The Redhead Plays Her Hand

seven

Later we lay tangled on the bed, surrounded by wrappers. Hard candy wrappers. He lay on his back, his head propped up on my hip as I curled around him. I was moaning around a Werther’s caramel in a way that sounded particularly decadent, a way Jack was noticing even though he said he was “bloody well spent.” But for now, I sucked caramel only.

“Did you ever notice how if you breathe in while you’re sucking on one of these, you can actually taste the burnt sugar? And feel the butter on your tongue?”

“Gimme one.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. This is the first nongreen thing I’ve had in my mouth in weeks. Back off.” I growled, feeling his scruff scratch at my thigh. I trailed a hand down, and he leaned into it, letting me rub his head. “They buzzed you again, huh?”

“Yep, keeping it pretty short. The other grunts too,” he explained, again with that London accent meeting Alabama in the cutest way. He moved his head a few times, trying to get settled.

“Settle down there, squirmy.”

“Grace, don’t take this the wrong way, but your hip . . .”

I froze midsuck. “My hip?” I asked around my caramel.

“It’s, well, it’s not as comfortable as it used to be.” He frowned, his hand now spanning my hip and gripping it tightly.

“You see any potted plants around here? Mama’s been working out.” I grinned proudly, smacking at my candy.

“Grace, come on.” He laughed, switching positions so he could push me back against the pillows and get some boob time. “Thank goodness you two haven’t changed,” he whispered to the girls.

I swatted at his head. “You’re twisted, Hamilton.”

“I’m serious. Don’t go overboard here, okay?”

“I’m not going overboard. It’s called taking direction,” I insisted as he settled against me.

He ran his hands over my tummy, flatter than it had ever been.

“Love, you look amazing, but you always look amazing. I just don’t want you to get carried away with this.”

He really didn’t get this.

“Why did you have me cut your hair?” I asked, stilling his hand.

“What?”

“No, really, why did I cut your hair?”

“Because the part called for it,” he admitted, his eyes growing serious.

“Exactly. This is the same thing. So drop it, okay?” I huffed, sitting up and shrugging into my top.

“Cutting your hair and losing a ridiculous amount of weight when you don’t need to are two very different things, Grace,” he insisted, trying to pull me back into bed.

“You’re right. They’re two very different things because there are two very different standards, aren’t there?” I picked up the latest crop of magazines with him on the cover and threw them down onto the bed. As they scattered, shots of him peeked up at us. He looked drunk in most of them: leaving different clubs with the guys from his film, ball cap on, ripped T-shirt. He looked beautiful, of course, but the fact was, he was decidedly un–movie star in each shot.

“See that! Dirty shirt, half drunk, looking like you haven’t slept in weeks, and what’s the headline? ‘Sexy Scientist Jack Hamilton Parties with Bad Boy Adam Kasen!’ Can you imagine what the headline would be if I were out with you looking like that? ‘Jack Hamilton and Homeless Older Woman Out on the Town.’ ‘Jack Hamilton and Insane Woman Go to Biker Bar.’ I’d never get away with it. So think about that next time you complain about my bony hips. Bony hips are in my contract.” I turned away from him, as I could feel the tears beginning to form, and focused on putting on my skirt.

Where the hell did that come from?

Head rush from the hard candy?

I could hear him getting out of the bed and coming up behind me. I let him pull me back against him, mirroring our earlier position but in much different circumstances.

“Sorry, Nuts Girl, you’re totally right. It’s wrong that it’s like this, but you’re totally right. You do what you need to do. I’m behind you one hundred percent,” he whispered, slipping his hands around my middle and squeezing tight. I sighed, leaning back into him, feeling him wrap around me.

“I’m figuring this out as I go, Jack, ya know?” I whispered back.

“I know.”

I spun around in his arms. “It’s not like there’s a manual, how to handle life in Hollywood.” I sniffed back the few tears that had managed to make their way to the surface.

“Oh, I don’t know. I think Holly has at least half that manual written already. She sure has plenty to say about these pictures.” He nodded toward the magazines.

“Oh, I have plenty to say too, pretty boy. Don’t think I haven’t noticed all the partying you’ve been doing.”

He looked a little ashamed, and once again I was reminded how young he was.

“It’s under control. Don’t worry,” he soothed.

Not possible.

As that week passed, it became evident that things were most certainly not under control. Jack stayed in town, but I was busy on set most of the week, as we raced to get as much shot as we could so the show could premiere in the summer instead of the fall. The scenes were stacking up, and while it was going by fast, I took time each day to sit and think about how far I’d come. I was really enjoying the work—the actual work that went into putting a show together like this. Working closely with the other actors, developing a shorthand with the cast and the crew, bringing this character to life, and watching as the others did as well.

And as I worked, Jack played. Sure he spent his days on the set filming, but he spent his nights out on the town. And then his days sleeping it off. He was young, and this town laid itself out for him. Clubs were packed to capacity on the nights he was in attendance, and the photographers were out in full force. After his accident, he didn’t drive himself much, now employing Bryan on a much more full-time basis. Which worked out well for him: he could party even harder. Paparazzi swarmed him when he arrived and when he left, and industrious amateur photographers inside the clubs with camera phones sold shots to magazines of him sitting in VIP section after VIP section. And always with Adam right next to him.

I had to give it to the guy, Adam was smart. After his star threatened to forever be tarnished by his past behavior, appearing with Jack so often around town had him back on the rise.

Late one night, I was awoken from a sound sleep by the sound of glass breaking and loud male laughter. Startled, I sat up straight, tingles all along the back of my neck as my hand groped for my phone, ready to call the police. But before I could even get there, the bedroom door swung open and there he was, my Brit. And he was . . . laughing?

“Grace, love, I’m so sorry. We broke your, oh man—” He doubled over with laughter.

“What the hell?” I asked, drawing the sheet closer around me as I blinked back sleep. Now that I was awake, my emotions changed to something closer to anger.

“Broke your buggery bowl. You know the one you keep our mail in? Adam tripped coming through the door and—Oh no, you’re mad!”

He laughed again, sputtering as he crossed to the bed and sat down heavily next to me. The stink of whiskey was all around, and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

“Adam? You brought Adam here?” I hissed, drawing the sheet around me even more tightly and looking around him to the hallway.

“Sorry, love, yes. He was taking me home and needed a piss. I couldn’t very well let him out on the side of the road, could I?” He reached for me as I moved out of his grip.

“Where’s Bryan?” I seethed.

“Night off. Besides, I told you, Adam drove me home. Hmm . . . you’re mad, aren’t you?” He finally succeeded in taking my hand and pulling me toward him.

“You’re kidding, right?”

He wrapped himself around me and tried to snuggle me down onto the bed. He lay back against the pillows, sighing as I unscrambled myself out of his arms.

“Jack, seriously, is he still here? Jack? Dammit.” I pushed at him as he settled into the pillows, his breaths getting deeper. “Wake up, Jack.” I nudged him again.

He was passed out cold. Son of a bitch. I heard the tinkle of broken pottery in the other room. I slid into my robe and made my way out to see our guest.

“Hey, Grace. Sorry about the mess. If you have a broom, I’ll clean that right up.”

Adam Kasen stood in the entryway, broken bowl at his feet and shit-eating grin on his handsome face.

“Thanks. I’ve got it,” I replied, walking past him into the kitchen. He followed me.

“I’m really sorry about that. It was dark when we came in and—”

“What are you doing?” I asked quietly as I grabbed the broom.

“Trying to clean this up?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He looked at me shrewdly. “You don’t like me much, do you?” he asked after a beat, his head cocked to the side.

“I don’t know you.”

He grinned.

Hit him with the broom!

We stood across from each other, silent. The air was full.

“I’ll see myself out,” he finally said, backing away toward the door.

“Watch yourself,” I added, nodding to the pile of broken pottery on the floor.

“I’ll buy you another,” he said, his hand on the door.

“Yes, you will.”

He grinned once more.

Ram him with the end of the broom handle!

After he left, I cleaned up his mess and got into bed with Jack, who was still passed out.

Still think you should have whacked him upside the head with the broom . . .

The next morning I had an early call, but not so early that I didn’t wake up our fair Mr. Hamilton. He moaned and groaned as I pulled his covers down.

“Gracie, please, it’s too early. Covers, covers!” he griped, inching his way down the bed and trying to burrow back under.

“I know. Sucks to be woken up so suddenly, doesn’t it?” I smiled, perching at the end of the bed with a cup of coffee. He sniffed the air.

“That smells good. Bring me a cup?” he asked, still inching lower on the bed.

“Man, you’re really asking for it, aren’t you?” I lifted an eyebrow and the duvet farther out of his reach. He opened one eye, then the other. Confusion flooded into his face.

“What’s going on?”

“I’d like to ask you the same question.”

He rubbed his face, stretching. He inched again, and I held fast to the covers.

“I broke something last night, didn’t I?”

“Yep.”

“And you’re angry, right?”

“Yep.”

“Any chance we can talk about this later?”

“Jack . . .” I sighed and let the covers drop. I walked back into the bathroom, then heard him shuffling after me. He appeared in the doorway, in a duvet burrito.

“I’m sorry about the bowl, Grace. I’ll buy us a new one.”

“Oh no, you don’t have to. Your good friend Adam already said he’d take care of it.”

“Are you really this upset about a bowl?”

“Are you really so thick that you think I’d be this upset about a bowl?”

“Heh-heh, you said thick.”

I whirled on him, pointing with my eyeliner. “Don’t be charming. I have no patience for it right now. I’m trying to be understanding, really I am. But getting so drunk you pass out and leave that guy in our living room? Not okay with that.”

“You don’t like Adam. Just say it.”

“Oh, I’ll say it. I. Don’t. Like. Him. At all. But what I really don’t like is being woken up in the middle of the night by you, wasted out of your mind, acting like an ass!” I poked him in the chest, leaving a charcoal smudge. I started brushing my hair angrily, as he rubbed at the spot.

“Okay, so this isn’t about the bowl?”

I had to hang on very tight to the hairbrush to stop me from throwing it at him. I closed my eyes, trying to calm down before the yelling began. I felt his hands on my shoulders.

“Hey, Crazy. I’m sorry. I know it’s not about the bowl. I was just blowing off some steam last night. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again, okay?” he said softly, holding open his arms and the duvet. I let him fold me in.

“I just worry. I worry about you.” I sighed. He smelled like a club, but underneath it all was that Hamilton s’more smell that won me over every time. “I’m allowed to worry, right?”

“Of course, if there were something to worry about. But there’s not, I promise. I’m just having some fun,” he soothed, his strong arms around me, enveloping me. “And Adam’s a good guy. You just have to get to know him. He’s a little intense, but he’s cool. Maybe we’ll have him over, spend some time with him. You know better than anyone that just because it’s in a magazine doesn’t mean it’s true.”

I bit my tongue. I literally bit it.

Ow . . .

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s a good idea if I spend some time with him. I’d like to talk to him about a few things,” I began, thinking this over. If Jack was going to be spending as much time with Adam on this new film as it looked like, I should know him better.

“How about we have dinner with him before Holly’s party this weekend?” Jack offered, and I bit my tongue again.

Okay, seriously, stop it.

“Sure, we can do that. But no more middle-of-the-night shenanigans.”

“The only one I’m shenaniganing in the middle of the night is you.”

“Pfft. Right now I’ve got to get to the studio. I should be home early tonight. Stay in with me?”

“Sounds great, love. Just you and me.” He dropped a kiss on my forehead and shuffled back to bed. He was sound asleep again within moments.

When I left the house a little later, I noticed a tan sedan following me very closely. I turned, he turned. Dammit.

I swear I had a tan sedan tailing me all week long, but I never saw a camera, and no shots showed up in the press anywhere. I let Bryan know, and he was looking into it. Was I being paranoid? Maybe, but I was being careful.

And speaking of being careful, I was carefully remaining in my seat while I watched Adam go bananas on a poor waitress that Saturday night.

“I said medium rare. Medium rare! Does that look medium rare to you? It’s practically gray!” he sniped as she hurried his steak away, apologizing the entire time. I liked my steak cooked a certain way too, but there was a way to do this without being a—

“ . . dick. She was all over my dick from the second I walked into the club,” Adam drawled, settling back against the booth after the steak incident.

Jack, Adam, and I were at a very fancy restaurant, trying to get through dinner so we could get to Holly’s party. Scratch that, I was trying to get through dinner. Jack and Adam were having the time of their life. I know couples don’t always have the same friends, and that’s okay, usually. But for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out how Jack couldn’t see that this guy was a—

“ . . dick! She called me a dick. Can you believe that? Guess who doesn’t work for that production company anymore,” he finished.

One more story for me to file away under my Never Have Dinner with This Dick Again heading. I watched Jack, sitting across from this guy, this recently fallen star. I realized I was seeing something new on Jack’s face, something I hadn’t really seen before. It wasn’t quite envy; it wasn’t quite admiration. What was it? Whatever it was, it was enough to keep him from seeing that Adam was really a dick.

“Trent! Hey, Trent!” Adam called, almost yelling across the restaurant to someone who had just walked in. I hid my face behind my bread pudding—

BREAD PUDDING?

I hid my face behind my fresh fruit cup and rolled my eyes at Adam’s table manners, counting the minutes until we could escape this small quiet dinner for three.

Thankfully Adam left the table to go say hello to Trent, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

“That bad?” Jack asked, his hand sneaking under the table to take a spot slightly higher than my knee.

“How could you tell?”

“Really? You think I can’t tell when you’re irritated? Your lip pouts out and you get this little crinkle at the end of your nose and—”

“Five more, George. Five more.”

“I said crinkle, not wrinkle. Crinkle!” He laughed, sliding his hand farther up the inside of my leg.

I patted it and sent it back toward my knee, a safer zone. “Wrinkle, crinkle, all the same thing. Besides, you want these five, believe me.” I winked and saw the green begin to darken. Oh boy.

“Oh no, I want them, but just so you know, I know you’re deflecting.” He leaned closer to me and let his hand move north again. Damn, he was good. I picked up his hand and moved it once more, then picked up my butter knife and made a gesture toward something else below the tablecloth.

“I’m not deflecting. I just . . . I don’t get it! I don’t see why this person is now essential. He’s an ass, Jack. A real ass,” I explained, not hiding my disdain any longer.

He sighed and brought both hands up under his chin to rest. “Look, I know he can be a little direct—”

“Direct? That’s a word for it.”

“But he’s really a good guy. I like working with him. He knows the town; he knows the business. Just lighten up, okay?”

I nodded and noticed Adam coming back to the table. This conversation needed to end. For now.

“Sorry about that. I haven’t seen that guy since we wrapped Motion Sickness,” Adam explained, snapping, actually snapping, for the waitress. She would be getting a big fat tip from me tonight. And speaking of tip, Jack was ready to go. He’d gotten antsy all of a sudden, looking around the room, slouching lower in his chair.

“Where? Who did you see?” I asked quietly, leaning back in my chair and making sure I wasn’t too close to Jack.

This wasn’t exactly the kind of place we normally went to, but Adam picked the restaurant. It was high-profile, frequented by industry people and hangers-on alike; it was young Hollywood, and it was risky. Jack and I drove separately, and he came in through the back entrance. It was high-profile enough that it had a private entrance in the rear for celebrities to enter and exit discreetly. Which was the opposite of what this evening was becoming.

“Four o’clock, camera phones. Those two women have been staring for the past few minutes. Plus that guy at the bar looks familiar. I’ve seen him recently,” he muttered, deliberately not looking at the location he just gave me.

Turning nonchalantly in that direction, Adam took the opportunity to squint at the guy in question and pronounce him paparazzi.

“How do you know he’s—” I started, and Adam just looked blandly at me.

“I know, okay?” he replied, grinning in the direction of the guy.

I’d had enough. “Listen, since it’s clear this is about to turn into something, I’m gonna cut it short and head out. Besides, Holly’s expecting me.”

“You sure?” Jack asked, squeezing my knee under the table.

“Yeah, it’s better this way anyway—if we don’t leave at the same time.”

“We’ll be there soon. Don’t worry.” He nodded, giving me a final squeeze.

“Adam, it was great. Are you coming to Holly’s?”

Please say no, please say no, please say no.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” He grinned.

“Great,” I said through my teeth. Heading out quickly, I averted my eyes when walking by the guy in question at the bar, and I made sure to keep my head turned away from the camera phones. Now that I was gone, I had no doubt that those women would approach Jack and Adam. They were stars after all.

I piled myself into my little car and sped up into the hills. No tan sedans in sight.

Holly’s party was massive, much bigger than her last. Lanterns lined the driveway and laughter and music spilled out of every door and every window. Tiki torches dotted the patio, and the lights of Los Angeles spread out as the perfect backdrop. Floating candles lit up the pool, handsome waiters passed lovely noshy treats, and the bartenders rivaled those in Cocktail.

This was pure industry, pure Hollywood. And Jack was at the center of it. Normally shy in crowds, the months of constant attention and media appearances had thickened his skin and made him a pro. He shone now when lit from the outside. I still saw the nervous here and there, the hand in the hair, the tapping of the shoe, but as he mingled with actors, producers, directors, writers, he was a movie star. But still a secret Golden Girls fan.

He winked at me from across the patio as I sat in one of the comfy chairs with one of my favorite people on the planet, Nick.

“So glad to see you. I missed you!” I cried, squeezing his hand as we sipped our dirty martinis.

“I missed you too, of course, but you know I missed looking at your boy the most.”

“Yes, I know this. I know my friendship with you is based solely on the ability to look at the pretty.” I laughed.

“As long as we’re clear, we’re good!”

We sipped and gossiped. I shared stories with him about the series, and he told me how much he was missing Los Angeles. As we chatted, I felt a pair of large, meaty hands wrap around my eyes from the back.

“Lane!” I cried, turning to find Jack’s costar.

“Hey, gorgeous!” He swept me up into a tight hug. Lane was a dear, a giant teddy bear who loved nothing more than to tease Jack about my sweet rack.

“I was hoping to see you here tonight. How are things?” I asked as he set me down. Nick petted his biceps like a cat, and Lane slung an arm around his shoulders. Sighing into his dirty martini, Nick was a happy camper.

“Things are good. Where’s that idiot boyfriend of yours?” Lane asked. I swiveled in my chair, tracking him through the crowd.

“He’s over by the bar with Adam Kasen,” a voice piped up, and Rebecca joined the group.

“Good night, nurse! It’s like a Christmas special. Where are all of you coming from?” I laughed as she sat down next to me and clinked her glass to mine.

“I just snuck in, saw Jack over by the bar, and kept moving,” she replied, sipping from her cocktail.

We all turned toward the bar and watched as Jack and Adam entertained the ladies who were clustered about. I knew better than to be jealous. We were solid now, and it wasn’t a concern. But as I watched, that same feeling that I had when we were at the restaurant came over me. Something just didn’t sit right when it came to Adam.

“What do you know about Adam? Anything?” I asked Rebecca, leaning in. Which wasn’t hard, since she’d decided to share my chair.

“That guy’s a dick,” she replied immediately, rolling her eyes.

Shocker.

“That’s kind of what I got too.”

“Worked with him on my first movie. Slept with him once and never again.”

“Wait, wait, wait, what? You slept with him?” I whisper-yelled.

Lane and Nick were occupied with tales of how much Lane could bench-press.

“Sure. Have you seen him? He’s gorgeous. And great in bed. But he’s a dick.”

“I don’t like him.”

“I don’t like that he’s hanging out with Jack.” She drained the rest of her drink.

The crowd parted just enough that I caught Jack’s eye, and he grinned. That panty-dropping grin. He leaned over to Adam and then, like in a music video, he started across the patio toward me. Dressed in a red vintage concert tee, leather jacket, low-slung jeans, and my favorite blessed Doc Martens, he made my heart go pitter pat.

Other parts are pittering and pattying as well . . .

As he walked, eyes followed. It was like walking porn, and all the ladies and more than a few guys turned their heads to watch his progress. And he was just walking, for pity’s sake. But like a star, his gravity impacted everything around him.

“Wow,” I heard Nick breathe. But I couldn’t see him. All I could see was my Sweet Nuts.

Giving the guy handshake–half hug to Lane, he leaned down to press a hello kiss on Rebecca’s cheek. And then to stop the huffing, he did the same for Nick. Leading me by the hand out of my chair, he walked me to the opposite seat. Sitting down, he pulled me onto his lap, wrapped his arms around my waist, and claimed me without question. Eyes were still on us from every direction, and I pondered the timing of such a public display, but sometimes, a guy needed you on his lap. Who was I to argue with that? I scratched at the back of his head as he pressed a quick kiss on the side of my neck. I could see the women from the party giving me the evil eye, but for a moment, just one moment, I didn’t care.

We all continued to talk, laughing and chatting into the night. I sighed at one point, unable to keep the contentment inside.

“You seem happy,” Jack whispered, pushing a piece of curly hair behind my ear.

“I am. It’s nice being out and about with our friends.” I leaned into his hand.

“It’s nice to be able to snog my girlfriend in public for a change.” He looked me straight in the eye, licking at his lips.

“Shouldn’t we behave? Don’t you think we’ve pushed it enough tonight?”

“I haven’t pushed it at all.”

“Where’s your hand, Jack?”

“On your knee.”

“In public. I’d say you’ve made your point. Why push it?”

He tensed underneath me. “My point? You think I’m making a point?”

“No, I think you’re hanging out at a party with your friends and your very cute girlfriend. And she’s sitting on your lap, looking all kinds of cozy. But the thing is, just by doing that? You’re making a point. Maybe not one you’re meaning to make, but a point just the same. So let’s just enjoy, and not push.” I slipped my hand back up and stroked the back of his neck. As I did, I casually looked around at the rest of the party. Camera phone—there it was. Did I stop? Did I continue?

He must have felt me freeze, because he looked in the same direction I was, and we both saw the flash go off.

“There, someone got it. Now can you kiss your boyfriend?” he demanded, looking back at me.

His eyes had gone dark green, but not in the way I normally liked to see them.

Swooping in like a bird of prey with the most fantastic timing ever, Holly appeared. “Grace, can you help me get some things brought out from the kitchen?” she asked, eyeing us.

Sighing heavily, Jack helped me off his lap, and he and Lane headed back to the bar. Holly asked me all kinds of questions with her eyes. We clicked across the patio, smiling and interacting with other guests. Once we made it to the kitchen, however, she rounded on me.

“Explain.”

“Come on, not now. What did you need help with?”

“Please, you think I need help in the kitchen? I hired help. I got you off the lap of the Sexiest Man Alive before he got you off in public.”

I started to come back at her when I remembered how far over the line we’d been that night at the club. Touché.

“Holly, look, I think you need to lay off a bit. He’s really starting to feel the pressure of all this.”

“I appreciate that, but you agreed at the beginning of all of this that for Jack, and for you for that matter, you two would keep it quiet. Off the radar. Sitting on his lap at a party that half of Hollywood is at? Not so much off the radar.”

“I know! Dammit, I know that! I know I’m the one who’s going to bear the brunt of this—the cracks about how old I am, the thousands of women online who will comment about how he can do so much better than me. I’m fucking aware, okay? But I am telling you, if you push him right now, not good,” I snapped, tears springing to my eyes.

She backed off, poking at a crab cake on a platter.

“I know you’re just doing your job. No one does it better. Truly. Jack loves you. But he’s feeling it.”

“He needs to quit partying so much,” she said quietly, still crab poking.

“He’s twenty-four, for Christ’s sake! May I remind you of what we did at that age?” I smiled, trying to break the tension.

“No, you most certainly may not.”

“Listen, I know he’s going a little crazy lately, but it’s under control, I promise. And yes, I will make sure that we keep at least five feet of distance between us the rest of the night.”

“Okay, now you’re just being an asshole,” she replied, showing me her middle finger.

“Let’s go back to your party,” I encouraged, taking her hand. As we started out for the patio, Michael appeared.

“Holly, the bartender needs some more lemons. Didn’t we pick some up today after the movie?”

“Yep they’re on the—”

“Top shelf of the fridge, got it. Hey, Grace,” he said, patting my shoulder as he went past me into the kitchen.

I looked back and forth between the two of them. “Wait a minute. Wait just a goddamn minute!”

Holly’s face flushed deep red. “Let’s go back to the party, asshead,” she muttered, unable to contain her smile.

Did not see that one coming . . .