you should be with—someone who fits with you better than I ever could. And I’m sorry, Jack, but a girl does not text you in the middle of the night if all she wants is friendship,” I finished, the tears beginning to creep down my face. I wiped them angrily away.
Jack’s face had grown angry as well, but it flashed confusion when I mentioned the text. “What text? What are you talking about?” he asked.
“She texted you in the middle of the night weeks and weeks ago, before I even left L.A. You were asleep, and I picked it up to shut it off. Yes, I read it. I shouldn’t have, but I fucking did. I would say I’m sorry, but you know what? I’m not really even sorry. I wanted to see who was texting the man asleep in my bed, with his hands all over my body, at three in the morning. And looky what we have here! The same girl you’ve been photographed with all over town. Shocking, really,” I said sarcastically, getting up from the couch and pushing past him to stand in the kitchen.
I was still crying, but these were angry tears, pissed-off tears. All that shit I’d been pushing away for so long was coming home to roost now, and all I could do was hang on and let it come out.
Jack was quiet, still sitting on the coffee table. He finally rose and stood in front of me, face stormy.
“Gracie, I am going to say this once. Was I wrong not to tell you I was hanging out with my ex-girlfriend? Yes, probably. Was I wrong to not tell you sooner about the conversation I had with Holly? Yes, definitely. I’ve never done this before—had a relationship with someone who lives across the country while I’m going through the biggest thing professionally I’ve ever, or probably will ever, go through. And you know what? There will probably be more pictures of Marcia and me together. In fact, I can guarantee it. She has a movie she’s promoting, and our managers are milking this thing for all it’s worth. Even if you don’t trust me, which you clearly don’t, you know Holly would never do anything to hurt you. She was bloody well pissed when she saw these, as she should be. I really have my head up my ass sometimes, and I didn’t think about what these pictures would look like, or how they might make you feel,” he said, breathing heavily.
“Well, I think—” I started, and he put his finger over my lips.
“I’m not finished. You seem to think I’m going to fuck around on you. I admit that these pictures look terrible if you’re thinking about it in that way. You’re here, I’m there, and it sucks. But there has to be some trust between us. Would you agree?” he asked, removing his finger.
I glared at him. “Yes, I agree, but—”
“Grace, you either agree or you don’t. Yes or no?”
“Yes, I agree, and I do trust you,” I said, a fresh wave of tears starting.
“I trust you too. Otherwise I’d be asking you why there are a pair of men’s trainers by the front door. A less-trusting boyfriend would wonder about that…” He trailed off, arching an eyebrow at me and looking over my shoulder.
I turned and followed his gaze, and I saw Michael’s sneakers. He’d left them here the other night, changing into boots when it started raining.
Touché.
Shit.
I looked back at Jack. He seemed curious, and a little…apprehensive?
“Grace, you’re a beautiful woman. I see how men look at you. I know there are other men who want to be with you. Whose shoes are those?” he asked.
I grabbed a box of Kleenex and blew my nose loudly, getting control again. “Michael’s. They’re Michael’s,” I said. “He was here earlier in the week. We were working on a scene, and he changed shoes. He never took those with him, and frankly, I didn’t even notice they were here until now.”
Jack had nothing to worry about. Michael and I were just friends. Just friends.
Friends that used to have feelings for each other.
But Jack doesn’t know about that.
“Did you and Michael ever date, Gracie?” he
Jack’s face had grown angry as well, but it flashed confusion when I mentioned the text. “What text? What are you talking about?” he asked.
“She texted you in the middle of the night weeks and weeks ago, before I even left L.A. You were asleep, and I picked it up to shut it off. Yes, I read it. I shouldn’t have, but I fucking did. I would say I’m sorry, but you know what? I’m not really even sorry. I wanted to see who was texting the man asleep in my bed, with his hands all over my body, at three in the morning. And looky what we have here! The same girl you’ve been photographed with all over town. Shocking, really,” I said sarcastically, getting up from the couch and pushing past him to stand in the kitchen.
I was still crying, but these were angry tears, pissed-off tears. All that shit I’d been pushing away for so long was coming home to roost now, and all I could do was hang on and let it come out.
Jack was quiet, still sitting on the coffee table. He finally rose and stood in front of me, face stormy.
“Gracie, I am going to say this once. Was I wrong not to tell you I was hanging out with my ex-girlfriend? Yes, probably. Was I wrong to not tell you sooner about the conversation I had with Holly? Yes, definitely. I’ve never done this before—had a relationship with someone who lives across the country while I’m going through the biggest thing professionally I’ve ever, or probably will ever, go through. And you know what? There will probably be more pictures of Marcia and me together. In fact, I can guarantee it. She has a movie she’s promoting, and our managers are milking this thing for all it’s worth. Even if you don’t trust me, which you clearly don’t, you know Holly would never do anything to hurt you. She was bloody well pissed when she saw these, as she should be. I really have my head up my ass sometimes, and I didn’t think about what these pictures would look like, or how they might make you feel,” he said, breathing heavily.
“Well, I think—” I started, and he put his finger over my lips.
“I’m not finished. You seem to think I’m going to fuck around on you. I admit that these pictures look terrible if you’re thinking about it in that way. You’re here, I’m there, and it sucks. But there has to be some trust between us. Would you agree?” he asked, removing his finger.
I glared at him. “Yes, I agree, but—”
“Grace, you either agree or you don’t. Yes or no?”
“Yes, I agree, and I do trust you,” I said, a fresh wave of tears starting.
“I trust you too. Otherwise I’d be asking you why there are a pair of men’s trainers by the front door. A less-trusting boyfriend would wonder about that…” He trailed off, arching an eyebrow at me and looking over my shoulder.
I turned and followed his gaze, and I saw Michael’s sneakers. He’d left them here the other night, changing into boots when it started raining.
Touché.
Shit.
I looked back at Jack. He seemed curious, and a little…apprehensive?
“Grace, you’re a beautiful woman. I see how men look at you. I know there are other men who want to be with you. Whose shoes are those?” he asked.
I grabbed a box of Kleenex and blew my nose loudly, getting control again. “Michael’s. They’re Michael’s,” I said. “He was here earlier in the week. We were working on a scene, and he changed shoes. He never took those with him, and frankly, I didn’t even notice they were here until now.”
Jack had nothing to worry about. Michael and I were just friends. Just friends.
Friends that used to have feelings for each other.
But Jack doesn’t know about that.
“Did you and Michael ever date, Gracie?” he
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