Chapter 20
Lior
“He stood me up,” I texted Addie after I’d returned home from the corner where I’d agreed to meet Graham. “He asked me if I wanted to go for a walk. He even used Bronte as the reason why. And then he fucking stood me up!”
“Do you think something happened to Bronte?” she texted back.
“Shit. Well now I do!”
I threw myself on my sofa and closed my eyes. Something must’ve happened to his dog. He had no reason to ignore me otherwise. Especially after he was the one to ask me if I wanted to go for a walk. Now I felt terrible for all the rude things I’d thought about him on my way home.
“Should I text him and ask?” I asked Addie.
“No. If something has happened, he might be in a state. He’ll already see that you texted so just wait for him to text you.”
“Okay. Good call. Thanks.”
“What else is new since I saw you two days ago?” she texted.
We went back and forth for a few minutes and then I got a text from my agent Jen.
“Have you seen this?” she asked.
I clicked the link she’d attached and there it was. A picture of Graham, Marley and me at lunch at Agua Verde last Saturday.
Crap.
“Welp,” I texted Addie. “I think I know why he stood me up. I’m surprised you didn’t text this to me.”
“I turned off the alerts for you. There were too many. Send it to me.”
I took a screenshot and sent it.
“Crap,” she texted a moment later. “But also, that’s not your fault and he should know that.”
“I know. But it’s his kid sister and he’s protective. Rightly so. I feel terr—”
Just then Jen texted again with another link attached. It was the story I’d feared when Graham and I had been spotted at The Bar Room.
“Lior Flynn, From One to the Next. Get it, Girl!” was the headline on the online magazine, followed by side-by-side pictures of me and Caleb at Nobu and Graham and me later that night.
The second one was a faraway grainy picture taken from the other end of the bar.
You wouldn’t even have known it was me if not for the dress.
I sent the link to Addie.
“You’re on a roll,” she said. “You okay?”
“No,” I said, my voice soft.
She was quiet for a minute and then made a small noise and swore under her breath.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Shit, Li. I actually don’t think either of those are the reason… but this might be.”
A moment later my phone pinged and I clicked the link she’d sent.
I didn’t say a word as the article popped up, “Love 2.0?” the headline read.
There was a short paragraph about Graham being seen with me and his sister in Seattle, followed by something about his ex, Nadia, that I skimmed over before clicking yet another link that led me to one of her social media pages.
The post tagged showed her promoting a lipstick.
I nearly exited, confused what one thing had to do with the other, and then I saw him, standing behind her in the doorway.
I went back to the article and scrolled down further to find an image of the two of them standing on a front porch, her hair was wet and she was wearing a too-big t-shirt, her shoes dangling from her fingertips. It was dated and timed stamped. Today, eight forty-nine am.
Asshole.
“Lior?” Addie said. I’d forgotten she was on the line.
“I’m here. I guess that mystery is solved then.”
“You okay?”
“Of course. It was just a walk. It’s not like we had an actual date planned.”
“Still.”
“He should’ve texted, but it looks like he was distracted. It happens. I will say though… yuck.”
“She’s the literal worst,” Addie said.
“Hey,” I said. “I’m gonna go. I promised Avery I’d send over all the articles I’ve written in the past ten years. She wants to read through them and come back to me with some ideas for the column.”
“Really? Yay!”
I grinned. Despite the disappointment of being stood up by Graham for what looked like a tryst with his ex, I was excited about this possible new direction for my life.
Maybe being stood up was just a sign that I was on the right track.
If I’d started to like Graham, I’d probably hold off on any major life changes, and when our relationship inevitably went south, I’d have wasted precious time.
“I also left a message with a realtor in Seattle,” I said. “I might be back sooner than I planned to look at some houses.”
I was sure Addie’s scream of happiness could be heard all the way down the block.
Rather than email Avery back like I’d told Addie I was going to do, I went back to the link she’d sent me, then Nadia’s social media post, then the picture of her and Graham on the porch.
It looked intimate. Sexy. A definite unplanned late night or early morning-after moment from the looks of her outfit.
I sighed and exited the link, slumping down on my sofa and staring across the room at the floor-to-ceiling bookcase where there was an entire shelf dedicated to the works of one Graham Forrester – the poem he’d left me after cleaning my shoe framed and set just so beside his novels.
I’d never admit it to anyone else, but I was a little crushed by this morning’s drama. I’d thought we were becoming friends. Or at least friendly. But he’d chosen his horrible ex over a walk with me. Even after our lovely afternoon with his sister.
“You’ll be in Seattle? Come join us. Meet my sister. See how charming I am? How thoughtful?” I flipped off his shelf of novels. “Dick.”
I was still wallowing in self-pity and a pool of irritation when I got a text from Jeremy Lane, an actor I’d dated off-and-on a couple years ago.
Out of the men I’d dated, he was the only one I’d thought I could make a relationship work with.
He was kind and thoughtful, and hadn’t seemed to be in the relationship for the attention being with me brought him, having his own huge fan base.
But our busy schedules kept us apart and, in the end, it was just too hard.
“Hey you,” his text said. “I’m in town for the premier of my new movie. You around? Wanna get dinner somewhere?”
My mind instantly went to Graham, but I shut that down in a hurry. I owed him nothing. Not one little consideration. And maybe an evening with Jeremy was just the balm I needed.
“I’d love to,” I texted back. “Tell me where and when and I’ll be there.”
We met at one of our favorite spots, a lovely little Thai restaurant that served interesting beers and family style meals.
We passed bowls and plates back-and-forth, catching up on one another’s projects, sharing bad date stories, and doing a slew of “remember when’s” until we were laughing so hard the family next to us couldn’t stop staring.
Or maybe it was because two very recognizable faces were sitting beside them in this tiny, decidedly not fancy establishment.
“We should go before someone realizes the two hysterical people in the corner are actually celebrities and start taking pictures,” I said.
“Good call.”
We climbed in a cab and then sat for a moment trying to decide if we wanted to head to a bar or call it a night.
“My hotel serves a decent glass of wine,” Jeremy said.
I glanced at him, noting the sexy little smile he always got when he said one thing but was suggesting another.
An image of Graham flashed in my mind again but I pushed it away.
Whatever I’d thought could be happening with him clearly wasn’t, and I was allowed a little no-strings-attached sex with a man I knew well and liked.
“I could go for a glass of wine,” I said.
Ten minutes later I was wandering his suite at the Ritz-Carlton, the aforementioned glass of wine in my hand, Jeremy walking towards me with a hungry look in his gray-green eyes.
I found myself studying him as he stood inches from me, sipping from his glass and running the back of his fingers over the silk blouse covering my breast.
I sucked in a breath. He’d always been so good at drawing out sex until I was practically begging for it.
Unfortunately, the sex itself had never been that great.
It was good. Sufficient. He got the job done.
But there was always something lacking, and the recollection of that now threatened to put a damper on a need that I didn’t want to admit, even to myself, was due to a certain other man who had jilted me this morning.
In an effort to get Graham out of my head, I set my glass down and reached for Jeremy’s belt. I didn’t have time for foreplay today. I needed to forget. Now.
“What’s the hurry?” Jeremy asked as I undid his jeans.
“It’s been a minute,” I said, sliding my hand into his briefs. Thankfully he was already hard and ready so I wouldn’t have to put in much work.
I turned around and pulled up my dress, leaning forward and placing my hands on the table beside us.
But rather than take the hint, he got on his knees and slowly ran his fingers up my legs, kissing the backs of my knees and gently running his hand over my thong that wasn’t even remotely wet.
Because I was not turned on. Because Graham Freaking Forrester’s stupid face would not stay out of my head like I’d told it to.
“Jeremy,” I said.
“Mmhmm…” he responded, his hands squeezing my thighs.
“I can’t.”
He paused as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard me correctly.
“What?” he asked.
“I’m sorry.” I straightened and pulled the hem of my dress down. “I can’t. We’re just… this isn’t us anymore.”
“Are you sure?” He motioned to his dick, which was out of his pants and red with readiness.
But it did nothing for me. In fact, I felt a bit repelled by the sight if it staring at me. Well, staring just left of me. And I suddenly wanted to cry.
“Yeah. Positive,” I said.
In all future interviews, when asked about my relationship with Jeremy Lane, I would always say I’d love him forever, but we just couldn’t get our timing right.
The following morning several media sites posted images of me hugging Jeremy outside the Ritz-Carlton. I ignored the texts that came in after, inquiring about what was going on, aside from Addie, whom I never ignored.
“Payback?” she texted, referring to the article about Graham and Nadia.
“Yes and no,” I said. “FYI, nothing happened.”
“You say that like I don’t know you.”
I sent her a heart emoji, turned off my phone, and tossed it onto my bedside table.
I’d never heard from Graham the day before.
Not one “sorry I stood you up”. No text professing his bad friend behavior and promises to make it up to me.
And I knew now, with the images of me and Jeremy out in the world, I wouldn’t.
Which wouldn’t have been an issue if we didn’t have a shoot for Vogue to do in a few days.
Something I’d completely forgotten about in the past twenty-four hours.
“Shit!” I shouted at the ceiling, and then turned over and buried myself in my duvet.