Question Mark (9 page)

The flight attendants chatted back and forth on the intercom system about crosscheck and doors and whatever the hell while his mind went wild.

Just get me off the damn plane!

When the door was finally opened, Zane could smell the rain in the air. He sucked in a big breath and reminded himself that Mark had agreed to no games. And that was a good deal as long as he didn’t decide rocker boy was a better option and call Zane up to break the news.

Sheeeeee-iiiiiiit
, his mind sing-songed.

Patchouli Patty tugged her carry-on bag from beneath the seat and dragged it against Zane’s knee on the way out. Two layers of skin…gone. He gritted his teeth and made like a monk looking for serenity. Once she was in the aisle and bombing the air with her fumes, he unbent himself from his seat and pulled his bag down from the overhead bin. Freedom.

He made quick work of the walk through the terminal, which was still thick with travelers who glanced his way in recognition. Bypassing the escalators for the stairs, he scanned through the group of drivers standing with name cards and caught a glimpse of one of the fake names he used when he didn’t want people knowing what he was up to.

“How’s it going,” he asked the uniformed driver. “I’m Mr. Baskin.” This name always made him want to laugh. Jenny made it up after she’d gorged herself on a pint of mint chocolate chip.

“Yes, sir. I’m Robert. Are you picking up any bags?” Zane nodded his head and followed the older gentleman to the baggage carousel for his flight, steering clear of perfume lady.

Fifteen minutes more here, half an hour or so to get to his place, and likely another twenty before he could get to Jenny’s for the mother-fribbling cocktail party suckfest. Then, Mark. Or maybe he could call him on the way home? Or on the way to the party? Zane really wanted to talk to him. There was a three hour time difference between L.A. and Bora Bora, so that made it a little after four there. Mark could be doing anything and Zane couldn’t expect him to be available on his vacation all the time…but…

He bit down on his lip, his impatience surprising him. It was like he’d regressed to middle school again. All he needed to add to his worried, pathetic act was a jean jacket and Air Jordans. Beautiful image.

The carousel began moving just in time as a cluster of girls who’d met their friend at the baggage claim were eyeing him speculatively. Yep—crap—they were giggling. Bad sign. He frowned, tugged his hat low, and tried to put on his
“I’m unapproachable.”
face.

Come on bags. Please. Bags. Bags. Bags. Let’s go. Come on
.

There was one of them.

He stepped around a gaggle of people eyeing the luggage and tugged the case off the carousel, passing it off to Robert. The next bag came soon after and he scooted out of there before the seagulls attacked.

The car was waiting at the curb and Zane slid into it like home base, his lower back letting out a protest at being forced to sit down again. With his heart racing, he tugged his phone from his pocket and turned it on. A couple text messages from Jenny popped up, both of them about the cocktail party, a few
“WTF!”
texts from Mikey and James, and a voicemail from Jake Hillenbrand, a close friend from one of his early films. He was going to be in town and wondered if he could crash at Zane’s place later that month.

“I’m sorry, Robert,” he said to his driver who glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “I’ve got to make some calls.”

Robert waved the apology away with a nod as he raised the privacy glass and Zane reminded himself to tip well because he was about to become one of those oblivious phone talkers while he was chauffeured around. His mom would be pissed if she saw how rude he was being.

Rushing through messaging everybody back, he was finally able to pull the slip of paper with Mark’s number on it from his back pocket. Unfolding it, his lips drew into a bright smile. Mark had scrawled out his number and in neat block letters beneath it, he’d written:

No games, Mercenary. Waiting for your call.

Zane chuckled and blood rose from his chest to his face and he had to turn a vent toward him so the AC was blowing directly on him. Whispering a prayer, he fumbled through entering the number and sat back to wait.
Please, oh please answer.

Four rings in and he was about to give up when the phone clicked and Mark’s breathless voice sounded in his ear.

“Zane? You there? Can you hear me?”

It was a very good thing that Zane had bones in his body because otherwise he would’ve melted into the carpet of the sedan.

“How’d you know it was me?” The smile in his words was clear and Mark’s embarrassed chuckle made him want to roll down the window and howl for a minute or two. Sheeze, Zane was turning into one lusty son of a bitch.

“I entered it into my phone this morning. It’d be just like me to lose the card you gave me—especially since I’m at a resort and housekeeping is in and out of this bungalow like sixty times a day—so I wanted a backup in my phone.”

“Well, thank God,” he teased, the color still high in his cheeks. “How’d the snorkeling go? Near death experiences?”

“I saw a lot of fish…and sand…and more fish. But once I was there looking at them, I sort of wondered what was next. Am I s’posed to chase them? Stir them up? It was gorgeous out there, for sure, but I don’t know. Mostly I spent the time defogging my damned goggles while the guide waited for me to catch up. Even the little kids were doing better than I was.”

Zane’s face hurt already from grinning. There wasn’t anything fake about Mark Newland. Most of the people he knew would go on and on about the beauty of nature and being one with the tropical fish, but not this guy.

“So you’re a real sportsman?” Zane chuckled.

“Absolutely. The water is my second home.”

They both laughed together until a charged silence settled on them. Mark cleared his throat and Zane waited for what he was going to say.

“It would’ve been nice if you could’ve been here, too. I thought of you. Almost constantly. Though I tried to focus when those miniature sharks showed up.”

Zane’s head fell back against the leather seat and he exhaled hard enough to make his throat tickle. “I really wish I could’ve stayed. I’m so sorry about all of this.”

“Hey,” Mark said kindly, “I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. This no games thing is new to me, but that was me being open, I guess.”

“Well, I thought of you, too. Couldn’t stop, really.” Zane watched out the window as the car joined the traffic on the freeway. Rain pounded on the windows and he found himself hoping the cocktail party would be cancelled so he could talk to Mark as long as he wanted. “I’m on my way back to my place where I have to clean up for this ridiculous party.”

“What’s this part you want to play? Would you normally do all this schmoozing for it?”

“It’s the story of a World War II pilot, Garrett Richtfeld. I read his bio a few years ago and it’s an awesome story. I’ve wanted to play this guy since I first found out about him and I didn’t think I’d have to sit up and beg for the part after some of the behind the scenes meetings I’ve had with the production company, but the table’s turned. Jenny, my agent, says they’re antsy that I don’t want the role because I’m on vacation while they want to talk. There’s also a rumor that they shopped it out to Pershall.”

Mark coughed lightly. “Pershall—as in Brad Pershall? That guy who did those college horror movies?”

Zane bit back a snarl. Jealous much?

“Yeah, the same.”

Mark surprised him with a crack of laughter. “Those movies were terrible! That scene in the boat house where he attacks that killer with an oar—” Mark couldn’t even finish he was laughing so hard and Zane wished he could grab him and kiss him.

“I was sick with the flu when I saw it and I gotta say, if I weren’t already puking my guts up, that movie would’ve been all the reason I needed to start.”

“The gore was awful,” Mark agreed. “Not that it didn’t scare the piss out of me here and there, but I give it a C- at best.”

“You’re more generous than I am then.”

Mark snickered a little. “This clenches it, Zane. There’s no way that guy can get that part. Go to that party and schmooze your ass off. I’d pay the ten bucks to watch you in a silent movie much less one where I got to see you in a pilot’s uniform. And you can actually
act
, which is a nice bonus.”

Zane rubbed a hand over his face as warmth radiated through him. “Good grief—where the hell have you been hiding my whole life? I should have my publicist hire you.”

A snort sounded on the line. “No, thanks. I’m all set. But if she needs some tips on what to say…”

“I’ll have her call you.”

The call settled into a comfortable silence and Zane pictured Mark sitting on the deck of his bungalow, the crystal water reflecting off his dark hair and light skin. It made him ache in an odd way.

“What’re you up to the rest of the evening?” he asked, clearly wistful.

“Not sure, but it will involve food.” Mark made an indecisive sound. “I was thinking about a walk and room service. Might as well splurge, know what I mean? The sun really took it out of me today, I think…” He trailed off and Zane wondered what he was thinking. He didn’t wonder long. “This is a really romantic place to visit. I keep seeing all this stuff that I wish I could share with someone, you know?”

Zane did snarl this time. “God, if I were there, I’d volunteer for whatever you wanted to do.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. I’ve got my mind set on you,” Zane said, gathering his courage. This whole no games thing was his idea, and he wasn’t going to let his fear of rejection screw him out of the possibility for something good here. Not again.

“Wow. Most guys would never admit something like that. Afraid they’d scare me off or whatever.”

The blood drained from Zane’s face and he wondered if he hadn’t just blown it. “I didn’t say I wasn’t terrified, but I don’t want you getting off of this phone wondering what I really think. I’ll always tell you the truth.”

“That sounds—well, it sounds really good to me. It’s nice to feel like I’m…”

“Wanted?” Zane interjected. “’Cause you are. Trust me.”

“Likewise,” there was a smile behind the words, “but you probably already knew that.”

“How would I?” Zane asked lightly, eyes narrowing in the dim light. If this was dumbed down to him being famous, he was going to be seriously disappointed. With fame, sure, he knew he was wanted, but he was almost always certain that it wasn’t
him
that was wanted, but the
image
of him. There was a big difference between the two. The image of him was make believe.

“Well, maybe we should start with how my legs seem to go jellyfish in your presence? Hmm? Or need I bring up the kiss?”

No words of celebrity. The relief was enough to make Zane dizzy. “I’ll happily talk about kissing you. I look forward to giving it another go sometime when I can really do it right.”

Mark’s low laugh had Zane’s foot tapping restlessly against the floor mat. He glanced back out the window and saw that they were already in his neighborhood and his mood fell.

He cursed softly. “We’re almost to my house,” he told Mark reluctantly. “I have to get inside and change.”

“Is ‘break a leg’ the right sentiment, or…?”

“I’ll take it.” Zane tugged his shoulder bag closer to his body and reached for his wallet, counting cash absentmindedly. “Call me anytime you want. I’ll be out of commission tonight, but I’ll let you know what happens.”

“Give ‘em hell, man. I’ll talk to you soon.”

After Zane hung up, he couldn’t move even though the car was sitting in his drive waiting for Zane to punch on the key fob that opened his gate. When they pulled up as close to his door as possible, he lowered the privacy window and asked if Robert was waiting for him while he changed to take him to Jenny’s.

“Yes, sir. I’ll help you with your bags.”

“No need,” Zane stopped him. “Pop the trunk and I’ll grab them. I have to clean up anyway, might as well get rained on.”

His suitcase snagged on part of the trunk opening, so his whole head ended up under a stream of water running down from the roof as he wrestled it out. It was cold as hell and made Zane want to sit down on his driveway and mope until his next birthday; maybe just give up on the day. When he pushed through the heavy front doors, his house was quiet in that echoey sort of way that was like an announcement of how alone he was.

No one’s here. You’re alone…alone…alone…

His keys clattered on the entryway table and he threw his stuff down and half-heartedly kicked it out of the way. Deactivating the alarm, the front room light came on automatically when he stepped inside on his way to the kitchen. He was thirsty and pissy and hungry in that order.

The fridge was stocked with water bottles and produce that was starting to look a little withered in spite of the crisp air. Zane grabbed an apple and cracked into it thinking he’d better get some real food in his stomach if he wanted to avoid snapping someone’s head off or end up sloshed off of one drink. He wondered if it was weird that he actually ate the apple under the hot streams of water in his shower. Two birds with one stone, he supposed. At least he waited to soap up until he’d finished and thrown the core out into the trash can across the room.