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Jackson:Right.Here’sa pin.Seeyou this afternoon
OatsandIspend the day at home, working our way through a stack of scripts a few feet high.Ifthe whole franchise thing doesn’t work out,I’mgoing to need a new project to focus on.Idon’t get more than twenty pages into any of the scripts all morning.Noneof them are right.OrI’mnot right for them.Whatthe hell amIgoing to do ifIdon’t get this role?It’sthe next step.Amassive franchise—a cinematic universe—is the only thingIhaven’t done yet.
Afteranother meal of protein and greens,Isit down on the low sofa in my office instead of behind the desk and start in on another pile of scripts.
Whenfour o’clock rolls around,Icall it, sinceI’mnot getting anything done, anyway.Iplay ball withOatsin the yard for a bit and thenIjump in the shower beforeSelenagets here.
Iknow she’s pissed at me, butIswearI’mgoing to make this whole thing as minimally shitty for her asIcan.
Whenthe gate buzzer rings,I’mpacing back and forth across the sunken living room in front of the extra-deep cream sectional.Oatsis set up on the matching upholstered ottoman, his eyes tracking me back and forth.
Walkingover to the keypad,Ipress one to open the gate.Iforgot to give mygirlfriendthe damn code to my house.
Jackson:Gatecode is 5657
Jackson:Fornext time
“Staythere,Oats.Stay.”
I’mat the front door, holding it open for her by the time she pulls up in a little bluePrius.
She’severy bit as pretty asIremember.Thesun’s hitting her dark hair, making it look lighter than it is.She’swearing bright pink lipstick.Shewas wearing bright pink lipstick in the elevator, too.Andshe’s wearing a teal dress that’s tight through the chest and then gets wider until it stops mid-thigh.Thenthere’s just a whole lot of creamy leg down to the purpleConversesneakers she’s wearing.Shetraded in her massive bag from the elevator for a little purple one she’s wearing shoulder to hip, the strap pressing in between her breasts.Andthose breasts.They’rehuge, with several inches of them on display above the neckline of her dress.NotthatI’vethought about her breasts for the last two months.BecauseI’mnot a completely depraved asshole.
“Hey.”
Shesounds almost shy, which isn’t like her.Ormaybe it is?Idon’t know her well enough to know whether something’s like her or not.OnlyIfeel likeIdo.
“Isit okay to park there?”Shewaves her hand toward her car, pulled to the side in the curve of my driveway near the front stairs.
“Hey, back.It’sperfect.Comeon in.”
Whenshe walks into the house,Iclose the heavy glass front door after us.Thenshe turns to face me and gives me some sort of mocking salute.
“Fakegirlfriend, reporting for duty.”
“Ithought you were pissed at me?”Leaningback,Istudy her.
“Iwas.”
“Butyou’re not anymore?”
“Notthat you need to know about.”
“Ishould probably just take the good news, butI’venever been one to let things go.Areyou or are you not pissed at me?Andwhy wouldn’tIneed to know about it?”
“IdecidedIdon’t want to be angry anymore.Thisis two months of my life, and thenInever have to see you again.You’repaying a lot of money for a fake girlfriend, andI’mgoing to give you your money’s worth.”
“Whydon’t you want to be angry with me anymore?”
“Beingpissed at you is more work and harder on me than it is on you.”Shelets out a long breath. “Andwhile a lot of this wasentirelyyour fault, like telling the entire country on liveTVabout the incident.Notall of it is your fault.”
“IguessI’lltake the win, then.Didyou want a drink or something?”
Shesmiles politely at me likeI’ma stranger. “No, thank you.”
“Thanksfor coming today.Ithought maybeIcould show you around before we head out, if that’s okay.”Whythe hell doIsound like a desperate tour guide? “Youshould probably know your way around whereIlive, so there are no surprises.”
“Soundsgood.Whateveryou want.”Shegives me that same polite smile again, like some sort ofStepfordWifeSelena.Whatthe hell?
