Page 92 of Off Script
“Your loss, Willa.” The conversation turns to other things. While they chitchat, I surveil Willa, and I notice her watching me in return. I’m not sure what to think of her behavior tonight.
When the limo arrives for us, I open the door and assist Willa, and her voluminous dress, into the limo before sliding in beside her. Willa arranges the skirt of her dress, smoothing out the wrinkles that gather when she sits.
With a huge grin on her face, Willa grabs the complimentary champagne from the ice bucket on the side of the limo and pours herself a glass. “Want one?” She offers me, but I shake my head. She quickly drains her glass and pours another.
“I think you may want to slow down there, Tiger.”
“You think too much, Benji. Let’s go with the flow and have fun tonight.”
She eyes me hopefully, imploring me to loosen up. I have felt like a crotchety old man on this tour, constantly on my best behavior because I have so many people who I’m trying to placate and please. “No promises, but I’ll try,” I finally relent.
Willa claps her hands in glee. “I’ll take it.” She swigs her champagne and looks at me, her eyes sparkling. She sighs cheerfully and leans her head against my shoulder. “Everything is turning out as it should. Life is good.”
“It is,” I agree. I hope I’m not jinxing anything, but things are going well. I’m falling in love with Carlisle and I’m juggling the showmance successfully with Willa—her weird giddiness tonight notwithstanding.
“Benji! You’re thinking too hard already.” Pouring another glass of champagne, she pushes it into my hand. “Stop. Drink this.”
Then she pours herself another glass and drops her hand to rest on my thigh. But the weight of her hand on my leg feels uncomfortable and signals are blaring in my mind. It can’t be good that she’s drinking so much on an empty stomach, but before I can caution her again, she surprises me.
Willa lifts her head from my shoulder, trailing her nose up my neck and her fingers up my thigh. “You smell good. Your scent is so uniquely you, Benji,” she murmurs against my cheek. "I love it."
I did jinx myself. She isn’t being too happy. She’s fucking flirting with me.
I shift in my seat, putting several inches between us, as I contemplate my next move.
Shut her down and risk the icy cold shoulder of London returning, this time for good.
Or should I play along to keep the peace? But that feels an awful lot like I’d be leading her on.
And I’d feel like I was cheating on Carlisle. I can’t do that.
I don’t understand what happened to make Willa think it’s okay to act flirtatiously towards me tonight. Sure, I’ve been spending more time with her, but I’ve kept my behavior towards her firmly in the friend zone.
A troubling thought pops into my head that leads to a sinking feeling in my stomach.Could she be high?I’ve never known Willa to use drugs, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t. Despite spending time with me, she’s also still hanging out some with Thad, who openly dabbles in recreational drugs. And being high would explain her oddly euphoric and flirtatious manner. If what Becky told me is true, that Willa is dealing with some personal issues, then it might not be far-fetched to fear that she’s abusing substances to help her cope.
I wonder if her week-long hospital stay last year was drug related. An overdose, maybe?
The clamoring of the crowds has increased significantly as we approach the premiere location. With little time left, I reach out and cup her cheek gently, steering her face towards mine, so that I can look at her eyes.
Her pupils aren’t blown, which makes me think she hasn’t taken any drugs.
While that’s an immediate relief, I’m still worried about her state of mind, and how I should react. I need to let her down gently, but now isn’t the time. Not when we’re about to be in front of the media.
As I begin to drop my hand, she presses it to her cheek before twisting to kiss my palm. Her gaze finds mine again. “Thank you for the gift,” she murmurs, smiling shyly.
What is she talking about? What gift?
Before I can ask what she means, my car door is jerked open by James, our handler. With a disgruntled glare, dark suit, and two-way radio earpieces in, he resembles an uptight Secret Service member.
“Hurry up! We’re running two minutes behind schedule.”
Willa smirks and rolls her eyes at our grumpy caretaker.
But I don’t want to poke the bear, not when I have so many other things rolling through my mind, so I hastily stand from the car. I’ll talk to Willa later to figure out what’s up with her tonight, but now it’s time to get to work.
I smile and wave at the throngs of people before leaning back into the car to help Willa exit the vehicle. As she emerges, there’s an increased flurry of camera shutters and flashes. Shouts ricochet around us.
The fifty yards from the car to the entrance of the venue feels twice as long under the scrutiny of the fans and the media. Willa and I stop every few feet to pose for photos and sign autographs before James leads us towards a waiting journalist.
