Good For You

“Stay, stay, stay,” I whisper.

She does, and I do.

Chapter 35

REID

“It’s not true, is it?” Chelsea says, plopping down next to me at lunch as I go over the sides for afternoon shooting.

“Of course not.” I have no idea what she’s talking about.

She crunches through a salad of mostly raw veggies while I eat as many rol ed up slices of meat as I can stomach. The filming has become more cardiovascular, and my body is burning off muscle as fast as Olaf and I can put it back on. Chelsea doesn’t enlighten me about the true or untrue topic of her question, but she’s aware I’m curious as hel . She shoves another bite in her mouth and chomps away, grinning like mischief incarnate.

“Okay, fine, is what true?”

She finishes the bite and cocks an eyebrow at me.

“Haven’t checked the Internet lately, huh?” I steal a couple of carrots from her bowl. “I never check it, where I’m concerned. I’d have been convinced I was the devil by now if I did.”

She shrugs. “Or g*y.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s the newest rumor in Reid Alexanderland. Ostensibly, since arriving in Vancouver, you’ve been seen with no one interesting outside of Chad and me—unreservedly in love and married to each other, your friend Tadd, who’s g*y, and his hot, unknown, probably g*y friend. Also one of our bodyguards—who’s male and therefore fodder for the g*y buzz.”

I almost choke on the swiped carrot and she slams my back with her palm while I fight to breathe. Final y, I manage, “Wel , that’s a first.”

“So, true or not true? For the record, I don’t care either way. Although I do have a brother who would drop everything and bounce up here on a pogo stick to be your love slave—”

“Hold it right there, Cupid. Not true.” My phone rings and of course, it’s Tadd. I would bet a new Porsche he has seen the Internet and is laughing his ass off. “Awesome,” I grumble, heaving a sigh and pressing talk. “Thaddeus.”

“Hel o, lover,” he says.

“You wish.”

“That’s for me to know, and you to never quite be sure of.”

I laugh, covering my face with one hand. “What does Rob think?”

“Oh he’s for it.”

“For what, exactly? Never mind. Don’t answer that.” I know better than to word-spar with Tadd.

“Aw, come on,” he says. “What good is the press if not for dishing up a serving of innuendo sprinkled with a few unsubstantiated lies?”

I sigh. “Wel , as long as Rob isn’t upset about getting roped into the Hol ywood rumor mil .”

“Nah, this was something we discussed before taking our relationship public. I’m just not as wel -known as you, plus I’m brazenly out of the closet, so it doesn’t stir up much interest. You on the other hand—if the rumor was true, there’d be suicide watches and black arm bands in one camp, and rejoicing in the street in the other.”

“Stooooop,” I say.

“So. Have you been practicing?” he asks, switching subjects. Tadd plays the guitar, and when I brought up the crazy notion of trying to learn, he insisted I buy the instrument while he was here.

“Yes, Dad.”

Learning to play the guitar is just one of the new things I’m trying out while I search for ways to fil my free time with activities that don’t include my usual pursuits. At first, this was both more and less daunting than I’d assumed. I could dream up plenty of things to try, as it turns out. Motivating myself to actual y do them was another matter. There are hours ful of nothing but video games and eating crap Olaf would kil me for eating.

When Tadd and Rob were in town, we spent one night checking out local clubs. I didn’t want to impose my no-drinking constraint on anyone else. Having never exactly practiced resisting peer pressure (hel , I’m usual y conducting the peer pressure), I joined the two of them in a few too many shots of Canadian whiskey and a round of karaoke (Tadd and I killed doing a medley of Ke$ha and the Stones).

The entire next day I was renewing my vows of sobriety, especial y when Olaf caught sight of my impaired gaze. I knew I was in for it when he narrowed his eyes and al of the sizeable muscles in his upper body seemed to expand with displeasure at once. “One hundred push-ups,” he barked, pointing to the floor. That was only the beginning.

When it comes to morning-after consequences, spending the evening with the guitar is exponential y less dangerous. I’ve also tried meditation—an unqualified fail because I can’t clear my mind worth shit, and reading—

slightly better, same reason. One of the bodyguards hikes, so we’ve been exploring trails through New Brighton Park.

The leaves are turning every possible shade of gold and red, and the weather is cooler but stil amazing.

No matter what I do, though, I can’t break the habit of talking to Dori in my head. I think about cal ing her, asking how her classes are going and coaxing satirical observations out of her—the type she’s reluctant to voice for fear of sounding il -mannered. I imagine sitting with her at one of the hole-in-the-wal cafés I’ve discovered here, tel ing her about al the on-set insanity.

I remember kissing her. The kiss in the closet that made her run. The kiss in front of her house that didn’t. I could have gone on kissing her for much longer that last time, because nothing in her response showed wariness. The trouble was my response. If our mouths had been joined for another minute, I’d have dragged her right back into that car.