Just Fake It Page 12

  Then I switch on over to The LA Times: Brilliantly acted and directed, this is more than just a horror movie. It’s a revelation; reminding this reviewer of the reason I love movies in the first place.

  I read more, this one from Time: Avignon’s genius is on full display here.

  And Entertainment Weekly: There’s seemingly no stopping Avignon. With the exception of a few of the later installments in his Devouring franchise, the man just keeps getting better and better. With this latest effort, he secures his spot as film legend.

  Then, there’s Gene Siskel: This movie is not to be missed. It’s quite possibly the best two hours I’ve ever spent in the theater.

  I look up, the slowly slide the phone over to him, the “legend” sitting right next to me. So it appears I’m not the only fan of The Last Door on the Right. And I’m not Justin’s only groupie. Did I tell him I loved him last night? I think I did.

  Oh, god. I ripped off my clothes, twerked on his cock, and told him I loved him. And that’s just the part I can remember. What a moron I am.

  “Mommy!” Brandon cries from the lawn. “Watch me!”

  “Okay, honey!” I murmur, still cringing with fuzzy thoughts of last night. Me straddling him. Kissing him. His hands on my breasts. His tongue consuming my mouth. He’s the last person I need now. What I need is someone who actually thinks of Brandon, because we’re a package deal. What kind of horrible mother am I, giving into my base desires for a hot, desperately attractive but completely wrong-for-me genius?

  The silence stretches on until Justin takes the phone and gives me a sideways glance. “Your silence is killing me.”

  I break out of my trance and let out a laugh. “Well! You told me not to say anything!”

  He let out a big sigh. “Don’t listen to me. Tell me a little something. Nothing bad, though. Something good.”

  “Honestly? I’d have trouble finding something bad,” I tell him. “I could look again, but it’s probably take me a while. It’s all good. They love you. The words ‘genius’ and ‘legend’ are used with great frequency.”

  “Yeah?”

  I nod.

  “Well, then. Fuck yeah.” He pumps a fist. Then he leans his head back, tilting his face to the sky with a triumphant grin on his face. “Fuck. Yeah.”

  “Hey, Mommy! Look!”

  I wave at Brandon, who’s doing this weird crab walk on his hands and feet. But my mind is on the man next to me.

  So this is how it’s going to be? Us never talking about last night? Pretending it hadn’t happened? Even though I’m wearing his shirt and had been rubbing my naked body shamelessly over his cock in the back seat of the limo like a total sex-crazed maniac? He must think I’m a total loser. I can’t handle that. I need to clear the air. I need to know what’s in his head.

  I suck in a breath and slip the sunglasses off my nose. “Um. Last night. Did we . . .?”

  He smirks. “You don’t remember?”

  I slump into the seat next to him, cover my face in my hands, and shake my head.

  “No, we didn’t. I was the perfect gentleman, it seems. Just carried you upstairs and put you in your bed. Once again.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. Thank god, it’s not as bad as I thought it was. Now, I just need to put the brakes on and move this baby in reverse. I can do it. I have to do it. No more letting my sexy parts make decisions for me. Seriously, this time.

  “Though this time, I did get a peek.” He winks. “More than a peek, actually.”

  I look down at my body and blush. “Oh, god.”

  I am never, ever drinking again. I’m going to be all business, carry out this job, do my damnedest to work like a professional . . . and never drink again.

  Then he leans toward me and says, “Hey. For the record. I liked what I saw. More than liked. In fact, I’d like to see it again, really soon. I thought about you, all last night, in bed.”

  He thought about me.

  I look up again, and he meets my eyes with a smoldering stare of his own. And just like that, I melt. I find myself leaning into him, so close I can feel his breath on my face, sense the warmth of his skin, feel the electric energy pulsing between us. “I . . . we shouldn’t . . .”

  “Yeah, we should,” he murmurs back, his voice low, his face so close. His body’s so warm and welcoming and he smells so good. It’s sensation overload. Just a sliver of movement and my lips would meet his. And I want it. I want it so bad I can taste it.

  Then, there is a soft, truncated yelp, and a faraway splash.

  It takes me a moment to realize. I blink. Brandon can’t swim.

  Brandon.

  I jump up. “Brandon!” I scream, tripping over the legs of the chair to get away from the table. I rocket out of the shade of the patio and into the bright sun, seeing nothing from this vantage point but waves in the crystal blue waters of the pool. I run to the edge, my heart in my throat as I see a little pale body, sinking like a stone, hands and arms splayed. “He can’t swim!”

  “He what?” Justin jumps into action behind me, surging ahead without hesitation. Legs pumping, he races past me, shuttling over a flower bed as he dives into the water.

  I hear the splash, and then my heart takes over, beating in my ears, drowning out all other sounds. I watch as he gets a hold of Brandon’s little body and surfaces, cradling him in his arms as he strokes to the edge of the pool. Brandon’s face is so pale, his eyes closed, his Buzz Lightyear shirt drenched.

  I take him from Justin’s arms, thinking he’s not moving, oh god, he’s dying. I need to do CPR. I let out a shaky breath as Justin pulls himself up out of the water, and as I’m lowering my head to lift his chin and pinch his nose, he begins to choke, sputtering out water.

  I let out a sob as his eyes flicker open and land on me. “Mommy?”

  I grab his little body to mine and hold him so tight I don’t think I’ll ever let go, all the while, crying so hard that it hurts, that I can’t see for all the tears.

  When I can look, I see Justin, doubled over, breathing hard, hands on his knees, dripping. He looks as shell-shocked as I feel. June is there, too, telling me that she’s called an ambulance.

  But all I can do is gather him in my lap and hold him. Not long ago, he was everything to me. He is everything to me. I’d just had clouds in my vision. Stupid, stupid me. I’d even done that once before.

  And I’ll be damned if I make the same mistake again.

  The ambulance comes and they put Brandon on a stretcher, to take him in for observation. I go with him. Justin says things in the background, but I’m not listening. It’s like I can’t listen. June brings me a change of clothes, my flip flops, and my purse, which I hastily change into in the cabana. I hold Brandon’s hand as they load him into the ambulance, and then I sit on the bench with him as the doors close and we speed away toward the Children’s Hospital of Los Angeles.

  By the time we get to the hospital, he’s even more alert and chattering, but my nerves are shot. I still can’t believe how stupid I was. I spend an hour in the waiting room, staring at a wall as they put him through tests, and when the doctor comes out and tells me that he’s fine, I promise myself that every time he tells me to watch him, I will glue my eyes to his butt and never look away again. Not even for a moment.

  So yes, I’m relieved. But the guilt I feel? That doesn’t go away.

  As I’m filling out the discharge paperwork, the automatic doors slide open, and I see a familiar face. It’s Logan. He says, “Justin’s been trying to get in touch with you.”

  I know. He’s sent me at least ten texts, asking how Brandon is. “Sorry. Been busy. He’s okay, though.”

  “Justin asked me to come here and wait, in case you needed a ride home.”

  I’m dying to go back to the shithole, with Maude. I don’t care about the cockroaches, or the drippy ceilings, or the empty refrigerator. That feels like the only safe place right now. But I can’t. “Thanks. He should be released any minute now.”

&
nbsp; I hold Brandon in my arms the whole way home, cradling him like a baby. He’s exhausted, and barely moves. By the time we pull into the circular drive of Justin’s house, the sun is setting. As I’m carrying my son up the front staircase to the entry, the door opens, and Justin appears in the doorway, a silhouette framed in orange light behind him.

  He opens his mouth to say something, but I avert his eyes and duck past him. He turns and I’m only a few steps up the staircase when he says, “Lee?”

  I look back at him. He’s waiting for me to say something. But what can I say? He did everything right. He jumped into action and saved Brandon. It was me that did everything wrong, letting my hormones take control and not concentrating on what really matters to me.

  So I continue going up the stairs without another word.

  I finish tucking Brandon into bed, and then I head to my own bedroom, to have myself a good, long cry, thinking about what could have happened. As I do, I hear a soft rap on the door. I expect it to be June, but I’m surprised to see Justin there. He’s actually never ventured this far into this wing of the house before. I’m surprised he knew this was where I was staying.

  I can’t meet his eyes. “Yes?” I say, my voice cold.

  “Is he . . . ?”

  “He’s fine. Sleeping. He’s really exhausted.” I step away from the door, into the room, and he follows me.

  “I wanted to let you know. June called and got a company to come out tomorrow, to put fence around the pool. And she has a list of swim instructors, if you’re interested.”

  I nod. “Thanks.”

  His eyes land on the bodice-ripper on my nightstand. “The Cocky Bastard Prince, eh?” He grins, swooping over my bed and picking it up. “Any good?”

  Ugh. He’s trying to put lightness into the conversation, but I can’t. The last thing I need is him scrutinizing my entertainment choices. Considering he’s such a genius, churning out horror classics and all. And he’s in my bedroom. Where I do not, cannot, will not have him.

  Face reddening, I turn away from him, trying to think of something to do so I won’t be forced to look at him. I see my goddess gown draped over the chair by the dressing table and take it, then go to the closet and grab a hanger. “I’m tired. I should probably . . .”

  He finishes flipping through the book, sets it back down, and crosses his arms. “You’re mad at me.” I shake my head. “Yes you are. Why? Because of today?”

  “I don’t want to. . .” Fuck it. He’s just going to keep prodding if I don’t say something. “I’m not. I’m more mad at myself.”

  “You shouldn’t blame yourself. Kids can be slippery things. It’s not—“

  “Yeah, it is.” I finish hanging the gown and jam it into my closet. “Fish are slippery. Not kids. He’s the most important thing in my life. I shouldn’t have done what I did last night. Or this morning. It shouldn’t have happened.”

  He stares at me. “You’re not just a mother, Lee. You’re a woman. And you’re young, and beautiful and sexy. Tell me. How is sacrificing everything you want in life going to make you look better in your kid’s eyes?”

  I press my lips together. “I only want one thing, now. For him to grow up happy.”

  He lets out a low, sour, disbelieving laugh. “Really? That’s all you want? Because I’m pretty sure your body wanted something else, last night.”

  I cross my arms. “Maybe it did. But I don’t. I can’t be hedonistic. I’m beyond that point in my life. You can be, because you have no real responsibilities in your life, but I can’t.”

  “Is that how you see me? No responsibilities? Really?” He scoffs at me. “I have plenty of shit going on in my life that you know nothing about.”

  “Right. Finding your next lay so you won’t go to bed horny. It’s tough,” I mock-pout at him. “How do you survive?”

  He scowls at me. “You came on to me last night, sweetheart.”

  “Something I shouldn’t have done,” I say, my voice hollow.

  “Fine. Don’t fuck. Be a saint, for all I care. But you wanted to be an actress, too, once,” he says. “Or did you forget that? You can be his mom. And have a career, too.”

  I shake my head. “I tried to be an actress. It didn’t work out.”

  “Yeah. Well. Maybe because you went about it the wrong way?”

  I look at him. How did he know . . . is he talking about that story I told him while we went on our practice date? About the producer who’d conned me? “What do you mean?”

  He shrugs. “Like you said. Fucking your way into parts like every other starlet that comes to this town. It’s never a good idea.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Wait. Is that what you think I did?”

  He staring at me, almost challenging me to tell him otherwise. “You said so.”

  Holy shit. I really shouldn’t have done what I did last night. Because it probably only solidified in his head what he was already thinking about me. That I was this girl that slept around all over town, trying to fuck her way into parts. That maybe I was trying to fuck my way into a part in one of his movies.

  I storm over to him, wagging my finger in his face. “You’re a dick. First of all, I didn’t try to sleep my way into any parts. I met a movie producer when I was nineteen years old, and he was the first guy who I ever fell head over heels for. In love. Yes, he said he would put me in a movie, but I would’ve been with him, even if he hadn’t. Do you know how many times I’ve had sex in my life?” I hold out my hand and wiggle the fingers. “Five. Okay? The first four were with my high school sweetheart from Nebraska who I dated for three years before he took my virginity at seventeen. And lucky number five was when Steven Fucking Long, who, up until the moment he unleashed his sperm into me, rolled over and told me to go to hell, I was pretty convinced was the love of my life. Not one of those times was all that spectacular. So, that is why I hate sex. It always fucking lets me down in the end. But Brandon? He never does. So pardon me if I hitch everything to him. All the rest, including you, can go to hell.”

  I’m shaking by the time I’m done, and he’s staring at me, a darkness in his eyes I don’t think I’ve ever quite seen. He doesn’t speak for a long time. When he does, he says, “Steven Long?”

  I look away. I hadn’t expected to say that. It just slipped out.

  “Is that Brandon’s father?”

  I’m surprised Justin cares. I nod. “You know him?” Which is a stupid question, of course. Justin knows everyone in this town.

  He nods.

  “Well, that’s just great,” I mutter. “I do, too . . . but I bet you he doesn’t even remember me, considering how important I was to him. I’ll tell you, though. If I ever see him again, I’ll be sure to rip him a new one. He’s a total asshole, in a sea of assholes. God, I HATE THIS TOWN!”

  Justin is just staring at me. For the longest time, staring, a dark, brooding expression on his face. And then, without a word, he turns and steps back into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

  I guess I should be happy. Now, Justin sees that even meaningless sex, to fill a need, isn’t going to happen between us. No matter how much we flirt or what my body says. Brandon is my number one concern. And that’s the end of it.

  Even so, when I pull out my romance novel and try to read, I only get one page in before I start to cry. Because romance isn’t what I need right now. I have too much at stake to think about things like that.

  Chapter 13

  The next week and a half go by without an incident. There are no outings where I’m required, so I get to spend a lot of time relaxing, with Brandon. Justin has a lot of meetings to get the ball rolling on The Verge, and even has a few overnight trips where he’s gone to scout filming locations around the state.

  I only see him a handful of times over those days, and when I do, we exchange only a few sentences. At one point, he asks me if I’d like to go on the scouting trip with him to Sacramento, but I decline because it’s an overnight trip and I need to stay with B
randon.

  Then he’s gone. He left for the whole weekend, leaving the house to me, Brandon, and June. I like it. I like being in this gorgeous house with Brandon. Not walking on eggshells, wondering if Justin is nearby. Not having to worry about keeping my hormones in check. We take walks around the grounds, play games together, and have a lot of Brandon-Mommy time.

  But I can’t deny it. Something is missing. It’s like a constant gnawing, deep inside.

  I hate to think Justin is right.

  But yeah. He’s right.

  As much as I love Brandon, I can’t be all about him. I even think Brandon’s getting a little tired of me, too. I find myself getting short with him sometimes, and he gets whiny more often with me. We’re getting on each other’s nerves.

  I need more. And I’ve only realized that since Justin swooped in and awakened something in me, something I never knew existed.

  “No. Just blow. Put your lips together and blow. Like this.” I’m sitting in the shallow end of the pool, demonstrating how to exhale under water, while Brandon keeps swallowing the whole goddamn pool. It’s hot, and Brandon’s not getting it, and this bikini is way too small for me, because it keeps riding up on my ass like a thong, and I keep having to fish it out of the crack.

  “Like this?” Brandon puts his mouth under and sucks in another mouthful of water.

  “No!” I roll my eyes. “Didn’t you just see what I did?”

  I know I’m getting aggravated. I need to step away. I should be happy he was so eager to go back in the pool and take lessons from me. Still, I’m on edge, with everything. And I know that I’m not being the best mom, like this, snapping at him every two seconds. I need a break. I push up and sit on the side of the pool. “Why don’t we try this again—“

  “Hey, buddy. Getting lessons?”

  I look up and see Justin striding toward us in his swim trunks, a towel slung over his shoulder.

  My jaw hangs open. “I thought you weren’t coming home until tonight?”

  “Things went better than expected. Got in late last night,” he says. He pulls off his sunglasses and slips into the pool, right beside me. “Disappointed?”