Chapter 8 #2
“I’ve got a project here in a few months, so I’ll probably spend most of my time here.
For a while, at least. It’s good… the paparazzi aren’t very chill though.
” He was talking a lot, but it didn’t come off as arrogant.
“I’m talking too much,” he caught himself.
When we stopped at a light, he glanced at me and asked.
“Your house looks beautiful. I’m assuming it’s your primary residence? Or…?”
I laughed because, really, what kind of question was that?
“It’s my only residence.”
“Of course…” He replied quickly, looking a little flustered. Watching him try to navigate the conversation and how he cared about making me feel at ease was unusually charming. “How long have you been living in New York City?”
“My whole life…”
We slipped back into that same trance from earlier.
Our eyes locked in their own private conversation.
It was intense but not uncomfortable. I didn’t mind it.
He didn’t seem to either. And then a honk from the car behind us jolted us back to reality.
We’d gotten so lost in each other that we hadn’t noticed the lights turning green.
I smiled, trying to pick the conversation back up.
“I moved away from college but came right back.”
He adjusted in his seat, giving himself a moment to shift back into light conversation mode.
“Wow. So you must know everything about the city. All the best places and secret spots.”
“I’m a terrible tour guide,” I laughed. “Every time an out-of-state friend visits, they want the full NYC experience… and I’ve got nothing. My favorite place in the city is my house.”
The absurdity of it made me laugh again. I lived in the most exciting city in the world, and still, if it was up to me, I’d always stay in. Alone more often than not. And even when I wasn’t, I was the one hosting, keeping things on my territory, in my space.
He looked pleased by that.
“If I tell you I’m a total homebody, too, would you believe me?”
“No,” I said, deadpan. We both laughed.
Let’s be honest: no one has looked at Chris Jones and pictured him in sweatpants, watching a movie on the couch. And yet… when I saw him tonight, that was the first image that popped into my head. Almost like I already knew.
“It’s true,” he said, still chuckling. Then, his tone shifted to a more serious one.
“I wish I had more time to do it. But according to my manager, an actor’s job doesn’t end at acting.
I’ve got to network, be seen…” He made a face.
“But any chance I get, I fly back to my house in Boston and just… chill.” He smiled at the word, clearly lost for a second in the memory of being there.
Another red light. Another glance in my direction.
“I think you’ll love my house in Boston. It’s the perfect homebody sanctuary.”
I was hooked. Not just on his eyes this time but on his smile. It was a real one, not the polished, press-ready kind. It felt unguarded. Like the rest had been part of the act, but this one snuck through.
“Are you inviting me to your Boston house?” I asked, teasing.
“I guess I am.”
“Shouldn’t you wait more than twenty-four hours before inviting someone to your house in a different city?” I kept the mood light.
This time, he didn’t let himself get caught in another stare. As soon as the light turned green, he broke eye contact and looked straight ahead. His smile faded.
“Well…” he said quietly, “I wouldn’t know. You’re the first woman I’ve ever invited to go there.”
My smile faltered. What was I supposed to do with that?
He had to be kidding. Right?
It was a move. It had to be.
I swallowed hard. And then, to the rescue came a familiar song playing through the car speakers. I sank deeper into my seat and I remained quiet. Whatever had passed between us, I wanted to leave it untouched. Let it exist without hiding behind a joke. So, without thinking, I hummed along.
For a second, I debated whether I should stop humming and switch back to “proper date conversation.” But when I looked over, he was humming along too. It didn’t feel awkward or heavy. It felt natural and… familiar.
Chris and I stood side by side in the elevator, and the lounge music was so faint I could still hear our breathing. His hand was close to mine, so close I thought, maybe, he’d reach for it. But he didn’t. And I wasn’t about to make the first move, especially not in a moving metal box.
The ride wasn’t longer than a minute, but it was enough time for me to sneak glances at him.
His hair was longer than I’d ever seen in his films and a little messy, like a statement against the perfectly polished Hollywood version.
There were faint lines around his eyes, something you would never notice on screen.
They made him look even better. More real.
And that beard… I could still feel it on my fingertips and the texture brushing against my face.
Shit, was I about to drool?
I straightened up, hoping he didn’t notice me staring. He was a different version of the man I’d spent years daydreaming about. And I was dying to learn about this version.
The real Chris Jones.
The elevator dinged, pushing me back to reality. The doors opened, revealing a restaurant that looked straight out of a movie. The lighting was dim and warm, and the tables were spaced generously under elegant chandeliers.
Without a word, he took my hand and let me out into the room. I glanced around, trying to take it all in. It was beautiful, sure, but its radiance made me want to shrink. I suddenly wanted to turn around and ask if we could grab a pizza and eat in the car instead.
This level of luxury? Not exactly my comfort zone. Plus, I had a feeling the food would come in tiny portions with fancy, unpronounceable names. But hey, I was here now. I might as well give it a shot. Maybe they’d surprise me with pretentious pizza bites or something.
As we walked further into the room, my eyes caught on a door near the back with a small sign: ROOFTOP. Always nice to have an escape plan.
A tall and graceful hostess approached us. Her long, blonde hair and impossible gray eyes made her look like a human Instagram filter.
“Mr. Jones, welcome back. We have your usual table ready.”
“Excellent. Thank you, sweetheart.” He replied in a warm, familiar tone.
As we passed her, his hand brushed against the small of her back.
For him, it seemed like a casual, almost practiced thing.
Like something he did without even noticing.
But the hostess? Oh, she noticed. Her cheeks went all shades of pink.
It was the first time I saw the power of Chris Jones’ charm in real time.
I turned my gaze away, drifting around the room instead. Everyone looked like they’d stepped straight out of a magazine, and I imagined each of their stories. What were their lives like? What had brought them here? I was in full dissociative mode, and Chris noticed.
“You okay?” He asked, sounding concerned.
“Yeah… I’m okay.” I replied, giving him a small smile and closing the book of made-up stories in my brain.
We were steps from the table when she appeared. A woman who looked like a Milan runway model. She had flawless features, a sculpted figure, bouncy golden hair, and eyes so green I could see them sparkling from here. Eyes that zeroed in on Chris, entirely bypassing me like I was invisible.
“Oh boy…” He muttered under his breath.
Blondie breezed past me and wrapped him in a tight hug.
“Hey, babe!”
“Hey, Jess,” Chris replied, his face screaming discomfort, and she noticed.
Jess pulled back, giving him a smirk.
“Don’t do that!” She snapped before looking me up and down. With zero hesitation, she hit me with: “He’s being weird because he slept with me and never called me back.”
I couldn’t stop the laugh before it exploded out of me. I clapped a hand over my mouth because that was definitely not socially acceptable behavior, and Chris looked mortified. His cheeks flushed so red I kind of felt bad for him.
Kind of, though, because I was pretty sure he deserved that.
“Don’t worry, babe, I get it… And who’s your gorgeous next victim?”
“Jess…” Chris’ jaw tightened.
I wasn’t about to let this end. I stepped forward and extended my hand for a quick handshake, and it finally clicked.
The heavy makeup and lack of, well, blood spatter had thrown me off, but there was no mistaking it.
It was Jessica Rogers, the scream queen from one of my favorite horror franchises.
And in person? Somehow, she was even hotter. Wow.
“I’m Jules. And you’re Jessica Rogers.”
Her eyes sparkled when I recognized her. “That’s me! Horror movie fan?”
“Oh, absolutely!” I was trying really hard to keep my inner nerd hidden, but come on—Jessica Rogers! She was ridiculously stunning.
“You look like fun,” Jess tilted her head with a smirk. “I should probably be a girl’s girl and warn you about him, but something tells me you already know what you’re in for.”
She gave me a once-over, trying to figure out what kind of nobody ended up on a date with Chris Jones.
I smiled. I was too star-struck to tell if she was trying to be intimidating or if that was her default setting.
And even if I had noticed, I probably would’ve let it slide.
The whole idea of a boob-measuring contest over a man seemed pointless to me.
Chris, visibly ready to leave the conversation, took my hand and began steering me away.
“We really have to go, Jess.”
As he led me toward our table, I looked back, giving her a playful wave. Jess watched us leave, looking beyond intrigued.