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“Right, the hardest thing she does is float in a wind tunnel for five seconds.”
* * *
“Who doyou think is the best Batman?”
“Christian Bale.”
“What? That asshole? ‘Oh, good for you!’ Someday I want to make a movie and hire a bunch of famous actors with reputations for being dicks so we can catch them on film, and then—surprise!—the movie we actually filmed is called Actors Being Dicks.”
“You asked who I thought was the best Batman, but it’s not like I actually like him. He’s the best Batman because he’s got an edge. He’s grittier and raw. Why? Who’s your favorite?”
“Pattinson.”
“No…Edward Cullen?”
“Patrick Bateman?”
“Touché.”
* * *
Four baking episodes,three movies, and five bathroom breaks later, Greg turns the screen off and faces me. “How are you feeling?”
I stretch and think about it. “Better.” Greg’s been making sure I take ibuprofen regularly and has changed the hot water out twice. My bathroom trips have become less frequent—not even once in the last movie!
I try not to think about holding the hot doctor’s hand through my cramps.
“Thank you for doing all this. I bet you had big, fun plans for the day, and I ruined them.”
“My buddy Manny is here, but he’s a great travel companion, content to fly solo when need be. He’s probably been hitting up the bar, and I am ninety-five percent sure he’s lobster red and drunk right now.”
“Do you travel together a lot?”
“Once a year. He’s a surgeon, and we went to med school together. It’s good to get away from the stresses of our jobs sometimes.”
“Is he in Dallas too?”
“Nah, Phoenix. That’s why we flew separately. Hey, how would you feel about some food?”
I pat my stomach. “Pretty good. I think I can handle more food.” I nibbled on the toast from earlier, but the eggs are cold and gross now.
“Dine in or room service?”
“No pants.” After my first trip to the bathroom, modesty with Greg went out the window. He’s a doctor. I’m sure he’s seen worse.
“Room service it is.” He retrieves the menu binder from the desk, and we thumb through the pages. He calls in our order. “Can you put the charge on room 203?”
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say when he hangs up.
“I don’t mind at all. You’ve had A Day.”
“I’m pretty sure I owe you dinner. You’ve been pretty much working all day, and that’s more thansome peopleare willing to do on vacation.” Bitterness creeps into my voice, and Greg cocks his head, asking without words.
“My friend was supposed to come with me, but she canceled because she didn’t want to have to help me.”
Greg’s expression goes flat. “Ex-friend, right?”
“Ex-friend,” I promise.
