Page 17 of Off Script
“Who’s Ben Sutton again?” I query. I recognize the name, but I don’t know anything about him. Keeping up with Hollywood drama isn’t high on my list of priorities.
Conversely, Harper reads every entertainment magazine and follows all the social media celebrity gossip accounts. She’s convinced since we live in LA that we’ll run into famous people, and she wantsto be ready. So far, she’s only seen Gary Busey once at dinner. Harper was not impressed.
“He’s an insanely hot actor. I mean, did you see that face? Gah!” She starts fanning herself and humming Nelly’sHot in Herre. “He’s been in a bunch of movies, and he has a superhero movie coming out. He’s starring in it with Willa Radford, and I cannot wait for it to come out. We should get tickets to see it!”
Harper’s phone dings from an incoming text from Philip. She bites her lip and looks at me apologetically while twisting her fingers nervously. “I hate to eat and run, but is it okay if I stay the night at Philip’s again? I promise to hang out with you tomorrow night!”
“Harper, you do not have to ask my permission to live your life. Go have fun with your boy toy.”
After she leaves, I realize that I'm jealous of Harper's love life. Jealous that she met a guy who is just as infatuated with her as she is with him.
I never thought that when I moved to a city with millions of people, I would feel this lonely.
6
Ben
Over the past few days, I’ve grabbed my phone to contact Carlisle countless times, but each time, I practice self-restraint and put my phone down without reaching out. Our connection is tenuous at best, but I want to get to know Carlisle better.
However, I know that I shouldn’t. Or rather I know Ican’t.
The timing isn’t right with two movies coming out. My life is under the microscope, and I've been strongly cautioned about getting involved with someone right now, especially after the paparazzi photos from the coffee shop were published.
I scared myself last weekend when I told Carlisle the truth about reading a screenplay.How very Hollywood of you,she said. If I slip up enough times, accidentally supplying Carlisle with enough nuggets of truth, she’ll figure out who I am, and I can’t take that risk. Not now. Not when there’s so much at stake.
But damn, I cannot stop thinking about her, especially not after spending the last few days reading theLosing Lovescript.
So, withLosing Lovefresh in my mind, I cave to temptation and call Carlisle. Getting comfortable on the couch, I throw my feet up on the coffee table and wait for Carlisle to answer.
“Hey stranger. Long time, no hear,” Carlisle huffs, her southern accent more pronounced than usual. Which I've figured out usually means that she's pissed.
“Miss me?”
“Not even a little,” she answers nonchalantly.
“That’s too bad because I missed you.”
After a shaky breath, she grouses plaintively, “Brent, you cannot say things like that to me.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know,” she hesitates. “It’s not fair to call and text me constantly over the weekend and then lose my number for days. It’s confusing and I don’t want to play games.”
Carlisle's blunt honesty is so fucking refreshing to my jaded ass, especially in comparison to my ex-girlfriend.
In hindsight, I realize that all Kelsey did was play games for the duration of our relationship. Kelsey was like a beautiful mirage, there one minute and gone the next, always leaving me wanting more. But ours was a volatile relationship, full of dramatic ups and downs. We’d fight, we’d break up, we’d make up, and then we’d start the whole dysfunctional cycle over again. The constant emotional upheaval was tiresome but also addicting. Looking back, I still don’t know which feelings were real between us and which Kelsey faked just to string me along. I'm not sure that I ever knew the real Kelsey.
But there's nothing fake about Carlisle and that strengthens my trust in her.
“Noted, I’m sorry. I’ll stay in contact better.”
I have zero willpower concerning Carlisle. I’ve spent the last four days convincing myself that not talking to Carlisle is for the best, but now, after barely a minute of conversation, I promise her that I’ll dothe exact opposite. She makes my head spin and my heart hope for more.
“You know, you could always initiate contact with me too. The phone works both ways.”
“Not my style."
“Not your style?” I repeat, puzzled by her vehement, and instantaneous, answer before a realization hits me. “Let me guess. Being the well-heeled southern girl that you are, you don’t believe girls should call guys, do you?”
