CHAPTER 5
After wiping the sweat out of my eyes with a towel, I take a long drink of water. I need to catch my breath for a minute before I can speak, so I hold up a finger to Damien Spader, my best friend and trainer, to let him know I need a break. It’s already been a long day and it’s only ten in the morning. I had to be up early to call in for an interview with Entertainment Weekly. I love talking about the movies I make, but they always try to pry into my personal life and it gets really tiresome.
“What’s with you today, Forrester? Are you trying to kill me?” He’s panting too. We’re sparring at the gym Damien owns, the run down hole in the wall in Hell’s Kitchen where Sydney came stumbling into my life.
I’ve been practicing Muay Thai and Ju Jitsu here for about eight years, ever since Damien was hired to get me in shape for a movie. He introduced me to both of the sports to prepare me to play a disgraced UFC fighter. We’ve been friends ever since.
Usually, we’re pretty even when we spar, although I’m sure he could take me down every single time if he wanted to. He knows not to hurt me badly enough to do it. I sign contracts that require me to show up for filming in one piece, I can’t turn up with a dislocated shoulder or a broken nose. It makes me feel like a pussy sometimes, that we can’t just go at it, but I have to make a living and a lot of other people depend on those paychecks too. Damien hates it, but he understands. There are times when I think he really wants to kick my ass though.
“Sorry, D,” I huff, throwing down the protective head gear and bending over to catch my breath. “I have a lot on my mind.”
Actually, I was thinking about whoever made Sydney such a nervous wreck, and how I would pound the shit out of them if we ever met. I might have taken some of my hostility out on Damien. I may have also pictured that ass Adam Reynolds every time my fists and feet made contact.
“Whatever, dude. Just know that I could totally smash your pretty face into the mat,” he says, but his expression tells me he’s just kidding. I did hit him harder than usual, so maybe he’s pissed and hiding it well.
Laughing, I point at myself. “Damien, this face makes millions of women drop their panties faster than you can blink. We can’t destroy their dreams now, can we?”
I give him a shit eating grin and he smiles. He knows me well enough to know that I can’t stand the attention from the fans, especially the female ones. When we go out, he gets downright infuriated at all of the interruptions from people coming up to me, bugging me for an autograph or a picture or a date. He sort of acts like my anti-wingman, keeping the adoring fans away so we can relax. Usually, I just wear my ‘human-repelling’ costume, as Sydney put it. It’s easier when you’re not spotted in the first place.
“Guess we can’t. How could I sleep at night knowing that women all over the world are mourning the loss of your beauty? But it would be a hell of a lot easier going out for a few beers if you did fuck up your face.” He punches my arm and we call it a day.
Normally, I just walk the six blocks back to my place in Chelsea, but I don’t want to waste time getting stopped by fans today. I shaved this morning before I left, to keep the pads from irritating my face, so I actually look like Andrew Forrester today. Bruce is waiting for me out front with the car when I dart out the front door of the gym and hop in the back seat.
“Thanks, Bruce,” I tell him as I shut the door. “Just straight home, please.”
“No problem, Drew.”
I’ve had Bruce driving me around New York for the past six years. I used to just call a car service whenever I needed to go somewhere, but it became annoying having all the different drivers want to have their pictures with me. Then, as I became more recognizable, the leaks to the gossip rags started to get out of control. I know the drivers were getting paid off to tell the vultures where I was and who I was with. Everywhere I went, the photographers just happened to turn up.
Bruce used to drive for a limo company that Jane had hired several times before and she quickly snatched him up when I mentioned getting my own driver. Personally, I think she likes him, which is fine by me. They’re both a part of my family. It took me two whole years to get Bruce to stop calling me Mr. Forrester, but I finally wore him down.
I take out my phone and text Sydney about our date tonight while the car heads slowly down Columbus Avenue in the thick traffic.
Me <Pick you up at 8:30? Dress nice.>
I stare at my phone, willing it to answer me. Ten minutes later, Bruce pulls behind my brownstone and into the underground garage and I frown at my phone. I still haven’t heard back from Sydney. Did she change her mind about going out with me? I feel sick to my stomach. She wouldn’t do that, would she? She seemed to be just as into me last night. Fuck, I’m usually such a confident prick, I hate this feeling.
I tell Bruce to take the day off and be back here at 8:15 or so to get me for dinner. He doesn’t think to hide his surprise that I’m going on an actual date, but fortunately he’s too polite to say anything.
Angry, I slam the door from the garage and storm up the stairs to my bedroom as I rip off my sweaty clothes. I pace back and forth in front of the window, worried that she’s blowing me off. Shit! I’m not used to chasing a woman. I have no idea if she’s supposed to respond to my text right away. Maybe it’s some chick thing to play hard to get or some crap like that. I hate not being able to control this situation.
A thought crosses my mind that halts me in my tracks. What if she’s seeing someone else? I’d probably kill him if I met him. I. Don’t. Share. What’s. Mine. And I fully intend on making Sydney mine very soon.
This is ridiculous. I step into the shower and turn it to cold, letting the freezing water hit my skin. I need to get control of myself and my anger. Sydney doesn’t strike me as the type to play games. If she were, she certainly wouldn’t have freaked out so much in the café when she found out who Adam was.
This girl is making me absolutely fucking nuts. I haven’t doubted myself in so long; I have no idea what to do with a real woman. One who doesn’t fling her panties in my face five seconds after meeting me, which it turns out, is a real turn off.
Even the frigid water in the shower doesn’t stop me from getting a hard on from thinking about Sydney. Jesus, I would think jerking off twice a day for the last week would have cured me of this obsession with her. It hasn’t. Even now, under the cold water, my dick is getting hard.
Unable to stop myself, I reach down and run my hand up my length, squeezing as I reach the tip. My cock clearly doesn’t care how cold the water is. The thought of Sydney’s full pink lips and tight ass make my dick throb in my hand.
I drop my head and slap one hand up on the tiled wall as I stroke faster, letting the image of Sydney drive the pleasurable sensations through my body. My balls tighten up when I visualize tasting her wet pussy, her legs wrapped around my head as I dive my tongue in and out of her sweet cunt. When the stimulation reaches a peak, I pump my hand faster until all of my frustration and desire explodes out of me, endless streams of come jetting into the drain and wiping my mind clear for at least the next few minutes.
Disgusted with myself, I turn the dial to hot and catch my breath, leaning back against the wall until I catch my breath. I wash off quickly and hop out, grabbing a huge towel to wrap around my waist. Jerking-off did absolutely nothing to help me figure out what to do about my date. I throw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, grab my phone, and head downstairs to my office.
I don’t really have anyone I can call to help talk me down from what I’m sure is an overreaction on my part. Damien? He’ll just tell me to fuck her and move on. Jane? She was so shocked that I was going on a date that she couldn’t speak. I can only think of one other person that I trust enough to call.
“Drew? What’s up?” My sister Allie sounds surprised to hear from me. And she’s right, it is unusual for me to bother her on a Friday morning.
“Hey Al, do you have a minute?” I feel so stupid calling my baby sister for girl advice, but really, if anyone knows what a young single woman is thinking, it’s Allie.
“Sure, is everything okay?” I can hear her shuffling stuff and then walking somewhere. Probably so her coworkers don’t hear her. She’s a pharmacist at a hospital in Boston and she doesn’t tell anyone that I’m her brother. She made that mistake in college and it became one big clusterfuck. My fucking job ruins everything sometimes.
“Yeah, I just need to ask you about … well …” I have no idea how to put this.
“Say it Drew, you’re freaking me out!” Great, Allie’s getting upset. She’s probably thinking the worst right now.
“Okay, I met a girl.”
“A girl? You are calling me about a girl?” She starts laughing uncontrollably. I can see her right now, hunched over, clutching her stomach while tears run down her face.
“Ha-ha, super funny, sis. I’m trying to open up to you here. Aren’t women always saying that men are too emotionally unavailable? I need advice, so stop it!”
She calms down and attempts to be serious. “Okay, sorry. What kind of advice on women does the ‘Sexiest Man Alive’ need from his little sister?” She starts giggling again.
“Allie! C’mon! You’re making me feel like a wicked pussy here.” Talking to my friends and family always brings back my Boston accent. I worked hard to ditch it, and it fires right back up whenever I speak to them. I explain the Sydney situation to her, keeping it short, and wait for a response.
“Al? What do you think?” I wait again. “Allie! What the hell?”
“Drew, I don’t know what to say. If she really doesn’t know who you are, then I’m amazed. Marry her, big brother. You’ll never find another girl who has the potential to love you for just you. And I’m not saying that to make you feel shitty, but because I care.”
“I know, Al. It’s unbelievable that I found someone who has absolutely no interest in Andrew Forrester.” We always refer to my public persona as a third person, because I am most definitely not him. He’s not real. He’s a product of excellent marketing. No one wants to buy tickets to see a movie starring Drew from Boston; the one who wears ugly old sentimental baseball hats and likes to have a beer with his friends.
That’s fine by me because I don’t want people to know me like that. I much prefer the two separate lives. But women only ever know the Andrew Forrester that they see on the screen and in the magazines; they don’t have any interest in Drew. “She saw me in my Trevor Caldwell hat and still let me come back to her place.”
“Wow. Just wow. Any girl that would hang out with you after seeing that disgusting piece of crap on your head is perfect for you. I wouldn’t worry about the text, bro. She’s probably getting a dress or getting her hair done. Or hey, ever think that she might be at work and can’t check her phone? Some of us have jobs we have to go to every single day.” God I love her sarcasm. She definitely keeps me grounded in reality.
“You’re right. I’m just nervous, that’s all. I gotta go Al, thanks for listening.”
“Drew, if she’s as great as you say she is, then she’ll love you. You’re an awesome guy.”
“Love ya sis.”
“Love ya too. Bye!” She hangs up and I stare at the phone for a second.
I really hope my sister is right about Sydney.