Page 58 of Reckless Hearts
“Yep. It’s actually made from the same bacteria that causes food poisoning.”
It’s amazing the random facts I’ve picked up in the past seven years of being constantly surrounded by people obsessed with how to keep themselves pretty.
She shudders. “God, you sound like Seb. He’s normally the source of random scientific facts in my life.”
Seb.
My acting lessons come in handy right now. I keep my face neutral and my hand steady as I reach for my cocktail.
“When is your family getting here, anyway?”
“They fly in this afternoon.”
“Oh, right.” I think I manage to deliver that line with perfect nonchalance.
I’ve been thinking about Seb a lot recently, knowing I will see him again. I’ve been thinking about the Marcus I was with him back at university.
Seven years later, I still don’t understand the hold my best friend’s brother had over me. How it developed. Why it took me so long to get over him.
Because I’d spent the first nine months in Los Angeles missing him, having to resist the urge every day to get on a plane and travel the thirteen hours home to see him.
I’d thought constantly about contacting him, sending a benign message and getting a benign message back.
We could be friends, right?
But given how frequently I reread every message we’d ever exchanged, I knew I shouldn’t restart any form of communication between us.
I was in Los Angeles. He was in New Zealand. Those facts weren’t changing. Which meant I had to get over him.
So I’d decided the only way to forget Seb was to pile my brain full of memories of other guys.
But every hookup I had made me miss Seb more because there was such a contrast between the way he’d looked at me and the way other guys did. Sometimes, it felt like I was on a mission to sleep my way through the guys of Los Angeles to see if I could find someone who would make me forget about Seb.
Nothing worked.
Seven years later, I’m now convinced Seb was an aberration in my sex life. Our crazy sexual compatibility, combined with the fact I grew to like him as a person—along with the added dimension of being forbidden—all combined to screw with my brain.
“This is going to be the most awesome week ever,” Saskia is saying, and I switch my mind away from her brother back to her. “I mean, look at this place.”
She’s right. The resort is a paradise of stunning villas set among perfectly maintained tropical gardens, with crystal-clear turquoise water stretching out to the horizon. Palm trees sway gently in the breeze, and the air is filled with the scent of exotic flowers.
I’ve come a long way since the days of my moldy flat in Dunedin and have worked in some of the world’s most glamorous locations, but this place is almost unreal in its perfection.
“It’s so nice to have a break from the office,” Saskia continues as she picks up her cocktail and walks over to one of the sun loungers next to the pool. I follow her, settling myself on thelounger next to her. “That Centriac merger almost killed me. And Tom has been working nearly nonstop on the industrial action at the port.”
It’s always weird to hear Saskia’s stories about her and her fiancé Tom’s lives as corporate lawyers in Auckland, knowing I could have drifted into that trajectory so easily if Jake hadn’t tapped me on the shoulder in that Las Vegas nightclub.
Instead, my life is now a roller coaster ride I’m still not entirely sure I didn’t dream up. Two years as a human coat hanger led to a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it role onHospital Heights. Somehow, that tiny part snowballed into me headliningCupid’s GPS, a rom-com about a lovelorn satellite navigation voice actor. Against all odds, the movie became the feel-good hit of the summer.
The years since then have been absolutely mad. Cramming in as many movie shoots as possible, capitalizing on my chance to make it big.
Because I’ve quickly learned that Hollywood is like a shark-infested ocean. The moment you stop swimming, you start sinking. And the water is full of hungry up-and-comers ready to take a bite out of your career.
It turns out that pretending to be someone else is my ideal job. Everyone thinks they know you, but really, they only know the characters you play.
The extra bonus is that the whole world is constantly telling you you’re amazing.
It’s intoxicating, addictive.
