Page 80 of Exrated
I clear my throat and lift my gaze to the guard’s face. “I’m catching a flight afterwards,” I say.
“Sorry.” He-she shrugs. “I can hold it for you.”
Pulling the strap over my head, I hand it the bag. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”
A wide grin spreads across the she-beast’s face. “Anything for you, Mr. Depth.” I think it’s a woman. I think. It takes my hand, stamps my wrist, and then winks which causes my skin to crawl a little. I make my way inside and find my seat in the third row of bleachers. I’m impressed with how large this fucking studio is. There're several different sets arranged within the room and monitors in front of the bleachers every few feet.
The auditorium slowly fills up, the hum of the audience echoing from the tall ceilings. There’s a small round of applause, and I turn my attention toward the set. Some dopey looking guy struts across the stage and clears his throat.
“Good afternoon. First and foremost, thank you for coming to watch a live filming ofDisaster. What we want to do now is introduce you to the cast.”
He steps to the side and holds out an arm. “Greyson Williams,” he says and the women in the crowd go fucking ape shit. I glare at that little fucker. It’s been all over the tabloids that they may be a couple, but there is no way in hell Jemma would go for a douche canoe like that. “Please welcome the lovely Jemma Morgan.”
I watch as she walks across the stage with a huge smile spread across her face. She’s wearing a pale blue linen dress and her dark hair’s falling down her back in loose curls. Another cast member walks out, but I don’t even hear her name because I’m too busy staring at Jemma. The girl says something to her, and Jemma throws her head back laughing. Fuck me, she is perfect. I shout along with the rest of the audience. I’m busting at the fucking seams. I’m so proud of my titch.
I sit there for the few hours it takes to film the episode, watching her, wanting her, fucking hating that shit has turned out the way it has. When the show is over, the coordinator lines the cast up right in front of where I am sitting. Jemma’s eyes lock on mine for a brief second. Her face washes white. I’m afraid she’s going to hit the floor any minute. After the cast has been led off stage, everyone in the auditorium stands and begins filing out—except me. I just stay right here. I don’t know what the fuck to do. I texted her after she left—only twice—but she never responded so I don’t even know if she has the same number. Sighing, I pull my phone from my pocket, pull her number up in the directory, and send her a text.
The performance goes off without a hitch. I screw up a line. They yell cut. Another actor fucks up. They yell cut. The audience laughs and applauds, and at the end, we take a bow, and that is when I notice him. Tyler is sitting in the third row, his eyes glued on me.Holy shit!My pulse goes into overdrive, my palms become sweaty, and my mouth is suddenly dry. I can’t stop staring at him because how in the hell did he get here, I mean, I can assume how he got here, butwhyis he here. A wave of nausea washes over me.
I’ve ignored his texts—much like a child—for the past few months. Yet, here he is.
The stagehands direct us off stage, but I stay behind. I stand to the side of the set, watching as the entire auditorium clears out. Tyler is still sitting there and then, my phone dings with a text.
We need to talk. I came all the way from California, and I’ll sit in this studio until they force me to leave.
All that threat does is remind me of the time we got into a fight after he’d put on porn. I replay that memory in my mind, a smile forming on my face.
I push the screen door open, and it smacks against the exterior of the house. “You are so gross, Tyler. A pervert. I can’t date a pervert. Go date Ellen Framptom. I’m sure she likes Debbie Does Dallas.”
“Oh, come on, titch. It was a joke.”
I’m still stomping across the yard. “Nope. You’re sick. And if you think I will ever do something like that with you—” a nervous laugh slips through my lips because I would so do that with him, “Well, you are wrong.”
“Jemma, really? You’re being so immature.”
A few drops of rain fall from the sky just as a long groan of thunder shakes the ground.
“Maybe so, but you’re a sicko,” I say because that’s mature.
“Sex is a natural thing.”
I grab onto the wooden boards of the fence and pull myself over, toppling over when I land in my yard.
“You know what?” he says. “When you realize what a drama llama you are being, I’ll be sitting right-fucking-here.”
“It’s going to storm,” I call over the fence.
“Don’t care.”
“You’re stubborn and stupid and a pervert.”
“Again, you are immature.”
“Ugh. Fuck you, Tyler.”
“Watch your mouth, young lady.”
I make fists with my hands as I march up the concrete steps. I open the back door and slam it closed for dramatic effect.
