A Safe Space (Someone Else's Fairytale Book 4) (18 page)

I shrug.

My roommate looks me directly in the eye for what feels like a small eternity.

“What?” I say. “If I hire him, obviously nothing
can
happen between us, so stop looking at me like you think something
will
happen.”

She shakes her head. “Okay. I’m here for you no matter what. Remember that.”

We get changed and head out, Kyra to her new personal trainer, a woman named Melanie, and me to the guy I still want to swoon over but can’t.

Devon, for his part, stays professional, taking me first to the warm-up area, where he coaches me on the best way to prepare my body for the workout. Looking at us, one would never know there was any history at all. I decide to pretend that there isn’t.

“You hired a lot of personal trainers in your career?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I had one ages ago, and I just kept the same workout routine.”

He nods. “Well, you do look good. I just think we can help you look better and feel better.”

“Okay.”

“So,” he says, leading me over to the treadmill, “how’d you become an actress, anyway?” It’s typical, hey-I-just-met-you small talk—something we’ve never done before.

I hop onto the rubberized conveyor and start walking as he switches the machine on. “I did my first commercial when I was six months old.”

“Your parents got you into that?”

“My mom. Never knew who my dad was.”

He nods and pushes some buttons to speed the treadmill up.

I break into a jog.

“Relax your shoulders more,” he says. “So is your mom into the whole stage-mom lifestyle?”

I shake my head. “No, she was a television producer, so she kind of knew the business. She got my career going, and I did well enough, you know. Did a lot of commercials. Had a part on a soap opera when I was seven. Had a recurring role on
Family Rules
for a while. Got my own series when I was twelve.”

“So where’s your mom now? Australia, did you say?” he asks, pushing another button to increase the incline.

I lean forward and keep on running. “Yep.”

“She producing TV shows there?”

“Nature documentaries. That’s her passion.”

“Oh, so not
Neighbors
or
Home and Away?
”

“You know Australian soap operas?”

“Gonna plead the Fifth on that one.” He smiles. “Okay, exactly how much endurance do you have here, girl? Are you even winded?” He speeds the treadmill up more.

“I do this every day.” Now that I am winded, the words come out short and halting.

“Okay, we’re going to do some intervals where you sprint as fast as you can go. You ready?”

I grit my teeth and nod.

He taps the controls of the treadmill.

And I find myself running flat-out, like I’ve got a grizzly bear on my tail. It’s all I can do to stay on the treadmill and not get thrown off the back.

Devon watches impassively.

I run until my legs ache and my chest feels like it’s about to explode, like my ribs can’t expand far enough to get me the oxygen I need. Then, finally, the treadmill slows down.

“Breathe,” he says. “Ten seconds off, twenty on.”

Ten seconds?
I think. I’m too winded to say it out loud. I shut my eyes and breathe as deeply as I can.

“Speeding it up,” he says.

I lengthen my strides, determined not to look weak.

After a few more cycles, he lets me off the treadmill and takes me to the weight machines, where he shows me how to line up my body and grip the handles correctly.

“Now we just tone you up,” he says. “Body sculpting, basically. You want all the right curves and stuff for your job.”

My instinct is to make some crack about how he has more experience than anyone with checking out female bodies, but I don’t. I’m not sure if it was our kiss or my finding out the truth about who he is, but the rules of mockery between us are different now.

Two women step out of the changing room and stop to look appreciatively at Devon.

I avert my gaze. “You have fans,” I say.

“Hmm?”

“Females, checking you out.”

He looks back over his shoulder and the women look away and giggle.

“Another conquest for you,” I say.

He turns back around and looks at me, his gaze unreadable.

I should apologize, but I’m not really sorry. I’m irritated and frustrated and green with envy. I finish my set, get up, and wipe down the machine with my towel.

“Look,” says Devon. “Life’s been empty since I lost my sister. Even though it’s been all these years, it still hurts. Some days, I just wanted to find a way to distract myself from the pain.”

“Mmm-hmm. And if Mackenzie were still around and a guy treated her like that—”

“I
know
. I heard you the first time. Make me think of my sister and feel guilt for what I’ve done. Mission accomplished.”

“Kyra said guys don’t do the ‘how would it feel if it happened to you’ exercise,” I say, fully aware that I’m piling it on.
Lizzie
, a little voice in my mind says,
shut up.

“Punch her,” comes my roommate’s voice, “and pay big time. You cannot afford to mark that face.”

He turns, even more annoyed by her interference than by me, but she holds her ground. I’m not sure if she could jump fast enough to intercept a punch, but in that moment, I believe that she’d try.

“I don’t punch people,” he says.

Kyra looks him over while her personal trainer watches this all unfold from several feet away. “I find that hard to believe, given the temper you have.”

“Yeah, well, remember the
All About Veronica
episode where Jackson has to learn to deal with his temper? There’s a whole song about how you’re not supposed to hit people.”

I wince. “Don’t sing it.”

I look up. Devon and Kyra are staring at me.

“I…wasn’t going to,” he says.

“Was there really an episode like that?” asks Kyra.

“Jackson punched Nick after school and Veronica comforted him. Yeah, totally.” He shrugs as if everyone should know this.

She turns to me.

I nod.

“You’re messed up, you know that?” she says to Devon before she turns on her heel and leaves.

Devon smirks at me.

“Keep spouting trivia like that,” I say, “and you will never get laid ever again.”

With a wry smile, he says. “All right, time to cool down—like Jackson had to after he wanted to hit Nick that second time.”

I try to give him a withering look, but he just grins in that annoying way of his.

The abuse snowballs from there. Every day, he’s worse.

“Run like you’re Veronica trying to catch the bus to San Francisco!” “Okay, take it slow like when Veronica had to get her phone out from under Nick’s hand while he was asleep.” “Stand straight like you’re at the homecoming dance and just got crowned queen after Maisey was dragged off the stage for being too cruel.” “Girl, you’re looking as lost as Veronica in Rome after she misplaced the address of the fortune teller.”

He’s got an unending stream of them, and at first, I just want to punch him (like Jackson wanted to punch Nick). Until, finally, one day, when he’s telling me to, “Stretch like you’re trying to retrieve the priceless diamond from the edge of the roof before the bad guys get it.”

It occurs to me to say, “Why don’t you be quiet like Jackson had to be when they sneaked it back into the museum?” I straighten up and stretch my other leg.

“Jackson failed.”

“I know, and set off all the alarms,” I say. “See if you can do better.”

“Jackson is a way better man than I am. Spent all that time around Veronica and told her he had a crush on her and never got a kiss until the series finale.”

“We did not kiss.”

“Well, it was implied. You grabbed the front of his shirt and smiled at him and then the tissue paper heart dropped from above and covered your faces right before the credits rolled.”

I finish stretching and turn to face him, hands on my hips, trying not to laugh.

“It was moving,” he protests. “Guy finally got the girl of his dreams.”

“Phillip”—which is the real name of the guy who played Jackson—“did not dream about girls in that way. He had a boyfriend.”

“Don’t spoil it.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“That is a precious piece of my childhood that I’ll never get back.”

“You would have been twenty-four when that aired.”

“Twenty-five.”

“Long childhood.”

He mirrors my posture. “Did you not pay attention when you sang that song about not mocking people after Jackson’s feelings got hurt by that mean girl at school?”

“Sorry. I didn’t realize you were about to cry.”

“Looks can be deceiving. I’ve got feelings, all right? You have no idea.”

By now, several people are stealing glances at us. I look to the right and to the left then bite my lip and laugh.

Devon snaps me with his towel and says, “To the treadmill to train like Tamara prepping for cheerleading tryouts!”

After that, our banter is more two-way. Only, he remembers more scenes from the show than I do. From
my
show.

One morning, though, when I show up to work out, everything is different. Devon’s polite and makes no wise cracks. We don’t banter. He barely speaks to me except to give me instructions, and he doesn’t make eye contact. I’m too weirded out by it to ask what’s up. At the end, after the cooldown, he just gives me a polite nod and leaves.

T
HAT DAY, WHILE
changing into my costume at work, I can’t help but notice my ab muscles. My stomach has always been flat, but now it’s toned. My legs, I note as I slide off my jeans, have long, lean muscles that give them just the right curves. I turn around, check myself out in the mirror, and see that my shoulders are broader than they were before. Nothing extreme, but they make my waist look tiny. There isn’t a single excess fat deposit anywhere that I can see. The next time I wear just panties and a bra in a scene, I won’t be so self-conscious. Even though I’ve worked out every day of my life for years, I’ve never had results like this. Devon knows what he’s doing, and I wish we were on speaking terms.

I get into Jess’s ultra-short nightie and put a robe on over it before I report to the set.