Chapter 25
Corey
N ervously, I smooth out the fabric on my custom Tom Ford suit before tugging slightly at the matching tie. I’m out of my comfort zone here, in more ways than one. The suit is a lavender yarn dyed mikado—whatever the fuck that means. It’s not a color I’m used to wearing at all, much less for formal occasions. All I know is that Aaron’s sister Jessica arranged for Bridget to pick it up somewhere in Beverly Hills yesterday. I was given strict instruction to wear this suit and pick up Bex on my way to the awards show.
My phone rests on the empty seat next to me in the limo and, though I haven’t heard a notification, I check the screen for any messages from Bex.
Nothing. My gaze catches on my phone wallpaper for a moment. It’s a picture that Britney managed to take of us at the hockey game, completely candid, which makes the picture that much more beautiful to me. I was standing behind Bex, my arms draped over her shoulders, her hands holding mine against her chest. My lips were in her hair, a smirk on my face as well as hers.
That night had been perfect.
And I haven’t heard from Bex in four days. Four full days since the discussion that exposed me as the liar I have been. Four full days where Bex occupied my thoughts, from the moment I woke up, through my day, and as I fitfully tried to sleep. She made constant appearances in my dreams, as well, but it was like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands; she was always on the peripheral and never within my grasp.
Four full days that I punished myself at the gym for a distraction. Even though “Edgelord” filming had technically wrapped, and Trevor’s contractual obligation to train me was completed, he still let me loose in his gym. I think he could tell I needed some sort of release, and I thanked him profusely for the bonus time in his gym.
Unlocking my phone, I tap on the messages app, anyway. Maybe I like this kind of pain, though I never pegged myself for being a masochist. My conversation thread with Bex over the last four days is completely one-sided.
I only messaged her “I’m so sorry” once. When she didn’t respond to that, I kept the messages short. I sent them at timed intervals that were a product of my overthinking the entire situation. I asked her how her day was, if she’d been out with the girls, how the kids at the youth center are doing.
Fuck, yesterday, I texted her a picture of the sunset from my balcony in California and said, “Wanted to share this with the only person in my life more beautiful than this view.” I don’t blame her for not responding to that one. Hell, I’m turning into a goddamn emotional mess.
When Jessica sent word for me to pick up this specific suit yesterday, my heart soared. Aaron had mentioned that Jessica and Bex went off on a little adventure a few days ago. This had to mean she was coming, right? And with the instruction to “pick Bex up on the way to the awards,” she’s clearly decided to go with me… Right?
The limo slows to a stop, and I glance out at the multi-level white stucco apartment building where Bex lives with her friends. It suddenly occurs to me that I’ve never been inside, so I don’t even know which unit they live in.
The driver opens the door and I slide out onto the hot sidewalk. Vegas is experiencing a record-setting late spring heatwave, and within seconds, I feel sweat gathering at the small of my back and along my brows.
Tapping Bex’s contact, I offer up a prayer and tap “call.”
It rings. And rings. And rings.
A dull tone, then Bex’s melodic voice chirps, “Hey, it’s Bex! I clearly am too busy to answer your call right now, so—”
Scowling, I end the call and stare up at the apartment building, as if it can offer me answers on Bex’s whereabouts.
“Sir?” The driver leans against the limo. “What should we do?”
“Give me a minute,” I growl.
“Perhaps you’d like to wait in the—”
“I said give me a fucking minute. Please,” I grit out as politely as possible, but everything hurts right now. My ego, my pride. My goddamn heart is shattered. I was so certain yesterday when Bridget picked up this suit with the instructions to pick up Bex. So certain that I allowed myself a kernel of hope that had the audacity to simply grow and grow with every hour.
I fucked up. We had barely begun, and we never would be, because of me.
Each insufferable second of waiting in the heat is what I deserve. Tapping “call,” I hold the phone to my ear one last time. When the dull tone beeps, I angrily tap “end” and contemplate throwing the damn phone onto the pavement.
Nodding at the driver, he reaches to open my door when a woman bursts out onto the sidewalk from the locked lobby entrance.
Auburn hair tossing wildly about, Britney shouts, “Wait! Corey!”
“Britney? Where is Bex?”
The polite thing would have been to ask if she was okay, especially as she comes to a stop in front of me, bending at the waist, her hands on her thighs, coughing while desperately trying to catch her breath.
“Miss, do you need water? I have some bottles in—”
Britney waves off the driver and stands, still panting. “She’s not here.”
I ball my hands into fists to control the outburst that’s threatening on the tip of my tongue. “Where is she?”
“At the youth center. Someone broke in earlier this week, stole the new printer, other stuff. I don’t know. But she’s there now because the cops called saying they caught someone,” Britney pants.
“So, why is Bex there? And why hasn’t she been answering her phone?”
“Oh, the phone thing is totally my fault. I dropped hers in a fountain. And she doesn’t have enough money to get a new one, so she’s got this weird burner flip-phone— ”
“Okay, that’s… fine. Why is she at the youth center? Why aren’t the cops handling this?” I’m fully aware I sound like a prick, demanding answers, but I’ve been a man starved the last few days.
Britney shrugs. “Something to do with the kid they caught.”
Dammit. Bex loves those kids, and she does her best to provide them with an outlet for their creativity, as well as a safe space to spend their free time. There’s a tug in my chest and the tiniest flutter of jealousy. Of course, she would choose those kids over… being my date to the porn awards.
I’ve never felt quite so unworthy in my life as I do right now.
“Thanks, Britney,” I say, as the reality of this evening crashes over me. As I turn to slide into the limo, she grabs my arm.
“Corey, wait.”
I pause, but keep my gaze to the ground. There’s a sting of emotion behind my eyes and, while I don’t think I’ll actually cry, I don’t want Britney to see the mess of emotions on my face. The ones I’ve successfully kept bottled up and pushed away this entire week.
“She’s meeting you there.”
The spark in my chest reignites at her words. Snapping my gaze to her, she appears a bit fuzzy. “What?”
“Aw, oh my god, Corey. Are you crying? That’s honestly so sweet—”
“I’m not crying,” I say, the lie tasting dry on my tongue. “It’s the heat. You said she’s still coming?”
“Yes. She left here like, fifteen minutes ago, all dressed up and in a panic.”
I rub the not-tear fuzzies out of my eye and fix Britney with a look. “You could have led with that.”
She shrugs. “I love telling a dramatic story, don’t you?”
“Should I just… go pick her up at the youth center?”
Britney shakes her head. “I’m not sure how long she’ll take, and I know she would never forgive either of us if you missed getting that award.” Britney gives me a knowing wink, and I actually chuckle. The laughter feels warm and light in my chest, something that’s been vacant for days.
“Okay. I guess I’ll just…”
“Go!” Britney laughs and gives me a playful shove toward the door.
“Thanks, Brit,” I say, giving her a smile before sliding back into the limo.
“You have to earn that nickname!” she shouts at the shut door. I can’t help but laugh louder, feeling lighter and more hopeful than I ever could have imagined.
Two hours later, standing at the bar in the lobby of the theater with my best friends, there’s still no sign of Bex.
Christian is staring every which way, claiming he’s looking for her, but I know he’s really doing the tally thing he does when he hangs out with me at industry events. Aaron is nursing a bourbon neat, and his concerned gaze hasn’t left mine for almost an hour.
“This might top last year,” Christian murmurs, smirking at Caroline Bangs as she saunters by. She’s not looking at him, though. She’s looking at me. Her stare feels like acid peeling a hole through my suit.
I toss back the remainder of my whiskey on the rocks and motion the bartender for another .
“That’ll be your third, man,” Aaron says, his voice low. I want to snap that I don’t need him keeping track of my drinks. That I’m fully aware I should slow down. But every minute that ticks by, the closer we get to the beginning of the show, the less likely it is that Bex will actually show up.
If she was planning to show up at all.
“You don’t think…”
“Think what?” Aaron asks.
“That this was all a joke? The suit, the ‘pick her up on the way’ bit? The excuse with the youth center—”
“Corey,” Aaron says, cutting me off. “Bex is a good person. She has an honest heart. I promise you, if she’s not here soon, she’s just hung up with the youth center business.”
“Yeah,” Christian says, not taking his eyes off the crowds milling around the lobby. “Why didn’t you ask her hot friend for the new phone number?”
“Don’t call her that,” Aaron growls. Christian and I both stare at him. “I mean, yes, she’s hot. But be respectful. That’s Bex’s friend.” Christian shrugs and turns back to his game. “Why didn’t you ask Britney for the number?” Aaron asks me.
Narrowing my eyes at him, I say, “Why don’t you text Britney and ask for it?”
Aaron’s cheeks flush, and I immediately wish I could take it back. I never got to the bottom of his crush on Britney, but I can’t wrap my brain around the fact that he’s having trouble asking her out. He’s a goddamn billionaire and, if I was attracted to men that way, totally fuckable. And he’s nice on top of all of it. A fucking catch .
Opening my mouth to apologize, I’m cut off by Drew’s arrival. “Five minutes til the five-minute warning,” he announces. He takes one look at Christian and asks us, “Is he playing that stupid fucking game again?”
“You know it!” Christian chuckles.
I shake my head. “Every year.”
“Every year it gets better and better,” Christian laughs.
Starting about ten years ago, when I became a regular at this awards show, I started bringing my friends with me as guests. The show is always in Vegas and we all had a fun time. More recently, with Drew and Aaron opening the Bravado, they don’t need to come as my guests. They own this place. Christian, however, still tags along as a guest of one of us.
That first year, Christian was so nervous being around industry actors—especially the women—that he played a game to calm himself down. It’s a bit crass, but it keeps him from acting like a total idiot.
“How many adult film stars here have you seen naked, Christian?” Drew asks dryly, taking a glass of champagne from the bartender.
“Right now, it’s a record-breaking—”
“Hey, is that Bex?” Drew’s question drowns out all the noise around me.
I whip my head around toward the back of the theater lobby, where steps lead up to the balcony seating areas. Why she would be coming from there, I have no idea, but I’m so thankful Drew spotted her. There’s a small area for the press to gather at the bottom of the stairs, where they capture all the arriving nominees against an AFA backdrop. The upper level seating is cordoned off for members of the public who purchased tickets to attend, so there’s no one else on the stairs, except for Bex.
My breath catches in my throat as she descends the plush, red-carpeted stairs, gripping to the railing for support. She’s wearing high, strappy heels, and I immediately begin to cross the room toward her .
Bex’s dark hair is pinned back to one side, chocolate waves cascading over her shoulders. Her dress is dark plum, a little silk number that gathers tightly across her breasts and flows down like liquid from her waist to her knees. As she moves, the dress shifts slightly, and a beautiful, creamy glimpse of her leg peeks through a thigh high slit.
She pauses midway down the stairs, peering out over the crowd and searching for me.
Fuck, she is so beautiful. Pushing past a few of the press, I approach the bottom of the stairs and catch her gaze.
Her expression softens, and it’s like the commotion around us silences. The lights dim once, twice, three times, accompanied by a muffled announcement for us to all take our seats. I start up a step toward Bex, but she holds out a hand.
“Wait, wait,” she says, breathy and giggly, and fuck , I want to kiss her mouth and suck that laugh into me. “Let me have my moment.”
“Moment?”
“My ‘She’s All That Moment’, come on, Corey,” she says teasingly. She’s only five stairs above me, and at this angle, I can almost see up that dangerous slit in her dress. “That might have been after your time,” she jokes, as she continues to descend.
“I’m not ancient, Bex. Just don’t fall—”
No sooner than the words came out of my mouth did she slip on a step. I catch her easily in my arms and haul her up close against my body.
“Now, what did I just say?” I ask, cupping her face with a shaky hand.
Her eyes darken as she stares up at me. “I don’t listen very well sometimes, sir.”
“Bex,” I growl. “Ah, fuck it.”
With one hand on her waist, steadying her, and the other sliding into the waves of her hair, wrapping around the back of her neck, I lower my mouth to hers, our lips and tongues meeting in a passionate clash. She moans into my mouth, which causes me to grip her neck tighter.
I need everyone here tonight, everyone in the fucking world, to know… Bex is mine.