Just the Sexiest Man Alive

Eighteen

THREE DAYS LATER, satisfied that he had given Taylor sufficient time to see the error of her ways, Jason headed up the walkway of her apartment building with a spring in his step.

Whistling merrily, he knocked on the front door. He grinned, thinking how Taylor’s dreams were about to come true. And his, too, finally—he’d certainly waited long enough.

Jason heard footsteps, and the front door flew open. Taylor greeted him in the doorway, wearing jeans and a fitted gray T-shirt. Her face broke into a wide smile when she saw him. He had been expecting this very reaction, of course.

“Hey! Come on in,” Taylor beamed enthusiastically.

“Wow—you almost seem happy to see me, Ms. Donovan,” Jason teased as he stepped inside, willing to prolong the game a moment or two longer.

“I am. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Jason smiled. Of course there was.

“Really? What’s that?” he asked innocently.

“I hope you don’t mind, I was just making dinner,” she said over her shoulder. “Feel free to pour yourself a glass of wine. You’re welcome to stay.”

Of course he was.

Jason followed her into the kitchen. When he got there, he saw that “making dinner” in Taylor’s mind meant mixing the dressing into a premade salad she had presumably picked up from the grocery store on the way home from work.

The woman truly was helpless in the kitchen. But he was willing to overlook this.

Jason spotted the open bottle of wine on the counter. Taylor pointed to the cabinet that contained her wineglasses, and he took out one for each of them. They certainly were about to have plenty to celebrate.

“Actually, there’s something I want to talk to you about as well,” he said as he poured each of them a glass.

“Okay.” Taylor shrugged agreeably. “You go first.”

Jason paused, wanting to appear contemplative, as if he needed a moment to begin. In reality, he had run through this monologue three times in the Aston Martin on the way over. Always a perfectionist, he wanted to be certain he nailed his lines just right.

“Well . . .” he began carefully, “I’ve been doing some thinking. About Naomi.” He quickly glanced over to catch Taylor’s reaction. She appeared nonchalant, concentrating on the salad. He gave her props for her acting skills.

“And I’ve decided that things aren’t going to work out with her after all.”

Taylor looked up. “Oh? Why’s that?”

“Because there’s someone else I’m more interested in,” Jason said. With that, he moved closer to her and brushed a lock of hair off her shoulder. He handed her one of the wineglasses and gazed down at her seductively.

“Why don’t we go away this weekend instead? I’d love to take you to Napa, Taylor.” His voice was husky and intimate. “Just the two of us.”

She peered up at him, and Jason recognized the telltale devilish sparkle in her eyes. He wondered whether they would have sex right there on the counter. He moved the salad bowl out of the way.

Taylor’s eyes held his.

“No.”

Jason cocked his head, confused. What was this word, “no”? She was always saying it around him.

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, but no,” Taylor repeated. “As in, no, I can’t go away with you this weekend.” She casually took a sip of her wine and set her glass down. She turned away, slid the salad bowl that he had just moved back into place, and resumed her dinner preparations. Jason’s visions of crazy counter sex and flying arugula began to fade.

“What do you mean, you can’t?”

“Well, for starters, I have other plans this Saturday.”

Jason scoffed at this. “Plans? What plans?”

Taylor shrugged innocently, keeping her eyes on the salad she was making. “Oh, just, you know, other plans.”

Ahh . . . now Jason understood what was going on here. A last-ditch effort to play hard to get. But really, he felt that it was time for them to cut through all the crap. A man like him could only wait so long.

He spotted something on the kitchen counter: People magazine, with his picture on the cover. Sexiest Man Alive. Aha! Evidence. Deciding to call Taylor’s bluff, Jason grabbed the magazine and held it up to her.

“Really, Taylor, you don’t have to keep up the charade. I mean, who wouldn’t want to go away for the weekend with this guy?”

She cocked her head, considering this. Then she pointed to something on the magazine’s cover. “Somebody who has a date, on Saturday, with that guy.”

Come again?

Jason turned the magazine around to see what she was pointing to. He saw a picture of Scott Casey in the corner, under a caption that read “Other Contenders.”

He glanced back at her.

“Scott Casey?”

Taylor raised an eyebrow proudly. “Yes. Kind of funny, huh? We’re going out this Saturday.”

Jason’s face fell.

No.

This could not be.

“Scott Casey?” he repeated dumbly.

Taylor cocked her head. “Why do you keep saying it like that? Yes, Scott Casey.” She reached around him to grab a fork out of one of the drawers.

Jason needed to sit for a moment. He suddenly felt a little . . . fragile. He sunk onto one of the counter stools, in a daze. “I don’t understand,” he managed to mumble, disoriented. “When did this happen? How did this happen?”

Taylor dished some salad onto her plate, tilting the bowl to ask Jason if he wanted any. He waved this off, impatient for her to continue.

“I met him at your party,” she said. “It’s a funny coincidence—we must have been leaving at the same time. Anyway, we hung out for a while, and you know what?—he was actually kind of fun to talk to. And whew—well, let’s just say that he is not exactly tough on the eyes.”

Taylor looked him over, then pointed with her fork. “He could even give you a run for your money.” With a wink, she took a bite of her salad.

Jason sat at the counter, speechless. By now, the two of them were supposed to be deep in the throes of I’m-so-glad-you-chose-me-Jason makeup sex.

He cleared his throat. “So where’s he taking you on Saturday?”

Taylor waved this off as she took another bite of her salad. “I don’t know, we didn’t talk about that.” She smiled slyly.

“Besides, as you’ve pointed out several times, it’s Scott Casey. Does it really matter where we go?”

Jason stood up so quickly the stool banged against the counter. He could not believe the shit she was saying.

“Seriously, Taylor—do you know who I am?” he demanded.

She smiled at this. “You celebrities actually say that? That’s cute.”

Jason raked his fingers through his hair in exasperation. “I don’t believe this,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone. Thoroughly worked up, he glanced around the kitchen. “I need something to drink—why is it so fucking hot in here?”

He went over to the sink, dumped his wine, and hurriedly filled his glass with water. He gulped the whole thing down, then finally turned back to Taylor.

She studied him for a long moment, then cocked her head. “Is something wrong, Jason?”

He was quite certain he detected the faintest trace of a smile on her lips.

JEREMY WAS DEEP in thought, typing on his computer at a table in the back of Reilly’s Tavern. The bar was quiet and empty, except for the manager, who occasionally wandered out of his office to accept deliveries from beer trucks in the alley.

The studio that had bought Jeremy’s latest screenplay wanted a “stronger midpoint.” According to the know-it-all development execs assigned to the project, things were proceeding too easily for the hero halfway through the story, and they wanted to shake things up a bit.

“Maybe there’s some villain who’s been quietly lurking in the shadows, and suddenly he makes a play for the heroine,” one of the studio execs had said. The rest of the suits in the room nodded excitedly in agreement as Jeremy rolled his eyes.

Fucking Hollywood.

Jeremy quickly reminded them that this was a serious film about vampire/alien hybrids waging a battle for world domination against an evil zombie/warlock hybrid empire, not some lame-o chick flick.

But, since nobody was listening to him—which apparently was the theme of the week—Jeremy plodded along, typing in the requested changes to the script.

When suddenly the door to the bar slammed violently open.

Startled, Jeremy peered up from his computer and saw Jason standing in the doorway, looking all dark and stormy.

“You.”

He pointed accusingly at Jeremy.

“Did you set this up?”

Jason furiously walked over to Jeremy’s table. “Fess up, funny boy. Did you set this up?”

Jeremy stared blankly at him. “Did I set what up?”

“This thing with Scott Casey.”

“What thing with Scott Casey?”

Deciding this could go on all day, Jason changed tactics.

“Okay, you got me.” He grinned sheepishly. “Ha ha, very funny. When did you and Taylor come up with this . . . what? This little trick to put me in my place?” Ready to be a good sport, Jason wagged a finger at him. “Very clever.”

Jeremy folded his hands politely on the table.

“Jason. I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

Jason’s face fell. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Jeremy said. “I haven’t seen Taylor since the night of your party.”

With this news, Jason slumped into the empty chair at Jeremy’s table. He fell silent for a moment, then peered over at his friend in shock. “Then she really does have a date with Scott Casey.”

Jeremy blinked at this. “Taylor’s dating Scott Casey?” He began to laugh. He held up one hand, clutching his side with the other. “Wait, wait.” He gasped for breath. “This really is too good. I gotta write this down to use one day.”

Jeremy turned to his computer, reading out loud as he typed. “ ‘And then the evil, arrogant movie star learned that lying does not pay.’ ”

Jason glared silently as Jeremy leaned back in his chair, still chuckling.

“Ahhh . . . Scott Casey . . . now that’s classic.”

“Are you finished?”

Jeremy peered over innocently. “They say he’s the It Guy, you know.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed warningly.

“All right, all right, I’m done,” Jeremy finally acquiesced. “Tell me how this happened.”

Jason leapt out of his chair. “The hell if I know! Last night, I went over to Taylor’s apartment to tell her about Naomi, but the next thing I know, she’s talking about Scott Casey and how they have some date on Saturday.” Jason pointed. “He picked her up at my party.” Then he punched the air. “I knew I should’ve thrown that little punk out the minute I saw him.”

“Wow. That’s not exactly how you saw this playing out, is it?”

“No, it isn’t,” Jason retorted. He paced angrily. “What can she seriously see in that guy? He’s as dull as a lamppost.”

“A slightly younger lamppost,” Jeremy quipped.

Jason looked over, stung. That hit below the belt.

Jeremy immediately held up his hands in contrition. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” He got up and followed Jason over to the pool table. “So what’s your game plan now?” he asked as Jason picked up a cue stick.

Jason shook his head. “I don’t know. I can’t think straight. Something’s off.”

“Did you sleep last night?”

“Barely.”

“Are you mad at Taylor?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

Jeremy leaned against the pool table and lit up a cigarette as Jason racked the balls for a game. “Do you have any right to be?”

Jason glared at Jeremy for this. But after a moment, his expression softened.

“Probably not,” he acknowledged.

Jeremy nodded, rubbing his four-day stubble like a detective on the case.

“Yep, I’ve seen these symptoms before . . .” he mused. “I believe it’s called ‘jealousy.’ Something common men unlike yourself experience from time to time.”

“Yeah, well, it sucks,” Jason replied pissily. He aimed his stick at the cue ball and took a shot. He whiffed, missed the ball entirely, and hit the pool table face-first.

Jeremy barely stifled his smile. Ahhh . . . if only the paparazzi could capture moments like this.

“So I guess this means you and Taylor are friends now,” he said.

Jason scoffed emphatically while rubbing his nose. “Please—I’m never just ‘the friend.’ ”

“Scott Casey might beg to differ with you on that.”

Jason pointed at him. “You say his name again, and I swear I’ll get you fired off that vampire flick of yours.”

Jeremy was highly offended by this.

“Hey—let’s get something straight. It’s a vampire/alien/ zombie/warlock hybrid flick.”