10. Jenna
Chapter ten
Jenna
I startle awake.
The sound of loud rustling, conversations and laughter erupts from the foyer, causing my body to fling into an upright position.
Checking my phone, it’s nearly showtime for Olive, and I have twenty minutes to get ready and be out the door. “Fuck,” I mutter to myself as I scramble in a daze, leaping off the couch.
I run through my mini to-do list out loud.
“I need to shower, unpack, put on some makeup, do my hair and…shit, I don’t have time to do any of that.” I shake my head in frustration with a loud groan.
Dragging my suitcase away from the front door, I don’t bother to give myself a tour.
I’ll do it later.
Instead, I frantically rip the zip open, and rummage through my bag to find something presentable but not too over the top. I sift through bike shorts, baggy t-shirts and leggings before I find something that doesn’t look like I’ve just rolled out of bed. “This will do.” I pull out a soft, lilac, summer dress with thick straps that sit over my sun kissed, freckled shoulders.
It has a cinched waist line—chosen carefully so I don’t look like I’m wearing a potato sack—and flows nicely down my legs. I don’t buy casual dresses that hug my thighs. Having them rub together, and the inevitable chafe that will follow, isn’t something I can be bothered dealing with, so I do my best to avoid it all together.
Tucking the outfit under my arm, I rip open the duffel bag that holds my shoes and find my nude sandals right at the top. Scrambling to my feet, I head for the open door across from my bedroom that I assume is the bathroom and sigh in relief when I’m right, lunging to turn the water on.
I shower the quickest I ever have, tie my hair up in a neat, loose bun, apply some mascara, and a thin layer of lip gloss, and sigh as I pat the sweat off my upper lip with bunched-up toilet paper.
Making my way into the kitchen, I sink into one of the three bar stools at the island in my kitchen, and I feel my phone vibrating in my hand. Turning the screen to face me, my best friend’s name appears on the screen.
Cassandra: Got my times wrong, oopsie.
Cassandra: She isn’t on for another hour. Be at yours in 40.
I heart react to the message to let her know that I’ve read it, place my phone face down on the kitchen countertop in front of me, and relax against the backrest of the stool.
Finally taking in my surroundings, the layout to the apartment is similar to my home back in California.
From where I sit, I can almost see everything. The L-shaped couch in front of me is a light gray, with a splash of pink and black in the form of cushions to give it some color, and a matching thin, pink throw blanket placed neatly over an armrest.
Spinning around, I take in the gray kitchen. Gray cabinets, even the gray fridge, and I can’t help but chuckle to myself. It seems Cassandra’s design input began and ended with the front door. She would never have approved of this much of the same color.
Though, there is a glass vase on the counter full of orchids, and I know she had that personal touch put there just for me.
My phone vibrates again just as I sit down on the couch after giving myself a mini tour of my apartment, and I see her name light up again.
Cassandra: We’re a little early.
Me: Coming.
Grabbing the purse I arrived with, I throw my phone inside, along with my new keys, and bank card, before closing the door behind me.
I dip through the crowd that’s still growing in the foyer, laughter continuing to erupt from every corner, and I sneak out unseen, grateful no one seems to notice their hairstylist zipping through the room.
It seems they’re having a last minute introductory party with the complimentary alcohol Harley stocked the fridges with.
“You look nice,” Cassandra says once I’m in their car, sitting comfortably in the middle of the backseat. I smile at them both, thanking them for picking me up, and we spend the rest of the drive talking about the latest episode of trash TV, while Harley sits with his jaw clenched and fists gripped tight around the steering wheel. He pretends to not care about Hate or Date Me, but Cassandra says he watches it religiously with her.
“Oh, that reminds me,” I interrupt her. “When we get there, I have to tell you all something that you’re never going to believe.” I smirk cheekily as I look in the rear-view mirror where Harley’s eyes meet mine suspiciously. My best friend claps her hands together excitedly. “Robbie will be there tonight, too, right? He’s in town?” My question is directed at Harley, and he nods awkwardly, eyebrows pinching together.
“Are you and Robbie finally admitting you’re in love with each other?” Cassandra gawks at me, hands on her flushed cheeks, and I roll my eyes while gently slapping her on the shoulder.
“Fortunately, no. That will never happen,” I remind her for what feels like the hundredth time. “Besides, I think he has a thing for brunettes.” I watch Harley as I wiggle my brows at him, trying to figure out if he knows something that his wife clearly doesn’t, and by the mortified look on his face, I have a feeling he knows and has been sworn to secrecy by his best friend.
Even from his wife.
I, on the other hand, haven’t sworn anyone, anything.
The three of us find Lizzie and Robbie quickly through the crowd, managing somehow to secure seats right up front before Olive gets on stage. “So what’s this thing you want to tell us?” Cassandra asks, sipping on a glass of water that she poured herself from the jug that sits on the table. I can hear her over the crowd only just, but I don’t imagine I’ll be able to for much longer.
“I have a feeling Olive might tell you with one of the songs she sings tonight,” I say decidedly, hoping like hell she’s written something about sleeping with a super hot, retired NFL star.
You can imagine my utter joy when it’s the very first song on her set list.
Our table—along with every other person in the room—doesn’t so much as whisper a single word until she strums out the last chord and the applause of the crowd rings through my ears.
“That was some song. Right, Robbie?” I ask him with a sip of my drink, watching his face turn beet red at the realization of what I’m doing.
Harley kicks my foot under the table with a quick shake of the head.
“Isn’t it? She said she wrote it about me and Harley.” Cassandra swoons, chiming in, and I can easily see why she would think that, and I hate to be the one to burst her bubble, but I can’t wait to see her reaction to finding out her baby sister isn’t as innocent as we all think she is.
“I didn’t realize Harley had fair skin and freckles across his nose. Robbie, do you see any freckles on Harley’s face?” I edge myself closer to Harley, my eyes an inch away from his face, squinting with an obvious shake of my head.
All while Lizzie smirks knowingly, imitating zipping her lips closed. She refuses to throw her twin under the bus, but is happy to let me do it.
“Robbie has… You fucked my sister? You took her virginity ?” Cassandra stands from her seat, finger pointed at her husband’s best friend, who frowns at me, then shakes his head while raising his hands in his defense.
“Did I fuck your sister? Yeah, I admit it. I’d do it again, too, if she wanted me to. But if you think for one second that I took that girl’s virginity, you have another thing coming, Herring.” He huffs. “That girl is fucking wild , and I would confidently bet my entire net worth that I did not take her virginity.” He smirks behind his beer glass, but the blush on his cheeks is undeniable.
“That’s my girl.” Lizzie proudly shouts, raising her glass as if to toast her sister, while I watch my best friend cover her ears, decidedly having enough of this conversation.
“La la la la, I don’t need to know any of this,” she says, eyes squeezed shut, fingers in her ears.
The table bursts into a fit of laughter until Cassandra calms down and she asks Robbie very seriously if he plans to date her sister. When the answer is ‘ no’ , they come to an agreement that it will never happen again.
It was a one-time thing, apparently.
We spend the rest of Olive’s set in silence, staring in adoration at a girl who underestimates her talent, knowing this time next year she could be a huge star. Especially if the production company picks her songs up for the soundtrack.
She’s going to take the music industry by storm, one steamy, sad song at a time.
“I heard Cole Green is in the building tonight. You’ll have to introduce me,” Lizzie says, wiggling her brows, nibbling on the straw in between her lips. She bats her eyelashes at me, as if I’m the one she’s flirting with.
“I would, but I haven’t even met him yet, so that grand introduction will have to wait,” I reply casually, and she sighs, placing her drink back down onto the table.
“Ol, my wild girl!” Lizzie squeals as Olive approaches our table, guitar still in hand. Robbie excuses himself and Cassandra rolls her eyes, unsure if she’s more pissed off at her husband for keeping it from her, or Robbie for banging her sister after being given strict instructions to stay away, or at Olive for telling everyone but her.
“Thanks for coming, guys,” Olive says, taking a sip of her room-temperature bottled water, wiping sweat from her top lip. “It felt so good to be up there.” She smiles, sitting down on the seat Robbie just left vacant.
“That song you wrote…” Cassandra begins to question. “About the football player and the girl?”
“What about it?” Olive asks nonchalantly. She picks at food scraps from the middle of the table without a care in the world.
“I thought it was about Harley and me?” Cassandra asks, and every pair of eyes at the table are locked on them.
“I never told you it was. You heard the word football and ran with it.” She shrugs. “If you must know, it was about—”
“Robbie,” the rest of the table says in unison, and Olive goes beet red before fanning her face.
“I like sex. I just don’t talk about it like the rest of you,” she says. “Anyone else starving, or just me?” She picks up a menu off the table staring intensely at it. Cassandra scoffs playfully, and the conversation changes while Olive decides on what to eat.
***
“I’m nervous,” Tahnee says, fingers fiddling with the wedding band on her left hand, foot tapping unnecessarily loud on the black rubber floor beneath our feet.
Wingrove Estates is being used as the set for the film, and they’ve transformed the wedding barn completely. It’s almost unrecognizable. “I hope we have everything we need,” she whispers to me, even though nobody else is in earshot. They’re all busy focusing on what they’ve been assigned to do.
Tahnee arrived in the early hours of the morning and is running on coffee and fumes.
I had the worst sleep of my life.
I hoped the quiet of small town living would help me fall asleep, but it’s definitely going to take some getting used to. It’s too quiet.
“We’ve gone over everything a dozen times. We’re going to do great, Tahn. Deep breaths,” I instruct her, squeezing her hand in mine.
She closes her eyes and does exactly as I’ve told her.
I might be cool and calm on the outside, but on the inside, I’m a mess.
I’ve been up since five this morning, nervously baking the entire cast and crew–and Marv–miniature cupcakes that I placed on the snack table when I walked into the room.
I’m not a baker. I’ve never claimed to be a baker. Hell, I’m not even any good at it, but when I need to calm myself down, baking is what I do because it requires all of my attention.
It was harder than usual without my mixer, though. Bringing it with me to Grangewood Creek just didn’t seem like a logical move.
“Blondie!” a voice shouts from behind us, silencing the room. Everyone stops dead in their tracks, and I feel the weight of every single set of eyes boring into the back and sides of my head.
“I think he’s talking to you,” Tahnee tells me quietly, her eyes widening in disbelief, staring as she waits for me to turn around.
“Me?” I whisper back, slowly turning on my heels, finger buried into my chest.
I can feel my heart hammering against my ribs and into my fingertip. As it slowly calms down, I force my arms by my side. My knuckles are clenched into fists to hide the shaking.
“Yes, you.” He looks to be in his mid forties. Silver hair is forcing its way through his bad dye job, and his fake tan is still clearly developing. His eyes are so blue, they’re almost scary.
To his left is a man, back to the rest of us, deep in conversation with our executive producer, Laurel Jo. “I need you to stand in for Mara for the camera test. You’re both blonde and about the same height. She’s running late.” She and I have met a few times, and while she seemed nice enough, I now hold a tiny grudge toward her for being late and, in turn, having me sought out in front of everybody.
Of all things, this.
Of all people, me.
I don’t want to walk toward him, but my body feels as though it has no choice. My head nods slowly, eyes darting around the room, and my feet move on their own accord.
“Cole. This is—” He pauses, leaving me to fill in the blanks, his eyes flicking between me and the star of the film who I’m still yet to meet.
“Jennifer Rogers. Hair and makeup,” I tell him.
“Right, Jennifer Rogers. I assume you’ve both met,” he says to Cole, who politely ends his conversation with Laurel, turning his body to face mine.
Suddenly, everything is moving in slow motion.
“You assume correctly, Jude.” The mystery man, Mr. GQ, the love of my life for the night and morning, winks at me before turning his attention to our director, Jude Townsend. “This is my girlfriend,” he says loud enough for the whole room to hear. A devilish grin slapped across his smug, stupid, sexy face.
Gasps sound off from all around us, hovering in the air, but I think mine is the loudest. “Just go with it, Snow,” he whispers in my ear for only me to hear, planting a soft kiss on my cheek before pulling away. “Glad you could make it, baby.”
“Even better! Places, people! Let’s get this show on the road.”
I wasn’t allowed to move from my spot until Jude was finished with me, and I was no longer needed.
“Mara’s here, you can go,” he finally said to me, and I hurried away, ripping my phone out of my back pocket to send a text to my best friend.
Me: S.O.S
Cassandra: An S.O.S on day 1?
Me: Like you wouldn’t believe.
I’m fucking screwed.