She's a Star (a Hollywood Hotwife story) (16 page)

Hayley: I’ll have to go shopping for a new swimsuit ;-)

Aaron: One step ahead of you. My personal shopper has bought some of the smallest bathing suits in history for you :-P

Hayley: You know I only wear one-piece suits?

Aaron: You know it’s an actual crime to hide a body like yours when you’re on the beach?

Hayley: You’ve seen it all before

Aaron: Which is why I need to see it again

Hayley: Okay, maybe if you’re nice to me, I’ll wear one of your dirty little bathing suits ;-)

Aaron: I’ll do whatever it takes :-P

Hayley: I’m going to go online and order you a tiny bathing suit that shows everything. You have to wear that, too.

Aaron: Don’t make it too tiny, if you know what I mean ;-)

Hayley: Oh I know. I’ll make sure it’s tiny in just the right places xxx

Jesus. To see my wife chatting with another guy about the size of his cock. I nearly came right there. It was so hot to see her being flirty, to see her being naughty, to see her thinking about sexual things.

I scrolled through some of their other messages, and there was plenty of Hayley teasing Aaron, and Aaron making overt bids to persuade her to go further than the fake affair permitted.

The most recent messages seemed to come while Hayley was in the limo on the way to the airport. They had Aaron warning Hayley that when the confirmation went public about their affair, they’d have to make the hotel staff in London believe they were a proper couple.

Aaron: We’ll have to make sure they all think we’re legit.

Hayley: I’m sure we’ll manage.

Aaron: You know they’ll be listening in to make sure we’re doing it ;-)

Hayley: We’ll just have to reprise our roles from the movie xxx

Aaron: It’ll have to seem authentic

Hayley: We were pretty good together in the movie ;-)

Aaron: I don’t think I packed my thong, though :-P

Hayley: You can borrow one of mine :-)

My God. Were they simply kidding around, or were they being serious? The thought of them playing at sex scenes like they had in the movie sent a jolt of intense heat through my chest. I assumed they didn’t really need to make sex noises while they were staying at a luxury hotel in London. The British were very discreet, weren’t they? Although, having said that, the British had some of the most ravenous paparazzi of all.

But seriously—what was stopping Hayley from just going all the way while she was alone with Aaron?

When the official announcement came out that they were, indeed, a couple, it would only really be Hayley, myself, Aaron and a very limited number of trusted representatives who would know they weren’t.

While I happened to want her to make it real, I didn’t want her to do it behind my back.

*

Later that evening, the news that Hayley had flown with Aaron to London early broke on
TMZ
, and then spread fairly rapidly to various other tittle-tattle media outlets. Despite the fact that very little new information came out other than that they were spotted at the airport, everyone was already theorizing how romantic it was about them wanting to spend a little more time together before the grueling promotional junket got started. Beyond that, the news outlets filled their articles with puff about how Aaron and Hayley had met—and about their latest movie.

The amount of stuff about the movie that came before the readers was phenomenal, and you had to say that Hayley and Aaron’s off-screen relationship was sensational marketing.

I called my brother Rob and my parents to update them on the whole thing, and the fact that the affair was going to be officially confirmed at some point soon. They all seemed fairly accepting of what I was telling them—I could tell they saw Hayley’s Hollywood existence as a different world compared to normal life, and they had no clue how it all worked. The entire thing was fake, as far as they were concerned, so it never seemed to surprise them the lengths that the movie people were going to fake this affair so it might get the movie into the media time and time again.

After that, I was alone, and it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t as though I could just give Hayley a call—she could probably call me, since I assume those flying on private jets had the ability to make phone calls—but I knew she would be caught up in the wow factor of flying with Aaron in such style. And with a little over ten hours flight time to London from LA, I would think Hayley would want to sleep on the plane at some point.

So I went to bed, and somehow got to sleep dreaming of my wife being scandalously unfaithful.

*

In the morning, I awoke to the headlines plastered across all news outlets, not just the gossip shows: Hayley Martin and Aaron Simpson “in love”.

The words “in love” sent a powerful jolt straight through my heart, though I knew it was all supposed to be fake. I wanted my wife to have fun, I wanted her to experience the excitement of a new relationship—and the wild, depraved sex that could go with it. But I certainly didn’t want her “in love” with anyone but me.

But still, it was a thrill to see how elated Hayley was with Aaron, how exciting the experience of jumping into the A-list pool was for her. The news channels were naturally picking out footage that showed her cheerful and loving with her co-star, but even so, I knew there were certain emotions she wasn’t faking here.

My phone rang about sevenish, but it was Liona rather than Hayley.

“How’re you doing, David? You’ve seen all the coverage, I take it?”

“I have,” I said, feeling a little touched that she’d bothered to call to check up on me. “I’m glad I knew in advance that it was coming.”

“A bit of a shock, I know,” she said.

“They’re all saying she’s ‘in love’ with him—I guess I never really thought it would be like that.”

“Because you know she’s not,” Liona stressed. “It’s just the way we had to put it in the announcement: people won’t empathize with her if they think she just got horny and wanted to jump her co-star’s bones. Forgiveness comes if they think she just fell head-over-heels for Aaron, that she had no choice but to be with him.”

“I suppose so.” I leaned out of bed to pull the curtain slightly aside so I could see outside. My stomach lurched slightly as I saw the street full of motorcycles, and people in dark clothing holding photographic equipment. “The paparazzi have arrived,” I reported to Liona.

“Ah. Yes, sorry about that.”

“I suppose I just have to push through them and head off to work, like some poor sap who just lost his beautiful wife to another man.”

“You could probably call in sick, you know.”

I didn’t. I pushed my way through the feverish pack hurling questions at me about how I felt losing my wife to Aaron Simpson, and just about managed to drive off to work without getting lynched.

The trouble was, while I was at work I not only had a barrage of paparazzi photographers stationed outside the building, but journalists kept on calling our office, trying to get through to me.

Eventually, I slipped into my boss’s office and apologized, suggesting that perhaps I take some annual leave until everything blew over.

“Hey, I know it’s hardly your fault, David,” he said.

“Thank you.”

“You’ve done some great work for us since you joined—perhaps it’s time you took a good long vacation anyway, huh?”

“I think perhaps it’s best.”

He nodded. “Get some sun, try to forget about…all this. Plenty of fish in the sea, and all that.”

“Thank you, Bob.”

I put in for four weeks off, which was about the time it would take for the Prisoner’s Wife worldwide promotional tour to be completed—after which, I hoped that Hayley would come back to me to “repair” our marriage.

I did get some sympathy from my co-workers, who were happy enough to cover me during my sudden unexpected vacation. I was hardly going to tell them the affair was fake, but it probably didn’t make much difference to them. Adrian Bassett even offered me a lift home—the intention being that as he drove me out of the building’s underground parking lot, I’d be able to hide and thereby circumvent the paparazzi.

It worked like a charm, except for the fact that there were a few photographers still lingering outside my house in Redondo Beach. Still, it made it easier for me to get past them and indoors.

There, I actually slept again for a few hours, and started thinking about what the hell I was going to do with myself with four weeks of vacation time on my own.

Chapter Fourteen

It was about four o’clock in the afternoon that Hayley finally got in touch via Skype. She looked good, and though it was clear she’d only just got up from bed, she had a little make-up on but her hair was just flowing down without having her usual impeccable brushing.

“Hey sweetie! How are you?” she said.

She was wearing a casual, red t-shirt that was nicely tight around her curves, and denim shorts that showed plenty of leg as she sat on a white couch, her lap top placed on a coffee table in front of her.

“Hayley—how was your flight?”

“You’re at home?” she threw a question back at me, noticing that I was back at the house at four o’clock in the afternoon.

“The paparazzi barricaded the office. Bob suggested I take a little time off to let all this blow over.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, honey. It’s not really fair.”

“It’s okay. I could probably do with a little time off. So it’s great to see you. I miss you already.”

She smiled. “I miss you too. I got hardly any sleep on the plane because it was just so amazing being on a private jet, you know? So as soon as we got into London and into the hotel, I just crashed out.”

“Fair enough. What time is it over there right now?”

“Eight, or a little after. I feel so messed up, and we’ve only just got here. My body can’t tell what time it is. So you’ve been doing okay? Apart from the paparazzi?”

“Sure,” I said. “I mean, the news is full of stuff about you and Aaron, but I know none of it’s real. It’s nothing I can’t handle. So how was your long flight with Aaron?”

“It was nice,” she said, and suddenly sounded a trifle awkward.

“I assume he wanted you to make it clear to the flight crew that you guys are an item now?”

“He did,” she smiled. “We were kissing a lot…I guess touching each other….”

“Uh-huh.”

“He has a whole bed on his private jet, you know that?”

“That right?” I felt myself tremble as I imagined Aaron Simpson taking my wife onto a bed on his private jet. “So did you end up showing him any of that fancy underwear of yours?”

She laughed, as though what I’d said had come as some kind of relief. “Maybe,” she smirked, a teasing tone beginning to emerge.

“So what were you wearing?” I asked.

She grinned, and brushed her hair back out of her face with one hand. She ran the other slowly over her t-shirt, over her chest and down her stomach. “You remember the dress I was wearing,” she said.

“Uh-huh. It was very short. I guess it was inevitable he’d see something underneath.”

“We were lying on the bed, and kissing,” she said, stroking her legs now. “And I guess our hands were running all over the place.”

As though to demonstrate, her hands slid up to lift her t-shirt a little, then a lot, showing me she wasn’t wearing a bra. God, she always did have incredible breasts, and her nipples were little pebbles.

“Was he touching you?” I asked her. I felt a little giddy, sensing that despite Hayley’s resolve not to sleep with Aaron, her need to keep him interested might take her damn close to it.

“I thought maybe if I let him get a little further than we’ve been before, it might…you know…help….”

“Where was he touching you?”

“My breasts,” she said, showing them to me, cupping them for a moment before allowing her t-shirt to drop back down.

She peered at her laptop, trying to see how I was taking all this. Showing my approval, I said, “I bet you liked that.”

She smiled, “It was…nice…felt kinda strange, because it wasn’t you—and yet he did touch me like that when we were making the movie…but, I don’t know…. This was different.”

I felt my heart jump a little. ‘Different’. The implication being that the movie had been acting, but this touching on Aaron’s jet had not.

“I wish you were here right now,” she said, lifting her t-shirt again to fondle her breasts. This time, she paid more attention to her stiff buds.

“So do I,” I said. “I’d probably tear those shorts off you right now.”

“These ones?” she asked, and started unbuttoning them before my very eyes, then lay against the back of the couch, lifting her hips to slowly pull the denim shorts off her hips and over her thighs, over her little feet.