Between the Lines

Reid: Where are you? Are you still here somewhere?

Reid: missed call

Reid: Seriously, you disappear and then don’t answer? I’m worried, call me back.

Reid: Jenna said she saw you talking to brooke. Gonna ask my side or just listen to her?

Reid: K. I get it. Call me back in 5 or i have to assume we’re over.

It’s been two minutes since the last text. I lie on the bed and watch the clock tick away the final three minutes of his ultimatum, and then turn onto my back.

I don’t care if it’s absurd to reject what might be a fantasy for every other girl in the world—losing my virginity with someone like Reid Alexander. I don’t care if it’s old-fashioned to hold out for losing it with someone who matters. Maybe once that someone breaks my heart, I won’t give a crap who I sleep with. Maybe I’ll look back on this moment and think I was the biggest moron in the state of Texas.

My God, Emily would kill me.

Chapter 39

REID

No answer. Awesome. Fucking awesome.

I feel as though I could electrocute someone with a single high-voltage touch. For me, anger is something I release in short bursts, to lessen it before the rest is swallowed. I learned that living with my patronizing father. I never let myself get this furious, because I can’t hide it. If I can’t hide it, I’m vulnerable.

I throw back another tequila shot at the bar—the bartender quirks an eyebrow because the stuff I’m throwing back is old and expensive and meant to be sipped, respected. It might as well be shots of the cheapest shit available for how I’m ingesting it. Just then, a hand falls on my shoulder and I turn, too quickly, and nearly knock a girl down.

“Oh!” she says, stumbling back on her stilettos.

I grab her before she falls, one arm encircling her waist and the other catching her wrist. “Oh,” she says again, hands on my chest. She’s pretty, in that dark hair, big eyes, trying a little too hard with the makeup sort of way. I recognize her from the set.

“You’re one of the extras.”

“Yes.” She’s breathless, her eyes dilated—though from alcohol, club drugs or the fact that my arm is wrapped around her, I can’t tell.

“What’s your name?”

“Blossom?” She says her name like a question, as though if it isn’t good enough for me, she’s willing to change it. I press my lips together. Smile down at her.

“Would you like to dance, Blossom? I can’t do anything strenuous, since I’m still recovering from surgery…”

“Oh, yes. Slow works for me.” Her breath is coming in little gasps. After trying to seduce Emma for the past several weeks, I forgot how easy it usually is.

“Does it now,” I say.

She smiles a wicked little smile as I lead her onto the floor, and it isn’t long before I’m whispering in her ear, drawing out her acquiescence to go back to the hotel, as effortless as it ever was.

*** *** ***

Emma

After a restless night, I send Graham a text saying I’m not running this morning. He’s probably still with Brooke anyway. I ignore the prickly twinge that thought causes.

I know I can’t avoid filming, though I seriously consider faking laryngitis. Or a killer migraine. Or a heart attack. The whole day—the rest of the week—will be full of scenes with Reid. I wonder what his explanation will be. I wonder if I’ll accept it, if I can believe that what happened between him and Brooke was immaturity and not callousness.

“Emma, what happened last night?” Meredith asks in the car on the way to the Bingley house location. The others have already left, so it’s just the two of us. “I looked up and you were gone, Brooke was gone, Graham was gone… and then when Reid came back to the hotel with one of the extras. I thought you guys were going out, or hooking up?” I feel my mouth hanging open, but I can’t seem to snap it closed. “Oh God,” she says. “You didn’t know. Oh shit.”

“No,” I say, blinking. He brought a girl back to his room? Last night? “No, we, uh, it’s okay. We’re… over.”

“Wow. That was quick.”

She could say that again.

“Jeez, they don’t waste any time. Look at this,” she says, holding out her phone. One of the fansites is on the screen, and suddenly here in my hand are surprisingly clear photos of Reid and some girl getting cozy at the club, climbing into a taxi together, exiting at the hotel, his arm slung around her shoulder, his mouth near her ear. There are also photos of Graham and me going into the hotel, my face hidden by his arm.

The theories are all over the place, from almost rational: Reid and I had a fight over Graham, or over Reid’s New Girl, to mind-boggling: the whole thing is a ploy to throw the public off the truth—that I’m actually pregnant with Reid’s baby, or is it Graham’s?—cue the close-up of my supposed baby bump (my tummy in this photo looks as though I may have eaten half a slice of bread or missed one freaking day of crunches last week, Jesus H. Christ).

I hand it back. There’s no way I’m reading any more, certainly not the fan comments. I’m enough of an emotional wreck, thanks. “What a load. We just decided… that we didn’t match up so well.”

“That’s so weird, I thought things were going well the last time we talked. Are you okay? You’ve seemed kind of depressed lately.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lie.

***

While I’m in makeup, I’m doing what I can to get into my character zone so I can face Reid. I’m unsure whether the antagonism of these scenes between Lizbeth and Will is going to be to our benefit or the reverse; how Reid will play it is the only indeterminate factor. Unfortunately, it’s a freaking important factor. We don’t even make eye contact on set until Richter calls, “Action.”