Authors: Alison Sweeney
Also, I can’t forget my fight with Jacob last night. He has no right to act like I belong in freakin’ AA meetings. Or like I don’t care about our relationship as much as he does. Because that’s bull. I hate how he’s always so calm, saying stuff like that, leaving me all freaked out and upset while he’s still Mr. Cucumber. He has no right to dictate to me like that. And then, he just walked out. And he hasn’t been in touch at all. Maybe he doesn’t love me as much as I thought he did. Maybe he’s “just not that into me,” which would explain why he hasn’t proposed and recently stopped staying over as much. Maybe in fact he’s
glad
that this is happening and he’s going to use it—making me the “bad guy”—to finally get free of me. Even just thinking that gets me stirred up and angry, which mostly just hides the growing pit in my stomach.
Tru buzzes to let me know the Nintendo people are ready for our conference call. I’ve wasted too much time and energy dwelling on my star-crossed romance yet again. Clearly I’m not going to get this figured out right now after all, but at least this time I’m prepared for my meeting. I rally my focus and jump on the call, placing a temporary Band-Aid on my deeply bruised heart.
I take in Saddle Ranch,
the distinctive “rock ’n’ roll meets Western barn” chophouse and bar. Normally this crowd favorite,
with its exposed rafters, giant oval-shaped bar in the center, mechanical bull ring, and red felt–lined pool tables, is comforting, seeing as my girls and I have been regulars for years and I met Jacob here, but given what’s going on, tonight it’s bittersweet. I look around and note that I must be the first person to arrive for book club. Yes, we are the kind of book club that meets at Saddle Ranch. For once my BlackBerry is stowed away in the pocket of my purse and not an unnatural extension of my hand. Jacob would be proud. But immediately I push further thoughts of Jacob to the back corner of my mind. We’re broken up—I better get used to the idea.
However, I’ve decided
not
to tell my friends tonight. That would make it all too real. And I don’t want to spend the evening with everyone feeling sorry for me.
Lost in thought as I am, it takes a minute for me to feel the stare of the annoyed chick bartender. I order a vodka martini and, wonder of wonders, actually find an empty bar stool to sit on while I wait for my girlfriends. I glance around the bar, aware that my first instinct is to immediately break out the BlackBerry to get work done, or at the very least to seem to be in communication with someone. But as my eyes focus on a cozy couple clearly new to “true love,” I forgo my “don’t talk to me” defense mechanism and lose myself in a fantasy of what the sappy couple’s life is like.
“Whoa… If it isn’t Sophie Atwater. Where’s your posse?” I don’t even turn my head as Damon’s voice draws me out of my too-sober trance.
“Hey, Damon. The girls will be here soon. So, good game on Saturday, huh?” Damon and I are natural enemies on every
level, and any chance I have to get a dig in, is just, well, Darwinian. And my SC team did kick Bruin butt—Damon’s rival alma mater—last weekend. We get one game a season to thump them down, and I have relished it just a little bit deeper since meeting Damon.
“Give me a break. The refs were ridiculous. The playback showed he was clearly off-sides. The BCS is a joke.” Initiating an attack about football has the added benefit of distracting this supercilious jerk from the “I told you so” smugness I’m sure is just lurking beneath the surface if Jacob already told him of our breakup. Even so, I don’t risk meeting his eyes. “Sophie… look…” For a second, I think I hear compassion in his voice. Like I said, I’m not looking directly at him, so I can’t be sure, and I sure as hell am not about to check. Pity from him would be unbearable.
He starts to lean into me, and for a crazy second I think he’s going to hug me or something. Every muscle tightens up in fight-or-flight mode. Jacob must have told him about our breakup and he’s ready to gloat.
“What, Damon?” I snap in the bitchiest snobby voice I can muster.
Without any hesitation he carefully reaches past me and grabs a handful of the bar mix in a bowl. He straightens back up, still silent. He crunches a few nuts, never taking his eyes off me. I am totally withering under his stare, but try not to let it show.
“Nothing, Sophie. Nothing.” He walks away and somehow it feels like he takes any hope I had of making up with Jacob with him. Weird, like I can see my happy ending with Jacob following
Damon like a shadow as he leaves the bar without talking to anyone.
I down my martini and order another immediately. No more daydreaming for me.
Tina, who was once my freshman roommate, arrives first, and we make small talk at the bar, waiting for our friend JoAnn and the others. Tina, with her sweet pixie looks, takes forever to order her drink because she’s flirting with the cute boy bartender, who of course rushes up to help her, while I spent ten minutes trying to get the chick bartender’s attention a second time. While Tina is doing her thing, out of the corner of my eye I catch sight of someone who looks exactly like Billy from behind. I guess I was wrong about quitting that daydreaming. Now I’m hallucinating Billy Fox everywhere I go? But of course I have to get a better view of this look-alike. I tell Tina I’m going to the bathroom and edge around the bar, taking the long route to the back hallway.
There are three guys playing darts along the rear wall, in sort of a private section, but several girls are watching and cooing, blocking my view, so I make kind of an obvious beeline to get a better look.
And then the doppelganger turns his head, and it’s him!
We lock eyes, and Billy’s surprise and pleasure at seeing me shows immediately on his face. I can’t say the same for mine. I have in fact no idea what expression I have on my face. I am thinking a million things a second as he approaches.
What are the chances? First I break up with Jacob and then I happen to run into Billy, in a town as big as LA. Is the universe sending me a sign?
My head is spinning, but the fact that for the first time since we met I am truly “available” seems to be the only thing I can hang on to. I feel practically naked with the knowledge.
“Sophie Atwater. What a surprise to see you here.” He doesn’t spare a backward glance at the women in their group, which makes me feel like the only attractive woman on the planet.
“I’m meeting my girlfriends. My book club.” I want to make sure he knows I’m not stalking him, or that I’m pathetically here alone.
“Impressive. A book club at a rowdy country bar on Sunset. That must be a first.” His teasing relaxes me to the bone.
“Yeah, well, that’s how we roll.” I smile, feeling like it’s the first real smile I’ve had in ages.
“I like how you roll, Sophie. But then, you already know that.” He doesn’t move closer, but he is totally turning on the charm. I can feel it like that electricity endurance game at theme parks. You hold on with both hands and see how long you can stand the pain. Whose dumb idea was that game? Anyway, the sparks are jetting through me right now, that’s for sure.
“We broke up.” I manage to not entirely blurt it out, but it is pretty direct. Way to play it cool. Also,
did we?
“Really?” He doesn’t smirk, but there is something new in his eyes. “I can’t say I’m sorry.” He pauses. “How are you doing?”
I can’t bring myself to dismiss it verbally, but I try for a casual hair toss to communicate my point. “I should get back to my friend.” I gesture toward the bar.
“Weren’t you heading that way?” He points correctly to the
back hallway. We all use the bathroom, why is it embarrassing to have him know?
“Um, yeah.”
“I’ll walk with you.” It’s like ten steps.
“Okay.” He falls in line with me but remains silent. We enter a smaller, more intimate hallway. The bathroom doors are at the end, next to an exit to the employee parking lot and smokers’ patio. We are alone. I stop outside the women’s restroom door and prepare to say a clear good-bye. I can’t have him waiting for me, that is just beyond uncomfortable. But as I turn to face him, he presses me back against the wall. Before I know it, we are kissing outside the women’s restroom. And it is an amazing kiss, even hotter and less self-conscious than on his doorstep. I forget everything for a second and just relish the moment.
His hands come to my waist and slide up under my arms. Not quite taking things to the next level, but not staying still either. The men’s bathroom door swings open, but he doesn’t stop. Keeping his head against my neck, he pulls me out the back door. In that instant my publicist instincts kick in.
He was protecting his face—he didn’t want to be recognized… Oh my God… he could be recognized making out with me in a bar on Sunset. What the hell am I thinking?
Forgive me for taking a second to put this all together. It’s incredibly difficult to concentrate as Billy slides his delicious lips down to my collarbone. Now both hands are under my shirt and he is confidently easing them up my back. God it feels so good. He’s smooth and confident and gorgeous. I so want to
keep going, but we are now making out in the parking lot like a couple of idiot teenagers. If nothing else, I have to think about his image.
“Billy, we can’t do this. Not here. It’s too public. We have to stop.” I’m not sure if I got all the words out, or just some of them… I’m not exactly riddled with conviction here. And he completely ignores me. Let me just say, he is an excellent kisser. But my PR instincts are still screaming at me. Regrettably, it’s what he hired me for.
We both jump at the sound of an alley cat scurrying out from behind a Dumpster. In the distance there’s the faint hum of traffic.
“Billy. Stop.” I grab his hands and hold them still. With a lot of regret.
To his credit, Billy doesn’t try to change my mind. He is still breathing heavily in my ear, but he seems to understand without my having to say it again that this is definitely not the time or place.
“I’ll take you back inside.” He looks me in the eyes for a second, kisses me again on the lips, and escorts me. Thank God for smokers paving the way to keep the back door from locking us out. We totally got away with this little episode.
Billy and I don’t even say good-bye. I duck inside the restroom and straighten up. In the mirror, while I see that my lips are a bit swollen, I think I actually look quite collected. I do a few minor touch-ups and then keep myself in there for another minute or two. As long as I can stand it. I don’t know whether he’ll still be at the dartboard, or gone, or what. And I’m not even sure which I’d prefer.
I finally muster up the courage to leave the ladies’ room and head back toward the bar. Billy and his friends are not at the dartboard, or any other nearby game area. I can’t look too obviously, and I immediately spot Tina coming toward me.
“Where the hell were you? Was that
Billy Fox
?” I can’t disguise my gasp. Did she see us? Oh God!
“You saw him?”
“Uh, yeah. Everyone in the bar is talking about how he was here, and then he walked with you down the hallway. Is he a client? Did you help him sneak out the back to avoid TMZ? What’s he like? You have to tell me the whole story!” She keeps peppering me with questions long enough for me to sort out that she didn’t in fact see anything and I am in the clear. And she’s also given me a good cover story. Though I do wonder for the rest of the night,
Where
did
he disappear to?
Now on my fourth extra dirty martini, I look around at the table of girls I’ve known since college and smile fondly. The book discussion aspect of our gathering was short-lived, especially once almost half of us confessed to barely cracking the more highbrow (read dense) selection. I am seated between Tina and JoAnn, a corporate lawyer I’ve know so long she bought me my first legal beer. I don’t talk to them every day, or even every week. But when we do get together, it’s as though no time has passed.
I order another round of drinks, thinking we need a toast “to friendship.”
As our server brings over the crowded tray, it fuzzily occurs to me that the animated conversation has been flowing for some time without much of my own participation. And I drunkenly realize—these are my friends, my chosen family, who love me
for who I am. Once Izzy left for the east coast, some of these girls became my lifeline. I decide I should confide in them after all. They will know just what to do. I put my arm affectionately around JoAnn and squeeze, the unexpected gesture startling her enough to tip her fresh wineglass over.
“Whoa… watch it! Sophie, these are my favorite jeans.”
“Oops,” I say, rushing to blot them with a pile of cocktail napkins. As I’m trying to help, I can’t stop the spontaneous tears creeping into my eyes. “Sorry, JoAnn. I didn’t mean to ruin them. Let me pay for dry cleaning. Shit.”
“Sophie, it’s fine. It’s not that big a deal.” JoAnn’s voice has softened as she grabs the napkin mound I’m holding limply and lays it down on the table. She rotates in her seat to face me better. “What’s going on? Is everything
okay
?” Nothing gets past my girlfriend.
I lean in and say, “I think I’m falling in love with someone else.” The rest of the table is too distracted to overhear. But in truth, I’d take advice from any of them right about now.
“What do you mean?” Liquid courage loosens my tongue, and I backtrack and tell her the whole story. The charity event, the stolen kisses, the fights, the breakup—everything.
“But I always thought Jacob was good for you. He’s so levelheaded and kind. Have you tried talking to him?” Sensible JoAnn didn’t even blink at the name Billy Fox. Unlike Tina, celebrity doesn’t faze her. Ever the lawyer, she cuts to the heart of it. Hearing her say Jacob’s name brings the tears back.
“No. I haven’t said
anything
to him. But it’s over. I’m free and single and can do whatever—or whoever—I want. There’s a gorgeous movie star chasing me. Desiring
me
. I should be here
celebrating my luck… yet it sometimes feels like a rebound. Or unreal. I don’t know how to feel or what to do.” I grasp the delicate stem of my fresh drink like a lifeline.