After we had sex, Wayne left and I went to sleep, pondering the previous events. Despite all the reasons I had not to, I slept with him. Was it the right move? The wrong one? I couldn’t know for sure. But I was not going to doubt myself now that I gave him the green light. Besides, the sweet oblivion was a definite plus. Maybe even the only plus in this entire arrangement.
The next day, Wayne texted me. I’d saved his number after he called me yesterday under that name, and he texted me just as I got out of the shower and prepared to go play the piano in some new bistro that opened downtown. The text said, ‘Will you be available today at midnight? I’m going to a movie premiere tonight and I want to take you somewhere afterwards.’
I vaguely remembered Emma and my father talking about this premiere, then I remembered Holden Knight directed it. Ford was the star of the movie, and I knew that Heath and Liam were in it, too. Emma, of course, went as Ford’s date, for the two were one of the most publicized couples in America.
Thank God Wayne didn’t invite me to this shit. I hated the entertainment industry and wanted nothing to do with it. I didn’t care much that Wayne was a first-class director; I just didn’t want this kind of life to myself. The last thing I needed was paparazzi hiding in every corner, fans tripping over each other to get an autograph, and stupid shit like that. So I was so very grateful he didn’t even bother to invite me. I would’ve declined anyway and it would’ve left us in a weird place.
So I texted him a quick positive that yes, I would be available. He sent me back, ‘Good :)’.
Not one to use smileys or emoji in general, I left it at that.
After work, I returned back home and improvised some music on the piano. Nothing sounded right or any good to even bother writing sheet music to, so I gave up and went to the TV. I saw that E! Channel was showing the premiere and grimaced before switching to Disney Channel. A rerun of Hannah Montana was on and I scowled. Switching to one of the movie channels, I saw it was some movie about an ordinary girl who was falling in love with some grade-A actor. Snorting, I turned the TV off.
With nothing else to do, I fixed myself a coffee and went to my computer, preparing to play some World of Warcraft. I was not a gamer per se, but I loved WoW. It was a wonderful way to pass the time.
I was leveling like crazy for hours when around midnight, as he said, there was a knock on my door. Sighing, I closed the game and went to open it. Wayne stood at the entrance, wearing a tux with his tie loosened around the collar of his shirt. He looked good, however, with his hair styled in a rugged way and his eyes a beautiful cloudy gray.
Grinning at me, he said, “Mind if I come in?”
“Sure,” I responded and moved aside. I closed the door after him and motioned to the living room. “Wait here. I’ll get dressed.” I was currently wearing my pajamas.
He nodded and I disappeared into my bedroom, throwing some shorts and tank top on myself. Braiding my long hair and slipping my feet into a pair of sandals, I got out and saw that he took the tie off, leaving him with black pants, black shoes and a short buttoned white shirt. “I’m ready,” I told him.
Rising, he walked over to me and scanned me up and down. “I like your curves,” he said out of the blue and before I could reply, he put his arms around my waist, pulled me forward, and planted a kiss on my lips.
At first, my instinct told me not to react and grill him about the why. Because we were not together, and kissing just for kissing sake was something couples did. But then I decided to say screw it and put my own hands around his neck and leaned toward him, pressing tighter against him. My eyes fluttered shut when his tongue tangled with mine. My body responded immediately, waking up, heat slithering through my skin.
The kiss was over a couple of minutes later when he stepped back and smirked at me. “No time for sex tonight,” he said, “I have other plans for you.”
I shrugged. “We can always have sex later.”
His smirk turned into a fully predatory wicked grin. “I like your way of thinking.”
Giving him a long look, I pointed at the door. “Let’s get going to whatever mysterious place you’re taking me.”
* * *
Wayne’s car was different than the one from two years ago. This one was a sleek black Maserati with synthetic leather covering the seats. It also glided smoothly down the roads, like a shadow assassin in the night. I felt like I should’ve dressed better to feel worthy of sitting inside such a legendary vehicle.
We didn’t speak much as he drove, but the silence didn’t feel awkward, mostly because the radio was on and some smoky, dark cover of Michael Jackson’s Billy Jean was on. When he drove out of town, however, I grew curious. “Where are we going?”
He didn’t look at me when he simply said, “You’ll see.”
Fifteen minutes later, Wayne pulled into a parking lot in the middle of nowhere. I shot him a look but he just grinned and got out of the car. Throwing myself out, I saw we were in some sort of desert, with the city lights deep in the distance. Why the heck were we here?
Wayne led us to a seashore and I saw he had a blanket in his hand. He threw it on the sand, spreading it, and sat down. Following suit, I placed myself next to him and watched as he lay down on his back. Frowning, I laid back as well, and before I could ask what we were doing, he pointed at the sky and said, “Look.”
Rolling my head, I looked out at the sky. It was plain dark with thousands of stars. “What am I supposed to look at?”
“Just look,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice, “trust me.”
Doubtful, I stared as he said. We spent the next twenty minutes or so stargazing like morons. I had no idea what he wanted me to achieve by that, but since I was no expert, I decided to just go along with it. Until I had enough.
Finally, after what felt like ages, he spoke. “Stargazing is a very basic means to calm down.”
Glaring at some constellation, I murmured, “If you think bored is related to calmness, then yeah, I’m completely calm.”
He chuckled quietly. “Look at me.” After I turned my head to do that, his eyes reflected silver like the stars above and he grinned lopsidedly, his hair rumpled now that we were lying down. “When you looked at the stars, what did you think about?”
“Nothing,” I told him bluntly, scowling. “My mind went blank. There was nothing to think about.”
“Wrong answer,” his grin didn’t falter, “try to guess what I thought.”
I decided to go with honesty. “Probably something dirty including me, you, and no clothes.”
Chuckling again, he said, “Do try to put your head out of the gutter, please.”
Scrunching my nose, I said, “You probably thought about some deep stuff. Life. Death. Love. Ex girlfriends. Prayed for your sins or some shit like that.”
Another chuckle. “You’re not wrong this time.”
“Yay,” I murmured dryly.
He turned back to the sky, but I didn’t. I kept on staring at him instead. His profile was kind of mesmerizing, with his jaw as chiseled as Chris Hemsworth’s was. He was truly good-looking, almost achingly so. Had I been a less vain of a person, I would’ve wondered what he was doing with plain ole me. But I knew my worth, my looks-wise worth. I was pretty. He probably considered me as some snack he had yet to take a bite off to fill his empty stomach or something.
Wow. So poetic. Should I tell him my thoughts now? He’d probably think I was taking his philosophical lesson seriously... Not.
“What are you thinking about now?” he asked, looking back at me.
I turned my body fully so I faced him. “I wonder about your past.”
He smirked. “There’s nothing to wonder about. I had an ordinary life.”
That was a let down. “Here I hoped you had some skeletons in the closet.”
Grinning, he responded, “I actually believe you mean it.” When he saw I didn’t blink, he sighed. “I honestly have no demons in my past. Grew up in a good neighborhood, have parents who love me, went to UCLA, now an award-winning director and multimillionaire.”
Scowling, I said, “Then why do you care about changing me?”
“I always had a thing for broken things,” he said, not grinning any longer. He seemed serious now. “I went to be a director because I liked being in control of a certain environment, of telling people how they should what I imagine they should. A movie, before it’s being filmed, is broken into many piece that I need to fix up and make it a whole again. I love it. I breathe it. I live it.”
He stretched his hand and I found my cheek being cupped by his rough skin. “I’ve told you that I steer clear of women like you. I wasn’t kidding; your kind of stubborn, hardheaded woman is usually not something I go for. Women like you are usually collected, cool, know what they want.”
“I feel so special now,” I said dryly, giving him a narrow-eyes glare. “So why me? Why did you decided to approach me?”
“Because you might be all that, but you are more broken than you let on, more broken than average people could detect. I’m an expert at broken things, and you,” he gave me a strange look, “you’re my challenge to prove myself that I can fix everything.”
“You might’ve claimed your past is all clean, but I sense some issues here,” I said, rising on my elbow. His hand fell from my face. “Tell me. What is it? Some ex girlfriend who was into drugs and you couldn’t pull her out? Overdosed herself or something?”
He mimicked my position. “No,” he said, voice suddenly flat, “it’s a friend I had who committed suicide because he had cancer.”
“Touching,” the word was out before I could stop it, said in a tone as dry as the desert around us.
He stared at me for a few moments before he found his words again. “You’re not a sociopath,” he said, eyes inscrutable, “you’re just a simplified bitch.”
Not one to clump my mouth shut, I gave him another death-glare. “A simplified bitch?”
He shook his head and sat up. “Your first response to my story – which is a lie, by the way – is to be sarcastic. You don’t feel sorry for me. You don’t say what most people, especially women, would’ve said. Which gives me two options; you’re either suffering from some persona disorder of sorts that doesn’t let you understand emotional cues, or you’re a simple-minded bitch. Since I don’t believe the former is the truth, it leaves with me with the latter.”
“So you didn’t have a friend who died,” I summed it up, “you simply wanted to analyze me.”
He gave me a short-lived smirk. “Isn’t that what I fuck you for?”
“You know, if I wasn’t a simplified bitch, I would’ve slapped you,” I told him, sitting up as well and giving him a severe look. “But while I pride myself in acting on my instincts, I’m not going to. Because eventually you’re right. I am a simple bitch.”
“Glad we settled that,” he said, “because now I have the scenario in my head, and I know exactly how to nudge my starring actress into playing out what I visualize.”
“Also, if I was an ordinary woman, I would’ve told you you’re a grade-A asshole and never let you fuck me again,” I mused out loud. “But I think we already concluded I’m not most women. So I’m going to play along and I’ll even let you screw my brains out later even though I really shouldn’t.” I gave him my own version of a predatory grin. “’Cause I’m wild and unrepentant like that.”
“Good to hear,” he said, and I found myself back on my back all of a sudden, with my hands shackled in one of his, his body looming over mine, pining me to the blanket. “And you won’t have to wait for much later, I think.”
"‘The youngest Oscar-winning director Holden Knight was spotted hooking up with the young Sheridan sister last night at an abandoned seashore’,” I mock-quoted as he clasped my chin in his free hand. “You think we’ll look good for the tabloids?”
“I think you’d be happy to know that no paparazzi will dare bothering me about my personal life,” he gave me a slow, wicked grin that turned my legs to jelly. “I have connections and money to buy off anyone who wants to snoop.”
“Didn’t know you were so private,” I said, and just to shake him off a little, I let my calf slide upward along his side. “You don’t struck me like a man who cares much.”
“That’s where you’re wrong again, Cleo,” his grin deepened, and the intensity in his eyes rose a notch, turning them gunmetal, “but enough about that. I think it’s time I fucked you.”
“But I still don’t understand what we came here for,” I pointed out. “We stargazed, then talked about your non-issues, then about me being a bitch, and now we’re going to fuck? What’s the logic in it?”
“As long as I know, it really shouldn’t matter to you,” he said, and then lowered his head and kissed me.
Then we fucked. I found my perfect oblivion again.