Iced tea splashed onto the tablecloth as Clara halted her glass’s progression toward her mouth. “My mother sent you pictures?” As far as she knew, her mother never put a toe out of line. Contacting Jill, a persona non grata, counted as positively reckless.
“Yeah, every couple of months for years now. Lily sends them by email after most major occasions.” Light returned to Jill’s eyes. “She’s very proud of you.”
Guilt climbed up Clara’s throat. “I was supposed to be her consolation prize, but I’ve abandoned the mantle.”
Leaving a gaping hole in her wake.
“I know what that’s like.” Jill smiled ruefully. “Somehow the men in our family tend to get away with a lot more than the women. Your mom’s weathered a lot of storms from my father and brother, and now Oliver. It can’t be easy.”
Lily didn’t know the definition of easy. At six years old, Clara had padded downstairs in her nightgown to find her mother sitting at the kitchen table, sobbing into her palm as the news of another Wheaton family scandal broke. She’d crawled into her mother’s lap and promised to be different. Vowed to never give her mother cause for concern—never cause her a moment’s heartache—and up until a few days ago, she’d faithfully fulfilled her vow.
Jill placed her hand on top of Clara’s. “You okay?”
Clara nodded, washing down the lump in her throat with her remaining iced tea. “Do you miss it? Greenwich, I mean?”
Snowflakes of carbs rained down from between Jill’s fingers as she tore her breadstick to pieces. “Sure, sometimes. I’ll never get used to warm weather on Christmas. But I’m grateful for the blank page I got out here. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but at least they belong to me. There’s a strange pride in taking full responsibility for the consequences of your actions, however they fall.” Wiping the lenses of her sunglasses with her cloth napkin, Jill continued. “But enough about me. What brings you to Los Angeles?”
Where should she start? Most of Clara’s rationale for moving was mortifying. She struggled to select the one that made her look the least idiotic. I moved out here because I’m pushing thirty and I’ve spent my entire life in the cocoon of academia, avoiding the real world. Because I was chasing a fourteen-year-long unrequited crush. Because I could no longer bear the burden of maintaining our family’s expectations.
She decided on an abridged version of the Everett story. Thinking of his abrupt abandonment still gave her a stomachache, but at least that version of the narrative spoke of only one weakness instead of a whole tangle of them.
Sharing the embarrassing episode, even in part, further eased the burn of the rejection.
When she was done, Jill propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her palm. “Okay, after all that, I have to ask, what’s so special about Everett Bloom?”
That question had followed Clara from adolescence to adulthood. “Everett makes me feel safe. Growing up with him was like getting cooked in a lobster pot. We became friends when the water was still cold, and by the time it started boiling, by the time he’d turned into this knockout, I was already too comfortable with him to freak out the way I normally do around extremely attractive men.”
“Slow boil or fast, still sounds painful,” Jill said.
No counterargument sprang to mind. “We know everything about each other. Our families are friends. It’s always been simple. And I know, if I could get him to see it, to see me as someone other than his nerdy, bucktoothed neighbor, we’d be perfect. Besides, I’ve never done anything selfish or impulsive in my life. All I wanted was a taste of adventure, but instead I ended up with a false start.”
A chirp sounded from her pocket, earning their table the stink eye from a few other diners. “Excuse me.” She unlocked the screen of her cell. “Oh, for crying out loud.”
“What’s up?”
“Nothing. Sorry. It’s my new roommate. I gave him my number in case of emergency and now he won’t stop sending me selfies.” The message read, SOS we desperately need toilet paper!!! and included a photo of Josh with his mouth open in a silent scream of anguish.
Jill lowered her menu. “Ooh, I want to see this mystery man.”
Clara handed the device across the table, thankful that Josh at least had all his clothes on in the shot.
“Wait a second.” Her aunt brought the phone closer to her face. “Clara”—her eyes went dangerously wide—“this is Josh Darling.”
After taking the phone back, she racked her brain for any recognition of that moniker. She couldn’t remember Josh mentioning his surname. But Darling? Come on. “That can’t be his real name.”
The expression on Jill’s face would make the blooper reel of Clara’s life. “It’s not his real name . . .” She paused meaningfully as the waiter arrived to take their order. Only after they’d decided to split a margherita pizza and he’d trotted back to the kitchen did Jill resume her revelation. “It’s his porn name.”
Slumping down in her seat, Clara darted her gaze to the surrounding tables. Thankfully, no one appeared interested enough in their conversation to eavesdrop. “Please tell me that means anything other than what I think it means.”
Jill leaned forward. “You’ve never heard of Josh Darling? I’m surprised. I would think you fell squarely into his demographic. Cosmo described him as ‘catnip for millennial women.’” Her words bumped into one another as she rushed to get them out. “He looks like a nineties heartthrob. Like Zack Morris from Saved by the Bell, minus the asshole personality.”
Closing her eyes, Clara took a long breath and let it out very slowly through her mouth. Her entire life she’d chosen safety over excitement. She hadn’t done drugs. She rarely drank because she knew she couldn’t hold her liquor. She had exactly one pair of sexy panties, and she never wore them because they rode up her butt.
How in the world had she accidentally moved in with a porn star? And not any run-of-the-mill porn star, but one mainstream enough to receive a profile in a magazine she regularly browsed in the lobby of her dermatologist’s office.
“I don’t watch porn,” Clara said, barely opening her mouth. She didn’t have a problem with people taking care of business by themselves, but any time Clara saw porn, usually at the request of a soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend, it featured women getting degraded. She couldn’t help it if she didn’t find women on their knees with semen dripping down their faces sexy.
The idea that goofy, messy, bedheaded Josh made those kinds of videos didn’t make sense to her. How could the same guy who’d brought her coffee tell some girl to “take it all, bitch”? Her stomach turned over and she pushed away the basket of breadsticks.
“It doesn’t surprise me that you’re not into porn, but word around town is Josh Darling is quite the talent,” Jill said.
Clara curled her hands around her middle and wished for an antacid. “If this is a joke, it’s not funny.”
No one could find out about this. The guys from high school would love the idea that Clara “The Prude” Wheaton was sharing a shower with a man who had a penis more famous than his face. Not to mention the reaction from her mother. She strangled her linen napkin.
Jill smiled helplessly. “Looks like you might get that taste of adventure after all.”
Chapter four
MOST PEOPLE WOULD have a problem with their ex-girlfriend going through their phone, but when Josh stepped off set to find Naomi holding his cell between her thumb and forefinger, he simply grabbed the device without bothering to call out the blatant violation of his privacy. They’d always shared a blurry definition of boundaries.
“Clara says she can pick up toilet paper on the way home.” Naomi’s eyes ran down his naked body with thinly veiled possession.
Josh let her look. For the sake of his career, he needed to get back together with her eventually, so who cared if she never truly butted out of his business? Their relationship was as inevitable as aging.
“What are you doing here? You’re not shooting today.” He’d checked the schedule. Ever since word got out about their breakup, producers had tiptoed around casting them together.
“I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d drop off your fan mail.” She shook a hefty garbage bag in front of him.
“Oh. Right. Thanks. I’ll go online and start getting it forwarded.”
Cool air chilled the sweat drying on his skin, reminding him of his nakedness. Grabbing two towels from a production assistant, he wrapped one around his waist and the other across his shoulders and headed for the showers.
Naomi kept pace with him. The slinky dress she wore accentuated her natural strut. “I didn’t realize you’d be shacking up again so soon.”
Ignoring her, Josh turned the shower on extra hot and waited for the water to heat. These old warehouses always came with shitty plumbing.
“Your little text message chain sounded positively domestic.” Naomi perched on the room’s tiny vanity, swinging her long legs.
If their on-screen chemistry didn’t sell so well, he would have seriously considered telling his agent, Bennie, to put a Naomi Grant exclusion clause in his next contract. Her tenacity made her an excellent businesswoman, but it also made her a colossal pain in the ass.