7
“Kieran Alexander Seen Cozying Up to Pro Tennis Player at Tennis Court”
—Confessions!
NARI WAS A bird chirping in my ear the whole drive to the tennis court, rattling off orders on how to act: be nice, smile, act like you like her, touch her wrist but not too much, don’t make it obvious.
“I got it, Nari,” I said through the phone. I had a call at noon, and a dinner to be at later tonight with the production crew, so this hour with Aldridge was just another bullet point in the day. One less thing to deal with, and I wouldn’t see her for another week. Easy.
Nari’s voice shifted. “Kieran, there’s a lot riding on this.
This movie needs to succeed. People are starting to get tired of this elusive appearance, and studio execs will stop hiring you because of it.
The two of you need to be perfect or people will know it’s fake, which will only amplify the problem at hand.
If this doesn’t work out, Ms. Aldridge especially will face a lot of scrutiny. ”
“I know, I want the movie to succeed too.” I rubbed my forehead. “But I don’t think losing a sponsorship would be that life altering,” I commented, cutting the engine and getting out of the car.
She cleared her throat, sounding uncomfortable. “It’s more than that. You’d know if you weren’t some monk with the internet. She has… a lot going on.”
“I get it, Nari, yes, very important. I’ll go put a happy face on and get the job done. I’ll talk to you later,” I said.
I closed the car door and looked around the paved lot. I lifted my wrist. Seven A.M. Shaking out my hair, I pulled a hat on. The early June heat was already building.
I pulled the bag from my back seat and walked across the lot toward a path shaped by tall shrubs. The greenery concealed rows of fenced-in tennis courts, all empty. I’d question if she showed up, but I could hear the relentless thwacking at the end of the walkway.
Aldridge was at the last court. The air in my throat felt thick watching her.
One moment, I was watching Luna Aldridge, the Athlete Who Stole My Breath three years ago.
The next, I was seeing Luna Aldridge, the Woman Who Found Joy in Torturing Me.
It was the equivalent to having an allergy that developed late in life and wouldn’t leave you alone.
Suddenly, every room I entered, there were peanuts, ready to taunt and greet me with withering stares.
All because she had felt compelled to start a rumor three years ago.
The night before that rumor released, I had thirty missed calls leaving the RBY party.
My sister, my brother, my father. My mother’s voicemail was the only one I could make out.
She was frantically screaming that my grandmother had been rushed into emergency surgery to remove a tumor they hadn’t seen.
I flew to Spain that night and arrived at the hospital in a wrinkled suit.
By the time her surgery was done, that article released, and my management forced me back onto a flight to the United States. I was stuck in New York for a week.
Her cancer had come back.
I sat in meetings while she started chemo.
I remember feeling guilty for sending the flowers and the spiteful note to Aldridge as a response. I had let anger become a distraction for my sadness, and she was hit by it, full force. I wrote her a letter to apologize, and had my team reach out to all the tabloids to refute the rumors.
In return, I received a piece of paper that said “FU” in cursive. I deserved it, I knew that. I wasn’t exactly expecting a response at all. I had put her reputation on the line.
But the more I saw her, the more she became a nuisance.
She was a high-maintenance, spoiled princess who was a quintessential example of what Hollywood looked like.
Never a hair out of place. Fake smiles everywhere she went.
Constantly surrounded by ten people working for her.
Everything my ex aspired to be: unruffled and self-regarding.
Any time we were at the same event, she was always caught off guard to see me. It was as if I shot her, the gun still in my hand. She never failed to recover, though, greeting me with a scowl.
Now, she was pumping her fist after hitting a series of balls. If I hadn’t met her, I’d think she looked like someone I wanted to know.
But I had, and she was about as fun as scraping wallpaper off a wall.
Exhaling, I hoisted my bag over my shoulder and picked up the bouquet hanging from my side. A ball flew over the net as I approached her. Her gaze flickered, finding me. I didn’t miss the look of confusion that crossed her face before she remembered.
Fake date number one.
“Hello, darling,” I said, kissing her on the cheek.
She recoiled, ready to throw an open palm at my chest. I grabbed her elbow, pulling her back in. “About three paparazzi followed me here, so maybe not the best move.”
I could feel her eye roll, but she remained in the pocket of my shadow. She smelled of sunscreen and vanilla and salt water. She smelled like summer.
“You bought these?” she asked, acknowledging the bouquet of peonies between our chests.
“No, I pulled them out of my neighbor’s flower box.” Horrified, she shoved them back into my hands. “That was a joke,” I said, pushing them back and walking off. “Nari bought them.”
“I’ll be sure to leave her a nice note!”
“Please do! I’m sure she’d enjoy dating you more than I do!”
I dropped my bag beside hers at the side of the court.
“It’s not my fault you agreed to this,” she said, still laying the flowers down nicely despite the previous gesture.
“Well, we’re stuck in this together now, so no point in complaining about it.” I pulled out my tennis racket and walked to the other side of the court.
“No comment about this?” she asked, waving her racket.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re not upset?” she inquired.
“Do I look upset?”
“Can’t you ever just answer a question?”
“About playing tennis? It doesn’t surprise me, if that’s what you mean. You want to spend our time doing something you’re good at, seeing as we’re being photographed and all.”
“This wasn’t my decision.” I didn’t respond. “You don’t believe me.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t need to.”
“If I wanted to say something, Aldridge, I’d say it.”
“Oh, I know. We all know how much you love to talk.”
“First, I don’t answer enough questions, now I talk too much. What would you prefer me to do? Walk across this court and lay one on you so we can be done with this?”
“The idea of having to be that close to you is absolutely—”
“Ravishing?”
“Deplorable. Do you want me to explain what that means?”
“Only if I’m allowed to use it as a greeting every time you walk into a room.”
“Your ability to flirt is—”
“Deplorable?” I guessed. “If I wanted to hit on you, I’d let you come over here, tell me how to serve, and then watch you hit that ball at ninety miles an hour since the only thing you’re attracted to is winning.”
Her brows furrowed at the center. “I’m not obsessed with winning. And even if I was, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to be the best.”
“Well, your opponent hasn’t played since he was in his teens, so I’m not sure this is fair.”
She put her hand on her hip. “I’m obviously not going to serve at ninety miles an hour. That’d be a waste of energy.”
“Wouldn’t you do this in practice?”
“Yes, but my coach can actually hit the ball back.” She smiled.
“Your attitude is deplorable. Let’s play.”
I wasn’t capable of measuring speed, but that ball looked like it was coming toward me at ninety miles an hour.
After thirty minutes, I received an unexpected tennis lesson—if you could call Aldridge yelling at me about my feet “teaching”—and had begun hitting the balls straight over the fence behind her. The first two times, she was slightly impressed. But by the third, she was catching on.
“That was our last ball,” she mumbled after the eighth.
“Guess we’ll have to get going.” I crossed the court, but she cut me off at a concerning speed, latching onto my arm.
“We have a deal.”
I glanced down at her hand. “I know that, but do you?”
She let go. “Fine. I’ll go get them.”
“You’ll go get what—? Oh my God.” Disbelief left my mouth in the form of a laugh. She approached the fence behind the court. A fence that separated us from someone’s house. “Aldridge, what are you doing?”
“Getting your balls!” She shoved her sneaker into a crook of the wire fence.
She was halfway up before the structure began to wobble from her calculated movements.
It was an interesting image. When I dated Penelope, she was a fragile thing—her words.
She spoke of women like they were vases.
Delicate and poised. Made to be admired.
Luna Aldridge seemed to be made for herself.
She wasn’t short, but she also wasn’t tall enough for this.
“All right, get down now.”
Instead of descending, she said, “The sound of your voice is bothersome enough to wake the dead.”
“Enough of this.” I stopped her, grabbing on to her hips and pulling her down.
“I was perfectly—”
“Capable, yes, I get it. I’m fully aware of your athleticism, and so are the photographers after a half hour of watching you pelt balls at me.”
I shoved my foot in the same hole, and she somehow was already speaking again.
“We need to discuss boundaries. Guidelines.”
“You want to talk about guidelines while I hop a fence?” I asked, already up and over in two steps. I landed in the grass and quickly picked up and tossed every ball in my vicinity back over.
“I know you’re an actor—”
“Award-winning actor,” I corrected.
“—but I’m not acting out some full-fledged relationship. The planned appearances, the fake dates—fine. But no—no kissing or—”
“No kissing? Do you hear yourself? We’re adults in a relationship, not schoolkids testing the waters before prom. I want to get this over with just as much as you, but it won’t happen by letting people guess.”
“Kissing me isn’t going to prove anything to the press,” she argued.
“Haven’t seen me kiss then.”
“I’m not doing anything with you that involves us being intimate.” Her words were like twigs twisted in a bird’s nest: messy, sharp, and sporadic.
I waited for her joke to land. Mierda, she was being serious. No attitude or tone of humor.
I’d never push her. I may hate her, but that didn’t mean I’d cross a line that was hers to draw. But something was off. We were in a contractual relationship for the next four months. Being… intimate… to a surface level was insinuated, wasn’t it?
“Don’t tell me you have a boyfriend or something?” I asked.
“God, no, I’m not looking for a relationship.”
“Do you not want to be seen by the press in a… private capacity?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I just don’t want to kiss you.”
Of course.
I jumped back over, stopping in front of her.
I may have been the one who hopped the fence, but she was the flushed one.
I glanced at her lips solely to watch the muscle tic in her jaw.
It was as satisfying as running a sharpened blade through a row of rosemary.
Her fist was balled up at her side with no choice but to remain still.
“If you try something, I’ll vomit,” she seethed. Quiet and contained. But nothing less than furious.
“Promise?” I smirked.
“I’m really not a violent person.”
“I don’t believe that at all.”
“Of course you don’t—you’re the exception.”
She spun on her heel, and I caught her wrist before she could fully turn.
Nari was right, as much as I hated to admit it. This needed to look real. Aldridge making eye contact with a camera would make this look anything but. So I shelved my pride and caught her chin, angling my body to cover the furious look on her face.
It was like catching a wild animal; the way she gritted her teeth. She hated me. It was right there in her blown-out pupils. I thought maybe this was some pitiful annoyance. But no, it was pure loathing.
I pulled her in close to whisper, “Camera at twelve o’clock was about to catch the violent look on your face. Maybe not the best idea.”
“Do you think they’ll catch me at this angle kicking you?”
“Do you speak to all of your boyfriends like this?”
“Pretending to like someone like you will be the hardest thing I ever do.”
I could never love someone like you.
“I hate you,” I whispered.
“Not as much as I hate you.” Her whisper felt so much more vicious.