Page 50 of Camera Chemistry
“Oh, you are a hoot, aren’t you? We’re going to take a quick commercial break. When we come back, we’ll have Deals with Demi. See you soon,” Deborah says. The camera clicks off, and she turns to me with a grin. “He must have been a good fuck. Why else would you be so elusive? I can see it. He’s got the whole dad bod thing going. I don’t find it attractive, but I’m glad some women do.”
My cheeks burn and rage boils in me. “Pardon?”
Deborah waves her hand and stands. “Yeah. It’s always the ones you don’t expect to be good who really blow your mind, huh?”
I stand too. “Who cares what his body looks like? Aiden is a great guy. Sorry you’re a vapid woman who is shallow enough to only date a guy because of his physical attributes. And by the way, if I wanted to say something to him publicly, I wouldn’t do it on your show. So much for empowering women, huh? Thanks for slut-shaming me on national television.”
I storm off set, ripping the microphone from my shirt. Jeremiah follows behind me after adding a few choice words to the host as well. “Mags,” he says, catching up to me. “Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay. I miss him, Jeremiah. A whole fucking lot.”
“I know, sweetie.” He gives me a hug, and I’m surprised when I start to cry.
“I thought he would be here today. I thought he would send me a message. But every day that goes by and he doesn’t, I think he’s forgotten me when I can’t get him out of my damn head.”
“I don’t think he’s forgotten about you, Mags. I think he’s just scared.”
“Yeah, well, I’m scared too.”
“I hate seeing you like this. You weren’t even this bent out of shape after your divorce.”
“Do you think it makes me look pathetic if I reach out?”
“No,” Jeremiah says. “It means you haven’t given up. It means you have hope.”
“Hope,” I repeat. I smile at the word. “Sometimes, that’s half the battle.”
THIRTY
AIDEN
I could have loved her.
It’s a forlorn realization, a discovery made far too late. With time, though, it would have happened. Easily. I would have fallen hopelessly and irrevocably in love with Maggie Houston, because she’s a woman you don’t let out of your sight.
But I did, like a moron. I didn’t bother to fight or make an argument about why she should stay. It’s not what she wanted, and, more than anything, I want to give her exactly what she wants. Even if it doesn’t include me.
I can still feel her legs around my waist. Her skin, soft and smooth, under the palm of my hands as a bead of sweat rolls down her cheek. I can hear the echo of her moans against the four corners of my room and the smell of her hair—like springtime flowers—lingers on my pillowcase.
I flip onto my side and stare at the empty space she once occupied. A lifetime has passed, while at the same time, no time has passed at all. The bed is colder without her here. The room, darker, a light extinguished and a flame snuffed out.
Fuck, I miss her.
My chest aches, a physical ailment plaguing me the longer my eyes fixate on the wrinkled cotton. I run my palm across the sheets and heave a sigh. It makes no sense, an unexplainable phenomenon as to how she worked herself into my life so quickly without a substantial amount of time.
Making a snap decision, half-drunk and feeling a little stupid after watching her interview earlier in the afternoon during a quick break at work, I grab my phone off the nightstand and find Maggie’s contact info. We exchanged numbers before leaving the photo shoot, in case either of us changed our minds about meeting up. There are no messages there, not yet. Before I can think twice or talk myself off the ledge I’ve climbed, my fingers fly across the screen, typing the first communication.
Aiden: Hate to disappoint—no tattoo removal for me.
I hit send before I can regret the pathetic opening line. There’s no merit to it, but, at the very least, I hope it makes her laugh.
I don’t have to wait long for a response. It takes less than two minutes for my phone to ding.
Maggie: Millions would mourn the loss.
Then, in quick succession,
Maggie: You saw the interview, I take it?
