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“I might be able to forgive, but forget is a whole other story.” Grudges were championed like ancient Roman Gladiators in his family. “Besides, she isn’t the only woman in the world.”
“Must be nice to have a choice,’ she said, laying her head down on the pillow and staring up at him.
He made it easier for her and plumped up the pillow closest to him. The cool fabric under his face wasn’t as smooth as his pillows. Maybe he should send some down to her. Or better yet, have her sleep over. “I would think a woman like you has lots of choices. You’ve got me and Taylor Harper chasing after you.”
She laughed, the sound doing funny things to the beat of his heart. “I’m not a player. That would be you.”
“The politically correct term is ‘playa’ and I’m not really. The most ridiculous crap is made up about me on a daily basis.”
“Like?”
He thought for a minute, then said, “Not too long ago, I was working on a movie in Vancouver. Every night I had dinner with the cast and because most of the time I sat beside Vivian Cross, it was reported that we were having an affair. What wasn’t reported was that her husband was seated on the opposite side of her and she barely paid me any attention. They got the one shot where she asked me to pass the salt or something. Instant headlines.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t tell me you believed it, too.” He hoped not. For some reason he wanted Zoe to think the best about him. Her approval meant more to him than anything, almost as much as B.T. S.’s.
“It doesn’t matter what I believe. The only thing that counts is if you can live with your decisions and their consequences.”
“It wasn’t my decision to sit next to her nearly every night.”
Zoe sighed. “But it was your decision to cultivate the reputation you have. One that gives credibility to headlines like that.”
She was right, yet so very wrong. “Vivian never had a reputation like that, not before she was seated beside me. How’s that her fault?”
“I didn’t think about that.” She closed her eyes, dark lashes fanning to touch the tops of her cheeks. He wanted to kiss her there, then work his way down to her jaw and nibble until he found her lips. “I guess everyone deserves the benefit of the doubt. That maybe what we think is the truth really isn’t.”
“No, sometimes it is exactly what it is.” He was the one in those pictures, doing reprehensible things. No one had to manipulate his image.
Her eyes popped open, anxiety filling them. “There’s something we need to talk about.”
He panicked, thinking that she was done with him. That he wasn’t worth the hassle of the press and the lies. “Want to know something extremely true and possibly humiliating?
Anxiety gave way to curiosity. “I’m all ears.”
“I play piano and guitar by ear. And I collect PEZ dispensers.”
“Who would’ve thought silly candy dispensers would be so on the down low.”
Silly candy dispensers? “I have you know that I take my collection very seriously. Last summer, I attended the PEZ Convention in Austria and plan on going to the one in Myrtle Beach this November.”
“You go to conventions?”
“One must be taken seriously on the loops I subscribe to on Yahoo.” He tapped his chin. “I hope to find the elusive Elvis collection someday.”
“No wonder you don’t tell anyone,” she mumbled, then cleared her throat. “Let’s move on.”
“Brilliant idea.” He could prattle on endlessly about PEZ. The history, the elusive ten, and how they should be properly displayed. He closed his eyes as her fingers traced his lips and jaw. Now his only thoughts were to keep his hands to himself. To let her take the lead.
“Can you play anything you hear?”
“I’ve perfect ears.”
Her fingers stilled. “Don’t you mean perfect pitch?”
“It’s all the same. I’m in a word: perfect.” Perfectly screwed up in the head. His family was perfectly happy being estranged from one another. He opened his eyes.
“Perfectly full of hubris.”
“There you go with the big words. I’ll have to consult dictionary.com to converse with you.” He rolled onto his back and shoved his arms behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. “Your turn.”
She made a pfft sound. “I’m not blogged about.”
“Now you are.”
“Yay me,” she grumbled.
He felt her slide over to him until her head rested on his chest. A sign that she wanted to be touched. Slowly, he uncrossed an arm and started sifting his fingers through her thick hair. “I’m waiting.”
“I was engaged until six months. His name was—is—Gabriel Edwards and my parents loved him. Or at least my mother did,” she snorted. “Who am I kidding? She still does and she’s still mad at me for ruining her plans.”
Wonder what Zoe would think if he told her that he was sublimely happy that she was no longer getting married. “What happened?”
“It was either him or my career.”
“You chose writing over love?” Somehow, this struck him wrong. Zoe, despite her protests to the contrary, was very traditional, very romantic at heart.
“When you love someone, it shouldn’t matter what they do. Serial killers and people who make chocolate covered raisins excluded.”
“We really need to work on your sense of humor.”
“Daniel Tosh gives me all the finer points of comedy when he performs.”
“You know him?”
“Only by his 140 characters,” she said.
“Your choices are bizarre to say the least,” he said. “Do you still see your ex?”
She nodded. “From a small town, remember. And we keep the babies in the nursery every Sunday.” Her fingers slip between the placket of buttons, stroking the skin underneath. Her touch light, but potent.
“Breaking up with Gabriel was the best decision I’ve ever made. We’re much better at being friends, always have been,” she added.
“Then why were you together at all?”
Her body tensed. “He was there for me when I needed someone the most.”
“I’m glad.” He meant it.
“Have you ever been in love?” she asked, her voice soft.
“When I was younger, I was in love with a lot of women—or at least I thought so. Most likely I was thinking with my manly parts,” he said with a grin. “Like most men.”
