Part 18 (1/2)

I knew Trip had only lashed out at me because he was under stress. Plus, he'd gotten too used to the idea of being sold out. That didn't make it okay, and his outbursts were something we'd have to work on. I didn't sign on to be his punching bag.

He didn't sign on to be mine, either.

I went into that Jenna conversation determined to be calm. Zen. Rational. Instead, I'd freaked out at him because... well, because I obviously didn't like the idea of Trip's name being thrown around with hers again. Or any of those other women.

I'd dealt with that enough while we were separated.

In the weeks after The Lunchbox, I kinda went a little nutty. I holed up in my old bedroom and watched E! religiously, torturing myself with every report about Trip's new movie, every mention of his engagement. The only times I left the house were to buy up all the movie magazines and rag mags that had his picture on the cover. There were a lot of them.

As usual, Lisa was my saving grace.

She came over every day, made me shower, put on clean clothes. She brought over mindless romantic comedies and snacks to pig out on while we watched them. She took me shopping. She bought me that members.h.i.+p to the gym so I could use the pool. Eventually, she dragged me to her Lamaze cla.s.ses. She tried to keep me focused on life.

She even tried to get me to swear off the tabloids, but those things were addictive. It took quite a while before I could wean myself out of their grasp. But even though I stopped buying them, I couldn't ignore the covers. So, it was hard to avoid Trip altogether. With so many entertainment magazines, his face was everywhere, all the time. Normally, not alone.

During those years after rehab, he went back to his playboy ways. I couldn't go more than a week without seeing him on some magazine, some new girl on his arm, living it up with some random woman or another.

A few months back, he was even named as People's s.e.xiest Man Alive.

For the second year in a row.

So, in my defense, you need to understand that I was acting out because of more than just plain old jealousy. Any reminder of that period of his life inevitably reminded me of mine, and that wasn't really the greatest time for either of us.

He'd spent our years apart with a fake smile plastered to his face, concentrating on nothing more than his career and turning fully into him.

The newfound stardom forced Trip's alter ego to appear more often than usual, and he hid behind that persona for so long that there were times I was sure he didn't even realize he was slipping into it.

Like the night we went to The Viper Room.

Trip decided that I couldn't come all the way out to Los Angeles without experiencing at least a taste of the famed Sunset Strip. He chose that place not only because he was friendly with the owners, but because it was practically pitch black inside. I could barely see my hand in front of my face, much less would gawking fans be able to recognize him in order to swarm him all night.

He kept ordering Tanqueray and tonics for me, and after about three of them, I suddenly decided I felt like dancing. There was a great band playing, and we abandoned our private booth in order to make our way closer to the stage. It wasn't the smartest move on either of our parts, because the lighting was a bit brighter near that part of the club.

People noticed.

A group of girls that were dancing nearby started nudging each other and looking our way before I realized our mistake. They were young-in their early twenties-and I immediately felt like The Old Lady at the Bar. I'd already come to the conclusion that the Sunset Strip was a younger person's game, and I'd most likely missed my window for optimal clubbing a few years before. I was hoping that maybe since I was there with a celebrity that it shaved a couple years off my tally.

One of the girls finally mustered up enough bravery to walk right up to Trip and ask, ”You're Trip Wiley, right?”

I could see the hint of white powder along the edge of her nose. G.o.d. c.o.ke was so eighties. Wasn't ecstasy or meth all the rage nowadays? I didn't even know. That's how uncool I was when it came to the club scene.

Him made his appearance as he smiled and answered, ”That I am.”

Fangirl shot over her shoulder, ”Told ya!” as her girlfriends started giggling and closed in around him. I was unceremoniously shoved out of the way as they asked for his autograph and tried to buy him a drink. Trip just ate it up. He shot me an apologetic look as he signed their sc.r.a.ps of paper, gave hugs, posed for pictures. I wanted to just get the h.e.l.l off the dance floor before more people recognized him.

At one point, Fangirl gave me the once-over and said to Trip, ”Why are you here with her?”

Ummm, excuse me, c.o.key McWh.o.r.es.l.u.t?

She should've used daddy's credit card to invest in some etiquette lessons instead of blowing it up her nose. I put my hands at my hips and got right up in her face to respond, ”Maybe because I have more cla.s.s than to say something like that?”

She stood there, speechless. She might have had youth over me, but she sure as h.e.l.l didn't have my years of cultivated wit. Or my boyfriend. f.u.c.k her.

Trip grabbed my hand and led us back to our booth. He looked pretty p.i.s.sed. I was, too. I mean, who the h.e.l.l did that c.o.ked-out b.i.t.c.h think she was, right?

But when we got back to the booth, Trip said, ”Layla. You can't say stuff like that!”

”What? You're kidding, right? I'm pretty sure she had it coming.”

”Those are my fans, Lay. They're the ones who'll actually buy a ticket to my next movie. You can't ream every one of them out every time one of them says something stupid.”

I looked at him in astonishment. ”Well, maybe if you had put her in her place first, I wouldn't have had to. But you didn't say anything!”

His eyebrow quirked at that. ”I would have. You jumped in before I could.”

c.r.a.p. He was right.

I started laughing. ”Well, okay, Mr. Cool. How would you have handled it?”

He slid along the pleather bench seat, close enough to rub a hand along my bare thigh. ”I would have asked her kindly to treat my girlfriend with a little more respect. That's all it would have taken. She's young and catty; she was showing off for her friends. A simple reminder that she was acting out of line would have done the trick. But now....”

”Now what?”

He raised my chin to face him and smirked out, ”Well, now she has a story to sell. You're the one that gets all bent out of shape about the tabloids, and now you know how these stories happen, Lay-Lay. She could call up any of those d.a.m.ned magazines and those bloodsuckers would be able to pull an entire article out of a two-minute incident.”

”I highly doubt she even knows how to read.”

That made him laugh. ”You're right. I'm sure it won't turn into anything. But please just let me handle this stuff from now on, okay?”

I snuggled in a little closer against his side. ”Fine. You're the boss, Chester.”

He just chuckled and shook his head.

Then his hand rose a little higher as his mouth came down on mine.

”Oh my G.o.d! I'm kissing Trip Wiley!” I busted, as I ran my hands through his hair and opened my lips, right there in our darkened booth. The music was pumping through my body; Trip's tongue was invading my mouth.

We were totally making out.

I slid my hand down his chest, my fingers traveling south on their way to his jeans, pressing my palm insistently against his- ”I'm sorry to interrupt, but you didn't sign my paper.”

My hand stilled as I broke away from Trip's mouth. I looked up to find one of our new friends from the dance floor standing there expectantly, holding a pen and a piece of paper.

”What?” Trip asked her gruffly, his thoughts clearly on my abandoned handy.

Dance Floor Girl said, ”You signed all my friends' stuff. You walked away before you could sign mine.” She stepped closer and shoved the paper in his direction. ”Do you mind?”

My first thought was to answer her with Do you? but I kept my mouth shut. Trip smiled politely, signed her stupid napkin, and sent her on her way.