Page 4 of Totally Wrecked
He has lines around his mouth and eyes, and his straight black hair has a smattering of gray. But, even with tired eye-bags, Killian is very, actually exceedingly, attractive. He’s wearing faded black jeans, and a dark, vee neck tee-shirt that is so thin it’s almost transparent. A packet of cigarettes is rolled up in the sleeve cuff, and a tattoo peaks out from beneath it. Killian looks a little worn around the edges... I know how he feels. He gives me a half smile and seems to have a question in his eyes.
He’s like the sad Keanu meme.
Frances puts a glass of juice in my hand then pats Killian on the arm. “Killian is taking over from Trevor.” She turns to him and adds, “Brooke’s had a few weeks off since the last filming session. The last one was quite taxing.”
“Ah yes,” Killian nods, “the underground caves, right? Glad I wasn’t doing sound on that one, would have been a challenge.” When he speaks, I hear an Irish accent. It’s massively sexy. I catch a whiff of him, his body smells hot, musky and there is maybe the smell of cigarette smoke.
“It was a challenging session,” Frances sighs. “We lost more contestants than we’d expected.”
“Is this session going to be equally tough?” Killian asks.
Frances looks at me and grins. “Well, I can’t give away any secrets, but let’s just say that it’s a good thing Brooke is so fearless!”
“Ha ha,” I give a laugh that probably makes me sound a little insane. “Fearless me, down to a tee!”
“I’m going to look for Harvey,” Frances tells us. “You guys hang out and chat.”
Harvey? Wait, what! I thought I wouldn't see him!
We both watch her go, then Killian flags down a passing waiter and orders another whisky. I’m jealous. “More juice, Brooke?”
Fudge nuggets, this is an emergency situation.
“Can I get a whisky too?” I ask him.
I can just have one while no one else is around.
His eyebrows raise again. “Sure, whatever you want.”
Ha! What I want is an alien invasion, so I can just get sucked up into a spaceship and out of here, but I guess I'll settle for a whiskey.
KILLIAN
Well, this is weird. I have no idea if Brooke has really forgotten me or if she's playing some odd game. I’m truly at a loss.
And my head hurts. Jesus Christ, these people are the worst.
I press my fingers to my temples, as though I can force the headache away. The forty hour travel here was insane and I’m questioning my decision to say yes to this gig. A waiter comes back with two Jameson’s. I give one to Brooke who immediately clutches it like it’s a life preserver—you and me both, Brooke. You and me both.
“So,” she is saying, “how long have you been a sound man?”
Ah, so she’s forgotten me.
That doesn’t do a lot for my ego, seeing as we hooked up and boned like rabbits for a couple of nights. She was extremely demanding and athletic, but I’d thought I’d done a reasonable job; apparently not my finest work. We’d been filming the first episode of “Champion” and there had been a twenty-four hour break (gotta fecking love unions). She'd made all the moves on me, and I was more than happy to scratch her itch.
Brooke is sipping on her whisky, looking at me like she’s waiting for an answer.Oh, right—how long have I been a sound engineer?
“I’ve been in the industry since I left school, so fifteen years I guess?”
I can’t stop obsessing about her not remembering me. I mean, ten months ago it seemed like she had a mind like a steel trap, as they say. Also, she was an adamant non-drinker before, too worried about the empty carbs on her perfectly toned body.
Hmm. That perfectly toned body has also been let slide.
Though I prefer it as it is now; a little softer, and a little more curvaceous. She was all hard edges and sharp words before… It's weird. Maybe the competition has taken its toll on her?
Brooke grabs several canapes from a passing server, and shoves them in her mouth.
“Sorry,” she says, “I’m starving.”
