey.” I raise my beer to the Chrises as they smile and walk off. Emmy is busily tapping away on her phone. “Whatcha doing?”

“Just working on your PR campaign with the help of your friends.”

I gesture in their direction with my glass. “I don’t really know them that well. They’re more Sean’s friends.”

“Oh.” Emmy looks surprised. “Well, they’re very nice.”

“They didn’t steal my title of celebrity crush while I was gone, did they?”

She accepts the wine and takes a sip. “Don’t worry, Jason. They’re in the stratosphere, but you…” She swallows and grins. “You’re on the ISS.”

A warmth flows over me, like there’s a hot tub up here on the International Space Station.

Andrew has stopped playing the piano, his musical talents replaced by a rousing salsa beat. I start shimmying involuntarily, and that naughty smile of hers plays across her face as she glances down at my hips.

“Do you know how to dance salsa?” I ask her.

“I’ve danced to Marc Anthony once or twice, but the honest answer is no.”

“Come on, I’ll teach you.” I hold out a hand.

She takes a step backward. “Isn’t it hard?”

“Hard? Pssh!” I lunge forward and snag her hand before she can run away from me and jump into the pool again. Hauling her over to a clearing, I take her wine from her and set it beside my beer on a nearby high-top. “It’s a one-two-three-skip beat. That’s all you have to do. I’ll lead, and as long as you keep your feet doing the right thing, you’re okay.”

It’s a gross oversimplification but call me an optimist. Besides, I feel like I should earn the honor of being higher on her list than Captain America, Thor, and Star-Lord. My left hand holds hers loosely, and I press the other against the small of her back.

“Elbows out,” I say softly. “First we’ll do it side to side.” She giggles as she copies my footwork, but, to her credit, she picks it up quickly. “That’s it. One-two-three-skip, one-two-three-skip. You can tap your toe on the skip if you want. Just don’t step on the skip.” I flash her the fierce face. “ Never step on the skip.”

She falters. “I stepped on the skip!”

“Oh no! A planet just exploded! Just kidding, keep going. One-two-three-skip. You got it! Okay, now we’re gonna do it front to back.” She picks that up quickly, too, so I show her a few more moves. She’s kind of wiggly for salsa, but it’s like adding a shot of hot sauce to a Bloody Mary. Nothing wrong with some zip. She stumbles against me, and I relish the sensation of steadying her.

“Sorry,” she whispers, hand pressed against my chest.

“No problemo,” I whisper back. She doesn’t pull away.

Maybe everyone is wrong about us. Maybe this thing I’m feeling is a good thing. Her fingers tickle the back of my neck. Her smoky-eyed gaze is sultry and dark and punctuated with desire. Her lips are so close I can hear her exhales. My blood rushes as I hold her against me, forgetting about the music, the dancing, professionalism, everything Amanda said to me only minutes ago. We’re alone back here, relatively speaking, and every mutinous inch of me is urging me on as I run a thumb across her cheek.

She doesn’t stop me. She’s waiting for it. I see it in the way her eyelids flutter, in her held breath. I feel it in how her body moves against mine, subtly but unmistakably. The pull of her want is as strong as mine. We are a tide.

I lean in and meet her slightly open mouth with my own. She tastes like pinot grigio and smells like a coconut breeze, one that is carrying me far, far away from all my cares. In the shadowy landscaping, our kiss feels clandestine and forbidden, but at the same time, precious. Meaningful. When our lips part, there is fear in Emmy’s eyes. Not fear of monsters or bodily harm. I know that look: it’s fear of consequences.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, letting her go. “I should have asked first.”

“No, it’s fine. I was definitely giving you signals.”

We glance around semi-discreetly, but no one seems to have noticed us. An impromptu chuckle escapes me, and she giggles in reply. We’re acting like teenagers, and I love it. I feel like a teenager, edgy and fearless and free. Ready to grab Emmy by the hand so we can backpack across Europe, visit thousand-year-old churches, and kiss under balconies erupting with flowers. Not that I’m in a position to purchase Eurail tickets and disappear into the Swiss Alps, although I could get lost in Emmy’s eyes, fiery and golden as the stars above.

I rescue our drinks from the nearby table and hand Emmy hers with a tight-lipped smile. “You sure that was okay?”

“It was more than okay. It was a dream come true—better than all the times I imagined it.” She reaches for my hand, and our fingers tangle together for one electric second before reality sets in and I pull mine back.

“I’m not supposed to…” I glance around. “The network is threatening to let me go if I get any more bad press.”

“Oh.” She wraps both hands around her wineglass and brings it to her exquisite lips. “I did hear that. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too! Because I really want to hold your hand right now.” She looks at me over the rim of her glass, and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. “And I want to kiss you again. Right now.” She bites her lip while smiling at the same time, and now I’m really going over the edge. “And then maybe again, a few minutes later, if you’re on board. But I’m afraid if I do any of those things…” I wince. “I’m afraid it won’t be good for me.”

Her eyes go wide. “Have I gotten you in trouble?”

“Of course not!” I cut in quickly. “And, to be clear, I love that we kissed. I’ve been thinking about kissing you for a while now, or trying not to, ever since you fed me that sandwich in the pool. And then you called me and talked me down over the phone. When I’m with you, I can just be happy. You make me feel like someone who deserves to be happy.”

Her chest rises as she takes a deep breath, inhaling my words along with the heady scent of jasmine. “You do deserve to be happy, Jason Connor. And you make me happy, too. Bringing me to this party, treating me like I’m a somebody even though I don’t really fit in with this crowd.” Her gaze flicks across the vast outdoor space and all its celebrity occupants. “You took the time to include me, and I appreciate that.”

I want to tell her that she is a somebody. That she fits in just fine. Heck, all my friends love her. That she’s not so different from everyone here. And I like that she seems like a girl who might watch a football game on a Sunday afternoon. Who might throw a ball with Mattie and me on the beach. But before I can say anything else, the screeching of whatever insane sound system Sean has rigged up out here slices through the night. The music shuts off abruptly, and his voice booms across the loungers and piano bar and pool deck, out into the manicured lawns and beyond.

“Attention! Attention, everyone! I believe the time is ripe to settle a score. A score that has raged since… March, I believe.” He turns to Andrew. “Andrew, was it March? Yes, Andrew and I both agree it was March. A rivalry that must culminate tonight!”

The moment is lost. Instead of telling Emmy how great I think she is, I stand shoulder to shoulder with her, waiting like everyone else for the details of Sean’s latest foolishness.

“What is it, you ask? What is this contest that has torn family and friends asunder? What injustice will be righted tonight, in this very patio area where I am standing, which is far enough away from the pool but central enough for everyone to see? Why, it’s the epic hugging contest promised to us by Emmy Ellison on The Terica Show ! Oh yes, Emmy, I see your eyes getting all wide like you didn’t know this was coming. Back in March, Emmy claimed that Jason Connor gave the best hugs in Hollywood. Well, I’ve disputed that, and today we’re going to find out the truth. Let’s go! Up here! Lost Star men and Emmy Ellison. Right here! Right now!” His finger attacks the air each time he says “right.”

I glance at Emmy and do my best Quantum Leap impression: “Oh boy.”