12. Chapter Twelve
And the text read, “Dude, are you seriously dating that chick? Don’t forget my house has cameras.”
* * *
Armed with bags of burgers and fries, I head toward the coast. I’ve called in a favor with a friend who lives right off the beach. He’s out of town, and we can walk out onto the beach, away from tourists, right from his back door.
I haven’t cleared that with Christina, but it still fits into our plans. It’ll be a good place for her to calm down. She’s been a bit tense since we left the hotel. And who could blame her?
I’ve now been around her and her mother twice, and I can see the energy that takes on Christina’s part. Her mother wanted her there for the event, but once her mother was the center of attention, she didn’t even acknowledge her daughter—or us, for that matter.
Christina kept moving us to the edge of the crowd, and she held onto me as if I were her lifeline. Photos were taken of us, and we talked to a few industry people while we were there. All along, we played up our little relationship, so it looked like we couldn’t get enough of one another.
It didn’t go unnoticed that her father hadn’t bothered to show up. I wonder if he’s invested in her mother’s spa business or not. Are they married in name and appearance only? Is it any different from what Christina and I are doing? The thought weighs heavy in my chest.
“How long have you lived here?” she asks me.
I’ve put the top down on the car and the sleek ponytail she’d been wearing now has loose strands flying around her face.
“You mean in the area?” I ask.
“California. I know you’re not from here.”
That surprises me. I can’t imagine that she’d have bothered to know anything about me.
“I’ve lived here since I was fourteen,” I say.
“Where did you live before?”
“Ohio.”
She turns her head and studies me. “Ohio? What made you move from Ohio to California?”
“I got a part in a TV show.”
I watch as she bites down on her lip. This is the part that seems to be news to her.
“When you were fourteen?” she asks.
“Yep. The House on the Corner,” I say. “I was the next-door neighbor for three seasons.”
Now she shifts with the bags of food on her lap and looks directly at me. “Chip?”
I laugh. “Yeah, that was me.”
“God, I had the biggest crush on you,” she laughs, and it’s genuine and sweet. “On Chip, I mean.”
“And you didn’t know that was me?”
Christina shrugs. “My nanny and I used to watch that on Monday nights after dinner.”
“You and your nanny? How old are you?”
“I’m not that much younger than you.”
I push my hand into her shoulder as a jab from across the car. “How old are you?”
“I’ll be thirty in May,” she says sheepishly.
“Five years,” I say. “So, you were nine when I took the role of Chip.”
“See, I wouldn’t have correlated that it was you. I liked Chip, not Graham.”
I grin at her. “Yeah, but you had a crush on me. That’s something.”
“It’s not valid now. I don’t have a crush on you anymore.”
I shrug. “It’s just nice to know you once pined for me.”
She laughs again, and I realize I like the sound of it. In fact, unless it was scripted, I can’t say I’ve ever heard her laugh before.
I drive down one of the streets lined by houses that back to the ocean. I slow and pull into the driveway of one of them.
“What are you doing?” Christina asks with urgency laced into her voice.
“Parking. Actually, I’m going to park in the garage,” I say as I put the car in park and open the car door.
She reaches for my arm. “You don’t live here. Why are we here, at this house?” Her voice shakes as if this is a trigger for her.
“This is the house of a buddy who is out of town. He said I could park here, and we can sit on the back patio overlooking the beach.”
She worries her bottom lip as she does when she’s uncomfortable.
“I’m not going to try anything on you or abandon you in some strange house. We’re here to feed you and enjoy the beach.” My voice is straining because she’s making me crazy with this hot and cold attitude of hers.
“Fine. But we eat and you take me home.”
I nod, because suddenly getting her home won’t come fast enough.
Christina follows me through the house. Is she just taking it in, or is she freaked out that we’re here? I can’t tell. All I know is that this was a mistake. We do fine in public. We know how to do that. But any time alone, we fumble until it becomes uncomfortable.
“Whose house is this?” she asks as we walk through the state-of-the-art kitchen toward the sliding glass doors that lead to the patio.
“Craig Mason’s,” I say.
Christina stops and looks around. “Dodgers?”
I chuckle. I’m surprised she knows that. “Yes.”
“Okay. I think I’m impressed.”
I raise a brow and pull open the vertical blinds that cover the sliding glass doors. “Why are you impressed?”
“You have famous friends.”
I eye her coolly. “I know a lot of people,” I say.
She bites down on her lip and thinks about that. “I just don’t see you out hobnobbing. I mean, it’s not in the entertainment news and all.”
“Meaning you don’t see me courtside at the Lakers games or in a suite at a Dodgers game?”
“Exactly.”
“I’m not famous enough for anyone to care,” I say, and I hear the bit of jealousy that hangs in my voice. “Just this little affair we’re having seems to be newsworthy. But trust me, you’re not the only person in my life, honey,” I say as I open the sliding door.
I don’t wait for her. I walk out onto the patio and take in a deep breath. The serene view calms me, and at this moment, that’s what I need.
The reason Christina and I don’t get along is because she’s hard to be around. She’s hot. She’s cold. She’s a princess. She’s fragile. I can’t keep up.
Sure, I’m not all that serious when we’re working. I want to enjoy my job. What the hell makes people want us together, I don’t know. But the network keeps casting us together. It’s going to happen when you’re working with an ensemble cast. I’ve done a few movies with other actresses for the channel, but they don’t have the same ratings as when I’m paired with Christina.
We are network gold, and I’ll never understand it.
Ratings go up when our movies play. Advertising spaces cost more during our movies. We get our own panels and meet-and-greets at fan events, when everyone else is forced to do them as a group.
I move to the railing and grip it. Taking in another breath, I hear her come through the door and set the bag of food on the small table.
“This is nice,” she says appreciatively.
“It’s a great place to just come and collect yourself,” I say.
“Do you do that a lot?”
Oh, she has no idea how soothing this place can be after a day of working with her. “Yes,” I say before turning toward her.
Christina brushes off the small chair at the table and sits down. I sit down across from her and open the bag of food.
“Promise me you’ll eat this,” I say as I pull out a wrapped burger and hand it to her.
“I’ll eat it.”
I set the fries between us and watch as she immediately takes one and eats it. She hums, and I wonder if she thinks that’s all she’s going to eat. Honestly, if she doesn’t eat that burger, I might force it down her throat.
“I forgot how good this is,” she says.
“That was one fry.”
“Yeah, but it was really good.”
I watch as she unwraps her burger completely and finally takes a bite. Her eyes close, and she chews thoughtfully. I wonder if she can even finish that burger. If she chews each bite so thoroughly, we might be here all day.
What happens after she finishes it? Will she be happy and satisfied? Or is she one of those people who is going to run to the bathroom and throw it up?
That thought horrifies me.
“Thank you,” she says.
I lift my sunglasses to the top of my head and study her. “Why?”
“For treating me like a human.”
“Because I bought you a hamburger?”
She nods. “It actually means a lot.”