Page 25 of Off Script
Trevor's words play on a loop in my brain.If you really have a connection with her, don’t waste it. Who cares what Jada and Becky say? You could always take it slowly and keep things on the down low until after your publicity tours wrap.
Maybe I can have my cake and eat it too.
Maybe I can increase my public presence while dating Carlisle privately.
8
Carlisle
When Harper gets home from work, she tells me hello as she drops her purse and tote bag by the door. But when she sees me lounging on the couch, she narrows her eyes and looks at me with an odd expression.
Slowly, she asks, “Why do you have socks on your hands?”
“Oh, that,” I reply lightly, downplaying the oddity of it. “My hands were cold.”
Her tone infused with suspicion, Harper insists, “I don't buy it. It isn’t cold in here.”
My phone, which is face down on the coffee table, chimes from an incoming text message.
When I don't make a move to grab it, Harper inquires, "Aren’t you going to check that?”
“Nope,” I shake my head. I know it’s from Brent—I mean, Ben—and I’m currently ignoring him.
I didn’t even know the guy existed a few weeks ago. I can cut ties with him and be just fine, I remind myself for the millionth time today.
But I am dying, literally dying, to read his latest text and respond, which is why I’m wearing socks on my hands. I can’t work my phone’s touchscreen with them on, so they’re protecting me frommyself.
Because I really, really want to read and respond to Ben’s latest messages.
Luckily for me, Harper shares no such compunction. She grabs my phone and reads the text message aloud. “Carlisle, I’m just checking in. If you don’t want to talk to me anymore, I get it, but please let me know you’re okay. This isn’t like you not to respond, and it’s worrying me.” She whistles softly. “How long has he been texting you like this?”
“All day,” I admit morosely.
“He must really care about you.”
“No, he doesn’t. Not really.”
“Why would you say that? These texts all suggest otherwise,” Harper says as she snoops through the rest of our texting history. “What made you stop responding? What changed?”
“Ben told me last night that we could never be more than friends who talk on the phone and that he didn't want to meet in person." I throw up my sock covered hands in frustration. "What’s the point in getting to know each other further? I already like him more than I should. By cutting him off now, I’m saving myself from future heartbreak.” I slump against the couch in defeat. “Because he’s obviously hiding something big, right?”
Grimacing, Harper agrees, “Yeah, that could be a red flag. You’re probably right to forget about him.” Next to me, Harper perches on the edge of the couch when she abruptly side-eyes me. “Wait a minute. You just called him Ben. I thought his name was Brent,” Harper says accusingly.
“About that.” I fiddle with the blanket in my lap. “He confessed last night that while his name is Brent Benjamin, he goes by Ben. And before you ask, I don’t know why he originally told me to call him Brent.”
“This is so weird. Maybe he’s catfishingyou?”
I shrug my shoulders.
Chewing on the corner of her lip, she prods me, “Let’s run through exactly what you know about this guy and see if we can figure him out."
Where do I even start?How do I know if what he told me is true or just another fabrication?
But like Harper, I want to figure it out. "Okay."
Harper removes her phone from her purse and opens the notes app. "His name is Brent Benjamin. Okay, got it. What else do you know about him?"
“He lives here in LA, but he travels often. He’s currently working as a bartender, but he changes jobs a lot and sometimes works multiple jobs.”
