Page 10

Stevie

Being back in front of a camera feels good.

I’ve actually missed it.

Today is a casting call for a music video by some rapper I’ve never heard of, so it’s technically not a photo shoot, but they’re taking both video and still photos to see who fits the artist’s vision since he couldn’t be here in person. I’m not worried about whether or not I’ll get it—I just need to get back out there.

I’ve enjoyed not being on the go the last eight months, having time to relax, read, watch movies—spend time with my friends. That part has been nice, and though I don’t have to worry about money, not yet, I don’t want to get complacent. I want to work. I want to be who I was before.

Well, maybe not exactly who I was before.

She was a weak and easily manipulated woman who didn’t stand up for herself and allowed herself to be abused.

I’m not victim shaming myself, but there were so many red flags I chose to ignore, not only with Damien but also the boyfriends I had before him.

Going forward, I need to be a better version of myself.

When the time comes to start dating again, I need to find a man who will value me, respect me, and…love me. God knows, I don’t think I’ve ever been loved by anyone I’ve ever been with.

For some reason, that makes me think of Marty.

He’s the kind of guy I should date.

Except not still married.

Not with three kids five and under…but why not a guy with kids?

I’m suddenly confused.

Would it be better to date a guy who already has kids so he’ll be okay with the fact that I can’t give him any? Or someone who never wanted them and still doesn’t.

Maybe it doesn’t matter.

Sometimes I’m afraid I’m never going to fall in love again. I’m so bad at it. And I really don’t want to have another guy treat me badly.

Marty sent me a text earlier today that I didn’t respond to because I’m trying not to…like him. It’s dumb, but it’s so easy to be with him. I know I’m going to do something stupid, like sleep with him, if I’m not careful. And neither of us are in a position to get involved.

But you can be friends.

We’re back to the platonic dating thing.

I don’t know how to do that. Or if he’s even willing.

I want to spend more time with him, though, and I enjoy being with the kids. Especially Emma. She’s such a sweet little girl, with her daddy’s big brown eyes, light brown hair, and the cutest little dimples. I’ve always loved kids and his are really great, even if they’re a handful. I slept like a rock after the day at the carnival, I was so tired.

Picking up my phone I decide to text him back.

STEVIE: Hey, how’s it going?

I see the three dots indicating that he’s responding pop up right away.

MARTY: Having a quiet night at home. Took the kids to the beach and I’m pretty sure I will never get the sand out of my car, the mud room, or the bathtub.

STEVIE: LOL Sounds like a good time.

MARTY: We’re a little sunburned and tired, but it was a good day. Connor came too, thankfully.

A little part of me wishes he’d invited me, but it’s probably better that he didn’t.

Spending time at the beach half-naked would be too much temptation. I’ve seen him without a shirt and his body would be a magnificent playground.

STEVIE: Did you have to wash the sand off of him too?

MARTY: Thankfully, he’s one kid I get to send home!

STEVIE: I’m glad you had a good day. I had a casting for a music video. I probably won’t get it but it was good to be doing my thing again. I’m slowly starting to feel like myself.

MARTY: One step at a time. My situation is different but I’m going through something similar, you know? Finding a new normal, trying to put one foot in front of the other as a single dad.

STEVIE: From where I’m sitting, you’re doing a great job.

MARTY: Thanks. I appreciate that.

STEVIE: Anything else going on?

MARTY: Well, my mom just got to town and she told me to take a little time for myself. So I was wondering if you wanted to get dinner Sunday night. We’re taking the kids to the zoo, so they should be tired when we get home. We’ll get them settled and then I thought maybe some good food, adult conversation… a glass of wine?

I hesitate.

Do I want to go out with him?

On an actual date?

I really do.

I shouldn’t, but I do.

But I need to know where his head is at.

STEVIE: Is this a date-date?

MARTY: We don’t have to give it a name. We’re two friends going to dinner .

I think that’s a yes.

And I’m in.

STEVIE: Dinner and adult conversation sounds nice.

MARTY: I’ll pick you up at seven.

STEVIE: Somewhere casual, okay?

MARTY: Do you like Mexican food?

STEVIE: Love it.

MARTY: I know just the place. They have the best queso I’ve ever had in my life.

STEVIE: I’m in!

MARTY: See you Sunday.

STEVIE: See you then.

I put the phone down and realize I’m smiling.

I seem to do that a lot when I’m with Marty.

* * *

The restaurant is as casual and quaint as he promised, and the margaritas are epic. I normally don’t drink a lot because the calories add up but it feels good to just let loose and not worry so much. I lost a ton of weight after my surgery because I was too depressed to eat, and now I’m playing catch up. Eventually, things will probably go in the opposite direction where I’m watching everything I put in my mouth again, but not yet.

Definitely not tonight.

“Do you eat whatever you want?” I ask Marty curiously as the waitress drops off sizzling fajitas and queso that makes my mouth water. “Or do you have a special hockey diet?”

He shrugs. “I eat pretty healthy, but I also give myself time off, especially in the summer. You can’t be super strict all the time, or you just fall off the wagon completely.”

“Tell that to someone who isn’t a model,” I say, chuckling. “I watch everything I eat but I lost so much weight after my surgery I’m still gaining a little back. I was unhealthily skinny.”

“I don’t believe in strict diets where you deprive yourself of everything. I need to have a beer once in a while. Or a shot of tequila. I’m going to have a piece of my kid’s birthday cake. Or an ice cream cone when it’s ninety degrees and I’m at the zoo with my kids. You know? But I also focus on lean meat and fish. Greens and protein are staples in my diet during hockey season. And I carb-load before games.”

“Carb load.” I sigh. “There’s no universe where a model can do that.”

“Modeling sounds hard,” he says, chuckling.

“Probably not as hard as hockey.”

“You eat less, I get beat up more. It’s probably a fair trade.”

We laugh together.

It’s easy to be with him.

I’ve dated a lot and usually I have to put on some kind of show, pretending to be someone I’m not, because there seem to be expectations when it comes to being a supermodel.

But not with Marty.

I can just be— Stevie .

He doesn’t care what I look like in a bikini—at least, he’s never seemed overly interested in seeing me half-dressed. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind, but he’s not one of those guys always making suggestive remarks.

I feel…safe with Marty.

That’s the most accurate description I can come up with, and while it might make him feel bad if I said it out loud, it’s the world’s biggest compliment coming from me. I don’t feel safe with many people anymore, especially men.

We talk all through dinner and as we share an order of fried ice cream.

“I’d forgotten how good this is,” I admit.

“That’s one of the great things about having kids,” he says. “They never let you forget about delicious stuff, like funnel cake and pizza. Though, to be fair, I couldn’t live without pizza once in a while.”

“Before I lost all the weight, it had been five years since I’d had a slice of pizza,” I say quietly.

“I want to say it’s not worth it,” he says after a moment, “but I understand about sacrifices you make for your career. When there’s a lot of money at stake, we do what we have to do.”

“Exactly.”

That’s another thing about Marty—he gets it. He gets me . To the degree that I let him. We haven’t talked about the serious stuff, and honestly, I don’t want to. I don’t want to tell him that I’ll never have children of my own, or the details of how I’ve allowed myself to be abused over the years. Damien was the worst but he wasn’t the only. And I’m deeply ashamed about that.

“You want to go for a drive?” he asks when we leave the restaurant.

“Yes.” I move closer to him as we walk. This may or may not be a date, but I like being with him. I really like being close to him. Nothing can come of it, but I can enjoy the time we have.

We get into his SUV, and he heads for the Hollywood Hills.

“There’s a great lookout,” I say when he turns onto Laurel Canyon.

“There are a few.”

“Do you have a preference?”

“Surprise me.”

“Okay.” He drives to an area I’m not familiar with, and I smile when he pulls over. This isn’t actually an overlook—it’s a spot with a shoulder wide enough to park on that has a fantastic view of the city.

And it’s absolutely perfect.

“Oh, this is nice,” I say, getting out of the car just as my phone rings. “Oh, it’s my agent. Let me take this… Hi, Bev.”

“You got the music video!” she says happily. “Li’l Barracuda wants you to be his girl in the video. So there will be kissing and such.” She pauses. “You okay with that?” She knows what happened, so we discuss everything when it comes to work.

“Yes,” I respond quietly. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

“I’ll email you the details, but they’re shooting Thursday and Friday evening—you’re available, yes?”

“Of course. Whatever they need. Thanks, Bev.” I disconnect and then stare off at nothing.

“You okay?” Marty asks, standing beside me, his eyes filled with concern.

“I got that music video I told you about.”

“That’s great.” He pauses. “Isn’t it?”

“It is. It’s just…” I let my voice trail because I’m not sure how to explain what I’m feeling.

“Just what?”

I turn to him. “I’m going to have to… kiss him and stuff.”

“Right. But it’s acting, isn’t it?” He looks a bit confused.

“Well, yes, but the kissing is real.”

“Don’t you want to? Is he gross or something?”

“Oh. No, not at all. He’s very handsome. It’s just…” I pull my lower lip through my teeth. “I haven’t kissed anyone since Damien, and I don’t want my first kiss since that disaster to be with a stranger.”

He searches my face as if looking for the answer to a question.

One that I’m nervous about asking.

One I didn’t think I would—or could—ask.

“What can I do?” he asks softly, his eyes never leaving mine.

“I… would it be a huge ask for… you to do it?”