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Tate took a sip of his water and shrugged his shoulders. “Doubtful. I wouldn’t be a good partner for anyone. We’ll see if I can take care of myself first.”
“In that case—” I paused as I walked around the kitchen island to open the patio doors. “We’ll be single together.”
“It feels like five years ago.”
“It does.”
Between us, nothing had changed.
CHAPTER 8
TATE
FOUR YEARS AGO – PART 1
“Ihate these fucking things,” I muttered to myself as I stood in front of the mirror adjusting my bowtie.
I was struggling with the stupid tie and struggling to stay calm.
It was my first red carpet appearance in two years, and I was mentally bracing myself for the onslaught of press and peers.
My only relief was knowing that Reed was also going to be in attendance.
With his date.
A fellow actor named Julian Brennan. Jules, as he was known. A guy with a smile even a dentist would envy. A man Reed had seen more than once. And he rarely double dipped. Was this one serious?
The idea of Reed and Jules as a permanent couple made me nauseous and irrationally annoyed.
Then I berated myself. I wanted my friend to find love, to find a partner. He acted like he didn’t care about finding a special man, but I knew that’s what he wanted. There was a longing in his eyes when he talked about his parents’ happy marriage and growing up with his sister, Rissa. I knew Reed wanted it all—the marriage, the house, the kids.
I should be happy for him. Maybe Jules could give him that.
Then I remembered the first time I’d met Jules, at a party two weeks ago. He’d eyed up every hot man within range and he wasn’t subtle about it. I was tempted to warn Reed, but it wasn’t my place. Reed hadn’t called the guy his boyfriend or mentioned they were exclusive. Maybe they had an open relationship? Lots of people did.
Not that I understood it, but then again, I hardly understood any relationship that wasn’t transactional.
Well, except my friendship with Reed.
But I had no business thinking any more about him or his date.
I had my own to worry about.
The limo was arriving in five, and then we were off to pick up my date for the evening, an actress named Celia Cantrell. She was another beautiful blonde, and no doubt I would be the envy of every hetero man in attendance. Whatever. To me, the date was just another trip on the endless merry-go-round that was my life.
The life made for viewing.
Not the one behind closed doors.
And rushed blowjobs with faceless men in the back seat of my car weren’t cutting it anymore. I was afraid of being outed, but also terrified that my fake life was making me restless again.
But I was used to putting on the usual act. Hell, it was as easy as slipping on this tuxedo jacket.
I didn’t stop when the director yelled cut. Not me.
I kept right on playing my part.
And Christ, now wasn’t the time for a quarter life crisis.
