38. Jenna
Chapter thirty-eight
Jenna
Amanda Bynes and Channing Tatum in a soccer rom-com? Yes, please.
If I wanted to annoy Cole, I would recite every single line of this film from start to finish, but he’s grown on me a little too much for me to willingly annoy him.
Nobody ever did for me what he did today.
Not my friends in high school.
Not even my first boyfriend.
They all stood idly by and watched as my mom tore me to shreds.
Cassandra never had the chance because I refused to allow the two of them to be in a room together. But I’ve got no doubt that if I let her, she would unleash what she’s kept inside for the better part of the last twelve years.
Ever since I was old enough to understand what my mom’s words meant, I never allowed myself to be in a position for her to judge me publicly.
Hell, I never wanted her to judge me at all.
I always made sure to dress in a way that suited my size. I made sure I never ate in front of her, and if I did, it would be a basic salad without the dressing.
I’d even drink my coffee black in her presence. No cream, no sugar, and definitely not the caramel drizzle.
I’ve dealt with enough shit from her in every aspect of my life, but never had she questioned the legitimacy of a man’s feelings for me until today, and Cole took it in his stride.
He played the part like the actor he is, and I went along with it, because I wanted so badly to believe that everything he said was true. Not being judged for the clothes I wear, my food intake, or how I like my coffee—it’s the absolute bare minimum, but for me, the bar was set so low until Cole attached it to a green flag and waved that thing around like it was so normal.
Even strangers I walk past in the street do a double-take if I’m wearing something that doesn’t suit my body type—like it’s any of their business.
Or when I’m walking back to the salon, through the busy streets of L.A, with takeout food in my hands.
While they might actually not be judging me, it feels like they are, because that’s all my mom ever did.
Your boobs are too big for that top.
Are you really going to wear that skirt? It’s a little short, you can see everything.
People would be able to see your pretty face if you lost weight.
It’s a shame your thighs are so thick. With a waist as small as yours, you could actually have a body a man would want if you tried a little.
But I heard the last of it today, and I can say that with complete certainty.
“So, what did you think?” I ask, my belly full of food, and no feeling of guilt in sight. Not from him now that the creek scene has been shot, and certainly not from me.
“It was fine, I guess.” He shrugs, lips tugging up at the sides. Those dark eyes twinkle under the light from the credits rolling on the huge screen in front of us, and I have to force myself to look away.
The sun has completely set, and the sky alight with stars, but all I see is him.
“Oh, come on. You know it was one of the best movies you’ve ever seen,” I say with full confidence, and a smile that hasn’t left my face since we walked out of the diner. I finally understand what people mean when they say their face hurts from laughing too much.
Pulling my seatbelt over my chest, he buckles it in for me. He doesn’t answer, he just stares at me with a gentle smile, taking my hand in his.
“Home?” he asks, and I nod. I like the way that sounds on his lips.
“You don’t want to stay for your favorite movie?” I ask to make sure, and he shakes his head in response.
“I’ve seen it enough times, and there’s something else I want to watch instead.” He wiggles his brows, swiping his tongue back and forth over his bottom lip, and my underwear soaks.
“My place or yours?”
“Yours,” he replies, kissing the back of my hand, but I don’t turn on the ignition.
Instead, I say the one thing that’s been on my mind for who knows how long.
“Hey, Cole?”
“Yeah, Snow?” He turns to face me.
“Do you think this could be classed as that date you wanted to take me on?” I ask shyly, glad it’s too dark to see the redness that I know colors my cheeks.
I’m not asking because I want to date him, but this kind of feels like one.
“That depends,” he replies, and says nothing else.
“On what?”
“Promise me that when this is all over, you’ll give us a shot. We don’t go back to being strangers. And we don’t end. Because, God, Snow, I’m not ready for it to end.”
What?
My mouth opens, and snaps shut with no attempt at getting a word out.
Coward.
“Think about it, OK? Don’t just say ‘no’ because it's all you’ve ever known.”
I nod, and we spend the rest of the drive listening to love songs on the radio, the wind flapping through our open windows, and my hair sticking to my freshly-balmed lips.
Walking through the foyer, I send a smile in Marv’s direction, with Cole not far behind me, his hands buried deep in the front pockets of his jeans. This is the first time since lunch that his hands haven’t been on me in one way or another, and my body notices his absence.
It’s almost painful.
He just basically asked you to be with him, and you panicked. You don’t deserve to miss the way his hands feel on your skin.
Once we make it inside my apartment, I lock the door then deadbolt it, slide my shoes off, and I head to my room to finally put on clothes that I feel comfortable in. The need to care about others’ opinions doesn’t seem to exist anymore.
“You didn’t answer my question before,” I tell him as I take a seat next to him, watching as he pours us two glasses of Merlot.
At least he didn’t take my silence earlier as a reason to leave.
“Which question?” he croaks out, screwing the lid back on the bottle before putting it away into my cupboard.
“The things you told my mom at the diner. If they weren’t true, you didn’t need to lie about them just to make me come off more impressive to her,” I tell him, but the way his body stiffens tells me I’m way off.
“It was all true, but I’m not ashamed of the life I lived before.” He picks up the two glasses and makes his way toward me on the couch before he sits. Placing them onto their designated coasters, he turns to face me. “After living in places like Milan, Paris, and London, I moved to New York for a while. It was so much travel, and not a lot of enjoyment. After my last modeling gig three years ago, I decided I’d had enough of that life.” He shrugs, taking a sip. “But I told your mom about that side of me because I wanted her to see something that wasn’t physical. She couldn’t see someone like me with her daughter, but I wanted her to wonder what her daughter was doing with someone like me . Someone who, most days, would have to search between his single bed mattress and the wall for money to buy dinner.” He laughs awkwardly, knowing he’s exposing all of himself to me.
“So, you became an actor instead?” I ask, watching a slight tinge of pink appear on his tanned cheeks.
“That was all Tate’s idea. He threw me into acting lessons and was adamant he could make me a star, completely ignoring my protests. Right now, I live in a tiny apartment above the Lotus where my clothes constantly smell like cigarettes and alcohol, which you painstakingly pointed out. The walls are stained yellow, and the floors creak with every step I take. I’m in my thirties, and I sleep on a single bed.” He sighs. “It’s so small that my feet hang off the end.” He shakes his head, his chest vibrating with laughter.
The Lotus.
No wonder I felt a pull to it.
I haven’t seen this side of him—the openness and the vulnerability—it’s making my insides tingle in a way they never have before, in a way I’ve never allowed myself to feel.
And it makes me want to agree to his offer from earlier, but the words just won’t come out of my mouth, no matter how hard I try and force them to.
“The Lotus?” I ask to make sure. I know in my gut that it’s exactly the same place I was just at with Margot. Which means we’ve been so close to each other for years without somehow ever crossing paths.
Maybe I just wasn’t ready to meet him until now.
Am I even ready to know him yet?
“The very same Lotus I saw you walk past the night after we met.” He inches a little closer to me, and I feel my body stiffen beside his. He’s getting too close for comfort, and alarm bells sound in my head.
If I kiss him, he’s going to think my answer is yes, and I’m not ready to make that type of decision.
Not yet.
“You should go,” I blurt out, quickly rising to my feet. I hurry to my kitchen and pour our full glasses of wine down the sink.
He pauses mid movement, watching me cautiously, waiting for me to tell him I’m kidding, and that we can watch our second movie for the night. But I don’t do any of that, because I won’t allow myself to get caught up in the moment. My brain is being logical in the words I say and the way I move, but my heart? My heart is begging, pleading with me to open up to him, while trying to claw its way out of my throat and into his hands.
To let him have a part of me that no one has ever even wanted.
Yesterday I was riding his cock on the couch in my trailer after attempting to end things with him and he didn’t let me.
Of course he didn’t let me.
Because he wants you.
Today has been a lot, and the last thing I want to focus on is how the organ in my chest is doing things it’s never done before.
I’ve convinced myself that he was acting—that he was putting his talent to use when there were no cameras around—because there’s no universe in which a man like him would want a woman like me.
My mom said so herself.
Whenever it’s shown on social media or on TV that a man like Cole is with a plus size, curvy woman, and doting on her proudly, I applaud it.
But me? No way.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” He stands, walking slowly out my apartment door, and closing it behind him.
I expected him to put up a fight. Maybe even beg me a little, but he gives up almost too quickly. I won't allow myself to dwell on it. Kicking him out was my idea, he's just doing what he's told.
I hurry, turning the locks in place before dragging my feet to the bathroom to wash my once tear-streaked face, and turn in for the night.
I toss and turn, struggling to get comfortable, and when my phone vibrates on my nightstand, I see The Herring Girls chat light up the screen. Text after text rolls through, and I can no longer ignore it.
Lizzie: Never pegged you for a home wrecker, Rogers!
Olive: Neither did I, but kind of dig it.
Cassandra: You both know as well as I do that it’s all lies.
I sit upright.
Me: What are you guys even talking about? And why are you all awake?
Olive: I was just leaving the studio when my phone pinged with an alert from the Grangewood Daily.
Lizzie: Me too.
Lizzie: But I was leaving some guy’s house, not the studio.
Lizzie: I may not be talented musically, but I have the walk of shame down to a science. hair flicking emoji
Me: I don’t have access to the Grangewood Daily. Send me a screenshot.
And they do. Four of them, to be exact. The headline reads ‘ Hollywood’s Newest Heartthrob, Cole Green, busted hand in hand with Celebrity hairstylist, Jenna Rogers’.
My stomach drops.
I flick through and zoom in on the photos attached to the articles, refusing to read the false words attached to it.
He and I sat in the booth with my mom and Mark at Katie’s. The two of us walking hand in hand down Main Street toward my car, looking too loved up to even care. There are pictures of us at the drive in cinema, my head resting on his shoulder, laughing while watching my favorite movie. And the money shot? A close up of me shoving a slice of pizza in my mouth.
My phone vibrates again, and it’s Cole’s name on the screen.
He’s obviously seen the article or he wouldn’t be calling me—he never calls me, but I reject it. I don’t want to hear his voice, or hear him tell me it’ll be fine and he’ll sort it out.
I just had to force myself to kick him out of my apartment before we inevitably had sex.
Sex that no doubt would have been slower and filled with passion, because we’d both be caught up in the moment of the events that transpired tonight. But right now, I want nothing more than the shooting of this stupid movie to be over, so I can go back to living the life I was.
Where falling in love with different men was a monthly occurrence for me.
Men that I would forget about the next day.
But here I am, stuck in a small town for the next few weeks, in love with the man who was supposed to be the love of my life for the night.
Only, I feel like he might be the love of my life, period.