“The gun has been jumped.”
We’re still for quite a bit of time before I blink and realize that if this is happening then we have to hit the road before I come to my senses, wake up from this dream, or have a heart attack from how beautiful he is. I know guys don’t like being called beautiful, but he is.
So. Freaking. Beautiful.
After he pulls up to my apartment, I watch him climb out of his car, suitcase in hand, wearing that same engaging smile. He’s driving a deep blue BMW—something I can’t imagine most struggling actors would be driving. Who is this guy? Why isn’t he more weirded out by this situation? How do I know he’s not a psycho killer?
Dragging my luggage down the stoned apartment steps, I pause as Kayden strides forward to help me. “I got it…” I mutter, almost breathless. Narrowing my eyes on him, I watch as he walks with me to load my car up and I swing myself around to face him. “Hey, quick question.”
“Shoot.”
“You’re not a murderer, psychopath, or anywhere close to being a crazy person, are you?”
“Well,” he sighs, “I haven’t killed since last Thursday, which is a record for me. I didn’t pass the psych test, but really, does anyone pass those? And crazy? Well, yes. I am. But honestly, the people you should really worry about are the ones who claim to be sane.”
He’s so sarcastic and snarky that all I want to do is lick his face.
I wish I weren’t so weird sometimes.
“Okay, well just so you know, I have a black belt in karate, a certificate from a woman’s self-defense class, and pepper spray. So that pretty much means I will kill you if you need to be killed.”
“Duly noted.”
“Good.” I grab my keys and toss them toward, Kayden, “By the way…you’re driving because my mom thinks you are. Your name is Richard, we’ve been dating for seven months, and you are in accounting, but you’re looking to transfer over to business and marketing.”
The confused look on his face is almost classic comedy, and it makes me smile.
“Don’t worry; I’ll fill you in on the ride up there.”
I pause and look at him, not moving. I can’t get in a car with this stranger, and I think he knows. He smiles again and hands me my keys. “I’ll follow behind you.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course. But mainly it’s for my own safety. I haven’t been pepper sprayed in awhile, and I would rather hold on to that fact.” He extends his cell phone toward me and asks me to program my phone number into it so we can talk and learn more about our ‘acting adventures’ on the ride up north.
Why do I have the feeling this is all going to blow up in my face?
The snow isn’t falling too hard, and the drive is mostly filled with my own awkward silence with the phone against my ear and moments of me looking through my rearview mirror staring at his strikingly stunning facial structure.
“So…” he sighs into the cell phone, “what should I know about you that your family would expect me to know?”
“Oh.” I straighten up in my seat, thinking of what facts my family normally mocks me with. “I’m left-handed. I went to college for a semester before dropping out and going down the road of acting. Didn’t really lead to Hollywood for me, but that’s all right. I like being behind the scenes, hooking people up with their dreams of the big screen.”
“That’s a lie,” he says, as if he knows every fact about me already.
“What?”
“You gave up on acting. You settled.”
“You don’t even know me,” I argue, somewhat taken aback by his sudden claim that he knows I gave up on acting. Which…I kind of did.
“No, I get it. It’s a scary business not knowing where your next paycheck is coming from, and the older you get, the harder it becomes to explain to your friends that you haven’t broken into the industry yet. But you swear all you need is one chance. The right audition to get your foot in the door. Yet somewhere in your gut you hear the words ‘give up’ taking over. Those words start becoming stronger each and every day, and soon even the whiskey won’t tune them out. Then you’re sitting in another audition for another part you won’t get and you pause and wonder why you did it all. Why you missed so many birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, Sunday dinners. All for what? The love of your craft? Your passion? Let’s just say I understand why some people would walk away from all of this.”
“Story of your life?” I snicker, glancing in my rearview mirror toward him, but I stop laughing suddenly when I see his face tighten up and his cheeks hollow out.