GREY FIDDLED WITH THE AIR conditioner. Ethan had arrived to pick her up sans Ozzy and the Bentley, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel of a vintage brick-red Bronco. She was both relieved and chagrined to see him there alone: relieved that they wouldn’t have to keep up the doting couple act for the entire two-hour drive to Palm Springs, chagrined at the prospect of the most uninterrupted solo time she’d had with Ethan thus far.
Plus, though this was secondary, she wasn’t sure how much she trusted him behind the wheel. When she climbed in next to him, though, he seemed sober and alert, if not especially chatty. What else was new. Though the Bronco set the tone for the occasion better than the Bentley, the air conditioner was spotty, and opening the windows didn’t do much to offset the relentless sun beating down on the roof of the car. After thirty silent minutes, Grey was sweating like she was under interrogation. She could feel frizzy little wisps of hair escaping her braid and brushing against her face, taunting her with the knowledge that she was becoming more disheveled by the second.
She wanted to thank him for his help on her audition, but she knew any mention of it would inevitably lead to thoughts of the immediate aftermath. It was clear they were both eager to avoid that particular topic. Easier said than done. Hell, she was thinking about it right now, and they’d barely said ten words to each other.
The audition had gone well, though. Owen Chambers, the actor who had already been cast as Evander for months, was sweet and shy, and Grey had felt instantly comfortable with him. Kissing him had been nice, pleasant even, but it had nothing on the finger-in-the-electrical-socket rush from kissing Ethan. Just as well, since the director, casting director, and studio executives would probably have frowned on them ending the audition desperately dry-humping.
She wished she knew what he thought about it. Did he regret it? He certainly seemed upset they’d been interrupted. After they had hung up on Audrey, he had mumbled some excuse and shut himself in his office once again. If only there was some way to find out his true feelings, such as opening her mouth and asking him. No, that was too easy. There had to be a catch. She snuck a look at him, one hand loosely draped over the steering wheel, his eyes impenetrable behind mirrored aviators. Oh, right. The catch was that he was a fucking brick wall.
While attempting to pack for the weekend, she’d hated everything in her closet more than ever. With Kamilah still MIA, she’d crossed her fingers and texted Mia for help. To her surprise, Mia had agreed enthusiastically, dragging her to Venice to spend a lazy afternoon perusing the hip boutiques on Abbot Kinney Boulevard. As Grey swiped her credit card over and over, she ruefully wondered if she could send the receipts to Audrey for reimbursement. Between Mia’s hit movie and Grey’s hit relationship, the pair of them had attracted enough attention that their casual day out felt almost like work.
Mia had also talked her into getting her bikini line sugared. Grey was reluctant after a traumatic waxing experience had left her swearing allegiance to home hair removal only, but Mia promised it would be less painful. It was, marginally, but Grey had to admit the results were worth it. It felt like the same kind of na?vely optimistic gesture as when she’d shaved her legs for the very first time before going to see her favorite boy band in sixth grade, as if she needed to be fully prepared for the possibility that they would spy her in the crowd and invite her backstage for some hot below-the-knee action. But then, as now, it never hurt to be overprepared.
After they finished shopping, they’d decamped to a dimly lit wine bar to share tapas and a pitcher of sangria. Grey regretted not getting to know Mia better while they were co-workers; but then, they’d both mostly kept to themselves at the time. Either way, the afternoon had been a delight. Mia had a warm, infectious laugh that was easily triggered, a quality Grey had always envied. She learned that Mia’s original goal had been to become a pediatrician, taking modeling and acting gigs to help pay her way through school. She’d dropped out of her pre-med program once her career began to have unexpected legs.
“I still want to go back, eventually. All this isn’t going to last forever, you know?”
All day, Mia had prodded her for information about Ethan, but Grey was able to deflect most of the attempts at girl talk by dropping some well-placed “He’s a very private person”s. When Mia had brought up their sex life, Grey had blushed so deeply that Mia’s laugh could be heard within a three-block radius.
“That look tells me everything I need to know.”
Grey wished Mia would share that knowledge with her. Her feelings had settled into a knot in her stomach that felt impossible to untangle. It was unresolved sexual tension, sure, but there was something more than that. Any seedlings of fondness that she’d successfully weeded out over the last few weeks had sprouted back with a vengeance after their stolen moment of frenzied groping. Maybe they just needed to fuck once, get it out of their systems, and move on with their fake relationship like mature adults.
“So, should we get on with it?” Ethan said out of nowhere. Grey jumped, convinced he’d read her mind.
“Get on with what?” she asked, suddenly sweatier than ever.
“You know. Getting to know each other. So that reporter doesn’t bust us.”
Grey breathed a sigh of relief. “Right. Sure.”
They rode in silence for several more minutes.
“Off to a good start,” Grey muttered under her breath, and Ethan laughed.
“I don’t really know how to do this. Tell me about yourself? I guess?”
“Why don’t we review what you already know, and I’ll fill in the blanks.” Grey turned down the Led Zeppelin playing on the radio. The car was too old for either of them to play their own music, so they’d been listening to the local dad-rock FM station.
Ethan took a big, dramatic breath. “Okay. Name: Emily Grey Brooks.”
“Very good.”
“Age: twenty…seven? Still? Are you twenty-eight yet?”
“Not yet.”
“When’s your birthday?”
Grey looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “April 22.”
“April 22,” he repeated to himself. “Coming up soon. Graduated from—sorry, attended USC.” His brow furrowed. “I don’t even know where you’re from originally. Did you grow up in L.A.?”
“No, New York. Westchester.”
Ethan looked at her, surprised. “I’m from New York, too.”
“Yeah, I know,” she said automatically.
“How did I not know that?”
She shrugged. “It never came up.”
“I don’t really know Westchester.”
“You’re not missing much. I miss the city, though; I was there all the time once I started working.” She turned her head the slightest fraction, looking at him as much as she could without actually looking at him. It was easier talking to him this way. “Do you miss it?”
Ethan took his time to consider the question. “I do and I don’t. I miss…I miss how dense it was. I miss the people. I miss that you can’t step out the door without seeing a dozen people from every walk of life. You’re never alone.”
“Really?”
He glanced at her. “Is that surprising?”
“I mean…” She chose her words carefully. “You could be surrounded by people all the time if you wanted.”
“It’s different here. In New York, they leave me alone. They look, sure, but there’s less people coming up to you, less paparazzi. You can just be anonymous. Living there was the last time I was anonymous, I guess. I miss that part of it.”
“I don’t think it’s possible for you to ever be anonymous.”
Ethan shrugged, his mouth thinning. “Yeah. Maybe not.”
Several minutes passed without either of them saying a word. Grey presumed he’d already gotten bored of the “getting-to-know-you” schtick, and looked out the window. She was startled to hear him speak again.
“Do you know my birthday?”