Sex in the Sticks by Sawyer Bennett
And now my life is about as perfect as could be. I've got a solid resume including three more blockbusters under my belt. I can now pick and choose my roles, or choose not to do anything at all for a while. I'm rich beyond measure, have a gorgeous fiance who thinks I've hung the moon and stars, and adoring fans all over the world.
Which makes it really weird that my smile seems so fake at events like these. I try my hardest to look approachable, humble yet filled with confidence to be in the limelight. Truth be told, I hate shit like this.
I'm not in it for the accolades.
I'm in it for the craft.
Brad tugs on my arm and we turn toward a covered tunnel that will take us into the theater. I see Brad's female costar and her husband take our spots for their round of photos and endless fashion questions.
"Eden," someone calls out near the tunnel, and I see a paparazzo standing there holding his camera in a relaxed pose near his chest. I start to widen my smile so he can snap his picture, but his next words take my breath away. "Do you have any comment about the photos that just leaked to Inside Gossip about fifteen minutes ago showing your fiance with another woman?"
My head starts spinning and Brad mutters, "Fuck" under his breath. That makes my head spin even more, because that was an admission to me.
I turn my face to look at him with astonishment and the camera flash goes off from the direction of the man who just questioned me. I'm sure he's capturing the most surprised, stunned look that has ever graced my face.
But this isn't a fucking act.
This is real life.
"Brad?" I whisper, and my voice is filled with begging that I know he hears clearly. Begging him to tell me it's not true.
Before he can admit or deny, the photographer calls out to me again. When I turn back to him, trying to compose my facial expression, he once again punches me in the gut. With his camera in front of his face, snapping my picture, he asks, "And what are your thoughts about the fact it was with his costar for this movie, Lilliana Prentice?"
My head snaps around and my body follows so I can focus my gaze on Lilliana. She and her husband are standing there with their arms wrapped around each other, smiling for the paparazzi.
I whirl back around and face Brad, who is now rubbing his temple as if he has the world's biggest headache, his gaze pinned to the ground.
"You're fucking Lilliana?" I hiss at him.
"Here are the photos," the photographer offers, and I look back to him to see him leaning over a barrier to hand them to me. I stomp over to him, grab the photos with a snarl, and start flipping through them.
Brad appears at my side, trying to grab them away from me. "Eden...don't. Let's not do this right here. It's my movie premiere, for God's sake."
But I turn my back on him, hastily flipping through photo after photo of Brad and Lilliana in intimate embraces in various locations. None of them are naked pictures, but all of them show them kissing deeply with roaming hands.
Except one...and I immediately recognize it as the pool in my backyard. Lilliana is lying on my chaise longue and my fiance is bent over her, rubbing oil on her back. Where the hell was I?
Brad takes another grab at the photos, and I spin back to look at Lilliana, who by this time is walking our way with her husband, not even aware of the shitstorm brewing.
She locks eyes with me, and that Hollywood glam smile she'd had on immediately slips. Her gaze darts to Brad, then back to me, and she knows I know. I take two aggressive steps toward her and she backs up. Her husband--I think his name is Phil--releases his hold around her waist and I take a moment to note the confused look on his face.
"You fucking bitch," I snarl at her, but my anger's not just for her. It's for Brad too. More so for him, actually. I whip around to face the faithless cheater. "You fucking bastard. How could you?"
"What's going on--" Phil starts to ask, but I don't answer. I merely thrust the stack of photos into his chest and he grabs them from me.
"Eden," Brad says placatingly, his arms outstretched. "I'm so very sorry, but now isn't the time to hash this out."
"Oh yeah," I say in a loud voice so anyone within a twenty-foot radius can hear me. I don't intend to be that loud, but I'm nearly hysterical. "Wouldn't want anything ruining your movie premiere, now would we? Certainly not breaking news that you can't keep your dick in your pants with your skank of a costar."
"Now wait a minute," Lilliana starts to say, but I whip around on her.
"I'd shut your mouth," I warn her menacingly. "I do mixed martial arts, and this slit in my dress is high enough that I could kick you in the face."
Lilliana's mouth snaps shut.
"Eden," Brad says again. "Honey."
And that tips me over the edge. I glare at Brad and then march right up to the photographer who started all this.
"Want an exclusive?" I ask him sweetly.
He nods, practically salivating.
"Brad Wright has a problem with premature ejaculation," I tell him untruthfully. "And he's so insecure about it he often wets the bed when he sleeps."
The photographer turns to Brad. "Brad...is it true...do you have erectile dysfunction?"
The camera flashes repeatedly but I pay it no mind. I turn around and walk gracefully but quickly back down the red carpet, breaking into a trot as I get nearer to the curb. Reporters call to me, other actors and actresses I know look at me with worry as tears start to fill my eyes. When I get to the end of the carpet, I turn right and start frantically searching for my limo. It can't be too far away, as we'd just gotten here and were among the last to arrive.
Worst-case scenario, I'll grab a cab.
"Come with me," I hear a man say, and my elbow is taken in a firm grip. I look up and see Lilliana's husband there. His face is red and his jaw is set in a hard line. "My limo's right there. I'll get you out of here."
I don't hesitate. He's now my compadre. We've been screwed over and we're in this together. At least for now.
Phil--again, I think that's his name--quickly gets me into his limousine and asks for my address as he slides in beside me. I give it to him and he passes it onto the driver, and then we're on our way.
Suddenly, a handkerchief is dangling in front of my face, and I realize I've got tears streaming down it. Phil gives me a sympathetic smile and pushes the handkerchief at me. I gladly take it and thank him through a watery voice. "Thank you, Phil."
"Actually, it's Paul," he says, but his smile doesn't waver.
"I'm sorry," I murmur as I soak up the tears from the corners of my eyes. "Please forgive me."
"Forget about it," he says with a wave of his hand.
"Guess we ruined their premiere night, huh?" I say with a half sob, half laugh.
"You did make quite a spectacle of yourself," he agrees.
"Did you have any clue?" I ask him, because I was completely in the dark.
"I suspected something," Paul admits. "We've been having some problems in our marriage."
"I'm sorry," I tell him. But I don't have the same luxury of doubt. I'd thought my relationship with Brad was fantastic. We had a very healthy sex life, and what Brad didn't have in creativity, he made up for in persistence to get me where I needed to go. We laughed, we talked, and we loved hanging out together.
I just don't get it.
It takes us less than twenty minutes to make it from the Fox Theater in Westwood Village to my home in Pacific Palisades. The ride is mostly silent except for my occasional sniffles.
When the limo pulls into my driveway, Paul asks, "What are you going to do?"
I square my shoulders. "I'm going to make sure every belonging he has in my house is waiting by the curb for him after he gets home from the premiere."
Paul chuckles and leans toward me. "Want some help?"
I lean back, not mistaking the look on his face. "No, thanks. I've got this."
Paul's hand goes to my thigh, immediately slipping under the slit to touch my bare skin. "Come on, Eden. We both
I wasn't lying when I told Lilliana I could kick her ass mightily. I've been doing mixed martial arts for almost ten years. Before Paul can even blink, I have his hand off my thigh and twisted at the wrist so his fingertips point at his astonished face. I put slight pressure on the back of his hand, bending his palm toward his wrist, and he whimpers like a baby.
God I fucking hate this town and the people in it so much at times. No one takes fidelity seriously here.
"I'm thinking you deserved to have your wife cheat on you," I grit out at Paul as I push down on his hand a bit more. He grimaces even as anger fills his eyes.
"Let go, bitch," he snarls at me.
Fortuitously, my door opens and the limo driver stands there, astonished to see the positions of his passengers.
"Have a lovely evening, Paul," I say in a voice that's anything but grateful as I release my hold on him. "I appreciate the ride home."
I quickly exit the limo, jogging up to my front door in my four-inch strappy Choos and unlocking it. I turn the alarm off in the entryway, closing the door and then turning the dead bolt. I reset my alarm immediately, as I always feel safer with it on. There's no doubt in my mind Brad will come here after the premiere to try to make amends.
Fucker.
My cellphone rings and I sigh, pulling it out of my clutch. Not surprising, it's Colleen O'Hearn, my business manager. She's the best in the business, and of course she's already up to speed on everything that's happened. Her network of spies is vast, but apparently not needed tonight.
"It's all over the Internet and on a few news channels," she says when I answer. "We need to do damage control."
"Damage control?" I ask, astounded. "He cheated on me."
"Not the way he's spinning it," Colleen says gruffly. "His publicist released a quick statement confirming that as of tonight you two had split. He also admitted falling in love with his costar while they filmed Code Zero. He claims you repeatedly spurned him in bed, and what little you did offer was not that great, thus leading him into the arms of another woman."
"He did not say that, did he?" I practically screech in disbelief, and tears start streaming again from both hurt and anger.
"Sorry, kiddo...but you said he had erectile dysfunction. Did you think he'd let that go?"
"That's on the news too?" I ask incredulously.
"Only from about five different cellphones where people were videotaping the entire exchange," she says dryly. "Of course, they caught Lilliana's dramatic faint and Brad catching her suavely in his arms, then carrying her inside the theater. The articles are calling him 'gallant.' He's managed to paint himself in damn good light."
"That...that...that asshole," I curse, because nothing more creative was coming to mind. In fact, I can feel my entire brain starting to shut down on me. The hurt starts to overcome the anger, and my heart feels like it's being crushed in a vise grip. I loved that asshole, but he apparently didn't feel the same about me.
Tonight I was publicly humiliated, lost my fiance, and I already feel the terrible weight of anxiety pressing down on my chest, wondering what tomorrow's headlines are going to bring.
I hate this town sometimes.
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Sawyer Bennett, Sex in the Sticks
(Series: Love Hurts # 1)