Page 65 of Off Script
“If you ever mention that awful nickname in any of our press for the movie, I will cut you, Benji,” she jokes as she picks up her steak knife and points it in my direction.
“Hmm, that sounds like a dare, Pippy.”
“Also, no,” Her lips curl up as she fights a giggle.
“Play nice and put down the knife. We have an audience, remember?” I cajole, pleased that my ribbing makes her laugh. Now that Willa has given me a modicum of hope that there’s still a chance that I can reach Carlisle before she hears about my fake date, I feel less apprehensive.
“What's she like, Benji? How'd you meet her?”
The rest of dinner flies by as I confess every embarrassing detail of how Carlisle and I became acquainted, our time in Austin, and how happy she makes me. Willa doesn’t remind me to smile again because they come freely and often when I talk of Carlisle.
As I push open the door to exit Soho House, I almost stumble, stunned at how many paparazzi are huddled along the sidewalks and streets. As compared to when we arrived, the number of people loitering outside has easily increased tenfold.
“Holy shit,” Willa mutters. “I guess the word got out.”
Instantly, we’re pulled in different directions, almost swallowed up by the crowd. There are so many people hounding us—taking photos, yelling, and trying to elicit a reaction—that it’s overwhelming. Flinching at the sudden onset of flashbulbs, I’m momentarily blinded.
Grabbing Willa’s hand, I tug her into me using my body to shield her, as we hurry across the street to the valet station. With the help of a couple of security guards, we keep the press and fans at bay as we wait for my car to arrive.
Willa sinks into my arms, as if she’s grateful for my protection. She probably is on some level—the paparazzi can be scarily aggressive—but I assume she’s also playing up her role as my girlfriend for the cameras.
And now I need to play mine too, even though it kills me.
Willa twists her body so that her chest is pressed into my own. I place my fingers gently under Willa’s chin and lift her face towards mine before grazing my lips lightly over hers. The chaste kiss hardly lasts more than a few seconds, but it’s enough. Photos of that moment will be everywhere come morning.
When I pull back to look at Willa, she still has her eyes closed, like she’s savoring our kiss. I've got to hand it to her, she’s a phenomenal actress. If I didn’t know better, I’d believe she was into me.
“Five out of ten. I’ve had better,” Willa murmurs, breaking the moment. Her eyes, now open, flash with mischief.
“Very funny, Pipsqueak."
She shoots me a cheeky grin, and I chuckle, grateful that she’s trying her best to make this difficult situation as easy as possible.
As soon as I drop Willa off, I race towards Carlisle’s condo, hoping that by some miracle she hasn’t been on the Internet tonight.
Her condo still appears dark and uninhabited, so I’m not surprised that my multiple knocks go unanswered.Frustrated and terrified about what Carlisle’s absence might mean for us, I sit in my car waiting for her return. While I wait, I call her a few more times, but each time her phone rolls straight to voicemail. After a couple of hours, I admit defeat and drive home.
So much good came out of my trip to Austin with Carlisle—spending more time with her, making love to her last night, seeing my mom and dad, and realizing that I was finally and fully over Kelsey—but all of those things have been overshadowed by the fear I feel now.
When I wake on Saturday morning after a restless night of only short fits of sleep, I immediately check my phone again. Still no word from Carlisle, though I have lots of other texts and social media notifications regarding my date with Willa from last night, most of which are positive, with the exception of the ones from my mom.
MAMA BEAR
Ben, what is this about you going on a date with Willa Radford?
What about Carlisle? I do not for one minute believe that you two are just friends. You better explain yourself, young man.
I don’t bother replying to any of them.
After dressing and grabbing a protein bar, I drive back to Carlisle’s place and park. Once again, no one comes to the door when I knock repeatedly. Then I wait hour after hour, giving me ample time to further regret how things transpired yesterday.
The fact that we had sex the night before I had a date with Willa only makes things worse. Carlisle isn’t the type to hop into bed witha guy, so when she sees the stories, it’s going to hurt her that much more.
Willa’s right. I fucked up. I had so many opportunities to tell Carlisle, and I chickened out each time, convincing myself I was waiting for the perfect time.
But there is no perfect time to tell the woman I’m dating that I have to date someone else for a few weeks.
BREAKING NEWS:
