Between the Lines (26 page)

“Yeah.” She’s listening but not hearing, and I want to shake her. “You know what, Emma?” She sighs. “Love freaking
sucks
.”

Chapter 34

REID

I wake up in a hospital room, and George is sitting on the small sofa. A few seconds pass while I process what happened yesterday. Difficult, because my brain feels numb from what is undoubtedly some sort of analgesic. My manager glances up when I stir. “Reid. Going to stay awake for a few minutes this time?” He comes to stand next to the bed. “They’re keeping you a little sedated, so you won’t move around.”

I look at the IV in my arm. “What happened?” God, my throat feels like I swallowed sand.

“Your appendix decided it didn’t care for Austin so much.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Jesus. I was supposed to film today.”

Chuckling, George says, “Don’t worry, directors tend to let people off to recuperate from emergency surgery. Everything’s taken care of—private room, of course, and your medical care is being filed and paid, so you needn’t worry about that. Your bodyguard is outside the door, and Andrew will be by in a little while to run errands for whatever you’d like.”

I look down at the worn, mint-colored hospital gown. “Tell him not to even bother coming unless he brings me something else to wear. Shorts, t-shirts… I’m
not
wearing this.” I pick at one of the stupid ties at the side of the gown. “So I guess Dad couldn’t make it, huh? Sent you as his parental doppelganger?”

“What, you aren’t happy to see me?” George looks slighted. He should win a mini-Oscar.

“I’m complaining about the absence, not the substitution. Of course I appreciate you coming. Why it would surprise me that he’s not here, I have no idea. I mean hell, it’s just major surgery. No big deal.” My eyes are heavy; I’m sleepy already.

George grimaces, one hand on my arm. “Go back to sleep, get healed up. We’ll work on your daddy issues another time.”

“Ha, ha. Funny guy, George. That’s why I like you.”

***

Late afternoon the next day, Emma walks in, carrying a vase of Asian lilies. Maybe it’s the drugs, but her face above the flowers makes me imagine her as a faery. “Hey you,” she says. Tadd and Quinton are with her.

I mute the reality show blaring from the way-too-small television bolted to the wall. “Thank God, I’m bored out of my mind.”

She smiles at me. “We figured as much.” She places the flowers on the built-in veneer dresser and Quinton hands me gaming magazines.

“Dude, you look like ass,” Tadd says.

I shake my head, try not to laugh because it hurts. “Tact. Ever heard of it?”

“Tact is overrated,” Tadd says, eyeing the television. “Hey, I bet I could get a game console and a couple of controllers hooked up to that.”

“Thanks, but I think I’m getting out of here tomorrow. If I promise to be good, I can convalesce at the hotel. The doc says I’ll still be in bed for four to five more days, and not in a good way.” I wink at Emma and she blushes the slightest pink. “I feel like I’m in prison here.”

“The guard dog is at the door.” Quinton refers to Bob, who’s sitting on a chair in the hall, blocking fan and paparazzi intrusions.

“Yeah, we had an incident with a hospital
volunteer
earlier.” I laugh and god
damn
, it’s like someone stabbed me. I push a call button.

“Yes, Mr. Alexander?” Young, with a little bit of a Southern lilt. Nurse Monica.

“I could use some pain meds, please ma’am.” Tadd quirks an eyebrow at my
please ma’am
, and I pretend not to notice.

“I’ll be right in.”

“What kind of volunteer?” Emma asks.

“The
doing community service for prep school credit
type. Allegedly, she took some photographic liberties with my sedated body and a strategically unbuttoned candy-striper outfit.”

“Whoa! Was she at least hot?” Quinton says, then turns to Emma. “No offense.”

She blinks at him. “Um, none taken?”

“No idea. I was drugged out. Bob let her in since she was dressed in hospital threads and had ID, but he had a weird feeling so he checked, and there I was, being violated by an underage candy-striper.”

Nurse Monica comes in with a syringe, which she injects into my IV line. Tendrils of her copper hair escape from the twist at her nape, and Quinton is staring, not that I can blame him.

“There ya go. You should feel that real soon.” She lays her fingers on the bare skin of my forearm, blinking when Tadd stifles a laugh, abruptly jerking her hand away. Clearing her throat, she straightens the bedding. “Do you need anything else?”

“No, thanks. I’m good.” She blushes and hurries from the room.

“Sure you don’t need your pillow fluffed, or maybe a sponge bath?” Tadd mocks.

“So did your juvie stalker sext anything before Bob intervened?” Quinton asks. “Cause that could get ugly. In a legal sort of way.”

“Nah, Bob came in, grabbed her phone, walkied for hospital security, and scrolled through her messages. She hadn’t sent anything yet. She attacked him when he started deleting photos—”

“She attacked
Bob
?” Emma asks. “Bob’s the size of a tank!”

“I know, right? But yeah. He held her by the wrists with one hand while deleting photos with the other until hospital security busted in. Tragically, during all the madness, her phone was accidentally crushed under his ginormous foot and the memory card went AWOL.”

Emma smirks. “Sounds like Bob is worth his weight in gold.”

“In Bob’s case, that’s
really
saying something,” Tadd agrees.

*** *** ***

Emma

After the guys leave, I stay to keep Reid company for the rest of visiting hours, like I did last night. He’s alert today, though still a little groggy from the painkillers the nurse just gave him; last night he was drugged to the hilt, in and out of awareness—mostly out, and I was glad I brought something to read.

He’s wearing a baby blue t-shirt and black jersey shorts today, rather than the hospital gown. “So is this authorized hospital-wear?”

He ducks his chin, peering roguishly through a few strands of blond hair—clean, which makes me wonder who’d washed it for him—the ginger-headed nurse? “Not exactly, but I tend to get my way about stuff, or haven’t you noticed?” Only he could deliver such a line and have it come out charming and not insufferable. “Did you say they moved filming to the Bennet house? I seriously can’t remember what we talked about last night, sorry.”

“You were pretty out of it.”

He scoots over in the bed to make room for me, grimacing slightly. “Come here. You’re too far away.” I leave the small sofa and climb up next to him, careful not to jostle him or mash his IV line. He takes my hand and kisses the palm. “I hear I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

“Well, you were obviously unwell, anyone could have seen that.”

His mouth turns up on one side. “The point is,
you
were that anyone. Though, was Graham there, too? I’m fuzzy on that whole night.”

“Um, yeah, I told him you weren’t feeling well, so he came up. He was actually the one who knew you needed a doctor.”

“But you were the one who checked on me in the first place. Besides, no offense to Graham, but I’d rather thank
you
.” His eyes are warm, staring into mine, and I brush his hair out of his eyes, feeling guilty, because I didn’t go to Reid’s door to check on him. I went to his door to tell him off.

Not that he needs to know that.

He leans closer and kisses me, withdrawing with a grimace and leaning back against the mound of pillows. He must have commandeered every pillow on this floor.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine as long as I don’t move at
all
.” He takes my hand and pulls me closer, so that I’m kissing him. “Mmm, better.” His blue eyes open and he lifts a hand to my face, fingers coaxing me forward, into another kiss. “Much better.”

Chapter 35

REID

I move back to the hotel to recuperate while everyone else continues filming around the scenes I’m supposed to be in, leaving me bored as hell. I’ve never had to sit out before—no illnesses, no injuries. Dad would be shocked to know I’m losing it over not being able to work.

Everyone drops in occasionally to hang out, and Emma keeps me company whenever she’s free, which isn’t often on filming and class days. Having her near naturally results in us getting physical, but there’s only so far I can go without pain. For days now, we’ve been kissing and touching for one or two hours straight. Emma is leaving my room more breathless after these restrained makeouts than she ever has.

Today I went on location to watch her film a scene. My leaving the hotel room caused Andrew so much stress that we thought his head would explode. He threatened to call my doctor, my father and George. I glared at him and suggested a cigarette break. He spun on his heel and stomped from the room.

Emma has been anxious about this scene, which includes Leslie and Tim, both Oscar contenders, as well as Jenna, the perpetually self-confident fifteen-year-old. The majority of primary dialogue is Emma’s, though, and the timing has to be perfect for all of them. They get the scene done in only two takes plus some set-ups. Richter, ecstatic, lets all of them go for the day, leaving Emma feeling a little smug. Of course I’ve witnessed her acting ability firsthand, but observing from the sidelines is different. Filming a scene, you pay the most attention to your own performance; everyone else’s performance is secondary. Today, I had nothing to do but watch her.

In the car back to the hotel, I raise the privacy glass between us and the driver, settle her legs across my lap carefully, stroke my fingers over her knee, teasing under the edge of her skirt. Her eyes are heavy as she waits for what I’ll do next. “You’re a natural, you know,” I say. Her brows rise and she colors deeply. I laugh, squeezing her leg lightly and kissing along her jaw. “A natural at that, too, and I’ll convince you of it soon. But I mean—you’re a natural on film.”

She scowls and I run my finger over the spot between her eyebrows. “Don’t do that, you’ll get a frown crease.”

“What do you mean—‘natural on film’?”

Why this observation would insult her is beyond me. “Your stepmother told me you’d wanted to do theatre at one time, not film. I can relate—I did some community theatre when I was a preteen. It was fun. But we’re both naturals on film, that’s all I’m saying.” The scowl increases at mention of her stepmother. I’ll have to remember not to bring her up again.

“I did want to do theatre; I
do
want to do theatre. But if it has to be film, I’d prefer something more serious than, you know, what we’re doing now.”

“Serious, like, limited run, indie stuff?”

“Yes, exactly.”

Except in extremely rare cases, independent films make little to no money, and hardly anyone sees them. They’re the film version of literary fiction. “Why would you want that, when you can do something that will be wide-released into hundreds of theaters across the country and across the world, will make you crazy famous, sell a ton of DVDs in a few months, and when all is said and done will earn you a ton of money?”

“So, crazy famous and disgustingly rich is worth more than doing something that might have a social impact or garner critical acclaim.”

“Hell, yeah. It’s not like we’re doing porn.” She blanches and I laugh. Oops. “God, you should see your face.”

“Yep, I’m a riot.”

“Look, I get what you’re saying, I’m just happy doing what I’m doing, that’s all.” I pull her closer and kiss her. She hesitates for a moment and then sighs, kissing me back. My hand inches up her thigh under the skirt until my fingers graze her hip.

The car comes to a stop in front of the hotel and Emma scrambles to pull herself out of my arms before the door opens. Bob and Jeff are waiting, as are a few photographers and fans. I wave and smile, giving her the chance to smooth her skirt back over her legs. I tuck her arm through mine as we walk into the hotel, people calling, “Reid! Emma! We love you!”

Independent films my ass. Who wouldn’t want this?

*** *** ***

Emma

I’ve sort of neglected studying for the SAT until tonight, when Emily mentions it right after she tells me the latest rumors—about myself.

We agreed a couple of weeks ago that Emily will check fansites and inform me on a need-to-know basis only. Before she took over researching the dirt about me, I occasionally read through it.
Bad
.
Idea
. For instance, some fansite declared that I’m the most unattractive star in Hollywood and I have no right dating someone as “hot and delicious” as Reid.

Definitely
not
need-to-know. Emily is my first line of defense.

“There’s a photo of you and Graham running… And several sites are arguing whether or not he’s coming between you and Reid. One suggested that you guys go for runs right after you roll out of bed…
together
.”

“Wow, great. So now I’m sleeping with two guys. What, they couldn’t get a photo of me and Quinton? Or hey, how about me and Brooke? I mean who cares what’s true or not.”

“Did you get that SAT prep book I suggested?”

I’m thrown by the sudden change of subject. “I got it, but I really haven’t had time to go through it.”

“Emma, I know in your world the SAT doesn’t seem like a major deal, but it can determine where you go to college. You should already be halfway through the guide by now.”

“I know it’s important, but I’ve been really busy…”  (
My
world? What does
that
mean?)

“Busy making out with Reid Alexander, hanging out all day and every night with all the other
celebrities
, you mean?”

“Emily, really?” I think I’ll wait to tell her about the increased makeouts… and the fact that I think I’m almost ready to sleep with him.

“You’re always complaining about being busy, but you’re all over Austin—shopping here, drinking and partying there, visiting Reid a dozen times while he was in the hospital—”