CHAPTER 2
I think my toes are freezing solid.
I’m not sure why I decided it was a good idea to walk back from my radio interview this morning, but for some reason that’s exactly what I’m doing. It’s probably because all I’ve thought about since last week is Sydney. I can’t get her out of my head and it’s driving me nuts. An icy cold walk is exactly what I need to clear my mind before I get to the little coffee shop that the napkin came from.
I’ve grown out my facial hair over the past few days and I put my Trevor Caldwell 2004 World Series hat on when I left the radio station. It’s important that no one recognizes me when I run into Sydney. If she doesn’t know that I’m a famous actor, I don’t want her to find out. I haven’t met someone who sees me for me in a long fucking time.
My phone rings and I pull it out, sighing when I see the screen. It’s Quentin, my agent.
“What?” I bark into the phone. I’m not happy with him after that interview this morning. I need some space away from all of that shit, the fake adoration and ass-kissing like I was subjected to today. Hell, that I’m subjected to everyday. People act like they know me, but they know the shell. The Andrew Forrester, ‘Sexiest Man Alive’ machine that is created to sell my movies.
God I hate that bullshit title.
“Well good morning to you too Sunshine,” he replies. “I wanted to see how the interview went.”
“You know I hate doing in-person shit, Quentin. It sucked. That’s how it went.” I can picture him smirking at me, loving how uncomfortable it makes me to do live interviews.
I really am an asshole.
Sometimes, no most of the time, I just want to be a regular guy walking home from work like everyone else in New York. No one asking for anything or propositioning anything or pretending to be someone else to get to me. It’s so exhausting dealing with all that crap every day. I love what I do but I despise what comes with it.
“You know the fans love it, Drew. Gotta give them a piece of you once and a while to keep it feeling real,” he jokes. Only, he’s not joking. He gets off sending me on these live interviews because he knows it pisses me off. Plus he says it makes me more likeable to the fans. I can feel the tension in my shoulders knot up as he speaks.
“Well, it went like it always does, Quentin. Lots of ass-kissing and completely awkward. Is there a point to this call? I’m busy.”
“Just keeping in touch with my favorite client. Talk to you later. And hey, check your email. I sent you a contract for that script you were talking about producing.”
“Yeah. I will.” I shove my phone in my pocket and realize I’m already there, the Village Coffee Bar. It took every ounce of willpower I have to wait almost a week before turning up here to find Sydney. As much as I wanted to come here the very next day, I didn’t want to freak her out and send her fleeing, plus I had to grow out this stupid scruff to cover my very recognizable face.
So instead of rushing down here and staking the place out, I spent a week jerking off in the shower while I thought about her. I’ve officially reverted back into a desperate, horny teenager.
I tug my hat down lower on my brow to cover my eyes and zip my coat up over my chin. There, that will have to do, I want to act like a regular guy but I’m not stupid enough to think I can just walk around in public without my ‘costume’ on, as I call it. I have one of the most identifiable faces in the world and it’s easier to hide it when I’m not working and don’t want to be bothered.
I step inside the café and am hit with a wave of warm cinnamon and coffee scented air. It smells really good in here. There’s a display case full of different flavors of fluffy croissants. I shouldn’t eat such fattening food, but I order an orange croissant anyway, along with a large coffee. The stressed out guy serving me doesn’t even look twice.
Nice, my costume is serving me well already.
A quick glance around shows that the place has a cool vibe and isn’t overly crowded, so I grab a table in the back and face the corner so no one will recognize me. I can still see the door in my peripheral vision to watch out for Sydney.
As if I have a chance in hell of bumping into her here. Maybe this was a stupid idea.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, interrupting my stalking. Groaning, I pull it out and take a look. Jane, my assistant, is emailing me my schedule for the next week. Not a whole lot, but a few commitments that I can’t blow off. A magazine interview tomorrow morning, by phone. I can just call that one in. I text Jane that tomorrow morning’s interview is fine. Also, I need her to make arrangements for my flights to and from the shoot in Los Angeles in a couple of weeks. Chad has been bugging me non-stop that I haven’t given him my definite arrival date for our next project.
God, I hate L.A. That’s why I’ve always lived here in New York City. If there were a bigger film industry back home, I’d have stayed in Boston where I grew up. New York is as far west as I’m willing to live.
L.A. is so fake and full of bullshit. Too many paparazzi, too many backstabbers, too many people pretending to give a crap. New York is more real, the people are real. For the most part, I get left alone when I’m here. Every once in a while there’ll be a pic in some tabloid of me doing something completely stupid, like buying fruit.
Who the hell gives a shit that I buy fruit?
I answer a few more work related emails on my phone. I have one that says the premiere for A Soldier’s Burden has been scheduled for March, so I’ll have to go back to L.A. for that, then three more cities: Miami, New York and Chicago. I sigh, four red carpets.
Almost ten years I’ve been single, minus those annoying contractual relationships to promote a movie, and the reporters still speculate about my love life and ask who I’m dating even though I never bring a date. Every. Fucking. Time. Like I would tell them anything about my private life. Screw that. They’d ruin it in a heartbeat.
I don’t do relationships anyway. I fuck. No attachments. Fans are too irritating to date, and actresses love themselves more than anything else. I usually hook up with a hot crew member during a shoot and cut ties at the end. She gets me for six weeks and I get laid. Easy.
So why am I here?
I sip my steaming black coffee and lift my head to look around. Shit. It’s packed in here all of a sudden. What the hell is going on? There are tons of women lingering around the coffee shop, not eating or drinking, just hanging out. They didn’t spot me did they?
No one is looking my way, so I’m not sure. To be safe, I duck my head and face the back corner again. And between the warm air and the hot coffee, I’m starting to burn up in my coat, but I can’t take the chance by removing it and exposing my face.
Thump! A huge purse lands on my table. Damn, they found me. With my hat and my three day old beard, I’m surprised that anyone recognizes me. I glance up and am stunned see the object of my recent fantasies sitting down at my table.
Sydney.
My brain fails me and I’m unable to make words form. I must have missed her come in when I was checking my email. I can’t believe she’s actually here. My stalking worked.
Speechless, me. Who would have thought?
Sydney starts speaking without looking up as she sits, “I’m sorry to intrude, you don’t have to talk to me if you want privacy, there’s just nowhere else to sit.”
Sydney cleans up well. She’s so gorgeous that my brain has shut down and stopped functioning. She has a tall and athletic body, pale, perfect skin, long wavy dark red hair, and a big smile on her face. Just then, she looks up and realizes who I am. Her smile freezes on her face.
Her luscious pink mouth falls open and an adorable blush fills her cheeks.
“Sydney, what are you doing here?” I say smoothly. I have to play it cool so she doesn’t know I was stalking her, but she’s so cute I can hardly keep the smile off of my face.
She turns an even darker shade of red and drops her gaze to the table.
“Ummmm, my best friend owns this café. I can give you a proper introduction later, it’s not usually this crowded in here.”
Sydney looks back up at me and time seems to stop. I take in every detail of her face; the tiny freckles that dot her nose and cheeks, the long lashes that frame her vibrant blue eyes, the slightly too-full lips that I can’t wait to taste.
I’m still committing every part of her to memory when she speaks, “What’s with the repellant outfit?”
I’m taken aback by her words and playful tone. This is a different girl than the shy, withdrawn one I met last week. I hold in a smile. “Repellant? Interesting description, but accurate in a way.” I wink at her and she laughs. She has no idea how funny it is. Women don’t call me repellant. Ever. And I love that she just did.
“Obviously not repellant enough since I’m sitting here with you,” she says with a smirk on her face. I was not expecting this snarky, playful girl.
I think I might love her. Fuck! Did I just think that?
“Yes, but you’re only sitting here because there were no other tables free and from the looks of it…” I glance down at her sexy high-heeled boots and struggle to keep the lust off of my face as I imagine those heels around my waist, “your shoes are probably uncomfortable. I’m apparently just shy of being repellant enough to make you suffer blisters; I must be losing my touch. I’ll have to step up my game and find a more offensive outfit next time.”
I sit back and take another sip of my coffee, impatient to hear what she says next. A customer is getting too close to our table so I duck my head down to hide my face. Shit, I really want to be able to look at Sydney, but I can’t be recognized in front of her.
“True, the comfort of my feet will always trump avoiding repellant men in coffee shops. Plus, you did save me from freezing to death the other day, so that counts for something.” She fires right back at me, giggling the entire time.
Wow. Stunning, a sense of humor, and she’s not intimidated by me. She just needs to be single. I think I would marry her tomorrow. Would it scare her away if I said that to her right now? I flinch internally at the thought.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I shake my head to try to hide my smile and fail. She’s completely charming and doesn’t even know it. I’m still laughing when I notice that Sydney has stopped smiling and is staring at me, looking from my mouth to my eyes with a look I recognize. Interesting, Sydney finds me attractive.
It’s mutual, believe me.
“Sorry, Syd. It’s just nuts in here today.” The little blond from behind the counter puts a croissant and a coffee in front of Sydney. I duck my head instinctively so she won’t see my face. I’m having so much fun with Sydney, I don’t want her friend to ruin it. “Well, I gotta get back behind the counter. These ladies are eating Ben alive!” The blond quickly hustles back to the register.
Desperate for something to do with my hands, I pick at my napkin to distract me from thinking about taking Sydney back to my place, making her tell me everything about herself then fucking her senseless. My awkward silence must get to her, because she speaks to me again.
“That’s my friend Leah, who I told you owns this place. Like I said, it’s never this crowded in here,” she pauses. “So, you’re new here, like a lot of these people. What brings you here this lovely morning?”
I’m still shocked that she doesn’t recognize me. I figure for now, I’ll just be myself, Drew Forrester. It seems to be working for me so far. “I had time to kill, wanted a cup of coffee, and walked past this place. It looked good, so I popped in. It wasn’t this crowded when I got here.”
I take a chance and look up at her again. “I didn’t slip on the ice out front and come in bleeding if that’s what you’re wondering,” I tease. She’s staring right back at me, trapping me in her the depths of her intensely blue eyes. My gaze drops to her full pink lips. God, she’s unbelievably gorgeous. I’m getting hard just from looking at her.
I really am a fifteen year-old with a permanent hard-on around her. Get it together, Forrester.
“Well, I’m glad you popped in.” Her honest admission surprises me. She was pretty walled off the first time we met.
“I’m glad too. Maybe I’m not so repellant after all, huh?” My honest admission surprises me as well. I need to ask her out before she leaves. I can’t let her get away without finding out who she is. For some reason my mind is telling me that she’s better than the quick fuck my dick is trying to convince me that I need.
“No, I don’t think you are. So …” she stops talking when her friend Leah throws an enormous magazine down on the table and it makes a loud smack! Are you kidding me? I want to know what Sydney was going to say next. Now, Sydney is cringing, obviously uncomfortable with the interruption. She’s back to being the scared girl that I met in my gym.
“Leah, what are you doing?” I look down at the table again so her friend can’t make out who I am. “You know I don’t read magazines like that.”
What kind of magazine? I peek over and see a GQ on the table. I hate not being able to see her face and take in her reactions. I’ve always been very good at reading people’s facial expressions, especially hers. She reads like an open book.
I hear a chair being pulled over to the table and out of the corner of my eye I see Leah sitting down. I duck my head and pull at my napkin again. If I act weird enough, maybe she won’t talk to me.
“I know Syd, I’m sorry for interrupting but I wanted to show you something and the counter is a little slower right now, so Ben can handle it alone…. Hi, I’m Leah.”
She’s talking to me. I can’t be rude in front of Sydney. She’ll think I’m a lunatic. Keeping my hat low, I respond, “Drew. Nice to meet you.”
Fuck, this one definitely knows who I am. It’s written all over her face when I glance up. Please don’t say anything to your friend. If she only knew how hard it is for me to meet real people with no expectations, let alone someone as fascinating and beautiful as Sydney, she might take pity on me.
“Yes, well, like I said, I’m … I’m sorry to intrude but I’ve, uh, I’ve been waiting for Sydney to get here to uh … show her this.” She looks from me to Sydney, then back again, but doesn’t say anything.
She pushes the magazine towards Sydney who looks absolutely terrified of a GQ, like it’s going to jump off the table and attack her. “Leah!” Yep, not happy.
Leah placates her but continues to force the magazine in front of her. “I know, I know. But you have to see this, it’s why we’re so busy today, and I thought it was time you knew something. Trust me, please.”
Leah shifts her eyes over to me again, clearly knowing who I am, then back at Sydney to see her response to the GQ. Sydney looks to me for help. I just pull down my hat and shrug. I have no idea what’s going on here.
“What? I don’t … What the …? I’m not sure I … What the hell, Leah! Adam?” That gets my attention. I take another look at the magazine and see that fucking prick Adam Reynolds on the cover.
My blood feels like acid in my veins. I despise that douchebag. He fucked me over a long time ago. More recently, we got into it at a mutual friend’s house because he was mad that I got the cover of People magazine’s Sexiest Man issue instead of him.
Like I get a vote in that shit!
I don’t want the attention. He can have it, but don’t be such a fucking baby about it dude! He said something to me, I told him to fuck off. It wasn’t my best moment. He was acting like a giant cocksucker at the gathering. When his girlfriend was cast opposite me in an upcoming movie, it really pissed him off. She was hanging all over me at the party, even I was uncomfortable with her forwardness. Serves him the fuck right though, asshole. He’s lucky I didn’t pulverize his face.
But this situation is strange. This beautiful, funny, interesting girl knows Adam Reynolds, as in ‘on a first name basis’ knows him. Now I really hate him. An icy cold sensation creeps down my spine, causing me to clutch my hands into fists under the table. What if he fucked Sydney? I’d have to break his neck, not that I wouldn’t have before, but if he touched her. Fuck!
Struggling to contain my anger at the knowledge that this jerk knows this intriguing woman, I can’t help but ask, “You know him?” I stab my finger at his stupid picture.
She seems bewildered, an almost sickened look on her face. “Yes. No. Kind of. I don’t know. I don’t understand. He comes in here a lot. We sit together when we’re here at the same time, maybe a dozen times over the last few months. I only know him from the Coffee Bar. I’ve never seen him outside of here. And I guess I never asked enough personal questions for me to know that he would appear on the cover of freaking GQ magazine!”
Good. I let out the breath I had been holding. So she doesn’t really know him. She’s seen him in here though. And interestingly, she didn’t know he was a celebrity either. This girl must literally live under a rock. There’s no way she doesn’t know who Adam Reynolds is.
“You had no idea that the man you have been chatting with for several months was Adam Reynolds? Grammy winning lead singer of Sphere of Irony, Adam Reynolds? That’s crazy? Everyone knows who he is.” Okay, now I sound like the cold bastard that I usually am around women. It’s that damn Reynolds, I can’t stand him!
“Look, Sydney doesn’t own a TV. She doesn’t read gossip rags, or follow celebrity bullshit, okay?” Shocked, I look over at Sydney’s tiny blonde friend. She sounds angry, but she’s actually assuring me that Sydney really has no idea who Adam is, and letting me know that Sydney doesn’t know who I am either. “She doesn’t care about that crap, so trust me, no, she had no clue who he was.” I think I owe this girl a thank you. She’s trying to explain Sydney to me and help me score with her friend.
“Leah!” Embarrassed, Sydney turns and looks at me after admonishing her friend. “I just don’t care for that whole scene, you know? I’m not interested in famous people’s lives, and everything on TV sucks so I just don’t bother with it.”
I study Sydney intently. Wanting to know what she’s thinking more than I’ve ever wanted to know anything before. Doesn’t like celebrity gossip, go to the movies, or watch TV? Who is this girl? I smile, she can’t be real.
“Ok, I believe you. I’ve just never met anyone who wasn’t at least familiar with most famous faces, let alone held multiple conversations with one on a first name basis and still didn’t recognize them. I think it’s great. People do spend too much time obsessing over celebrities and in front of the TV. It’s nice to know that not everyone is like that.”
She’s too good to be true. I drink more coffee to keep from blurting out that I might be in love with her.
Leah’s mouth falls open after my hypocritical, anti-celebrity speech. She must think I’m crazy, but it’s true. I love acting, but all the famous shit is exactly that, shit.
She draws her eyebrows together in bewilderment and then relaxes her features to turn back to Sydney. “I wanted to show you his interview, Syd.” She flips open the magazine to a folded page and points something out to Sydney. “Right here, see what Adam says?”
Sydney, clearly irritated, bats Leah’s hand out of her way and reads from the article out loud.
GQ: So you’ve been in New York City for the last 3 months recording your new solo album, do you have any favorite haunts in the city?
AR: Well, I’ve been right busy, and the studio hours are really early, but Galaxy, a nightclub in SoHo is brilliant. And there’s a neat little café, the Village Coffee Bar, in the West Village that makes the best specialty croissants you’ve ever had.
GQ: Who knew you were a croissant lover?
AR: I know, (laughing, he smacks his abs with his hand) I can’t eat too many, it’s too painful to sweat off later in the gym. I’m hoping to make it back to New York soon, because a friend of mine is redesigning Verve, the nightclub at the Warren Hotel, I’ve seen some of her work and she’s quite the talent. I’m keen on checking it out.
GQ: I’m sure the Warren will send you an invite to the opening.
AR: Hopefully. (Crosses fingers and laughs)
Sydney’s voice wavers as she reaches the last few sentences. Okay, so he mentions the coffee shop, Sydney already said that she met him here before. That explains why all these women are flocking into the café and standing around doing nothing. Each one of them is hoping to catch a glimpse of the magnificent asshat, Adam Reynolds. I know he’s in New York recording an album because, lucky me, I saw him at that New Year’s Eve Party last week.
“Shit.”
I look up when Sydney curses and see that she appears ill. Her coloring is pale and she’s shaking.
What the hell is going on?
“I know, Syd. I know.” Leah’s face crumples as she looks at her friend. “But think of all the publicity the Warren is getting. If they didn’t already love you, they really love you now. This is why it’s so busy in here today. I know Adam just thought he was helping you and me out. He doesn’t know about you, Syd.”
Adam doesn’t know what? What is in the GQ article that helps Sydney out? I had already heard that the Warren Hotel is redesigning their nightclub. Adam even references that in the magazine. Does Sydney know something about the new nightclub? Can she get him into the opening? That’s low even for Reynolds, using a magazine to ask a chick out. And what about Kiera? He’ll just fuck both of them?
Jesus Forrester, control it. I can feel the anger clawing its way up from my gut. I have no idea why I’m feeling this way, I hardly know her.
Before I can ask any of the million or so questions that are overwhelming my mind, Sydney throws the magazine across the table and stands up, wrapping her arms around her waist as if she’s physically holding herself together. “I can’t talk about this now. Call me later.”
What? She can’t just leave again! I’m not done talking to her.
Leah snatches up the GQ and stares at me one last time, her intelligent eyes narrowing as if trying to figure out my motives with her friend. “Nice to meet you, Drew,” she says and stalks off to the serving counter, her blonde ponytail bouncing around behind her.
While I’m sitting here worrying about Leah’s reaction to me, I notice that Sydney is swiping all of her stuff into her giant purse and throwing away her trash. She’s running away from me for the second time in a week! She can’t just leave without giving me a way to contact her. I leap up out of my seat to follow Sydney out. “Are you leaving?”
Fuck, now I’m panting after this chick like a dog.
She’s stuffing her arms into her coat like the place is on fire. “Yes, I need to get out of here.” She finds out a guy she chats with occasionally is famous, so she freaks out and runs away? This makes no sense.
Sydney is clearly distraught. I can’t let her walk home like this, what if someone takes advantage of her? “I’m going with you, you’re upset. I can walk you home if you like.”
Then maybe I’ll get her to give me her number. God, I sound like a stalker. A famous, movie star, lunatic, Adam Reynolds-hating stalker.
“Drew, you’re being very nice considering I just acted like a total psycho. Just because you saved me once doesn’t mean that you have an obligation to walk me home.” She looks in my eyes and I see it there, behind the fear. She doesn’t want to end our conversation either, but for whatever reason, she needs to be somewhere else right now. I feel hope rising up in me.
Be honest with her Forrester.
I reach out and touch her arm to stop her from bolting out of the café. Just like the last time, a spark of electricity shoots straight to my dick. Jesus, calm down. I can’t let her see a damn tent in my pants.
“First of all, you’re not a psycho, well, maybe a little for sitting with a strange pseudo-repellant man who gives really good first aid and rides home to bleeding women. Second, I know I’m not obligated to walk you home, but I don’t think you should be alone when you’re upset. Plus, I just like talking to you and was hoping we could talk more.”
She nods at me, a little stunned. Maybe when I touched her she felt it too. I grab the brim of my cap and pull it down to hide from the Adam Reynolds’ fan club in the café and follow her outside.
Shit, this is my chance. Go big or go home, right?