The Duet

“Ew, God. It’s not that. I gorged myself on Italian food last night and now I’m about to take photos that will be plastered on billboards and magazines,” I complained, turning in a circle to inspect the bikini from every angle in the dressing room mirror. Damn you, bread. Must you taste like heaven?

  There was a tap on the dressing room door and then a soft voice called out, “Brooklyn, we’re ready for you!”

  …

  After the photo shoot I had meeting after meeting until eventually, I didn’t care what things I was signing up for: you want me to host baby pageants? Great. You want me to hula dance while performing on The Voice? Awesome. It all became a blur and I relied on Summer to ensure that I wasn’t signing myself up for anything too ridiculous.

  When our last meeting concluded, it was a little after 6:00 P.M. and I was about to take a bite out of the car console I was so hungry.

  “How about we freshen up at the hotel and then go out to dinner?” Summer asked from across the backseat of the town car.

  The idea of food had me instantly agreeing, and then for the one-hundredth time that day, I checked my phone for missed calls or texts. I had plenty, don’t get me wrong. My agent, my manager, and Cammie usually kept my phone’s voicemail perpetually full, but I was looking for something from a particular person. A person who had kissed me the night before and who had stood in the kitchen doorway that morning looking sexy as sin. I told myself that if I didn’t actually think his name then I wasn’t really obsessing about him.

  Jason.

  No!

  Jason-Jason-JASON! Jason-Jason-JASON! My traitorous brain had paired his name with a Cha-cha-cha rhythm.

  “So how has it been living with Jason Monroe?” Summer asked, turning her sharp eyes on me.

  Had I just said his name out loud?

  “Are you psychic?” I asked with an arched brow.

  She laughed, “Not that I know of. Why?”

  “I was just thinking about him,” I answered, purposely staring at Summer’s black nail polish. Her nails couldn’t judge me like her eyes could.

  Summer dropped her phone and gave me her full attention. “Yeah, you and half of the women in the western hemisphere. Go on.”

  I laughed. “There’s nothing to add. I was just thinking about him.”

  “What part of his body, specifically, were you thinking about? His abs, his butt, his big ol’ di—“

  “Summer!”

  The driver fidgeted in his seat, probably doing his best to ignore our conversation. Good grief. Summer was going to give the man a heart attack and then we’d all be dead on the side of the road.

  “I wasn’t thinking about any of his body parts. I was just thinking that he’s become a nice friend.”

  Summer groaned and rolled her head back against the seat. “Oh, please, you are so full of shit.”

  “Am not!”

  “Does he have that sexy V in his abs or do they Photoshop it on him for the billboards?”

  “Oh, it’s there.”

  “Case closed. You little sleaze,” Summer said just as our town car pulled up outside of our hotel. The paparazzi were there as usual, but thanks to hotel policy they’d been exiled to the other side of the street. The boutique hotel’s front entrance was set up with privacy in mind. There were hedges along the front of the street and a wide awning that gave the hotel a French look.

  Summer and I rushed inside and I instantly relaxed once we were behind the hotel doors. We didn’t talk about Jason anymore as we rode the elevator to the top floor, but that was probably because I pretended to be on a phone call the whole time. I’m not proud, but Summer is the snoopiest snoop I’ve ever met and she’d see right through my defense system.

  Nope, this shit was going on lockdown. Jason Monroe was getting buried where I kept all my other cravings: deep, deep, deep down below. Right next to mint chocolate chip ice cream.

  I smiled, confident in my newfound resolve as the elevators chimed on our floor. I clapped my hands together and stepped forward as the doors swung open.

  “Let’s get ready quick. I’m hungry!”

  …

  Two rounds of sushi and a bottle of sake later, I was sitting in the backseat of the town car headed toward a club with Summer. She insisted that we were going to the “top club” in Montana, which really didn’t do much for me. However, when I started to protest, she turned her big eyes toward me and yammered on about how much she’d missed me the last few days.

  “Fine, whatever,” I told her. “Let’s go.”

  If she wanted to drag me to Montana’s premier nightlife destination, I’d let her. Plus, if I went home, I’d just think about J-A-S-O-N. (I decided that if I spelled his name out then it didn’t actually count as thinking about him. Sometimes, I’m a bona fide genius.)

  “How much sake did we have back there?” I asked as Summer dragged me past the club’s doors and into the dim lighting. I blinked quickly, trying to process my new surroundings. Denim. So much denim everywhere. And wood. Everything in Montana was made of wood and denim.

  “If I wrote a song about Montana, it’d be called ‘Denim Denim Wood’,” I told Summer as she made room for us at the bar. I noticed a few people giving us second-glances, mostly because my body guard was posted a few feet away from us, standing out like a sore-thumb in all black with an angry scowl. (I made him smile once. Best day of my life.) He wasn’t staying with me at Jason’s ranch, but he’d flown in with Summer for the few days I’d be staying in Billings. He clasped his hands together and leaned back against the bar, watching the crowd around us.

  Other than good ol’ Hank drawing attention, I didn’t think people recognized me. The lighting was dim and the setting was so off that there’s no way I had any fans inside the club. I reveled in the anonymity as Summer ordered us two Vodka sodas. I was still processing all of the Saki from dinner, and was definitely on the verge of seeing double, but I didn’t want to be a party-pooper.

  While we waited for our drinks, I glanced down at my phone again. The only thing waiting for me was a text from Cammie.

  Cammie: How’s the wild wild west treating you?

  I smiled and shot her a reply.

  Brooklyn: I’m toasted thanks to Summa.

  Cammie: I approve.

  “Cheers!” Summer said, passing me one of the drinks as I pocketed my phone.

  When I glanced back up, two guys wearing suits that screamed, “WE’RE LAWYERS” headed toward us with confident smiles. While their suits were well pressed, their ties were loose, and their five o’clock shadows had started to appear. Not bad. Not bad at all.

  “We were about to offer to buy you ladies a drink, but it looks like you beat us to it,” the one on the left said, pointing to my drink in hand. In my inebriated state, the only real difference I could find between the pair of them was that one was blonde and the other had dark brown hair. Maybe they were related. Maybe they were twins!

  “Are you guys twins? Did your parents always dress you the same?” I asked, skipping over introductions. I didn’t want them to know my name and I didn’t want to lie and make up a fake one.

  They laughed and exchanged a glance. Summer snorted. “They look nothing alike, Tipsy Tina.”

  The guys laughed and the blonde one took a step closer to me. “Is that your name, Tina? I’m Collin.”

  I had a few seconds to try and think of what my answer should be, but in those seconds I was focused on sipping my drink. Oops.

  “Yeah, that’s me. Tina is the name… that I have.”

  He laughed like he didn’t quite believe me. Maybe he knew exactly who I was but he was willing to play the game as much as I was.

  “Tina, after you finish that drink, we should dance.”

  Collin was confident; I’d give him that. And I couldn’t remember the last time I’d danced with someone in a club. I was usually too self-conscious to let myself go.

  “Well, then, maybe you should shut up so I can finish quicker,” I slurred with what I a
ssumed was a casually seductive smile. Chances are, it wasn’t.

  He laughed and turned to the blonde guy to chat about things I didn’t care about, so I pulled my phone back out. Except, instead of texting Cammie back, I thought I had come up with the best idea known to man-kind. Drunk texting. I should definitely text Jason so that he knows that I haven’t forgotten about him. I bet he would definitely want to know that I’m okay since we’re kind of…sort of…friends. Okay, let’s put it this way: if I were inside of a burning building, he probably would think about saving me. That’s something. Two days before, he probably wouldn’t have even called the fire department. Progress.

  I thought about what I should text him for one whole second. I wanted it to be organic and not too structured. Organic, yup, that’s what I wanted to sound like.

  Brooklyn: I’m in a Montana honky-tonk bar and I’m going to dance with a guy named Cullen. He’s not twins or even related to the other guy he came with, isn’t that weird?

  I smiled down at the text, proud of what I’d thought up. To me, I seemed aloof, charming, and seductive. But just to be sure, I attached a selfie of me winking and holding up my drink, just so he’d know how adorable I was.

  “Did you just send that picture to someone? Because you looked like you had something poking your eye and you had some drool on your chin,” Summer said, trying to snatch my phone out of my hand.

  Silly Summer didn’t know what she was talking about.

  “How’s the drink coming along?” Cullen asked. Wait, was that his name? It seemed so right, but wrong at the same time.

  “Fantastico,” I replied just as my phone buzzed in my hands.

  HALLELUJAH. J-A-S-O-N had texted me back.

  No. Crap. It was just my little sister.

  Cammie: You better not be drunk texting anyone. This is a warning. Do not drunk text anyone.

  Brooklyn: fffffuuuucccck youuuuuu.

  Cammie: Oh God, you already have. Haven’t you? What’d you send?

  I attached the selfie so she’d know that I was perfectly fine and doing great.

  Her reply was simply:hahahahahahaha

  I figured she was laughing because I’d said something funny, but I couldn’t remember what I’d said. I was always saying funny things.

  “I think Ms. Tina might be too drunk to dance,” Summer said, peering over at me with amusement in her eyes.

  “Aw, c’mon. It’ll be fun,” Callum said. Why had his parents named him that? It was a hard name to remember.

  “Yeah, listen to him, Summer. I’m going to dance and no one in this bar is going to stop me. Not you, not Hank, and not Callum.”

  “My names Collin,” he said with a laugh.

  “No one asked you, Callum,” I said, taking his hand in mine and dragging him to the dance floor.

  He followed after me and started following my lead. I had no clue what song was streaming through the crackling speakers, but it was easy to dance to and I swayed my hips back and forth while he stared down at them.

  “You’re kind of feisty,” he said, stepping closer. “I like it.”

  He sounded nothing like J-A-S-O-N so I just ignored whatever else he said as we danced together. The country song faded into a rock song, and then the opening beat of one of my songs came on. Of course it wasn’t the first time I’d heard my songs on the radio or at a club. But for some reason, the fact that people in Montana played my songs in honky-tonk bars was extremely exciting.

  “Oh my gosh! This is my song!” I screamed, looking to Summer to see if she was as excited as I was. Her mouth was attached to Callum’s twin so she couldn’t see me, but I knew she was excited on the inside.

  Callum shrugged and tried to grab my arm so that he could pull me toward him. “Uh yeah, this is a good song. I think that Brooklyn Heart girl sings it.”

  “That’s me!” I said with a laugh, pointing to my chest like a little boy trying to prove he was telling the truth.

  Callum’s eyes widened for a second, but then he narrowed them and studied me.

  “Sure, okay. It’s your song,” he said playfully as he stepped back toward me. He didn’t believe me at all and for some reason that made me impossibly sad.

  Why didn’t he trust me? I puckered my lower lip and my eyes welled up with tears.

  “Whoa, are you okay?” Callum asked as I felt tears run down my face.

  That’s when it hit me. I was drunk, not just cute and tipsy, but full-on drunk crying in the middle of the dance floor.

  “He didn’t even text me back,” I said, crying harder.

  Carl tried to comfort me as he led me off the dance floor, back toward my friend. Poor guy, he thought he was going to have a normal night and instead I took him straight into Crazytown, USA. Population: Tipsy Tina aka Brooklyn Heart.

  “I think your friend should head home,” Carl said to Summer when we reached them at the bar.

  Hank stepped forward and politely asked Carlos to remove his arms from my shoulders.

  “Uh oh, it looks like Tipsy Tina has had enough fun for one night.”

  I kept crying. “My name’s not Tina!”

  Hank stepped forward and wrapped a protective hand around my elbow. “Brooklyn, it’s time to go. I’ll have the car brought around.” I saw him give a stern warning to Summer, and she swallowed hard and nodded.

  The night was over.

  “Holy shit, she wasn’t lying. That’s Brooklyn Heart,” Carlos said as Summer and Hank led me out of the bar. “I just danced with Brooklyn Heart! She cried on me!”

  Shut up, Carlos. I wanted to be crying on Jason. Well, not crying, but doing something on him at least.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A small alien civilization had set up shop inside of my brain and I think their sole purpose was to cause me pain. Lots and lots of pain.

  “Brooklyn, you’re going to have to wake up soon. We have a meeting with the fragrance people in an hour,” Summer thought she was whispering as she leaned over my hotel bed, but the aliens in my head rioted in response.

  “If you don’t leave this room in two seconds, I will drop-kick your face,” I said, barely moving my lips enough to get the words out.

  She laughed and backed out, closing the door as loudly as possible. “I’m giving you another two minutes, but that’s it! Also, I want a raise, and hazard pay!” Summer yelled through the door. I responded by reaching down and chucking my high-heel at the door.

  She was technically giving me two more minutes but I could hear her voice on the other side of the door, talking to someone on the phone. Maybe the hotel people were kicking me out after my dance performance in the lobby at 2:00 A.M. the night before. I can’t help the fact that the tile floor was perfect for break-dancing.

  “Yeah, she’s okay.”

  Silence.

  “Nah, we left pretty early and she slept it off.”

  Silence.

  “Yeah, her body guard, Hank, was with us.”

  Who was she talking to?

  “Okay, bye.”

  “Who was that?” I yelled through the door.

  “The president.”

  “Lies.”

  “You’re right, it was Kanye West. Now get up.”

  I wanted to care about the fact that she wouldn’t tell me who was on the phone, but I had no more room in my brain for caring. The moment I sat up, my brain switched over into anti-throw up mode. I walked to the bathroom like a small, frail hunchback and then did my best to avoid the mirror. But there was a smell in the air that I couldn’t place. I sniffed my shirt and my armpits, and while they weren’t a field of roses, they were at least recognizable. Then I pulled my hair to my face and smelled it. Soy sauce. When I glanced in the mirror, I realized I had what looked like a quarter bottle of soy sauce in my hair… which meant that I’d left the restaurant and gone to the club like that. Had I poured soy sauce on myself at sushi? Why?

  Summer was going to die. Slowly and painfully.

  After a shower and roughly one
million cups of coffee, I staggered through my day, trying to be as present as possible. The meetings were interesting, but no amount of Advil would quell my pounding headache, so I just succumbed to the pain. I became one with it.

  It wasn’t until lunch when Summer brought up the night before.

  “Did you ever check your phone to read your drunk texts?” she asked as I poured dressing over my Greek salad.

  I scrunched my brows in thought. Drunk texts? I didn’t recall any of those. I didn’t even think I had my phone after the restaurant.

  “No, why?” I asked nonchalantly, taking a big bite of salad.

  Summer’s eyes widened. “You remember doing that, right? Sending the text to Jason?”

  I had to fight not to spit lettuce and tomato all over Summer’s face. After a painful swallow, I took a deep breath and reached for my phone. Summer was just playing a joke on me. I wouldn’t have texted— oh Jesus. Mother Teresa. I did.

  There was a selfie of me with my drink in my hand. I was contorting my face into what I probably thought was a wink but more closely resembled a massive stroke. I had the soy sauce in my hair, and yup, definitely drool on my chin. Sloppy. I was a sloppy monster and I’d willingly sent this photo to Jason. I could only pray he hadn’t sold it to TMZ yet.

  Two deep breaths later, I peered up at Summer. “From this moment forward, we will never discuss last night again. I’m going to erase it from my memory.”

  Summer smiled and nodded. “Whatever you say, Captain.”

  I tried to tell myself it didn’t matter, that everyone does embarrassing stuff, but it really wasn’t the selfie that was bothering me. It was the fact that Jason hadn’t bothered texting me back. Didn’t he care enough to see if I’d made it home okay?

  By that afternoon, I had convinced myself to concentrate on work and ignore the lingering thoughts of Jason. I had to repress the urge to replay our encounters over and over again. Even still, for the remainder of the trip, I’d close my eyes and think of his kiss in the bathroom. It was so easy in fact, that I’d imagine him and relive our time together for what felt like hours until I realized what I was doing. Then I’d reprimand myself and fill my head with the conversations from my mundane meetings. It would last for ten minutes, maybe fifteen, and then I’d slip, and the cycle would start all over again.