Reservation (Preservation Series) (17 page)

My phone buzzed and I pulled it from my pocket. Sam, calling to check on me. She’d been texting me constantly since that morning, but I didn’t respond. I didn’t feel like returning any calls or texts, but I’d kept an eye on any incoming contact just in case Kate decided to call. I still hadn’t heard from her. Where the hell was she? A flood of images involving scumbag men like Mark and Eric assaulted me, but I extinguished them immediately.

My legs burned as I walked up hill. I came to the end of the street and turned right, only vaguely noting the street name. I could tell I wasn’t far from The Triple Door. At least I still had my bearings. Just as I made the turn, a barrage of flashing ensued, car doors slamming near the curb on the left. Photographers came toward me, rushing from across the street and onto the sidewalk, some confirming my whereabouts on cell phones, while others were shutter happy, busy clicking away.

Shit, I was so not in the mood for this—just when I thought I’d lost them six blocks back.

They moved in, getting up close and personal. Instead of responding to their comments, I pushed my tired feet into a full-on sprint, racing through the circle they’d formed and down the sidewalk. Car engines roared and feet hit pavement behind me, but I didn’t stop running.

Thankful the sidewalk was dipping downhill now, I kept my eyes glued to the bottom of the street as I raced toward it, pumping my arms. I pried my eyes away from the pavement only long enough to scan the side streets for an escape. I bumped into a few fellow pedestrians and mumbled apologies, spotting a narrow alleyway to the right. I reached it and dashed between its walls, hauling ass around trash cans and ratty furniture until I saw another alley up on the left. I took the turn and sprang forward, catching a brief glimpse of a back door to what appeared to be a pub. Moving too fast to read the name on the sign, I ducked inside and slammed the door behind me, waiting.

Working to catch my breath, I pushed myself off the door when no one barreled in after me and walked down the dark hallway, hearing the low rumble of voices and glasses clinking. The sounds were muted by classic rock music, which sounded like it was coming from an old-school juke box.

I exhaled in relief when the nearly-empty bar came into view. A salty old sailor type was working the bar, mopping the counter with a washcloth, while two patrons sat and drank their beers, their eyes glued on the TV screen above. I tossed my jacket on the stool next to me and took a seat, groaning as I bent my knees. I was getting too old for this shit.

“Alaskan Amber, please,” I told the bartender, thinking now would be a good time to order a drink, before the hounds caught on to my location. I doubted I’d have much time, but hopefully my escape would buy me a few minutes to catch my breath.

The dark, heavy wooden door creaked and brought with it a blast of cool air, and I immediately glanced over my shoulder to see who walked in. Thank God, just another customer. The guy greeted the bartender and took a seat next to me, removing his baseball cap.

“Good God almighty, Ryan Campbell?!” he shouted, laughing as he swung around to face me.

I cringed at the sound of his recognition, wondering why this guy had to know who I was just as I settled down to breathe, but then froze in my seat and threw him a double take. I’d know that voice anywhere, and that cheeky grin, too. “Ian?”

“Holy hell, man, how are you, brother?” He laughed again, leaning in to clap my back, which transitioned into a full-on man hug. “Never mind. Dumb question. I’ve seen you in the news, dude. You’ve gotta be pretty fucking good, right?”

I willed my eyes to be playing tricks on me, but they weren’t. There stood Ian, my former best friend, looking just as I remembered him. With floppy brown hair and that American boy-next-door smile, he still looked like the fun-loving ladies’ man I remembered him as.

“Yeah, I’m good, man. What about you, what have you been up to? Still selling insurance?”

“Yup, I work at the agency right around the corner. I love coming to O’Malley’s when I have downtime. You been coming here? I don’t know how I missed you, especially now, Mister Celebrity Hotshot!”

“Nah,” I shuffled my beer bottle between both hands, “just wandered in, actually. Running from the damn photographers.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“That’s some crazy shit, man. I can’t believe it’s really you. Damn, it’s been a long time. Sorry about the ways things were left with us, dude. I was an idiot.”

“Water under the bridge. Can I buy you a drink?”

“Hell yes, but first, hey Lucky,” he waved to the bartender, “can you do us a favor and put the closed sign up? My friend here is being hounded by photographers and could use some privacy for a while.”

Lucky glanced at me and grumbled something about losing income for the night, but lumbered over to the front door and hung the closed sign, then lowered the latch.

“I’ll pay you for the inconvenience,” I said to the man, pulling a few hundreds from my wallet. “I appreciate it.”

Ian gaped at the cash, whistling. I ordered him a drink and we slipped into conversation, just like old times. It was easy. Too easy.

“So, I saw you on the news with Melanie Carpenter on your arm, bro. Please tell me you hit that. Hell, you probably bang tons of chicks like her now, huh? That photo shoot you did for that women’s magazine last week was something else. All the ladies in the office picked up a copy and wouldn’t shut up about it. They’d all fall at your feet, guaranteed, brother.”

Apparently, it wasn’t just the conversation that was like old times. Ian hadn’t changed a bit. “Nah, I’m engaged, man. I was set up with Melanie by my publicist. He sprang it on me when I showed up to that event. I want none of that, believe me.”

“Engaged? No way, dude. Please, tell me it’s not...”

“Definitely not.”

“Thank God. I saw her a while back, ya know. She was with some new Nancy boy.”

“Oh, yeah? So Jason the hockey player is out of the picture, huh?”

“That’s what it looked like, but you never know. She was probably screwing around on him just like she screwed around on you.”

“That’s a possibility.”

“So who have you decided to settle down with now? And why didn’t you show up at this event with her instead of Melanie?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Or are you banging them both?”

I frowned and gripped my beer bottle. “I don’t screw around on Kate, Ian.”

“Ah, Lady With The Ring has a name. Well, I give you credit, dude. If I was around the chicks you were, I sure as hell wouldn’t be able to keep my dick in my pants.”

“You never could.”

“Well, I learned from a pro,” Ian quipped, gesturing at me with his bottle. A prickle of anger danced across my scalp as I stared at his face in disbelief. The tiny lines around his eyes said that he had matured. But his smartass mouth said he was still young and stupid, with only one thing on his mind.

I stood and slid another bill to the bartender. “Never could keep your mouth shut, either.” I grabbed my coat and turned for the back door. “Gotta get going. See you around, Ian.”

“
Ha
. You’re one to talk. Aw, Ryan, come on, man. Wait up!”

“Nah, I’m done here.”

“What? I haven’t seen you in ages and you just walk out on me? What the fuck, man? I was just kidding around, come on.” He followed me down the hall and I opened the back door, peering out into the alley before stepping out. Fluorescent light flooded the hall, illuminating our faces as we stood nose to nose.

“Just like you were kidding around about telling me to fuck my students, right?”

“Wait a second,” he held up his hands, laughing in disbelief, “you’re serious right now? You’re trying to put that on me?”

“What I’m saying is...you’re not kidding, Ian. That’s the point. You’re dead serious. And you haven’t changed. But I have, and I don’t wanna be around your bullshit. I won’t sit here and listen to you make fucking jokes about me screwing around on my fiancée. I’m not that guy anymore, you got it?”

“Oh, okay.” He shook his head and crossed his arms, giving me that haughty look I used to hate.

Still did.

“So you’re too good for me now, is that it?”

“Don’t pull that shit. That’s not what this is, and you know it. This is me saying I’m done.”

He inched closer. I could smell his breath. “That’s exactly what it is, and it’s damn funny, because you pulled the same shit when you started banging that Amy chick and her friends. You were too good then to share, huh? Had to have them all for yourself.”

My God, the guy really
hadn’t
changed. So much for his apology all of two minutes ago.

“Wow, still haven’t woken up, have you?” he continued, holding my stare. “When are you gonna realize that Jamie cheating on you was the best thing that ever happened to you? She set you free, man. You’re not a commitment kinda guy, and you’re fucking foolin’ yourself if you think that you are now. Hell, you’re finally doing it right, brother. The career, the women—you have it all on a silver platter. You’re exactly where you were supposed to be two years ago, only you let Jamie cloud your vision and fuck it up for you. I don’t care how much time has passed since I saw you. I know you, dude. And right now, you’re just actin’ like a pussy.”

“Stated like a true douche bag. Have a nice life, Ian.” I walked out into the alley, shrugging on my jacket.

I’m not a commitment kind of guy? Why did hearing those words from Ian and Amy irk me? As if they knew me better than I knew myself? Maybe it was the fact that I didn’t know myself the way they seemed to, and that bothered the hell out of me.

Whatever it was, I wanted my mind free and clear of it all.

“When you figure it out, come find me, Ryan!” he shouted from the doorway behind me. “You’ll see it soon enough.”

I hailed a cab and headed home, snatching up the edition of the women’s magazine Ian mentioned from the coffee table the second I walked through the door. Sam was all about showing it off at the shop and insisted I own my own copy. “That handsome stud is my BFF,” she’d bragged to her customers. “That’s right, be jealous, bitches.”

Sitting down on the couch, I placed it back on the table and stared down at the cover with a dry laugh. My face was plastered across it, the view close up on my neck and chest, a blue tie hanging loosely over my crisp white shirt. Beneath the feature title sat the words,
Whoever
said reading isn’t sexy?
with
Meet the literary world’s hottest sensation
running along the bottom of the page.

The interview was just as ridiculous as the cover. Sure, they’d asked me legitimate questions about my book. Why did I enjoy writing psychological thrillers? What inspired the story? What was the hardest part of the writing process?

But then the focus quickly shifted to the hype and the propaganda surrounding the book deal, and it all went downhill from there. It was a joke.

How did it feel to be the literary world’s biggest It Boy? Did I realize my debut novel and film deal would catapult me into nationwide fame? Did I prefer boxers or briefs? Was I a romantic? Where do I take women on a date? Who was my first kiss?

And on it went, shallow and phony, just like the entertainment business. All the more reason I didn’t dare talk about my life with Kate during the interview. No doubt they’d only cheapen my relationship with her.

My phone’s ring tone stirred me from my thoughts, and I glanced at the caller ID, gratefully answering the second I saw Kate’s name. “Where have you been? I was worried.”

“I’m sorry. Things have been hectic.”

“Yeah, I hear ya on that.”

“You okay?”

I breathed deep, inhaling the soothing sound of her voice. It was a healing balm. “I am now that I can hear you. This weekend can’t come soon enough.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” She cleared her throat and a muffled sound rustled against the receiver. “Shit.”

“What is it?”

“Ah, nothing. Look, I hate to cut you off like this, but I can’t stay on. I just wanted to call real quick and let you know I was okay. I know how you worry.”

“What? You just called me. Why can’t you talk—”

“I just can’t, okay?” Again, the muffled sound. “We’ll catch up soon, I promise. Before I fly into town. Things are just kinda crazy here right now and—”

“Kate, I lost my job at the university.”

Her voice was clearer, the rustling on the phone gone. “You...you what?”

“Shitty day. In short, they want me off campus. Said I’m a distraction and that I’m bad for their reputation.” Not that the latter was anything new.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Ry.” Hushed whispers and the sound of someone’s ringtone filtered through the phone, and a ball of unease began to fester in my stomach. “Shit...I really want to talk to you, but I have to go.”

“What’s the rush?”

“Now’s just not a good time. I’m so sorry about your job. I want to hear all about it the second I see you.”

“Where are you?”

“Out running some errands. I’ll call you before I fly out.”