23. Carlisle
23
Carlisle
U pon leaving the pizza place on Friday, Harper suggested that we stay at Philip's condo for the weekend since he was still at his parents' house for the Thanksgiving holiday. A staycation, she called it. So, we quickly packed our bags and headed to his place, which is a lot more upscale than our complex.
Luckily, the weather cooperated and was warmer than usual, so Harper and I spent the weekend lounging at the pool, drinking copious amounts of wine, plotting Ben's demise, and avoiding our real lives.
My phone dying had one benefit—I had no way of contacting Ben because Harper wouldn't let me open the new phone charger she bought me. Given how intoxicated Harper and I were for much of the past two days, it was a blessing that we weren’t able to drunk dial him. That would not have been pretty.
But on Sunday, I emerge from my wine-fueled weekend with nothing to show for it but a still-broken heart, a terrible hangover, and a wicked sunburn.
On our travels back to reality, AKA the drive home, Harper glances at me while we’re idling at a stoplight. “I have an idea. Hear me out before you say anything, okay? ”
Cocking my head, I shoot her a curious glance. “Alright.”
“Ever since we became roommates, we agreed that I’d clean and you’d cook, which isn’t very fair because my cleaning supplies cost a lot less than the ingredients you use to cook us dinners. In college, it didn’t matter since our parents were paying for everything, but now it does. Therefore, I’d like to propose a change. Why don’t I start paying for groceries?”
Harper’s worried about my financial situation, but it isn’t her problem. If I make a few adjustments and scrimp, I can make my meager savings last a month or two.
“Harper, you're sweet, but I don’t need your charity. You buy all your own food already. All I pay for is what I use to make us a meal once or twice a week. It’s no big deal. I’ll find a new job soon.”
And if not, I can donate plasma or sell a kidney on the black market.
My feet are pretty cute. Maybe I could sell feet pics online. I’ve heard that’s a lucrative market.
Oh, if I did that, would pedicures becomes something I could write off on my taxes?
“It’s not charity, Carlisle,” Harper responds fervently. “My thought was that you could use the extra money I give you for groceries to start building up your social media cooking accounts. Try to turn that into your job!”
I let her words sink in for a few moments before responding. Cooking is more appealing than foot photos . “I’ll think about it.”
“That’s all I ask. Cooking makes you happy and you deserve to be happy.”
She’s planted a seed in my mind. If I really threw myself into it, could I become a full-time content creator? Harper’s right—I love to cook, and it does bring me joy .
“I mean, if all those teenage gamers can make millions on YouTube by playing Minecraft, surely you can make decent money by creating delicious food.”
“Don’t forget about the kid who unboxes toys.” I pause. "Okay, Harper. I’ll try it. At least until I find another job. In the meantime, if it turns into something more, great. If not, it’ll keep me busy and you well fed.”
And I need to stay busy to stay sane.
Glancing out the window, I realize that we’re only a few blocks from home and my nerves flutter uncomfortably in my stomach, swooping and diving at the thought of checking my phone. I need to hear what Ben has to say for himself. I want to find out what excuses he gave for leading me on and then dumping me.
But bit by bit, my bravery fades the closer we get to home. As my heart beats wildly, I unclench my jaw and push my shoulders back. I can do this. I want to do this. I need to face whatever is on my phone. No matter how painful, it will be better to know than not know.
Closure.
Grabbing my bags from the backseat of Harper’s car, I walk inside the condo and immediately plug my phone into the new charger. Since my phone is completely dead, it’ll take a few minutes before it has enough juice to power up.
Harper hovers around me, unsure how to comfort me and unwilling to leave me alone in case I fall to pieces again. “Do you want me to stay? Or go? I can hang out in my room, and you can call if you need me.”
“If you were serious earlier, then I was hoping…” Ugh, why is it so hard to ask for help? “I was hoping that you might run to the grocery store and grab a few things for me? I’ve been thinking about an appetizer I want to create.” Smiling timidly at Harper, I add, “It’d be a great holiday appetizer for my socials.”
I grab a piece of paper and jot down the ingredients I’ll need before handing her the slip of paper.
“Of course,” Harper replies, plucking the paper from my fingers, but she lingers in my doorway. “Are you sure you want to be alone right now?”
“Yep, but I’ll give you a full recap upon your return.”
Once I hear Harper leave, I flip over my phone.
Anxious butterflies dance in my stomach once again. I’m not talking about gentle ballet dancing either. These butterflies feel more like buffaloes breaking dancing.
I’m relieved to see that he hasn’t shied away from contacting me. I have 37 text messages, 17 missed calls, and 11 voicemails from him.
I start scrolling through the texts first. There’s nothing enlightening in them. Only a sense of growing urgency that he needs to speak with me. After Friday night, he offers to explain his date with Willa, but doesn’t actually provide me with his explanation, although he does offer lots of apologies.
Bracing myself, I play his voicemails next and try not to cry. Listening to his voice is more personal. It brings back memories that I’ve been trying to push down and ignore. His messages all say the same things, but his tone becomes more desperate as they continue.
“Please call me back, Carlisle. I promise I can explain everything. I miss you so fucking much.”
My emotions vacillate, as they have all weekend.
Slumping onto my bed with my phone clasped to my chest, I wait for Harper’s return so that she can give me guidance. I’m so spun out and confused that I don’t trust my intuition.
I need Harper to share her unbiased opinion on how best to proceed. Do I contact him? Do I wait to see if he tries to contact me again? Do I block him and move on? Do I yell at him and curse his name?
When my phone rings a few minutes later, I hope that it’s Ben, but it’s Harper.
Before I can even say hello, she begins speaking rapidly. “Just got back home. There’s a tricked out black Range Rover in the parking lot and a very muscular man storming toward the condo. Wanted to give you a head’s up.”
Then the line goes dead.
“What?” I jump from my bed and run to the window to peek out just as I hear a loud series of knocks.
With little time to do anything except glance in the mirror, I quickly finger-brush my hair off my face and pray that my sunburn camouflages my tear-stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes.
Taking a deep breath, I open the door and gesture for Ben to come inside.
He looks haggard. His face is pale and the dark circles under his eyes suggest he hasn’t been sleeping well. He hasn’t shaved in days and his clothes are wrinkled and rumpled. He looks nothing like the suave celebrity I left at the airport two days ago.
Ben enters the living room, closing the door behind him, and walks right up to me, invading my personal space. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of retreating, of letting him know how much he affects me, so I stand firm. But I refuse to lift my gaze to meet his eyes because he reads me too easily. I can’t. I can’t risk him seeing how deeply he hurt me.
“Carlisle, look at me. Please.” The anguish in his voice undoes me in a way I didn’t think possible. Furiously blinking back tears, I don’t move my eyes until his hand gently guides my face heavenward. “I am so sorry. So fucking sorry. I never meant for this to happen.”
My spirit plummets as understanding hits me—he never meant for us to happen. To him, I was a mistake.
“You’re sorry? Sorry for what?” I retort, my scratchy voice barely above a whisper. “For cheating? For getting outed by the press? For leading me on? For sleeping with me when you had a girlfriend?”
Ben swipes his thumb across my cheek to wipe away an errant tear before cupping his hand against my cheek. Seeking comfort, even from the one who hurt me, I welcome his touch.
“No! This whole situation is a mess. Damn it, I’m so fucking sorry, Carlisle.” He pulls me into his arms.
Taking a trembling breath, I push away and disentangle myself from him. “You’ve gotten your chance to apologize, and now I think you should go.”
Shaking his head, he doesn’t budge, keeping me firmly in his grip. “No, Carlisle. I won’t leave until you hear me out. After that, if you want me to leave, I will. But not before then.”
“Ben, it’s okay,” I mutter, letting him off the hook for breaking my heart. “We never labeled what we had between us. It was na?ve of me to jump to conclusions. You’re free to date whomever you want… but I… I can’t do that. I can’t compete with Willa Radford.”
“There is no competition. It’s not what you think, Carlisle. The thing between Willa and me is fake. It was orchestrated by the movie studio to increase publicity.” His words are tumbling out faster and faster. “I didn’t want to do it. I tried to get out of it, but I couldn’t without jeopardizing my standing with the studio and an upcoming project. I shouldn't even be telling you this since I signed an NDA.”
“Wait, what?” I pull away from him as his words sink in, and this time he lets me. My heart is beating out of my chest as hope swells within me. “How long have you known?” I’m still angry, and incredibly hurt, but his wild explanation is like a panacea for my broken heart.
“I first heard about the idea a little over a week ago, but I found out on Friday morning that I’d didn’t have a choice. I was told by my publicist that my studio publicity contract was vague enough that the studio could force me to do it or else I’d be in breach of contract.” He brushes a piece of hair off my forehead tenderly. “After making love to you, I was elated to wake up in bed with you the next morning. I felt like I was on top of the world. And then I got word that we were having to go ahead with the showmance –"
“Showmance?”
“A romance that’s all for show. Sometimes it’s also called a fauxmance since it’s fake. Or a PR relationship.”
“This type of thing happens a lot?”
“More than you’d think. I should have told you immediately, but I was a coward and didn’t want to ruin what little time we had left. I told myself that I would tell you on the plane home to LA, but instead, I spent the entire flight panicking, searching for the right words.”
Needing clarification, I ask, “You’re not dating Willa? You don’t like her like that?” I feel silly voicing my questions, but my head, and my heart, need to hear his answers.
“We’re publicly dating, but not by choice, and there aren’t any romantic feelings involved. She’s one of my good friends, but that’s all we are. That’s all we’ll ever be. Our relationship is an extension of our acting roles except instead of being in a movie and following a script, we’re going off script and pretending to be in a relationship for the media.” He places my hand over his heart and covers it with his own. “You’re the only person I want to date, but…” He pauses and lets out a regretful sigh. “Unfortunately, this thing between Willa and me is part of the revamped promotional plan for the movie. ”
The rigidity in my body starts to loosen. “How long will it last?”
“Until the promotional tours for both my movies are finished in late December. Then we’ll officially split in January. I know it isn’t fair of me to ask this of you, but please don’t end things with me, Carlisle. Wait for me. Please.”
My mind is racing at the thought of having to share Ben, even if it is fake. To an extent, I already share Ben with the public. Is this situation much different than him playing a romantic lead in a film?
“What do you mean when you ask me to wait for you?”
“I’m locked into the fauxmance, so for the time being, everything between you and me has to stay a secret. But after those six weeks—"
There’s a quiet knocking on the front door and Harper pops her head into the condo, cautiously eyeing me and ignoring Ben. “I have the groceries. Let me pop them in the fridge and then I’ll head over to Philip’s. He texted that he's on his way home from the airport." She pauses, narrowing her eyes. "Unless you want me to stay?”
Ben and I need more time to discuss everything, so I shake my head and reply, “Thanks, Harper. I’m good. I’ll call you later.”
When Ben and I are alone again, I face him. “Look, I like you, Ben, and I want to try to make this work.”
He lowers his forehead to mine and mutters, “Thank God.” He peppers my face with gentle kisses. “Carlisle, I haven’t felt this way before. When I thought I may have lost you…”
As soon as I wind my arms around his neck, his lips are on mine, coaxing my lips to open. Touching him sets off a frenzy of emotions within me. His tongue duels with mine as a jolt of lust sizzles through me. I match his intensity, putting every bit of longing, jealousy, and hurt into our kiss, hoping to convey my feelings without words .
His mouth moves away from my lips, as he nips along my jawline and neck causing me to shiver with need. Hard up for more, I arch my back, pressing my breasts into his body.
I both hate and love that he can do this to me, make me lose control with just a kiss.
As his mouth lowers to my clavicle and he kisses my decolletage, my chest heaves. There is a growing ache deep in my belly that I can’t ignore, but I need to do just that. Having sex with Ben again won’t fix our issues. If I give into him now, without working anything out, I’ll hate myself later for being a pushover.
Gently, I shove him off me, breaking our contact.
“Ben, wait. I need, I can’t just… I have a lot to absorb and understand.” I take a deep breath and bite my lip to keep it from quivering. “It hurt me so badly to feel you pull away from me and then to see the photos of you on a date with Willa, especially since you know my convoluted history with my dad cheating.”
“I’m so fucking sorry. I will keep apologizing until you believe me, and I’ve regained your trust. I know my communication has sucked, but I promise that I’ll be upfront and open with you from this point going forward, especially when it concerns Willa. Just please keep me around.” Smiling, he adds, “I’m groveling here in case you didn’t notice.”
“Duly noted.”
Dropping down to his knees, he clasps my hand before kissing my palm. “I can beg too.”
Chuckling, I haul him to his feet. “No need for begging. Yet.”
“So, we’re… okay?”
“Yeah, we’re okay. For now.”
“I’ll take it. ”
Tugging me into a hug, Ben holds me tightly but doesn’t kiss me again. Instead, he tucks his head into my hair and inhales deeply.
“God, I missed you. I missed talking to you, missed holding you, missed being with you. I was so worried when you wouldn’t respond to me all weekend. I know I’m not in a place to ask anything of you, but please don’t go radio silent like that again.”
“I wasn’t intentionally ignoring you on Friday,” I explain. “My charger stopped working and my phone died. Then Harper saw the photos from your date, so we hid out at her boyfriend’s apartment all weekend, where I spent my time trying to forget about you by day drinking and suntanning.”
“That explains your sunburn.” He touches my pink cheek lightly with his fingertip.
“I forgot to reapply sunscreen before passing out.”
“I’ll volunteer as tribute if you need someone to rub aloe on you,” he whispers as he nuzzles my neck before kissing me again.
This kiss is different though. It’s the opposite of the frenzied, teeth gnashing kiss we shared earlier.
This one is slow and sensual, the kind you share with a lover when you’re unhurried and secure.
The kind of kiss that only comes with confidence that you’ll share plenty of other kisses in the future.