“That’s not enough? Well, how about I ask you, why are you here with me?”
“Oh, come on, whowouldn’tbe here with you?”
He swallowed. “Plenty of people, I would hope.”
“You hope that plenty of peoplewouldn’twant to be here with you?” She looked at his face, and evidently saw trouble there. “Oh crap, I’ve offended you. I didn’t mean to! I’m just saying—you have so many fans.”
“I would hope the only reason a woman would be with me is that she likes me for who I am, not what I am. I’m here with you because (a) I find you very attractive, obviously, in all kinds of ways, and (b) I think you see a different person from what other people see. And I never would have thought I’d reach the point with a woman, so quickly, that we’re talking about this stuff.”
She contemplated that, seemingly on the brink of being convinced. “They say humans have an innate ability to recognize someone who is genuine, within seconds of meeting them. A survival instinct. I read a?—”
“—book about it?” he finished, earning a smile. He released her and walked to his book stack, picking up the Whitman. He flicked to the poem he was after. “‘Among the men and women the multitude, I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs.’”
“‘Thatone knows me,’” she finished.
“Sure,” he said, turning, “I can go out and have sex with any number of women right now, as you could with any number of men.”
“Hardly. I mean, you, sure, but me? Uh-uh.”
“It’s a fact. I believe there are apps just for that. No-strings-attached sex. Either of us could go out and sleep with a different person every day, for the rest of our lives. Finding someone to sleep with isn’t hard. Finding someone you connect with? Nearly impossible.”
“Ah, your numbers game.”
“Finding someone you can happily do both with? Wow. To answer your question, I’m here with you because I feel like we have a connection beyond any of the many surface-deep reasons we could be sleeping together. And that’s a rarity in my life.”
“Mine, too. I mean, I don’t know, maybe I am affected by your celebrity—it’s such a part of who you are. But I’m definitely affected byyou.”
“I wish I’d met you before you knew who I was. Like, two weeks ago.”
“You wouldn’t have given me a chance. Youdidn’tgive me a chance, when I tried to talk to you on set.”
“You’re right, I wouldn’t have. More fool me. But you wouldn’t have given me a chance, either, given how much you hate being the center of attention. If we hadn’t met the way we met, there’s probably no scenario in which we made it this far.”
“I wouldn’t have backed myself. If you’d walked straight up to me and asked me out, celebrity or not, I would have assumed it was a joke.” Her smile turned sad. “But I’m glad we did make it this far.”
He tossed the book on his bed and walked back to her, stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets. “I know you already said you don’t want more than this.” He indicated the space between them. “And you’re wise not to. Being with me—properly, I mean—it would change your life. And I’m aware that sounds like a line, but it’s not.”
“It’s a warning.”
“Not to mention, relationships are near impossible when you work the stupid hours I do and you’re away all the time. I know these sound like lines, but I’m just saying, it’s not you, it’s my stupid life.”
“No, I know. We agree on that point.” She slid her arms around him, nestling her head under his chin, and he wrapped her up, and there they stood, lapsing into silence. It felt like abreakup. A beautiful breakup, but a breakup. Still, if they called it quits now, he could look back later with good memories. A soft-focus interlude in a crazy action-adventure thriller in which they were chased by goons, tased, papped, mobbed, and nearly arrested.
There was a knock at the door. His first thought was Darnell, but when he opened it, his parents were standing there—both of them. They glanced at each other, as if for strength.
His mom reached out and took his hand. “Darling, it’s Darnell. He’s had an accident. It sounds bad.”
Chapter 22
Griffin
When Griffin and Lana arrived at Beverly Grove Health Center, fans were already outside with homemade posters imploring Darnell to get well, alongside paparazzi and TV crews. Griffin barely cared as they filmed and photographed him. He barely noticed being whisked through reception and taken up to intensive care.
As they walked into Darnell’s room, Griffin’s focus zeroed in on the bed. His friend’s head was bandaged and he was intubated and hooked up to multiple machines. For once, he looked every one of his seventy-two years. Griffin touched his shoulder. “Hey, buddy.”
“You’re his next of kin?”
Griffin turned. A man wearing scrubs stood to one side of the bed—a tall blond guy in his thirties. Beside him was…
