Trev mercifully changed the subject without questioning her. “You saw last week’sUSA Todaypoll, right? Favorite sitcom heroines? Scooter Brown came in third after Lucy and Mary Tyler Moore. You even beat out Barbara Eden.”
She’d seen the poll and couldn’t bring herself to care. “I hate Scooter Brown.”
“You’re the only one who does. She’s an icon. It’s anti-American not to love her.”
“The series has been off the air for eight years. Why can’t everybody let it go?”
“Maybe those perpetual reruns blasting out all over the globe have something to do with it?”
She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head. “I was a kid when the show started, only fifteen. And barely twenty-three when it ended.”
He took in her red eyes but didn’t comment on them. “Scooter Brown is ageless. Every woman’s best friend. Every man’s favorite virgin.”
“But I’m not Scooter Brown. I’m Georgie York. My life belongs to me, not to the world.”
“Good luck with that.”
She couldn’t let herself do this any longer. Perpetually reacting to external forces. Unable to set her own counterforces in motion. Always acted upon. Never acting. She drew her knees closer and studied the rainbows she’d asked her manicurist to paint on her toenails in the vain hope of cheering herself up. If she didn’t do this now, she never would. “Trev, what would you think about you and me having a little—abigromance?”
“Romance?”
“The two of us.” She couldn’t look at him, and she kept her eyes on the rainbows. “Falling very publicly in love. And…maybe—” She pushed out the words. “Trev, I’ve been thinking about this for a long time…I know you’re going to think it’s crazy. Itiscrazy. But…If you don’t hate the idea, I was thinking…we should at least consider the possibility of…getting married.”
“Married?”Trevor’s feet hit the deck.
He was one of her dearest friends, but her cheeks burned. Still, what was one more monumentally humiliating moment in a year filled with them? She unlocked her arms from her knees. “I know I shouldn’t be dumping this on you out of nowhere. And I know it’s weird. Really weird. I felt that way when I first started thinking about it, but when I considered it objectively, I couldn’t see a big downside.”
“Georgie, I’m gay.”
“You’rerumoredto be gay.”
“I’m also really gay.”
“But you’re so deep in the closet hardly anybody knows.” The fresh scrape on her ankle stung as she eased her legs over the side of the chaise. “This would finally put an end to the rumors. Face it, Trev. If the frat-boy crowd ever finds out you’re playing for their team, your career is gone.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” He rubbed his hand over his shaved head. “Georgie, your life is a circus, and as much as I adore you, I don’t want to be dragged into the center ring.”
“That’s the point. If you and I were together, the circus would stop.” As he sat back down, she went to his side and knelt there. “Trev, just think about it. We’ve always gotten along. We’d be able to live our lives the way we want—without any interference from each other. Think about how much more freedom you’d have—we’d both have.” She rested her cheek against his knee, just for a moment, then sat back on her heels. “You and I aren’t an odd couple like Lance and I were. Trevor and Georgie are a boring match, and after the first couple of months, the press will leave us alone. We could live under the radar. You wouldn’t need to keep going out with all those women you have to pretend to be interested in. You could see who you wanted. Our marriage would be the perfect cover for you.” And for her, it would be a way to make the world stop its pity party. She’d have both her public dignity back and a kind of insurance policy to keep her from ever again throwing herself off an emotional cliff for a man.
“Think about it, Trev. Please.” She needed to let him get used to the idea before she mentioned children. “Think how liberating it would be.”
“I’m not marrying you.”
“Me either.” A horrifyingly familiar voice drifted across the deck. “I’d rather stop drinking.”
Georgie shot to her feet and watched Bramwell Shepard saunter up the stairs from the beach. He stopped at the top, his mouth quirking with calculated amusement.
She sucked in her breath.
“Don’t let me interrupt.” He leaned against the rail. “This is the most interesting conversation I’ve eavesdropped on since Scooter and her friends debated dyeing their pubic hair. Trev, why didn’t you tell me you’re a fairy? Now we can’t ever be seen in public together again.”
Unlike Georgie, Trevor seemed relieved by the interruption, and he pointed his margarita glass in the general direction of Bram’s sun-drenched head. “You fixed me up with my last boyfriend.”
“I must have been wasted.” Her former costar took her in. “Speaking of wasted…You look like crap.”
She had to get out of here. She glanced toward the doors that led back into the house, but a frail ember of dignity still lingered in the ashes of her self-respect, and she couldn’t let him see her run. “What are you doing here?” she said. “This isn’t an accident.”
He nodded toward the pitcher. “You two aren’t really drinking that shit, are you?”
