Words seem to escape him. His palm slides against mine, pressing my hand against the bed, our fingers entwined. Gabe holds on to me like we’re finding our way out of a storm. I’m aware of nothing but where our bodies connect. Hands. Hips. Lips. There’s a shudder and at first I can’t tell if it’s me or him, but then I’m lost. I explode like a star.
It takes a long time for him to stop shaking. For the room to stop spinning. And when he does and when it does, he leans back and pushes the hair out of my face, his thumb tender against the side of my cheek.
I close my eyes as he kisses me.
My entire heart feels like it’s sitting at the base of my throat. Heavy. Tight.
“It’s you,” he says.
THE RUMOR MILL
RENEWING OLD BONDS
Gabe Parker is planning his comeback. The former Bond star is already getting some Oscar-worthy buzz for his upcoming role as C. K. Dexter Haven in Oliver Matthias’s remake of The Philadelphia Story.
The infamous actor was spotted out and about in L.A. this week, and was captured having lunch with writer Chani Horowitz, who—as most fans will remember—rose to infamy of her own for her deeply personal profile of Parker almost a decade ago.
Horowitz wrote about spending the weekend with Parker attending premieres and after-parties. Most memorably she recounted passing out at Parker’s house after a private party he held. Despite being photographed together at the premiere of Shared Hearts both have denied anything unprofessional ever happened.
Their representatives have confirmed that Horowitz is indeed writing a follow-up to her first article, but the cozy pictures of them at lunch insinuate what people have suspected for years—that despite Horowitz’s juicy profile, there was plenty that she left out.
Fans are dying to know—what really happened that night?
BROAD SHEETS
GABE PARKER:
Shaken, Not Stirred—Part Four
By Chani Horowitz
Gabe Parker has a very nice guest room.
It’s got a big bed and clean, crisp sheets and lots of pillows. I’m sure you’re all wondering what it’s like to sleep in, but I’m going to disappoint you because I didn’t. Sleep in it.
I was more than welcome to, of course. Gabe Parker, at all times, was a consummate host, while I was an embarrassing, sloppy mess that pushed the limits of professionalism multiple times.
I can only hope he doesn’t hold it against me.
But in that moment, I was too embarrassed to face him.
Which is why, while it was just barely light outside, I snuck out of Gabe’s house, hailed a cab, and sent myself home.
Now, there’s something I should have mentioned at the beginning of this article.
I’ve never seen a James Bond movie. I’ve never read any of the books. I know that Sean Connery played Bond and so did Pierce Brosnan and a bunch of other people, but that’s the extent of my knowledge about the canon.
Some might say this should disqualify me from writing about the next—and most controversial—Bond. They might be right, but it’s too late. The article is already written and if you’ve gotten this far, you’ve already read it.
Even though I’m on the outskirts of Bond culture, I still know enough about what he represents as a character. He’s masculinity personified—smooth, suave, debonair. He always gets the girl—and the martini. He’s an icon, and he’s far bigger than the man who plays him.
Knowing this, I can say with all confidence that Gabe Parker is the Bond we need. He might even be the Bond we deserve.
Chapter
28
I counted to one hundred.
When I was certain that Gabe was in his room, that he was probably asleep, and that the front door was far enough away that he wouldn’t hear it open, I gathered my things. My shoes, my purse, my jacket.
I didn’t put any of them on, flinching when the guest bedroom door creaked as I opened it. I held my breath but no sound came from the other side of the house.
I couldn’t stop the swell of embarrassment that hit me each time I thought about Gabe’s face—how he had looked when he came back into the room after I’d turned him down. It was as if every emotion—every feeling—had been wiped clean. As if that moment had never even happened.
It had felt like a slap in the face, but one that I’d needed.
I’d needed to be reminded of who I was. Who he was.
Sleeping with him would have been the biggest mistake of my life.
My bare feet were silent on the hardwood floor and the front door opened without a sound. I pulled it closed until I heard the soft, muffled click of it locking behind me. It felt final. Even if I wanted to get back inside, I couldn’t.
I carried my shoes until I was out of his front yard. I sat on the curb and pulled them on. As I walked to the bottom of the hill, the sun was just beginning to light the sky—a hazy amber that made the houses around me glow.
I called a cab and went home.
Chapter
29
I’m woken by sunlight in my face and a buzzing from my phone.
I stretch my arms wide and find nothing. The sheets are wrinkled, the bedding pushed back like a dog-eared page. I can hear Gabe in the other room. He likes to whistle to himself in the morning.
It’s strange that I know this, and not strange at all.
The air beyond the comforter is cold and fresh. It makes me want to stay in bed all day. Rolling over, I bury my nose in Gabe’s pillow. It smells warm and like the spot behind his ear.
I’m pretty sure the tightness I feel in my chest is happiness.
I find my phone and blink at the screen.
My agent sent me the link to the Rumor Mill post.
Everyone is going to read your article, she writes.
I look at the pictures—clearly shot on someone’s cellphone from a table or two away. I hope they got good money for them.
The photos themselves are fairly innocuous. Nothing like the shots that had been circulating of Gabe and Jacinda in Paris all those years ago. Gabe and I seated on opposite sides of a table. Not touching. It’s mostly Gabe’s face and half of mine, shot from over my shoulder. We look, for all intents and purposes, like two people having a conversation.
There’s one shot of him greeting me, but even that is innocent, Gabe’s hand on my elbow.
The thing that makes all these images worthy of a post, worthy of attention, is the look on Gabe’s face.
He looks like a man in love.