Chapter 28 Stevie
Stevie
Lex rummages around the refrigerator for snacks the following evening as I shuffle past him, freshly showered and dressed in a pajama set featuring happy-faced cows.
The tank top is small on me, showing off a sliver of skin on my abdomen, while the baggy bottoms hug my hips.
I’ve been too embarrassed to wear these in front of him, but considering he saw me in a far worse state yesterday, covered head to toe in someone else’s Starbucks order, my dignity has been put on the back burner for the time being.
“Hey.” I hesitate at the edge of the living room, watching as he stares into the open fridge, waiting for items to magically appear.
The world outside his enormous sprawl of windows is dark and star-freckled, capturing my attention for a moment before I swivel back to Lex.
“The photos with Billy dropped this afternoon. They look good, don’t you think? ”
He blinks into the muted light, a frown marring his brow line. “Mm-hmm.”
“I think we sold it. No one would ever guess we were faking it.”
The photos did turn out great. Incredible, in fact.
The one of us almost kissing made it to the front cover of People magazine, the image of our barely locked lips lining the shelves at every major retailer.
Joplin, Misty, and my parents all sent me photographs taken from stores back home, including an influx of fainting, melting, and shocked-face emojis.
We looked like a real Hollywood power couple.
Nodding absently, Lex closes the fridge, finding nothing of value. “Yeah.”
“Okay, um…” God, this is painful. Yesterday, we were glued together, every part of us touching intimately, completely, for the cameras.
Then he held me in his arms, tenderly cleaned me off in the back of a limousine, and promised he’d never let anyone hurt me.
And now he’s a stranger again. “Well…good night.”
I turn to leave, dejected, my thoughts at war.
“Want to have a drink?”
My feet come to an abrupt stop. I glance over at Lex as he stalks over to the minibar off the main room, then drags a finger along a series of high-end liquor bottles. Hands turning clammy, I link them together in front of me as I dally near the staircase, a response elusive.
Lex pivots to look at me, his eyes taking in my pajamas. “Are you a vodka girl?”
“Um…sure.” Truthfully, I’m not much of a drinker.
Ever since Natalie’s party that night, I’ve stayed away from it, and even after I turned twenty-one a few months ago, I only partake in the occasional glass of wine or flute of champagne.
The one time I was intoxicated, I tried to kiss a boy who didn’t want me, and then I almost got a DUI for lying about an accident I didn’t cause in a car I wasn’t driving.
But we’re not going anywhere.
More importantly… we’re not going anywhere.
So why the hell not?
“Want any mixers?” Glassware clinks as he bends down, opening the veiled minifridge underneath. “I’ve got soda water. Red Bull. Cranberry juice.”
“Juice works.”
He makes the cocktails in silence. Soft moonlight spills in through the wall of glass, accentuating the monochrome space.
I clear the hitch from my throat and head to the sectional, taking a seat as he walks over and hands me the drink. “Thanks.” I take a small sip; it’s strong.
Lex settles in beside me with his own glass of amber liquid over ice, leaving a gap between us. “Have you recovered from yesterday?”
I lean back and take another sip, feeling the heat glide down my throat and sprinkle fireworks across my chest. My mind races with images of his hands all over me, his mouth a millimeter from mine, the stormy look in his eyes that could compel ocean waves to swell and churn.
Then I realize he’s referring to the coffee incident. I rub my lips together. “Sure. I’m considering it a work hazard.”
“You handled it well.” He takes a drink, ice cubes tinkling.
“Has that ever happened to you?”
“No.” A headshake. “But you’re the woman standing between these people and their irrational fantasies. I should have taken better precautions.”
My chest cinches with a pang of sorrow. I can’t imagine a life like this. Always hiding, always taking precautions while doing simple things like going for a walk in the park. “Do you have any regrets?”
He frowns, staring down at his glass as he rests it on his knee. “A laundry list. Be more specific.”
“This life,” I say, lifting a hand to showcase his hard-earned gifts. “All this. Your career choices, your every move being watched and recorded.”
His jaw ticks. “Every day.”
The sorrow balloons inside my chest. “Do you ever—”
“Why aren’t you ticklish?”
I blink at him. “What?”
“You weren’t ticklish at the photo shoot. It’s weird.”
A breath of laughter falls out. “I don’t know. I just never have been.”
“Don’t know how that’s possible.”
“Why? Are you?”
Puckering his lips, he raises his glass and glances at me over the rim. “No. But you’re a girl. All girls are ticklish.”
“Clearly not.” I swirl the liquid in my glass. “What makes you think that? Are all your other girls ticklish?”
Another frown. “What other girls?”
“The models you’re always photographed with. Your hookups or whatever.”
A deep sigh leaves him as he takes a giant swig of whiskey. “Stop doing that. You make it sound like I’m some womanizing man-whore.”
I assumed he was. “I’m not judging. You’re gorgeous. If I had your face, I’d be living it up too.” My neck burns, the alcohol already loosening my idiotic tongue. “I just mean—”
“Gorgeous,” he repeats, eyes slowly lifting to mine.
I pull away, slinking back into the couch. “It’s not like it’s a revelation or anything.”
“So you’re saying if you didn’t hate my guts, I’d be your type.”
“You’re everybody’s type, Lex. Even my father was hypnotized when you were shirtless on TV.” Then his other statement registers, and I swivel back to face him, my tone softening. “And I don’t hate you.”
“Mmm, my mistake. ‘Violently dislike’ was the exact verbiage.” Another pull of whiskey.
I swallow, chew on my cheek. “You’ve been upgraded to a mild dislike. Congratulations.”
“Where do I tap out? Slightly bearable?”
Shrugging, I take a small sip to hide the grin. “Neutral indifference, maybe.”
“I’ll add it to the vision board.” He stares into his glass, eyes slanting. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”
I go still, unprepared for the request.
So much.
So many things.
When I was seven, I used to collect dragonflies and keep them in glass jars, convinced they were mythical creatures that granted wishes.
On my twelfth birthday, I received a neon-purple skateboard that I proceeded to try out in the driveway and promptly slammed into my parent’s van, fracturing my wrist in two places. I never rode that skateboard again.
My sister’s favorite color is chartreuse because it’s offbeat.
My favorite number is nine because I found nine lucky pennies all in one day, and for weeks, I waited for something magical to happen. Then I won a free ice cream sundae at Dave’s Diner.
And the moment I realized Lex had changed his number as I lay immobile in a stiff hospital bed with an operated-on knee, I broke down into tears that I swear shook the walls.
The pain was long-lasting. Marrow-deep. Abandonment journeyed through me in dark, angry waves, more painful than the metal pins keeping my ligaments in place.
I reach down and scratch my kneecap through the thin layer of pajama bottoms.
That’s when an idea comes to mind, something to lighten the mood, to push away the dreary clouds moving over my head. Something I think we both need. “Want to play a drinking game?”
Lex eyes me skeptically. “Like what?”
“Two truths and a lie. We can learn a few things about each other. For research purposes. You know, to help sell our roles better.”
“Sounds terrible.”
“The game?”
“Literally everything you just said.”
A chuckle skims past my lips. “I can go first.” Clearing my throat, I start racking my brain for more random facts about myself. “Okay. Find the lie: I love sushi, I used to be a vegetarian, and I once auditioned for a reality TV show.”
Lex swallows down another sip, his gaze gleaming over the glass rim. “You were not a vegetarian. Your house always smelled like meat loaf.”
I smirk. “Wrong. I tried the veggie lifestyle for a month, until I missed meat loaf too much.”
“Sushi then.”
“Yep. Too slimy. Never even tried it.”
He leans farther against the couch and props an ankle on his knee. “I can speak three languages, I’ve been skydiving, and I was once kicked out of a country.”
My lips purse as I sift through his statements. “Is the first one true?”
“Nope. Fuck if I can speak three languages—just remembering English is hard. But I was definitely kicked out of a country once.”
“Wait, wait. I need more context.” I sit up straighter, interest piqued, as I inch closer to him on the couch. “What country?”
“Italy.”
“Stop it.”
“I was filming a movie in Rome two years ago. It was a big production, and we were shooting a chase scene through some ancient ruins. Apparently, the permits hadn’t been cleared properly, and we ended up causing a huge mess.
Long story short, the locals weren’t at all impressed, and the authorities got involved. ”
“Oh my God.” My cheeks stretch with a goofy grin as I paint the visual in my mind. “I’ll have a hard time topping that.”
“I’ll wait.” He’s not smiling per se, but his eyes are lighter, his posture more relaxed.
Blowing out a breath, I flop backward, swallowing down a few more chugs of vodka-infused cranberry juice. The alcohol has my limbs loosening, my cheeks flushing with color. “I’ve traveled overseas, I once crashed a wedding, and I have a blue belt in karate.”
His eyebrows lift. “No fucking way you have a blue belt.”
“Presumptuous. And rude.”
“You fell off a stage, nearly biffed it in front of the paparazzi, and destroyed my bathroom single-handedly with only a pipe wrench.”
My eyes narrow through a huff. “I’ve never crashed a wedding, thank you very much. I’m too polite for that.”
“Bullshit.”
“I was twelve. My sister forced me into karate with her because she’s been weirdly obsessed with true crime and self-defense—a fascination she swears started in the womb. She wanted us to be proactive.” I shrug. “Your turn.”
Lex runs his tongue along his top row of teeth, trying to read me. Then he shakes his head, downs the rest of his drink, and stands to pour himself a second.
I watch the planks and cords in his back stretch against his T-shirt as he saunters over to the minibar, leaving a cloud of crisp cologne behind.
Wetting my lips, I gaze at him over the rim of my glass, my eyes rolling down his muscled frame, his long legs tapered with dark-blue jeans.
His hair is extra messy, in that confident, intentional way.
Silk and gloss. A crown of tawny and golden highlights.
The vodka lingers in my chest, swirling in the pit of my stomach.
I should probably stop drinking now.
When Lex settles back down beside me, he’s closer.
Only two inches between us, hardly anything at all.
His eyes are pale-blue gems as he thinks over a new round of statements.
Dusting a thumb over his bottom lip, he looks away and inhales a shaky breath.
“I once fell asleep in the girliest bed I’ve ever seen, surrounded by fifty thousand pillows.
I’m not a virgin. I’ve piloted a helicopter. ”
Process of elimination—easy. I was a witness to the first statement, so that’s out. And obviously, he’s not a virgin.
That leaves three.
“Boring. Clearly, it’s the third one. But hey, there’s still time to live out your pilot dreams. I’m sure you have a horde of helicopters stashed away in one of your twenty-car garages somewhere.”
Lex’s throat rolls as he looks back up. He doesn’t drink.
I force a small laugh. “You’re supposed to take a sip. I got it right.”
All he does is stare at me, his jaw flickering as he clenches his teeth. Then he sends me a slight headshake.
Frowning, I shake my head back at him with added force. “Wait, but…” I take a second to comb through the statements again, but I come to the same conclusion. “Lex, you’re supposed to drink.”
Nothing.
Only that same heavy look.
That’s when an avalanche of awareness rains down on me.
No. Way.
My chest tightens to smothering, my throat going dry. “What are you saying,” I breathe out, more whisper than question. “I’ve seen the tabloids, the headlines. You’re a renowned playboy.”
He rests the newly filled glass on his knee. “So you’ve mentioned, more than once.”
“You’re saying you’re not?”
His knee bobs up and down.
I gape at him, swallow hard. And I say the words that don’t make sense: “You’re a virgin.”
Finally, slowly…
He drinks.
My hand flies to my chest as if to keep my heart from bursting through my rib cage and landing in his lap. “How?” It’s the only question that comes to mind as the living room spins, narrows, and compresses my airways. “I don’t…”
Lex looks like he immediately regrets the confession. He glances away, down at his still-bouncing leg, then discards the glass of whiskey on the coffee table. “I’m gonna hit the shower.”
“Lex…” Maybe it’s not my business, maybe it’s too personal, but he put it out there. He wanted me to know, and now it’s the only thing I want to know. “Don’t—”
“Thanks for the drink.”
I shoot up from the couch, but my feet don’t move. They stay rooted in place, stuck like taffy, as I watch him traipse out of the living room and disappear up the staircase.
It’s only me.
Me, his words, and this strange, achy feeling flooding my chest.
Lex is a virgin.