Be Brave With Me

Chapter Seven

"Guys, I'm telling you, they almost did it on that Twister mat."

"I still can't believe he would do that to his wife."

"He was drunk."

"No excuse."

"Horny, too."

"You're only making it worse."

"Matthew hasn't seen Solaine in... what? How long have they been shooting that stupid series on that island? Four months? And he's spend all that time with Becca down there. It was always going to happen, guys. You spend enough time with someone in close quarter's and you're bound to hook up. It's a scientific law. The poor guy couldn't help it."

"Yeah? Like you couldn't help it when you put your hands on poor Maximus last night?"

"Ladies, ladies! The guy was more than pleased to find my hands on him, I'm telling you. That reminds me - did you see where Dylan Pearson's hands wandered last night?"

"Oh, please! He only hooked up with Moira because he knows she can get him an audition for that one show. I ran into him in front of the bathrooms. He told me so himself."

"Isn't Moira in the middle of a nasty divorce from that slimy producer? Good for her!"

"She just landed the August Vanity Fair cover, too."

"Oh, dammit. That bitch! I was waiting to hear back on that!"

"What about your trip to St. Lucia with - what's his name? Shawn? Steven?"

"Christopher, you mean? Yeah, I don't know. He's got that amazing beach house there, and he is, like, really into me. But... the sex? Kinda mediocre."

"As if you couldn't teach him a few new tricks!"

The entire group broke out into cackles and belly laughs.

Theo squeezed his eyes shut. They ached from how much he had to roll them in the last two hours alone. Why did Aura and her friends have to choose the big salon out of all places to get themselves ready for another party tonight?

He'd thought having to deep-clean the bar area after last night's mayhem would be a tough job. It was nothing compared to this: A front-row seat to a vaudeville show of beautiful people with nothing better to do than prim and curl and pluck and paint themselves all afternoon while snickering and giggling through their mind-numbingly shallow chit-chat.

He forced his breath out of his lungs and reminded himself that he - unlike them - had real work left to do. He sprayed cleaner onto the mirror panels at the back of the bar and scrubbed with renewed vigor. At least one thing in this room would come out of this shiny and clean, unspoiled by their grimy gossip.

In the reflection of the cleaned glass squares, Aura came into focus. Huddled on one of the sofas with big curlers wrapped into her hair, she wasn't taking part in the conversation but concentrating on painting her toe nails. The tip of her tongue was peeking out from the left corner of her mouth.

Some things never change, then.

His lips had already stretched into a smile before he realized what he was doing.

Fuck, no. He was mad at her. More than mad. Annoyed. Frustrated. Angry. Hurt.

You name it, he was feeling it. Hence, the vicious scrubbing of polished mahogany and mirrors framed in gold.

So what if she still did that thing with her tongue when she was concentrating? That little detail about her might not have changed, but she had - in all the ways that mattered.