After All

“And we’re landing in an hour,” I point out.

He slowly licks his lips until they spread into an easy grin. “You’re fucking adorable, you know that?”

Real or fake? Real or fake?

I’m going to pretend he’s being real. Just for fun.

“Thank you,” I tell him. “I try around you.”

He laughs gently, his eyes searching mine. “No you don’t. You don’t try at all. That’s why I like you.” He then closes his fingers over mine and holds them tight.

I lean in close to him, catching a whiff of the fresh rosemary scent of his cologne. I whisper, “You just said you liked me and I think you might have meant it. I’m making a note of it.”

He reaches over and gently cups the side of my face in his warm, broad palm. “It’s never been a secret, sunshine.”

Then he closes his beautiful eyes and brushes his lips against mine, a slow teasing kiss that deepens and blooms. I feel it slide over me like stepping into a warm bath, my tongue stroking against his until our mouths are aching and wild for each other.

Fucking hell, Emmett Hill. The man can fuck like a champ but he can also make out like no one’s business.

The flight attendant clearing her throat is the only thing that makes us stop, though I can feel Emmett smiling against my mouth before he looks up.

“Would you like anything more to drink?” the flight attendant says with an overly warm smile, entirely fixated on him. And I can’t blame her. Emmett’s in black pants, an ice-blue button-down shirt that’s open just enough at the chest, the color making his eyes come to life, his bronze hair artfully mussed up, thick and shining.

“Of course,” Emmett says to her. “Keep them coming. A glass of white wine for each of us.”

She nods and moves onto the next person.

“Sorry I ordered for you,” he says to me, letting his fingers drift away from my face. My cheek feels cold without his skin pressed there. “I felt like it was a thing that we do.”

“As is making out in public,” I tell him. I poke my head up and glance around. No one in first class is paying us any attention. In fact, I think I recognize another passenger up here, some older man who used to play a demon on Supernatural or something.

Emmett shrugs and settles back into his seat, not apologetic at all.

I think I’m starting to figure out how we work. Anything physical is real. Everything emotional is fake.

Except for the fact that he just admitted he liked me. And he meant it. That much I know.

I’ll take what I can get.

When we land at LAX, Emmett holding my hand tight during the entire landing, I’m completely unprepared for the onslaught of paparazzi at baggage claim. I mean, I’m used to the cameras in Vancouver but to be honest, most of the time it’s the same two or three guys you see at every place. Everything else between Emmett and I seems to be documented by fans and strangers who cross our paths.

But here? Fucking eh! There’s like twenty of them with huge cameras, all of them yelling our names like we’re at some sort of cattle auction, a million flashbulbs going off until I’m practically blind. I’m actually doing that cliché pose that celebrities do where they walk while looking down, one arm out in front of them to shield their face, because if I didn’t do that, I’d probably fall right down on the baggage carousel.

“Emmett! Emmett, you’re looking great!”

“Emmett, can you tell us more about Alyssa?!”

“Alyssa how does it feel to snag one of the most notorious bachelors!”

“Emmett, has she helped you clean up your ways?”

“Emmett, how do you feel about your new nickname? Do you think it’s accurate?”

“Is it true you sleep nude?”

“Alyssa, baby, you’re beautiful! Give us a big smile!”

The yelling and the questions never stop but I do love how Emmett is turning extra-protective, trying to actually shield me from the cameras instead of showing me off. I think he’s so blindsided by the attention that he’s forgetting this is what’s supposed to happen, what he’s supposed to want for us.

“Give us some space, please,” Emmett says through his smile, even though his eyes are flashing dangerously. He holds me tight, keeps me back from the cameras. I can totally see why actors end up breaking lenses because this shit is unreal and completely disorienting.

Somehow, we make it out with our bags and are ushered into a waiting Suburban hired by the network. It’s only when we start pulling away from the airport and into the LA traffic, that I remember how to breathe.

“Are you okay?” Emmett asks me, holding my hand while he looks me over.

I nod. “Yeah. Just. Wow.” I take in a deep breath, trying to get my head on straight.

“Fucking vultures.” His voice is laced with anger. “They treated you like you were a piece of meat.”

I personally don’t see Emmett pissed off very often but I have to say I’m touched by it. “I guess that’s the good part about shooting in Vancouver, you don’t have to put up with this.” I gesture to the city as if it’s some singular beast intent on harassing him.

He sighs and leans back in his seat, closing his eyes. “Yeah. It’s funny. Working on Degrassi, I really thought it was my big break. I mean, it was. In Canada. But people quickly forget. And when it was over, I assumed I would go on to bigger and better things.” He pauses, licks his lips. “You know, I wanted this. What happened back there. I wanted the fame and the glory and all of it. And now…is it really worth trading your soul for?”

I look him over curiously. “You traded your soul?”

He looks out the window and nods. “In a way. I think everyone does in order to get what they think they want.”

“What did you trade away?”

After a few beats he says, “Respect.”

“But people respect you.” But as soon as the words leave my mouth, I’m not exactly sure if it’s true. Autumn had mentioned how he isn’t well-respected. And judging by the paparazzi show at the airport and what they write in the tabloids, the media certainly doesn’t respect him either. “You’re a good actor,” I say feebly.

He gives me a wry smile. “Oh really? What have you actually watched me in?”

The truth is, it’s been nothing lately. I can’t even watch Boomerang because it’s so damn weird to see him on the screen. “I liked an indie horror movie you did a long time ago.”

He lets out a sharp laugh and slaps my knee. “The one with the killer bees?”

“Yeah. What was it called, Buzzed Off?”

He shakes his head. “Oh man, I’ll never live it down. I do have to say, working with bees all day did give me a deep appreciation for them.”

“I’m sure it did.”

“Well, let me tell you…it’s not that people don’t respect me. They do. I act well enough. The shows I do at least stay on the air. I’m not doing, like, porn. Bees aside, I’m not ashamed. But I lost a lot of respect for myself.”