“Do that. You look stunning, and maybe some of these stick figures would get a clue that a real man wants a woman he’s not afraid to break.” She pauses for a second, as though considering whether to continue. “And if you have sex in any of the bedrooms, double-check the lock. You know I really don’t want my house to be a breeding ground for sex tapes again.”
Again? My brain is spiraling, trying to keep up with Windsor, my gaze once again darting between her and Cav. I’m waiting for Cav’s response, but a man approaches Windsor, and it takes me a moment to realize it’s a guy from a movie I saw last summer.
“Baby, you’ve gotta give me another chance.”
That’s when it clicks. This is Windsor’s ex that she’s so happy to have out of her life. Apparently, she should have asked for his key back.
Or maybe that’s not how these things work. Hollywood is a different universe, and no one gave me an interloper’s guide to navigating it.
Windsor draws her spine straight and squares her shoulders. “Sean, that’s never going to happen.”
Cav releases my arm and steps beside her. “I think it’s time you leave, man, because you clearly weren’t invited.”
“Fuck off, Westman. You can’t be her guard dog forever.” The man, Sean, flicks his gaze from Cav to Windsor to me. “Besides, looks like you’ve got a woman of your own finally. Maybe I should take her from you and see how you like it.”
He’s reaching out a hand toward me when Cav wraps his arm around my waist. “That’s a bullshit statement and you know it.”
“Bullshit or not, it sounds fair to me.” The man’s hand hangs in midair, waiting for me to shake it. “I’m Sean France—”
“He’s a douche who couldn’t keep his pants zipped around twenty-year-old girls the entire time we were married,” Windsor interrupts. “And she’s just a touch too old to be part of your target demographic, Sean. Move on, or I’m pretty sure you’re going to be needing another rhinoplasty after Cav is finished with you. Leave now before I have security toss you out and this gets embarrassing.”
In the face of so many threats, it would take a real man to stand his ground, but Sean France glares at all of us and walks away.
“He’s not on your list. How the hell did he get through the door?” Cav asks.
Windsor shrugs, her attention following the man’s movements. She clucks her tongue and we all turn. “Probably with her.”
Sean stops at the side of a stick figure of a girl who looks like she’s not quite old enough to drink despite the tiny dress, perfectly styled hair, and smoky eye makeup. Without a word, he grabs her hand and drags her toward the door.
“He really is a douchebag,” I say, not even conscious I’m speaking the words until both Cav and Windsor turn to me.
“He really is,” Windsor agrees, following the couple’s progress to the front door. “And good riddance to them both. She’s too young and stupid to realize that she’s going to be too old for him to find sexy in about six months. He’s got this weird slightly pedophile kink where he’s always looking for the younger chick. It’s creepy.”
Sympathy for Windsor having been married to a guy like that wells up inside me. It doesn’t matter who you are or how perfect your life seems from the outside, things can always be broken and fucked up on the inside.
“Enough of that downer. I’m going to make the rounds and check that everyone is having a wonderful time, alert security so Sean doesn’t get back in regardless of who he has with him, and find myself a distraction for the evening. You kids have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” She smiles at us and strides away with a little backward wave.
“Is she okay?” I ask Cav.
He’s watching Windsor walk away, her laughter already ringing out, a little too bright and cheerful.
“She’s a trouper. She and Sean have been split for a long time, but the guy can’t seem to stay out of her face. It’s not even that he wants her back, honestly. I think he just misses having the security of her covering for him and the ease of having someone else run his life. It’s unusual for these Hollywood marriages not to be straight fucked up.”
“Is that why you didn’t run out and marry the first famous chick who fell for you?” My question is a quip, off the cuff.
Cav’s eyes, looking steel-gray against his gray dress shirt tonight, cut to mine. “You already know the answer to that.” When I don’t respond immediately, he closes both his hands over mine and pulls our arms out wide until our bodies press together. “I was hung up on one particular woman, and she wasn’t in Hollywood. Nothing here could compare to the hold you’ve had on me from day one, Greer. You still don’t get it.”
Cav’s words are serious and completely at odds with the high-pitched laughter and conversation going on around us.
I don’t know what to say, but I’m wishing we were anywhere but in the middle of Windsor’s palatial home. I want to be back at his place, watching another movie without this crowd around us. Maybe pausing in the middle so he can bend me over the back of the couch and assuage the ache that continues to build inside me. Just the thought has me pressing my legs tightly together.