Chapter 17 Jason
Chapter 17
I don’t know what just happened there, but I don’t think it was healthy.
Jason
EMMY AND I head toward Sean, and now I know why he wanted her to come to his party so badly. The guy’s got a real problem with competition.
“I’m a shoo-in, right?” I whisper to Emmy as we navigate tables and chairs and people.
“Oh no!” Sean booms into the mic before she can answer. “Already Jason Connor is trying to influence the outcome of our hugging contest. Emmy, are you a believer? If so, we’re going to get you to swear on a Bible. Tommy!” He points to Tom Holland, who looks up in surprise from where he was minding his own business on the abandoned piano bench. “Would you mind grabbing a Bible off the library shelf? I think there’s a New American Version there somewhere in between Dante’s Inferno and The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up .”
“No need for that!” Emmy abandons her wineglass and spins in a circle to address the convening throng. “It’ll be an honest contest. The man who wins the title of best hugger will have to earn it. But I’ll need someone to video it for me.”
Kayla breaks from the crowd. “I got you!”
Great. My nerves prickle. Of course I want to hold on to this meaningless and ridiculous title, but I don’t want to do anything dumb in the name of friendly competition. I managed to steal a kiss from Emmy without consequences, but if I do anything improper during the contest, the network won’t like it. Plus, to be honest, I’m genuinely scared I can’t win against these guys.
Sean lines everyone up—me, Ramirez, Andrew, and himself, with Emmy standing on a tile sunburst in the large, open area near the piano. Kayla gives the nod, and Sean launches into emcee mode.
“Hello, America and beyond! We’re here today to prove once and for all who the best hugger is in the cast of Lost Star Dance Troupe Saves the Universe . It’s been suggested that it’s Jason Connor over there…” I raise my hand in a half-hearted wave. “But I challenge that notion! Emmy Ellison is here today to do the honors. She’s promised us a fair fight, and we’re going to hold her to that.” Sean gives her a punishing look.
“So, who’s going first?” Emmy asks brightly.
I don’t want it to be me. Everyone knows going first is a bad idea.
“I’ll go.” Ramirez takes slow, deliberate steps in her direction. The brightness of his shirt amplifies the muscles of his upper body in the same way a room painted white looks larger than a wood-paneled den. The two of them standing next to each other look like a Lord of the Rings audition: orc and elf.
“We’ve got an eager beaver!” Sean says into the mic. “First up, Mount Ramirez. Let’s see if this big lug doesn’t crack her in two before the rest of us get a chance to compete.”
“Ha ha,” Ramirez says without humor. Then he just stands there.
Sean rolls his eyes. “Are you waiting for a trumpet? This isn’t the Olympics.”
“I’m just a little nervous, that’s all,” Ramirez says. “I mean, here’s a beautiful woman that I don’t even know—”
“Oh God,” Sean interrupts him in disgust. “And now the flattery starts. Don’t butter her up. Just hug her already, you big baby!”
Ramirez rolls his shoulders and flexes his hands. Next to him, Emmy stands open armed and expressionless, like a life-size, huggable mannequin. We watch in amusement as Jason Ramirez bends low, wraps all that muscle and sinew around her, and lifts her off the ground. Emmy makes a little squeal sound that I kind of like and am kind of jealous about at the same time. Camera in hand, Kayla moves around the perimeter, filming from all angles.
It’s not a short hug. Maybe not as long as the one I gave her a few months ago, but long enough. I don’t know if the same gimmick I used back then is going to work this time. Although why do I care anyway? It’s a stupid contest. And if one of these guys steals the title, it just might take some pressure off me. Let somebody else be lit in Emmy’s spotlight for a while.
“Whoa! Wow! She’s back on her feet again,” Sean says. “Looks like we don’t need to call the paramedics after all.”
Ramirez releases Emmy, first to her toes and then to the soles of her platform shoes. He steps back, his expression more than a little cocky. Emmy mouths, “Whoa!” and gives him a big grin. The crowd laughs. I swallow hard.
“Well, that was a—”
Emmy snatches the mic from Sean before he can editorialize. “Okay, my impressions… So, Jason ‘Mount’ Ramirez made an unexpected yet savvy move with the whole under-the-arms approach. It not only lifted me off my feet—which I liked a lot—but also offered me the opportunity for some cheek-to-cheek action.” She looks straight into the camera. “Ladies and gentlemen, it was smooth as a peach, in case you’re wondering. The length was appropriate. I didn’t recognize his cologne, but it had a very woodsy, manly smell. If I had to sum up this hug in one word, I would call it…” She taps her lips as though searching for the right word. “ Gallant .”
“Yeah, but it didn’t transport her to another dimension,” I mutter.
“Well played, Ramirez.” Sean gives him a firm handshake. “All right, I’m next!”
He hands off the microphone and leaps into the “ring.” Wasting no time, he takes Emmy’s hand and flings her one way, then the other, and then whips her, spinning, right into his arms, where he holds her for a long moment before dipping her down to the floor. When she’s finally on her feet again, her cheeks are flushed pink and her eyes sparkle. To a smattering of applause, Sean releases her from his embrace slowly, her hand last of all.
“Oh my,” Emmy says, accepting the microphone from Ramirez. “Okay. Give me a moment.” She fans her face with her hand. “So that was definitely a hug to show a girl a good time. It was playful and seductive, with just the right amount of throwing me pleasantly off-balance while letting me know that he was never going to let me fall. It was definitely… swoony .”
Sean nods to her with affectionate smugness and then leans into the mic. “And mine is the virile-yet-sensual scent of Clive Christian. She left that part out.”
The audience laughs, and I’m starting to sweat a little. I know the big shots at this party don’t care about this silly little contest, but Emmy will post it online, and it would suck to have Sean rub it in my face if I lost. Plus, I’m kind of jealous. I want Emmy to pick me again.
“Worried, Snack?” Sean comes shoulder to shoulder with me and bangs his teeth together. “You should be.”
“Nope.” I feign confidence. “I got my winning hug on deck right here. And I’ve added some special sauce to the recipe.”
“That sounds… disgusting.”
“You know what I mean.”
He raises the mic, still glaring my way. “All right then, two left to go. Who’s—”
“I’ll go.” Andrew jumps in before he can finish.
Sean presses the mic to his lips, and in a mock-serious tone says, “Andrew, did you get your wife’s permission for this?”
Andrew turns to Renee, who is perched on a nearby lounger. “Honey? May I hug this young lady?”
“Win it, babe!” she shouts.
Andrew moseys up to the stage, and with no preamble, folds Emmy against him, and holds her for a long moment, rocking ever so slightly from side to side. There’s no fanfare. In fact, it’s the same kind of hug someone might give their niece. There are a few awwww s from the audience when he lets go.
Sean makes a gagging noise. “Okay, Emmy, let’s hear what you thought about that lame hug.”
“Wow.” Emmy holds a hand over her heart. “Let me tell you, folks. That hug was so warm and so authentic. I didn’t feel like we were in a contest at all. I felt like this man had real, true emotions toward me. Like he would let the zombies take him instead. I felt… loved.”
Sean snatches the mic back. “Well, there you have it. Creepy uncle hug gets five stars. I don’t know what just happened there, but I don’t think it was healthy.”
Andrew holds his glass up. “I’ll give you one later, Sean.”
“That’s a big no thank you!” Sean makes an awkward face at the camera. Then he turns to me, his voice dropping a register. “And then there was one.” We’re nose to nose, Sean glaring into my face. He covers the microphone with his hand. “You got that bottle of special sauce shook up real good, Snack?”
“I do.”
“Well then, let’s see what you’ve got.” He steps aside with a flourish.
I stroll up to the sunburst where Emmy waits, expectant and nervous, just like when I first met her on The Terica Show . A few Go, Jason s stand out from the normal sounds of conversation and laughter. I’ve made my decision. Screw it. I’m not letting these guys show me up. No way. No how. I’m going to give her that same long, warm hug I did last time, and this time there will actually be some feeling behind it. Then I’m going to whisper a few sweet nothings in her ear that will make her melt in my arms. I don’t have the words ready, but I don’t need to rehearse this, because how I feel is just going to come out when I open my mouth. I’m even kind of excited to hear what I have to say. And then… who knows? I won’t kiss her again because that would be stupid, but… well, we’ll just have to play it by ear.
I don’t know what Emmy wants. I don’t even know what I want. But right now, I have a contest to win.
I take both her hands in mine. “Bulletproof, right?”
“Yes.” She barely breathes it.
I open my arms, and she falls into them. I wrap them around her and feel her body submit to mine. I close my eyes and count to five, breathing in the scent of coconut. As she relaxes even more against me, I tug her in closer. My hand slips into her hair, and I can’t help squeezing a handful of its softness. She feels so good in my arms, so right. It doesn’t feel like some stupid party game that’ll soon be all over every celebrity blog and podcast. It feels like Christmas. Or slingshotting around the moon. Things I haven’t felt in forever wash over me—excitement, hope, desire. Real desire, not just the kind that distracts. A want that runs so deep it tears you apart. I don’t ever want to let go. Sliding my chin down into the cascade of her hair, I run my lips across the curl of her ear and whisper, “Emmy, I…”
And then something catches my eye, and I freeze. Miles Gauthier is here in his Baby Yoda T-shirt, jeans, and expensive shoes, standing with two of the showrunners from Lost Star . Where did they come from? They’re watching us with interest.
Miles’s stare says, Really, Jason? Really?
My eyes say, But I broke up with Margarita, and I made it public, just like you said .
And his say, I said keep it professional! Does that look professional?
It’s like someone has thrown the switch on my main breaker. All the good feelings are gone, and I realize how bad this looks. Hugh Jackman would not be doing this—I’m pretty darn sure about that.
“Never mind,” I whisper, pulling my hand out of Emmy’s hair. It accidentally catches in her waves and tugs too hard.
“Ouch.” Her hand flies to her head.
“Sorry.” I wiggle my fingers to untangle them from her hair as my brain fights to interpret the body language of the showrunners. Does that foot shuffle say, That’s it. We’re done with him for good ?
The crowd is murmuring. Sean is grinning. “Looks like our incumbent may have choked! But let’s hear what the lady has to say, after she gets her hair untangled.”
Emmy smooths her hair with an annoyed look and accepts the microphone. Miles glares at me, but the execs aren’t reacting at all. Relief floods through me, then shame, and then acceptance of what an ass I am, with relief and shame mixed in—the Jason Connor grief journey.
“It wasn’t as good as the last one,” Emmy says into the mic.
With melodrama, I drop my forehead into my hand—my way of signaling to her that she can go ahead and blast me, no hard feelings.
She turns to the camera. “Yeah, it was a disappointment. Ended abruptly. Pulled my hair. There was a promise of pillow talk that would have truly elevated it, probably pretty darn high I’m guessing, but that fell flat. I think he wears Calvin Klein, but that’s not enough to make up for what happened here tonight. All in all, I’m afraid Jason Connor has lost the title.”
“Whoa!” Sean shouts. “A crushing defeat for our celebrity crush ! Get it? Crushing ?”
I continue to wallow in fake self-pity for the benefit of the camera, and Sean waits patiently so Kayla can capture plenty of footage of it. When all that carrying-on has settled down, Sean asks the question: “So, Emmy. What’s the verdict then? If Jason Connor isn’t the best hugger in the Lost Star dance troupe, who is?”
Emmy taps her lips in that way she does when she’s pretending to think. “Honestly, I have to go with Andrew.”
“Yes!” Renee shrieks, jumping up from the lounger. “Yes! That’s my man!” Andrew blows a kiss to his wife and takes a bow.
“Andrew?” Sean dons his liberally offended face.
“Andrew,” Emmy confirms. “His felt the most real. And I liked his cologne best.”
“Woody’s Love Grenade.” Andrew grins.
“So that’s it then?” Sean grabs someone’s napkin out of their hand, balls it up, and in fake fury throws it to the ground, where it falls lightly because it’s a napkin. Then he kicks it.
Emmy takes her phone back from Kayla and finishes off her vlog with a few words. The crowd disperses with inappropriate comments and laughs. When all the dust and pain have settled, we just stand there. The look in Emmy’s eyes makes me ache.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “The showrunners are here. It threw me.”
“It’s fine.” She scrutinizes the patio stones under our feet. “I understand.”
I look over my shoulder to where Miles and his entourage are watching Anthony Mackie killing it at darts. I jerk a thumb in their direction. “I should go do some damage control, just in case.”
“Okay.” She nods. “I’ll just upload some of these videos.”
She’s not making eye contact with me. Running off now seems like a shitty way to treat her after I kissed her and said all those things. But I can’t ignore this potential problem. “You sure you’re okay?”
She shrugs. “It’s fine, Jason.”
My arms hang at my sides. I want to take her hand, pull her to me, kiss her forehead, do something to show her how I really feel about her, but I can’t. I guess the best thing I can do is get this over with. I trot backward. “I’ll be right back. I’ll be so quick .”
I turn and make my way over to Miles and the gang.