Page 8 of Callback
CHAPTER FOUR
Marly
“Honey, I’m home!”I called out, skipping into the stunning condo Omar and I shared. There were days I couldn’t believe this was my life. When I moved to LA five years earlier, I never would have imagined that I’d be living in three-thousand square feet of luxury with my gay “fiancé” and starring in movies.
The smell of roasted vegetables wafted in the foyer, along with Sister Sledge blaring through the speakers. I inhaled, following my nose to the kitchen.
“Hey, boo,” Omar leaned in, pecking me on the forehead, spatula in hand and a red apron tied around his waist. It was a stark contrast to his 6’5 massive frame. Bulging, veined muscles dipped and curved over his arms and even through the frilly apron, I could see the definition of a six-pack.
I smothered my laugh in my palm. “You better hope we don’t have any paparazzi planted outside the window,” I said, gesturing to his outfit.
He placed his hands on my waist and circled his hips against mine, thrusting. Then, he spanked me playfully with the spatula. I ducked away as he was about to give me a second swat, narrowly escaping the swinging cooking utensil. Laughing, he danced back over to the oven. “That ought to keep the tabloids happy for a while,” he winked, pouring me a glass of wine. “How’d the audition go?”
I inhaled the spicy wine before taking a sip. Unsuccessfully, I tried to hide my grin behind the lip of the glass. “I got a callback.”
“What?” Omar threw down the spatula. “Already?”
If possible, my smile stretched even wider, as I nodded.
“Oh, hell yeah!” Omar rushed over, lifting me in a hug with a quick smack to the lips. “Did they just tell you right there on the spot?” He lowered me to my feet, his massive hands still cradling my hips.
I flushed, buying myself a moment with another sip of wine. “Actually—I thought I sucked. I was preparing to go back in and beg for a mulligan… but on my way, the actor I read with stopped me, telling me I would ruin it by going back.” I shrugged, avoiding Omar’s questioning gaze.
“So, they haven’t actually called you back yet?”
“No—but he gave me this.” I held the watch up for Omar to see. “And told me I could bring it back when I come in for the callback.”
Omar’s face crumpled into skeptical lines, taking the Rolex and turning it over in his hands. “Who is this guy? Why were you alone with him?”
I chuckled, loving how protective he was of me. Growing up, it was always just my father and me. And as loving and organized as my dad was, he was also a single parent and not exactly the over-protective, shotgun-bearing father you see in movies. And these days, Omar was the closest thing to family I had. “Careful, Omar. You actuallysoundlike an overprotective fiancé, now.” I brushed my hands over his furled brow, rubbing gently at the worry lines. “And if you don’t watch it, you’re going to end up needing Botox before I do.”
His face softened, but he caught my hand in his. “Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I guess someone in that audition liked you enough to look out for you, huh?”
His statement needled me. Liked me how? For my talent as an actress? For my ass? Or for the rumors he’d heard? I swallowed, hating that whisper of doubt that always crept into my mind after an audition. If I wasn’t careful, I’d start believing the rumors myself soon. Pushing the thoughts away, I climbed onto the barstool across from where Omar cooked. “I guess.”
“Even still, sweetie, don’t count your chickens and all that.” He moved back over to the oven, picking up his spatula once more. “For all we know, that’s not even a real Rolex.”
I cleared my throat, playing with the corner of an envelope on the kitchen island. “Actually, the guy who helped me—it was Jude Fisher.”
“Are you kidding me? Mr.I’ve won two Oscars and I’ve only just turned thirtygave you his watch?” The words were playful, but Omar’s grip on the spatula tensed.
I shrugged, trying to play it down. But inside? I was freaking out, too. “He’s already cast as the lead in the film and so he was there in the audition room.” I took another sip of wine, swallowing down the giddy feeling that rose in my belly. “Have you met him before?”
“Once at a party.” Omar muttered, stirring the vegetables. “Be careful with that one. Rumor has it he and that ex-wife of his were more than a little wild.” He threw a glance at me from over his shoulder, eyebrow raised.
My stomach lurched. “He didn’t seem wild. Intense, yeah.”
“You know what else is intense? Tigers. Intense, wild, and powerful….” Omar studied me and a flush crawled up my neck. I inwardly cursed, knowing my freckles would flare at any moment. I hated how telling my fair skin was. “You like him?” Omar whispered.
Shit. Stupid revealing freckles. I didn’t want to like Jude. It was stupid. Immature. And dangerous to get involved with someone who was a potential costar. Omar dropped the spatula into the pan and walked over to me, his finger curling under my chin. My heart raced, pounding in my ears as I lifted my gaze to his. “You like him.” This time, it wasn’t a question.
I shrugged the comment off, grabbing some mail on the counter and flipping through it to busy myself. “I don’t even know him,” I chuckled in an effort to ease the tension.
“Okay,” Omar said, backing off. He knew me well enough to know when to leave things be. “Keep in mind, though, this little arrangement we’ve got is only supposed to be until you find someone more appropriate.”
I sighed, reaching for the wine bottle. “And what if Idon’tfind anyone?”
Omar rolled his eyes, holding out his glass for a refill as well. “Oh, c’mon. If you don’t find anyone, it’s because you’re not even making an effort. And sweetie—that clock is rounding midnight. You’re gonna turn into a pumpkin soon if you don’t get some.”
