“They weren’t silly,” I say, pulling away. “You were right.”
But he holds me fast, steadying me close to him. His black eyes never leave me. “When I saved your life, Rebecca, it wasn’t for this. For constantly protecting yourself, perpetually running, never taking a chance,” he continues in a rush, his accent growing thick and more difficult to decipher. “I was wrong about Michael, but I thought you’d have known it for yourself by now.”
I pry his hands from around me, pulling away.
“Don’t run from me,” he cautions sharply. “Save that maneuver for Michael Warner.” And for the first time in several years, my best friend sounds genuinely angry with me.
I turn back, planting a hand on my hip. “You warned me to be careful about his bisexuality. About his kind!” I say in an irate tone. “Those were your very words!”
“Before I knew what kind of man he is.”
I shake my head with a snort, backing away from him. “What kind of man is he, Trevor?”
“I’m getting back with Julian,” he blurts, closing the distance that separates us. “You should know that. He’s coming in next month, before our story meeting. We’re going to give it a go together.”
“I see.” I set my jaw.
“Yes well, love, that’s it. I’ve realized that as much as he’s hurt me, I do love him. I never stopped loving him.”
“Good for you.”
“He has changed. People are capable of it, you know,” he insists. “He’s spent the past year in counseling. He’s been sober for eight months now. He’s a different person.” His voice grows quiet. “All the best is there, and the worst seems finally gone, now that he’s off the booze.”
I nod, keeping my voice even. “Okay.”
“Is that all you’re going to give me?” he cries sharply. “I see? Okay? Bloody hell, Rebecca, when did you become so frosty and controlled?”
“When I was stabbed nine times in the chest, face and abdomen,” I cry back at him. “When you got the stupid paramedics to come and bring me back.” I shake my head, stepping closer. “When I realized Michael Warner still loved someone else…”
The tears begin then, spilling hot across my cheeks, and for once Trevor doesn’t rush to make it better. I stand there by the pool, feeling a distance settle between my best friend and me.
“Michael Warner loves you,” he insists. “You’re only too scared to see it.”
I wipe at my eyes. “I don’t want Julian to hurt you.”
“And I don’t want you to let Michael get away.”
I close my eyes and try to blot out the white-hot pain that shoots through me at his words. Because what I realize—and Trevor doesn’t—is that I think I’ve already made that decisive mistake.
Perhaps it’s my weakened emotional state after my confrontation with Trevor, but somehow when I see Jake inside the hotel lobby—truly see him—for the first time all night, I capitulate on the drinks invitation. He sidles up next to me by the hotel bar, wearing a goatee and an expensive T-shirt, a pulsating crowd of blonde girls circling him.
Tonight he’s cultivating a kind of grunge-Hollywood fashion statement, and while it should make him look like the cokehead he clearly still is, he manages to affect me. He is a sexy man, always has been—from his steel-gray eyes to his sinewy body—and under the murky-fingered influence of my margaritas it occurs to me that I could sleep with him tonight.
“Rebecca. Hey.” He tosses his shaggy, longish brown hair out of his eyes, giving me that familiar bad-boy smile. Staring back, I think of all the times I made love gazing right into those same stormy eyes.
“Hi, Jake.”
His gaze roves the length of me, hesitating significantly on my hips, next, my chest; finally my face.
“Looking good, Rebecca.” Something warm catches fire in me at his praise, burning like whiskey. We always did have chemistry.
“Thanks, Jake.”
“So, hey. Rebecca? Out for drinks after?” He nods toward the exit door. “Skip this scene in a few?”
I give him a guarded smile. “Sure, Jake.”
Jake sits in the corner of Mia Mia, a stylish bar on Sunset, wearing sunglasses even though it’s almost midnight. He’s all about cluing everyone in to his celebrity status. He’s my bad drug, the one I’ve always returned to. Especially at emotionally broken moments like this one, he’s my recurring obsession, ready to trip me up.
I slide into the seat opposite him; my defenses are up even though I did agree to come out with him. I glance around us. “I’m not really sure why I came.”
Jake makes me feel more vulnerable, more exposed simply because I’m more recognizable paired up with him out in public like this. Even though I felt triumphant at the gathering, this is different: this is a trendy hotspot in West Hollywood, where the see-and-be-seen quotient is high.
I loved that about being with Michael: I felt normal everywhere we went together.
“No kiss? I’m hurt, Rebecca.”