Lennox
“Cheers to the Grade A, top tier cast of The Ex-Factor!” Jamal raises his drink, in the middle of the table and we all clink our glasses together.
I sip on the smoky flavored bourbon and let the burn coat my mouth before swallowing it down.
Filming doesn’t start for another ten weeks but this was the only night that the main cast could coordinate our schedules before we report to set.
The Ex-Factor is a modern day Dramedy where I play a prior high school jock and homecoming king that broke my girlfriend's heart senior year. Fast forward ten years, she comes to the high school reunion arm-in-arm with her new boyfriend, played by Jamal, and a hefty side of a major glow-up.
The jock, of course, realizes what a mistake he made and does everything in his power to get her back. Jamal and I spend the entirety of the movie fighting for her love.
Even though there’s a bit of humor sprinkled in, the love triangle goes through hell and back and in the end she has to make a choice.
Spoiler alert: She doesn’t pick me.
Just like Jace.
The woe is me mentality—that I can’t seem to fight off—weighs on me, making it feel like a personal attack.
I couldn’t stop thinking about him today. That’s not unusual compared to most days but when we all came together at the studio earlier today, it sent me into an abrupt spiral, recalling everything I felt the first time I met Jace.
This cast is amazing, all up-and-coming like myself without the virality I had with the social media stuff.
But they’re no Jace Wilder.
“Lennox,” Serena says leaning into me. Everyone at the table turns their attention to her. “You have to tell us how it was working with Jace Wilder.”
“Yeah, is he as rigid as everyone says he is?” Jamal adds.
“I heard that he’s such a perfectionist and demands so much of his on-screen partners that even directors are intimidated working with him.”
Wow, I’m stunned. I mean, he’s a tiny bit uptight. Okay fine, a lot uptight, but he’s not rude by any means.
“Nah, that’s all Hollywood folklore. He’s alright actually. Brilliant actor.” I sip my drink, allowing the burn to singe my tastebuds and hopefully prevent me from talking anymore because I don’t want my co-workers seeing right through me.
“So, was it all a show?” Kelsey asks, clearly the filterless one of the group. “The paparazzi photos and articles about you two?”
“You guys know how it goes. Any publicity is good publicity when it comes to marketing a movie, right?”
“My cautious agent would highly disagree with you on that,” Jamal says, chuckling.
“That bums me out,” Kelsey adds, wistfully. “I was cheering for you two. It all looked so real and I’ve followed Jace’s career my whole life. I swear I’ve never seen him smile like he did when filming with you.”
Her words stab my heart with the force of a thousand needles.
“I mean, don’t get me wrong, we’re great friends. The chemistry was real in that sense.” The word, friend, is bitter on my tongue.
I open my mouth to say more but I’m stepping into dangerous territory here and I have to stop.
The waitress makes a round to our table and while she holds their attention I pour the rest of my drink on the ground. I don’t feel like drinking but I also don’t trust myself.
I'm spiraling and nothing good is going to come out of how I’m feeling right now.
Glancing around, I look for an escape. They’re fun, they’re great actually, but I can’t be here right now.
Not with my mind reeling a hundred miles an hour, roledexing every single memory my brain can conjure up of the gorgeous blond, stupidly perfect prom king while my heart wants to swim to the bottom of my stomach.
“I’ve got to run you guys,” I say to the group. Jamal and Kelsey throw words to fight with me while Serena pouts playfully.
“Oh, oh. Can I get a picture with all of you?” the waitress asks, and we of course all say yes or nod.
She hands her phone to another employee and comes to my side. I wrap my arm around her shoulder and the five of us smile wide for the picture.
After, I say my goodbyes and head out through the back door, pulling out my phone to call a ride share.
People tell me I should probably hire a permanent driver at this point but my imposter syndrome won’t let me bite the bullet and do that. Not only do I know this can all end tomorrow but I don’t know that I’m important enough to have my own personal driver.
The app loads and I select the luxury option because I like the tinted windows that are guaranteed.
Before confirming my location I glance up as a car creeps up the alleyway.
I hold my hand over my eyebrows to block the incessantly bright lights then when it stops, the lights dim and the car door opens.
Elodie fucking St. John steps out.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Please be with friends. Please be with friends.
She takes one step away from the car door and my heart sinks at the sight of that golden, blond hair styled without a strand out of place. His chiseled jawline, sharp under the shadow of the moonlight and I can practically smell the clean scent of his aftershave from here.
He steps out of the vehicle, presses his hand to her low back like he’s already mapped the area, then closes the door.
America's prom king has found his prom queen.
How cute.
They look so perfect for each other.
The bitterness that invades the back of my throat forces me to roll my eyes and involuntarily huff. It catches their attention and they both turn my way at the same time.
When he glances down the alley, our eyes connect and he’s stunned, unable to hide his initial reaction.
Looking from side-to-side, he inspects the buildings in between us, curious as to where I came from.
It’s not uncommon for celebrities to exit and enter through back doors. Most of the restaurants and clubs on the Hollywood strip accommodate our comings and goings because they like the publicity.
He whispers something in Elodie’s ear and she steps into the doorway of the restaurant as he approaches me.
His shoulders are stiff, because I know I make him tense, but his face is full of concern.
The slight pinch in his brows gives it away, and I find myself satisfied that he’s finally showing a little more emotion, compared to the lawn chair he usually is.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m not stalking you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I say playfully because this was not on my bingo card tonight.
He lets out a light, uncomfortable chuckle. “No, I didn’t think—” He stops himself. “Seriously, are you in trouble or something?”
“No. God, no. I just finished up with some friends.” I point in the direction of the club. “I was just calling for a ride share.”
He shakes his head. “That’s not happening. Howard,” he calls out, waving to his driver from the car. The man that can only be Howard—who clearly doubles as a bodyguard—opens the door, steps onto the pavement, and peers over the windshield at us.
“Can you take Lennox home please, then return for us after?”
“Yes, sir.” Howard nods without question and slides back into the driver's seat.
“That’s not needed. I’m good. My driver,” I say with a playful mock waving my phone screen with the Uber app on it, “will be here any minute.”
“Get in the car, Lennox,” Jace demands, his jaw clenching so hard it could slice through diamonds. “You’re not waiting in a dark alley for a fucking Uber. Get in the car.”
My eyebrows skyrocket and my lips thin as I press them together tightly, holding back everything I want to say to him. I want to yell at him. Scream at him. Hate him.
But sadly, not a single ounce of any part of my body hates this man.
Instead, because I can’t help myself. I lean forward, bringing my mouth to the corner of his ear. “Yes, sir. Bossy Jace.”
His cheeks flush and heat radiates from his body as my lips graze over the soft lobe with featherlight ferocity. Then I step around him, making my way to his car.
Don’t turn around.
Don’t turn around.
Howard steps out of the vehicle and rounds the trunk of the car, opening the back door just as I reach it. I tip my chin at him and then glance back at Jace still standing in the same place.
I give him an impersonal two-finger salute and leave him with two final words.
“Thanks, mate.”