Page 4 of How Jenna Became My Dilemma

“Charming.” My nose scrunches as I turn my head.

“At least she made it to the toilet.”

Two more retches are followed by a long, drawn-out moan as the woman rests against the wall.

“Do you think you can take her now? I really need to use the restroom.”

“Come on.” Cody bends down, wrapping her arm around his shoulder. “Up she goes.”

Once to her feet, she ducks out of Cody’s arm and stumbles toward the door, turning back to face us. “Thanksh for showing me your Oshcar.” I would’ve taken her comment to be dirty, except for the fact that Cody just won an actual Oscar tonight for his supporting role in Men in Flames. “I’d love to schee it again shometime.” She attempts a wink, but it’s more like a double-chin grimace with one eye closed. On her way out, she hits her head on the door jamb and disappears down the hall.

“She’s a keeper.” I whistle. “I hope you got her phone number for later. But in all seriousness, I didn’t have the facts to calculate whether or not she’s in danger of alcohol poisoning, so watch her closely.”

“That’s nice of you to be so concerned.”

“Well, I don’t want anything bad to happen to her.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure she gets home safe.”

“I bet you will.” There’s a sarcastic bite behind my words.

Cody slowly approaches me. His nearness is a surprise, and I step back, hitting the open door against the wall.

“I told you. She’s not in the rotation. I’m saving the spot for you.”

My eyes dart back and forth across his face. Now that I’m looking directly at him, there are a few notable things worth mentioning. One: Cody Banner’s short beard, angular jaw, and smooth skin are as exquisite up close as they are on the big screen. Two: he smells incredible. Maybe he wasn’t born with sweat glands and, therefore, doesn’t have the natural body odor you’d expect from a ten-hour night of partying and dancing (actually, I think we’re on our eleventh hour of the night—award shows start crazy early). And three: there are two different shades of lipstick on his shirt collar, and I’m guessing neither belongs to the woman who just exited the bathroom.

His smile taunts and teases like it’s his job to make women blush. My breaths are shallow, and all I want is to be free of him so I can breathe again.

“Unless you’d like more than vomit on your Armani shoes, I’d take your exit now.”

He sniffs out a laugh before lazily leaning down like he’s picking something up. My eyes drop to the side, following his outstretched hand. It’s the freaking Oscar. He brought it with him to the bathroom like it’s an inhaler or a tampon. I hadn’t noticed it on the floor beside us, but there it is, in all its golden, chiseled-man glory.

“Don’t want to leave this behind.” He straightens, shaking the trophy in front of my face. “Apparently, it’s a big deal.” His body turns as if he’s finally going to leave, but then he stops. He leans in close, purposely tickling my neck with his words. “By the way, my shoes are Prada brushed leather. Not Armani.”

My gaze holds his stare. “All the more reason not to get them wet.”

Cody smiles, running his heated gaze across my face. Just when I feel like I’m about to melt under his stare, he resumes his strides, finally leaving me alone with my business.

* * *

“I’d love to hear about when you two met up again for the second time to film The Promised Prince.” Nina cuts through my daydream with her next question. “What was that like?”

A nightmare, Nina. It was like my worst nightmare.

My head shakes in perfect innocence. “It’s nothing special. Just a boring story.”

Cody turns his head to me with a dazzling smile. “It wasn’t that boring.”

CODY: FIVE MONTHS AGO

I lean forward, catching my driver’s attention. “Can we stop on the way at Taco Bell or something? I’m starving.”

“No.” Dallas makes the decision from the passenger seat as if he’s the superstar and I’m his publicity manager—a depressing role reversal. “We’re already late to your first table read with the cast, and the entire point of doing this series is to improve your image. No one is going to take you seriously if you show up late on day one, holding a nacho cheese steak chalupa.”

“What if I show up holding a nacho bell grande? Would that be okay?”

Dallas rolls his eyes, shifting his annoyance out the window. But as soon as he settles, he straightens again in his uptight way. “There’s a woman up ahead with car trouble.” He cranes his neck, trying to see.

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