Chapter 32 Skyler
I wake to find that Grey’s gotten up but that his side of the bed is still warm and the sheets still smell like him. I know I’m dating someone else—starting to, anyway—but I can’t resist hugging the pillow he used, breathing in his scent, which is like smoke and surf all in one.
It’s still dark out, but a thread of orange gleams on the horizon. I have to get going to the set, but I still have a little time, which is the best feeling ever.
Smiling, I think about last night, about us dozing together, waking up here and there to talk some more, safe in the darkness, the open window carrying in the rush of passing cars, conversations on Abbot Kinney. Every now and then, Grey would tell me he should get up and go to his room, and I’d agree, but he’d just stay there, or I’d keep his hand in mine, and we’d fall back to sleep just to wake an hour or two later and do it all again.
I hear a clatter in the kitchen and start to get up to investigate, but Grey calls to me: “Stay where you are.”
So, I stay where I am and pick up Grey’s pillow again because I’m a big dork and he’s delicious, and I’m going to miss him when he doesn’t live here anymore.
After a couple of minutes, Grey appears in the doorway, and I burst out laughing. He’s shirtless, wearing only his sweats, but he’s got on Beth’s Wonder Woman apron, which fits him more or less like an oversized bib.
“Cute.”
He grins. “I know. Hey, how do you like your coffee?”
“What are you up to?”
“You’ll see. Coffee? How?”
“Actually, I like tea. There’s some lemon verbena.”
“Tea.” He nods. “Got it.” Then he disappears again.
“Seriously, what are you doing?” I call. “We have to get going soon.”
“We have forty-three minutes until we have to leave for the studio. But if you feel stressed, we can always save time by showering together.”
“Funny.”
“It’s a good plan,” he calls. “I mean, just for the sake of efficiency. Not because I want to see you naked.”
“Of course not.”
Because you already have, I think, and that night comes back to me again, the feel of him against me, his powerful, warm body over mine. Skin against skin. We’d been so close. I don’t know what would have happened if we’d gone through with it.
Grey returns, distracting me from my unproductive thoughts. He’s carrying a breakfast tray, which he sets down on my nightstand. On it is a mug of tea with a bottle of honey and two plates holding some kind of towering breakfast sandwiches. What he lacks in presentation skills, he more than makes up for in quantity and the world’s most adorable grin.
“What are these?”
“They’re my famous hangover-busting ham, egg, and cheese sandwiches.”
“But I’m not hungover.”
“No, but they’re really good.” He picks up one of the plates for himself and then nods at me. “Dig in.”
It smells amazing. No one has ever brought me breakfast in bed before—except my mom, once or twice when I was sick. He’s so sweet. So different than he appears. Than he lets himself appear.
But all I can think about is the fact that I’ll be in a bathing suit in three days. In front of a crew of thirty—and Brooks.
I pick up the sandwich, trying to shake this weird superstitious feeling, like every bite I take is going to show up as a pocket of fat on my body. I’ll just skip lunch, I tell myself.
Grey watches me, a smile on his face, waiting for my verdict. I take a bite, and it’s salty and buttery and crunchy and perfect. I groan.
“Oh my God, this is the best thing I’ve had in my mouth in months.”
His eyebrows shoot up, and I hear what I’ve said and start to laugh so hard that I inhale English muffin and choke. I cough and take a sip of my tea, while Grey rubs my back. I’m a mess, but I’m okay with being a mess in front of him.
After I take another couple of bites, I remember my supplements and lean down from the bed to grab my purse from the floor.
“What’re you doing?”
“Getting my vitamins.” I dig them out of my bag and then pop a couple out of the pack.
“What are those, anyway?”
Seriously, I wish I had a dollar for every time someone asked me what’s in these things. I’d be able to bail out the farm and buy a new car. Shrugging, I say, “I don’t know. Just helps with weight loss.”
He gives me a skeptical look. “You think you need to lose weight? That’s nuts.”
“Well, I mean, just a little. Because of the cameras.”
“Who told you that?”
“Everyone.”
“No way. Mia told you that? Beth?”
“No, I mean everyone who’s not my best friend.”
He scowls. “Brooks?”
“Well, no, not Brooks.” Though he’s given me a lot of compliments lately on how things fit now, how great I look on-camera. Garrett has. Bernadette. Everyone tells me I’m looking good and to keep going. “Anyway, it’s just for the movie.”
Grey takes a bite and points at my sandwich. “Isn’t the idea that you’re going to do a lot of movies? Isn’t this a start of your whole big career?”
For some reason, that thought panics me, but I tamp it down and take another bite—a smaller one.
“Well, yeah.” I don’t think I can make it through a quarter of this meal, but I don’t want to hurt him. The supplements shrink my appetite. Also, we’re leaving in less than forty-eight hours, and they’re talking about a bikini. The thought of my hips and thighs displayed on a sixty-foot-wide movie screen, in high-def, pretty much crushes my soul.
“So, doesn’t that mean you’re going to have to take those things indefinitely? And eat like a bird all the time?”
“Well, I guess I figured I’d lose fifteen or twenty pounds and then—”
“From where? Jesus, Sky. You’re gorgeous. Every bit of you.” He looks so earnest, so personally offended on my behalf, that I want to launch myself into his arms and kiss him for a week.
“You’re sweet.”
Another scowl but with a hint of a smile. “I’m not sweet. And I will seriously beat the shit out of anyone who makes you feel crappy about yourself.”
“I promise, no one is making me feel crappy.” And I realize they’re not. No one’s said there’s anything wrong with me. It’s more this feeling that things could be more right.
I take another couple of bites, though I’m not really hungry anymore. Then I wrap the rest in a napkin and tell him I’ll take it with me for the road. “Unless you want it?”
“Nah,” he says and slides off the bed. “You have it. I’ll have a second breakfast on the set.”
I laugh and get up, too. “Fair enough.”
Picking up my plate, he asks, “So, how about that shower?”
“Sure. Let’s do it.”
Grey’s eyes widen. “Really?”
“No, not really, you goof. You go. I’ll clean up.”
“You suck, Skyler Canby. For real.”
I give him a little push, which feels exactly like I imagine it would feel to push a tree. “I know. I’m a terrible human being.”
He looks down at me, his expression sad and sweet and penetrating. “Yeah,” he says, softly. “You’re the worst.”