Block (Social Media #3)


by J.A. Huss

Chapter One

I WAIT for Vaughn’s footsteps to fade and the front door to close behind him before I let the tears stream down my face. This is a huge mistake, I already know it, and the ink isn’t even dry on that contract. This is a huge mistake because this night was perfect. This Vaughn Asher was the man of my dreams. Attentive, distant, rough, gentle, sexy, mundane, soft, hard, silent and talkative. He’s everything a girl loves and hates in a man, all wrapped up into one complete package. I loved our dinner. I loved him feeding me. I loved the sweet scent of that raspberry when he pressed it against my mouth, the way the flesh broke and the juice spilled out as he traced my lips. I loved the tender steak he placed on my tongue and the time he gave me to chew it completely before expecting me to talk. I love that he filled my chewing time in with talk of his own day.

And even though almost none of what he told me about production schedules and agent luncheons made any sense, I loved the tone of his voice and the laughter in his speech as he recalled it for me. I love that he listened to my day and even asked questions about the Big Guys. Not quite jealousy questions, but protective ones.

I love that he f**ked me hard and soft. I love that rug he had me kneel on. The soft sheepskin was a delight on my weary legs. I want that sheepskin right now, and for half a second I contemplate going back upstairs to see if it’s still there.

I love Vaughn Asher.

I don’t want to, I really don’t. I want to convince myself he’s a selfish ass**le who will use me up and throw me out. And he will, I know he will. He’s done it to every girl who came before me, and there have been a lot of those.

But I love him. I’ve been dreaming about him for years. I’ve had fantasy dates with him that didn’t even come close to the night he gave me this evening. And I’m hopeless. Hopelessly in love with a movie star who made me sign a contract to see him again.

The tears stream out now. Tears of contentment. Tears of joy. Tears of fear. Tears of shame. Tears of submission.

I cry long rivers of regret, but with every new breath, I am secretly thankful for my good fortune. I’m secretly thankful that I was the one Vaughn Asher chose to use this time. I’m beyond excited that I will be part of his life in this pathetic way.

I hate myself for it.

But I can’t say no. I’m a yes-girl and I want to say yes to him for everything. Yes, use me. Yes, f**k me. Yes, take whatever you want. I won’t be telling him no. I don’t have it in me to deny myself this chance at my fantasy, even though I know what’s coming.

I just have to trust in him. Have faith. That when he’s finally done with me, he’ll toss me aside gently and I will walk away with enough pride to keep my head up and my self-worth intact.

THE dawn breaks far too soon after a night of being well-fucked and dined to perfection. And I’d like nothing more than to stay in bed and feed my delusions of Vaughn professing his undying love for me. But I have daily meetings with the future Mrs. Blazen for the next two weeks until the wedding. Today we’re going to the Botanical Gardens to look at flowers.

Why aren’t we visiting florists like normal people? I have no idea. But the Big Guys told me to give her whatever she wants. This is a big deal to them and the people of Denver.

They actually said that. The people of Denver. Like the soon-to-be Mrs. Blazen is the goddamned First Lady of this town.

They take their football seriously here. Personally, the only reason I know of any Bronco football players is because some of them own car dealerships and have billboards up all over town. But Kristi Almost-Blazen seemed nice when I met her yesterday, so I’m going to tuck away the cynical side of me and just give her the benefit of the doubt.

She’s picking me up, so I’m waiting outside my office building at ten sharp when my phone buzzes and a message from Vaughn comes through.

Fabulous time last night. I’m still internally reliving parts as I have breakfast with Russell Mame.

Oh, f**k.

How do I process this? He’s thinking about me. Does it mean anything? Does it mean he likes me? Or that he just wishes he was f**king me again?

I’m hopeless. I’m going to be reading between every line there is. Every word will be scrutinized. Every text pored over. Every phone call revisited in my mind at the end of the day. Every touch cherished. Everything about him will stay with me.

I’m going to be obsessive, I just know it.

Russell Mame is his co-star in IM2. He’s the bad guy. Or the good guy, if you think the Invisible Man is the bad guy. Either way, he’s the adversary and he’s another Hollywood legend. I wish I was in that restaurant right now. I wish I could meet his friends and listen in on their conversations.

Am I crazy?

Jesus. This is not starting well at all.

Twitter tonight at eight mountain time.

That little bit of reality pulls me back from the edge of my fantasyland cliff. He’s real, Grace. I pinch myself and then wince. I’m just about to text back when the white Mercedes SUV pulls up. Kristi rolls down the passenger window and slides her sunglasses down with a smile. "Hop in, girlfriend! We have flowers to choose!"

She’s entirely too chirpy for me this morning, but that’s my own damn fault. I’m so mad at Vaughn for making me love him. Damn him. Damn him to hell. Why did he have to be so perfect last night? Why does he have to text me this morning and make me read into things? Make me wish for more than just sex. For…

Don’t think it, Grace.

"What’s wrong?" Kristi asks as I get in and pull my seatbelt across my chest.

I sigh. "A guy."

"Oh," she says with sympathy that I’m not sure is real. "I completely understand."

I highly doubt that, since she’s engaged and the only reason we’re spending time together is because I’m her wedding planner.

"I would try and put it on the back burner, ya know? Just forget about the bad and focus on life. Because whatever it is he’s doing" —she looks over at me and lowers her sunglasses again—"it’s his problem, not yours."

"Maybe," I say back. "But I’m letting him do it. I gave him permission. So really, it’s all my fault I’m so…" So what? What am I really feeling? "Sad, I guess."

She puts a hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. "I really do get it. And I don’t blame you if you can’t let it go, so go ahead, you can mope today. I don’t mind being a listener if you need it."