22. Ben
22
Ben
Thanks again for going home with me, and I'm sorry for being weird earlier. Call me, babe.
I miss you already. Call me when you get home. We need to talk. I can come to you, or I can send a car to pick you up.
Are you home yet?
Can I come over? I need to talk to you.
W e left my parents' house right after breakfast and then I spent the whole flight back to LA freaking out and debating how best to break the news to Carlisle about the arranged relationship with Willa. I kept procrastinating because I was fucking terrified for her reaction. When it became obvious to me that Carlisle sensed the dark cloud that was hanging over me, I knew I had to tell her before I worried her even more. I had just psyched myself up to broach the subject when Becky texted me about the paparazzi .
Then my attention switched from the showmance to damage control. Because the studio would've killed me if I was photographed with Carlisle twice during the very week that Willa and I are hard launching our fake relationship.
But now, after tons of missed calls and unreturned text messages, I’d give anything to go back in time and do it differently. I’m going out of my mind with worry. Berating myself for not speaking to Carlisle when I had ample opportunities to do so earlier, I pace my living room and try texting her again.
Carlisle, where are you? We really need to talk and I’m kind of on a time crunch here. Call me, babe.
PLEASE call me asap.
Are you okay? I’m getting worried. I really need to speak to you.
Shit, Carlisle. C’mon, call me back, babe.
My nerves grow exponentially as the hours tick by, and I still can’t reach her. As day transforms into evening, I feel like my anxiety level is only one rung below a full-blown panic attack. I leave her voicemail after voicemail and text after text, but I receive no response. I know I acted weird and withdrawn today, but why the hell won’t she respond to me?
Shit, if she’s mad and giving me the silent treatment after how I behaved earlier, then she’s gonna be royally pissed when I explain the showmance.
I’m so fucked.
Please talk to me.
I’m coming over. I need to see you.
I leave an hour early for my date with Willa, praying that I can catch Carlisle at home.
When I arrive at her condo, I hop out before my car has even fully come to a stop. Jogging toward her front porch, I knock loudly on the door. After a minute, I knock again, but no one comes to the door. Peering into the windows, the curtains are drawn tight, and all the lights are off inside the apartment.
Where could she be? Why isn’t she answering her phone?
Pissed at myself for creating this chaos in my personal life, I leave Carlisle's and proceed to Willa's house to pick her up and then to Soho House as planned. Quite possibly, I’ve blown up my personal life, but I can’t skip the date and blow up my professional life too.
Even though I’m scared shitless about what this story will do to Carlisle when it hits the internet, I try my best to ignore my feelings and focus on the present. Time to be an actor and act like my mind isn’t going crazy with worry. I need to pretend to enjoy myself on a date with another woman.
Seriously, how the fuck did I get myself into this fucked-up situation?
Becky tipped off the paparazzi, so there are a number of them waiting for us as soon as Willa and I arrive at Soho House. We’re swarmed as we stroll up to the restaurant hand-in-hand. Adopting a brisk pace, I tug Willa along, wanting to get out of the limelight as quickly as possible. Once inside, I draw in a deep breath. I never have gotten used to the intensity of the paparazzi’s attention.
While we wait for our appetizers to arrive, Willa asks me about my Thanksgiving. I try half-heartedly to hold polite conversation, but Willa picks up on my foul mood. She reaches across the booth to touch my arm, and I jump like she’s electrocuted me.
“Hey, remember to smile every now and then,” she jokes as she raises her eyebrows. “My dates are usually a little happier to spend time with me than this, Benji.” Willa nods her head subtly to the paparazzi clamoring outside the restaurant windows, taking photos while we dine. “Besides, we have an audience.”
I curve the corners of my mouth into something resembling a smile. “You’re right. I apologize. I’m distracted.”
“Distracted? By what?” With a tentative smile flitting across her face, she adds, “Or should I ask by whom?”
“I met someone. I really like her, but now you and I are committed to this charade. The timing sucks, that's all.”
A look of surprise flashes upon Willa’s face. She places her hands under the table and leans back. “I had no idea you were seeing someone, Benji. How’d she take it when you told her about us?”
“I only agreed to participate this morning—”
Willa’s jaw drops. “What? Becky told me it was a done deal last week.”
I laugh hollowly. “It probably was, but I was being stubborn and holding out hope that we wouldn’t be forced into it.”
“How’d your girl take it when you told her about it?”
“I don’t know,” I wince. “I was supposed to tell her today after we got back in town, but I didn’t get the chance.”
“Benji!” Willa looks incredulous at my stupidity. “Why didn’t you tell her? You fucked up, buddy.”
“Shit, Willa, tell me something I don’t know.” I begin to run my hands angrily through my hair before stopping abruptly when I remember where I am. Then I force myself to smile for the cameras .
“Nice recovery, dumbass.” Willa finger combs my hair back into place and shakes her head at me. “After dinner, we’re supposed to grab drinks at a bar, but let’s ditch that plan. When we finish here, drop me off, and then drive straight to your girl’s place to plead your case. The stories probably won’t hit the mainstream media until tomorrow, so you may still have time to talk to her before she hears about us. You do not want her to hear this from anyone other than you.”
Flashing my first real smile of the night, I say, “You’re the best. Thanks, Pipsqueak.”
“If you ever mention that awful nickname in any of our press for the movie, I will cut you, Benji,” she jokes as she picks up her steak knife and points it in my direction.
“Hmm, that sounds like a dare, Pippy.”
“Also, no,” Her lips curl up as she fights a giggle.
“Play nice and put down the knife. We have an audience, remember?” I cajole, pleased that my ribbing makes her laugh. Now that Willa has given me a modicum of hope that there’s still a chance that I can reach Carlisle before she hears about my fake date, I feel less apprehensive.
“What's she like, Benji? How'd you meet her?”
The rest of dinner flies by as I confess every embarrassing detail of how Carlisle and I became acquainted, our time in Austin, and how happy she makes me. Willa doesn’t remind me to smile again because they come freely and often when I talk of Carlisle.
As I push open the door to exit Soho House, I almost stumble, stunned at how many paparazzi are huddled along the sidewalks and streets. As compared to when we arrived, the number of people loitering outside has easily increased tenfold.
“Holy shit,” Willa mutters. “I guess the word got out. ”
Instantly, we’re pulled in different directions, almost swallowed up by the crowd. There are so many people hounding us—taking photos, yelling, and trying to elicit a reaction—that it’s overwhelming. Flinching at the sudden onset of flashbulbs, I’m momentarily blinded.
Grabbing Willa’s hand, I tug her into me using my body to shield her, as we hurry across the street to the valet station. With the help of a couple of security guards, we keep the press and fans at bay as we wait for my car to arrive.
Willa sinks into my arms, as if she’s grateful for my protection. She probably is on some level—the paparazzi can be scarily aggressive—but I assume she’s also playing up her role as my girlfriend for the cameras.
And now I need to play mine too, even though it kills me.
Willa twists her body so that her chest is pressed into my own. I place my fingers gently under Willa’s chin and lift her face towards mine before grazing my lips lightly over hers. The chaste kiss hardly lasts more than a few seconds, but it’s enough. Photos of that moment will be everywhere come morning.
When I pull back to look at Willa, she still has her eyes closed, like she’s savoring our kiss. I've got to hand it to her, she’s a phenomenal actress. If I didn’t know better, I’d believe she was into me.
“Five out of ten. I’ve had better,” Willa murmurs, breaking the moment. Her eyes, now open, flash with mischief.
“Very funny, Pipsqueak."
She shoots me a cheeky grin, and I chuckle, grateful that she’s trying her best to make this difficult situation as easy as possible.
As soon as I drop Willa off, I race towards Carlisle’s condo, hoping that by some miracle she hasn’t been on the Internet tonight.
Her condo still appears dark and uninhabited, so I’m not surprised that my multiple knocks go unanswered. Frustrated and terrified about what Carlisle’s absence might mean for us, I sit in my car waiting for her return. While I wait, I call her a few more times, but each time her phone rolls straight to voicemail. After a couple of hours, I admit defeat and drive home.
So much good came out of my trip to Austin with Carlisle—spending more time with her, making love to her last night, seeing my mom and dad, and realizing that I was finally and fully over Kelsey—but all of those things have been overshadowed by the fear I feel now.
When I wake on Saturday morning after a restless night of only short fits of sleep, I immediately check my phone again. Still no word from Carlisle, though I have lots of other texts and social media notifications regarding my date with Willa from last night, most of which are positive, with the exception of the ones from my mom.
MAMA BEAR
Ben, what is this about you going on a date with Willa Radford?
What about Carlisle? I do not for one minute believe that you two are just friends. You better explain yourself, young man.
I don’t bother replying to any of them.
After dressing and grabbing a protein bar, I drive back to Carlisle’s place and park. Once again, no one comes to the door when I knock repeatedly. Then I wait hour after hour, giving me ample time to further regret how things transpired yesterday.
The fact that we had sex the night before I had a date with Willa only makes things worse. Carlisle isn’t the type to hop into bed with a guy, so when she sees the stories, it’s going to hurt her that much more.
Willa’s right. I fucked up. I had so many opportunities to tell Carlisle, and I chickened out each time, convincing myself I was waiting for the perfect time.
But there is no perfect time to tell the woman I’m dating that I have to date someone else for a few weeks.