“Right. And Emmett is the villain.”
“Yes. You would love him.”
“I doubt it.”
“You would. I think I know your reading tastes by now to know you’re a sucker for the alpha anti-hero. That’s what Emmett plays. Doctor Cole Black. Or Doctor Death.”
“He looks cheesy,” I tell her, neglecting to mention that he also looks hot.
“You think he’s hot though,” she says, studying me with pursed lips.
I shrug my shoulders. “I’m not a fan of blondes.” I know his hair is really light brown but I tend to swoon over the darkly handsome types. You know, the ones with thick, dark hair and dark eyes that make them look all hot and brooding.
“He’s got brown hair, Alyssa. He’s not blonde. And he’s hot. I can show you a million pictures of him with his shirt off.”
“I’ve seen them.”
“Have you seen the pictures that people have Photoshopped of him and Julian Crane together?”
Now this has my attention. Aside from being a sucker for romances with a brooding alpha asshole, I also like my m/m novels. “What?”
She reaches into her pearl-trimmed clutch and pulls out her phone. I watch as she scrolls through her photos. She legit has folders for every TV show, comic and movie. Also one for WWE wrestling which is weird.
“Jeez Tiff.” I whistle. “I had no idea your fandom was this bad.”
“Oh yeah,” she says proudly and she stops on some very well edited images of Emmett Hill in compromising positions with Julian Crane, the rugged, Australian actor who plays Boomerang.
Damn. That is hot.
“If the show was about them two hooking up, then I would watch it,” I tell her.
“Speak of the devil,” Tiffany says in a hushed voice and I look up from the pervy images to see Will, Ted and Emmett walking toward us from the end of the driveway.
They look like a trio of James Bonds out to fight crime and find pussy. I know, it’s a weird (okay, inappropriate) thing to say when two of them are your boss but hear me out. For one, Will is absolutely gorgeous. Tall, striking, with thick dark hair (what did I just say about darkly handsome types), a beautiful smile and a real python in his pants. I’m not being a perv, it’s just the way he is and I dare anyone not to notice when he’s wearing certain materials. Even from all the way over here I think I can see the shadow of the thing. Then again my eyes are trained to search for it.
Don’t tell Jackie.
For two, Ted, also my boss, and Jackie’s father, and Will’s best man, defines the term silver fox. He’s like Anderson Cooper’s older, straighter cousin. He’s handsome in the way Cary Grant got handsome even when he wore thick, black-rimmed glasses and had hair the color of snow.
For three…well, damn. It’s not like Emmett can tell that I’m giving credit where credit is due, but in person, here, now, I can totally understand the appeal and the hold he has, not only on the hot actress of the week, but on all the people I know who constantly fawn over him.
He’s taller than I expected too, since most people on TV are short. Maybe six feet, which is perfect for me even when I wear heels. He also has this way he moves that’s hard to put my finger on. I pick up a lot on that with people, their walk, the way they operate their body, how they occupy the space they’re in. Emmett has a strut that’s borderline cocky, yet there’s a fluidity about him that’s unmistakable. My brain trips over itself as it tries to recall something I’d read somewhere, how he was doing musicals in London for a long time before he started up his career again with Boomerang. He must know how to dance.
So yeah, he moves like his body knows how to move and then there’s his body itself, which looks perfect in his tuxedo, with broad shoulders like a swimmer (did he compete in swimming before he got the role on Degrassi or was it hockey?), a slim waist, long legs.
And, as he gets closer, I really take in his face.
Gone is that boy-next-door. Oh, there’s traces of it with his wavy, shiny hair and winning smile, but there’s a look to his eyes that’s far more man than boy. Brooding and primal in one moment, playful and mischievous in the other.
Of course the closer he walks to me, the more I have to look away. The man obviously has an ego I don’t want to add to. I don’t know what it is about actors and models or just guys that ring an eleven on the handsomeness scale, but I have some kind of aversion to them. Actually I have an aversion to cocky men in general. I’ve seen firsthand what damage an ego can do.
Will makes the introduction and everyone around us immediately starts talking about Degrassi. I’ve never been so proud to have not watched the show before. Admitting you don’t watch it is akin to saying you don’t like Bryan Adams or ketchup chips and you think Justin Trudeau’s butt is just “okay.”
I mean, don’t get me started on Bryan Adams. The song “Run to You” makes my blood boil. Have you ever listened to the lyrics?
But we’re obviously all here for a wedding, not to talk about Emmett, and soon Janice comes back and tells us to get in our places.
As Emmett and Will walk ahead of Tiffany and I, I get a whiff of Emmett’s scent. It’s fresh, like soap or shampoo, and something a bit herbal. Rosemary? Whatever it is, it’s bracing and I like it, enough that it awakens the heat between my legs.
Crap. When was the last time I got laid? I start counting back the weeks to my last date, a guy named Nels I met on Tinder. The date ended in sex but it didn’t end in an orgasm. Not for me, anyway. It was just as well, the guy was all sorts of intense in an abrasive, creepy way. I sure know how to pick ‘em.
Still, even though I have no real interest in Emmett, it doesn’t mean I shouldn’t look good for Jackie’s wedding. I steal away to the bathroom for a moment to freshen up my face and give myself a good once over.
I look better than I normally do, I’ll say that much. The makeup artist Jackie hired is a total professional and did an amazing job. My blue eyes look even bluer thanks to the rose-gold tones of the eye shadow and my pale skin looks warmer with the strategic layering of bronzer and highlighting. My normally thinner upper lip looks plumped up with nude lipstick and liner and I swear she’s done some magic with contour powder under my chin.
But when I look away from my face and at my body, I wince. Even though the dress is super flattering, I didn’t wear Spanx and you can see every lump and bump if you look closely.
No one is going to look closely, I remind myself.
But it’s hard not to be critical. In a city where everyone is thin and fit and perpetually wearing yoga pants, I feel like I standout like a sore thumb. I’m currently a size ten after working my ass off for the last six months trying to drop two sizes to fit in this dress and I still don’t feel good enough. I’ve got muscle and I’m stronger but I’ve got a layer of fluff that won’t budge. And most of the men here don’t want the fluff. I’m a Marilyn in a Gigi Hadid world.
Luckily I know how to fake confidence. I throw my shoulders back and strut out of the building and to the grass where Tiffany and Emmett have gathered with Janice.
What’s interesting about Emmett is the more I try not to look at him, the more he looks at me. I know this because I have well-honed peripheral vision. I can practically read out of the corner of my eye. That said, I honestly can’t say why I’m having such a hard time taking him in–maybe I think if I stare at him too long I’ll get sucked into some hot guy black hole where I’ll lose all sense of self-worth.
Actually, I’m correct. Because when I finally do meet his eyes for a moment, I’m momentarily stunned. Unable to look away. And my heart does this funny skip and a hop, like I’ve got some newborn bunny in there taking its first stumbling steps.
At this range his eyes are vivid, ice-blue, like the lake water in New Zealand where I backpacked when I was twenty. They’re beautiful.
And he knows it. I can see that self-awareness in his eyes too.
I try not to look at him again, even when he asks me questions and makes small talk and especially when he calls me “prickly.”
Fuck yeah I’m prickly. I wear my cactus badge with pride.