Happily Ever After? (Sleeping Handsome Sequel) (5 page)

I fall back into the chair. My hands
grip the edge of the desk. That he’d question me has me feeling
sick. He just doesn’t get what being friends with the bitch for
three years did to me. Other than when he was in a coma, we never
talked about Amanda. There was never a reason. That part of my life
was over.

Perhaps if I explain it, he’ll
understand.

My finger now trembles as I hit reply.
My hands shake as I spread them over the keyboard. Before I can
type one letter, a knock sounds on the door. With my mind still on
Zach’s email, I stagger to the door. Outside my room, a waiter
smiles over a linen covered service cart.

I shake my head at the silver lid
covering the plate. The thought of food has me nauseous. “Sorry,
but I don’t want that.”

He gives me an odd look.

I point to my stomach. “Feeling sick,”
I say and almost slam the door before going back to my
computer.

And Zach.

~6~

Zach

My phone has been blinking, alerting
me to a message from Paige, since I woke up. Late of course. So I
haven’t read her email yet. I wanted to read it. Badly. After what
I wrote her, I want to absorb her words in private without any
disturbances. Between two three-hour classes starting at seven in
the morning and working from two until ten o’clock, the
anticipation killed me throughout the day. I almost opened her
message several times, but her words had the possibility of
destroying my concentration during Renaissance Literature and Novel
Plotting then with clients.

Now in my room, I lay across the bed
on my stomach and log into my email. Before I can click on her
message, my door swings open.

“
Bro, you wanna shoot some
hoops?” Drake spins a basketball on his finger. Or at least tries
to. The ball flies across the room and knocks over my laundry
basket, which contained folded clean clothes—now they’re sprayed
across the floor. Shit. My room’s the one place he hadn’t made a
mess. Other than books and notebooks lying around, the space is
completely organized.

“
Dude, do you know how to
knock?” I ask, scowling at him.

He scratches his head under a cowboy
hat—the ass always plays basketball in a cowboy hat—and asks
sarcastically, “Knock? What’s that?”

“
Get the hell out of my
room.”

“
Whoa, someone’s got their
panties in a twist.” He bends and reaches for the basketball. “Or
maybe you’re just missing a set of panties?”

Since my bookshelf is next to my bed,
I chuck a book at his head. He ducks and the hardcover hits the
hallway wall. That he has me abusing my books pisses me off more
than him barging into my room.

Standing again, he dribbles on the
carpet.

Getting more irritated by the minute,
I ask, “How the hell are you playing in the dark
anyways?”

He tucks the ball against
his side and pulls a green
sock up to his
knee. “That’s the thing. I’m telling you it’s so tight. We all
surround the court with our cars and use the
headlights.”

“
Yeah, that sounds tight,”
I say, mimicking his sarcastic tone from earlier. “Get out of my
room and shut the door.”

“
You gonna come down after
writing your love letter?” he asks, cocking his stupid hat back and
nodding at the computer. Sometimes, he’s the sound of nails on a
chalkboard in human form.

“
Yeah, to kick your ass.
And it won’t be on the court.”

“
Oh,” he says in a
high-pitched tone while shutting the door. “I’m so
scared.”

My eyes narrow on the closed door. As
far as roommates, there are worse, but I feel like I’m living with
a fourteen year old sometimes. Hell, there are probably high school
freshmen more mature than Drake.

Alone again I click on Paige’s
message.

Zach,

I believe in you. I
believe in us.

Yet this is hard for me.
So I’m going to try to explain…

I never reflected on my
actions until I spoke to you while you lay sleeping and listened.
Despite the fact that I whined about my life, I never understood it
until then. Although my kiss woke you, reading about your honesty
and determination woke me up. Made me see me and my life
clearly.

Looking back, I don’t
think Amanda and I were ever really friends. Unfortunately,
embarrassingly, I was her victim just like the people we—wow, I
hate to admit this—bullied. She was Amanda, ruler of our high
school, and I was her sidekick. Amanda equaled awesomeness. I was
awesome by association. Even though she put me down regularly,
bossed me around, and came on to any guy I had even the slightest
interest in, that slice of awesomeness became my identity with my
self-esteemed attached to it for almost three years. I’m not
blaming Amanda for who I was. Immature and lonely I made those
choices. As twisted as it was, I put up with her belittling me—and
came to accept her view of me—to keep my sidekick position and
remained blinded to who I’d become with the association.

Until you.

Ever since you woke me up
my life has changed. I’ve changed. I’ve become the real me. And I
have you to thank. But hearing she works with you brought back all
those memories and insecurities. And maybe I’m not over that time
in my life as much as I thought. Maybe I need more time to build my
confidence
.

Please be patient with
me.

I do trust you.

And I do believe in your
love.

I’m wearing my heart on my
wrist.

Forever yours,

Paige

Shit. I feel like an ass.

I roll over and flop on my back.
Running a hand down my face, I think girls are majorly fucked up.
Sure guys can be assholes, but we don’t play head games with
people. Well, at least I don’t.

I sit up and stare at the pictures of
Paige on my dresser. Paige, lovelier than the orange streaked sky
from a setting sun behind her, smiling and kicking water at me from
the surf. Paige scooting down and hiding behind Emily in front of
the castle at Disneyland. Paige giving me the finger in her bathing
suit by the pool. Modest about her hot bod she’d been trying to
hide from the camera all day. In the passenger seat of my car,
Paige peeking at me from between the strands of her long
hair.

I pick the last picture up. Her
caramel colored eyes look weary. Her full lips are caught in a
slight huff between her sun-streaked locks. Man, she’s beautiful.
Though never shy on stage, with me in everyday life Paige doesn’t
exactly exude confidence. I’ve been aware of this to a certain
degree. Just looking at the picture makes it obvious. And I always
found it fascinating how someone so beautiful, inside and out,
doesn’t see it. Now thinking about her living in someone’s
malicious shadow for so long, I’m starting to comprehend her
wariness.

And yeah, I kind of get her flip out
now.

And yeah, my heart is constricting for
her.

I flop down on the bed and stare at
the ceiling. After collecting my thoughts, I grab my laptop and lay
it across my stomach. My fingers fly over the keyboard.

Paige,

You’ve torn down my
conviction and made me see the light. How? By the utter pain and
honesty your words conveyed. My heart bled reading your words and I
know it wasn’t easy for you to write them. I’m sorry it came to you
spilling your guts and smearing them across miles of internet for
me to understand. Perhaps not completely, but I get your reaction
now. I can see why Amanda working with me is upsetting for
you.

Old habits die
hard.

However, don’t let your
past or Amanda define you. You are one awesome person. I know
you’re smart, talented, beautiful, and sweet—that bullying stuff is
hard to believe—but don’t even let me define you.

You define you.

And you’ve been doing
that. You’re strong enough to get over your past. Trust in me.
Trust in us.

I believe in
you.

Love always,

Zach

Closing my laptop, I let out a sigh. I
so fucking wish I could call her. But waking her up on location in
the middle of the night isn’t an option. She has commitments more
important than my anxiety, which is clawing at my
insides.

I reach for the book I started
yesterday on my shelf, but my high tops peeking out of the closet
catch my eye. Maybe kicking Drake’s ass in a round of hoops will
relieve some stress. I sit up and reach for the shoes. Yeah,
knocking his hat then stomping on the stupid thing will do me some
good.

~7~

Paige

I open the door to my room with a
sense of glee and twirl inside like a six-year-old. Twelve days.
I’ve only got twelve days left. Though I’m learning a crap load
about acting and getting paid for it too, I still miss Zach every
freakin’ day. I also miss my family. But Zach’s the one that leaves
my heart empty. Yet in a little less than two weeks, we’ll be
together. It feels like I haven’t held him in forever.

The whole Amanda thing still lies
between us. I’m working on getting over it. I’m not happy she works
with him. After those two deep emails, we’re pretty much back to
the same old Zach and Paige. Yet the tension she brought to our
relationship hasn’t totally dissipated. He promised to tell me if
anything changed. Like she said more than hi and I left it at that.
I do trust him. I do. I do. I do. And I want the tension gone,
gone, gone.

Other than my time on the set, I’ve
been going out a bit more, despite the fact we’ve worked through
most of the weekends. We’re behind on schedule, which I guess is
normal. Bret has continued offering his support and friendship. He
always sits next to me when we go out for dinner and keeps bringing
me treats and even flowers to cheer me up. Although he doesn’t have
a girlfriend, he seems to get my gloominess over missing
Zach.

Even if a bit egotistical, Bret’s a
pretty nice guy.

I’ve also visited Zoe a few times, but
I’ve kept it to a polite minimum. I can only take her endless
gossip for so long. I’ve learned to accept people at face value
after being the primary source of malicious gossip—what was wrong
with me? I’m aware people’s actions tell who they are. Not what
others say about them.

As always the first thing I do when I
get home is go to my laptop. And as always the visual of Zach’s
message has me smiling. One click and I get a little bit of Zach.
Not as much as I want, just enough to sustain me throughout the
day. Sometimes, especially when I can’t call him for days, his
emails remind of the time when I fell in love with him through his
words while he was in a coma.

Hey Paige,

Well, I got my first major
outline back from my plotting class this morning.

(drum roll)

Ninety seven percent. Not
too bad. I’m still pissed at myself about the missing three
percent. Shit. Maybe we get along so well because we’re both
perfectionists. Maybe that’s why we’re perfect together.

It’s good to hear you’re
more relaxed on the set. I knew your talent and determination would
settle those nerves eventually. And I’m not surprised both the
director and his assistant have pulled you aside and complimented
on your work. Yes, you are that good.

I have an Amanda
update.

(Suddenly I’m a bundle of
nerves.)

Don’t worry. It’s nothing
major.

Drake and I met for dinner
at La Cantina during my evening break yesterday. He brought Amanda
with him.

(Ugh. Drake are you trying to ruin my
life?)

You know Drake. New girl
at work. He’s making his move. Or should I say moves? Though pissed
he brought her, I couldn’t say much. I’m not sharing your past with
Drake without your consent. So he’s clueless, which is
normal.

She mostly laughed at
Drake’s lame jokes and asked me some questions about being a
trainer. She wants to do what I do eventually and maybe in time
open her own gym. That’s probably the reason she took the job. So
it appears your fears were for naught because it looks like she’s
hooking up with Drake. If you could call him a hook up. The guy has
serious commitment issues. But she actually seems to think he’s
funny. I’m guessing she’s not the smartest bulb in the
box.

On to better
things.

Only twelve more friggin
days until I hold you in my arms.

Squee!

Do I sound like
Emily?

Waiting
patiently,

Z

I stare at the screen. What the hell?
He had dinner with Amanda? My boyfriend sat at a table with, ate,
and talked with that bitch? Hi is one thing. Dinner a whole
different level.

I’m breathing hard. My hands clench
the bottom of my seat. Unrealistic fear slithers down my
spine.

I go click on the flat screen on the
wall and sit on the edge of the couch. As usual, the TV is on some
Finnish music channel. My Finnish is non-existent, but music
doesn’t need language. Guitars blare as my knee shakes. Not to the
heavy rhythm of the drums, rather to the anxiety flowing inside of
me.