Day, Sylvia - Bared to You - A Crossfire Novel

I hit the gym on the way home; then picked up some items to make fettuccini alfredo for dinner with crème brulée for dessert—comfort food guaranteed to put me in a carbohydrate coma. I expected sleep to offer me a break from the endless what-ifs my brain was recycling, hopeful y long into Saturday morning.

Cary and I ate in the living room with chopsticks, his idea to cheer me up. He said dinner was great, but I couldn’t tel . I snapped out of it when he fel silent, too, and I realized I was being a less than stel ar friend.

“When are the Grey Isles’ campaign ads going up?” I asked.

“I’m not sure, but get this…” He grinned. “You know how it is with male models—we’re tossed around like condoms at an orgy. It’s tough to stand out from the crowd, unless you’re dating someone famous. Which I’m suddenly reported to be doing since those photos of you and me were plastered everywhere. I’m the side piece of action in your relationship with Gideon Cross.

You’ve done wonders for making me a hot commodity.”

I laughed. “You didn’t need my help for that.”

“Wel , it certainly didn’t hurt. Anyway, they cal ed me back for a couple more shoots. I think they might just use me for more than five minutes.”

“We’l have to celebrate,” I teased.

“Absolutely. When you’re up for it.”

We ended up hanging out and watching the original Tron . His smartphone rang twenty minutes into the movie and I heard him speaking to his agency. “Sure.

I’l be there in fifteen, tops. I’l cal you when I get there.”

“Got a job?” I asked after he’d hung up.

“Yeah. A model showed up for a night shoot so trashed he’s worthless.” He studied me. “You wanna come?”

I stretched my legs out on the couch. “Nope. I’m good right here.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Al I need is mindless entertainment. Just the thought of getting dressed again exhausts me.” I’d be happy wearing my flannel pajama bottoms and holey old tank top al weekend. As much as I hurt inside, total

comfort outside seemed like a necessity. “Don’t worry about me. I know I’ve been a mess lately, but I’l get it together. Go on and enjoy yourself.”

After Cary rushed out, I paused the movie and went to the kitchen for some wine. I stopped by the breakfast bar, my fingertips gliding over the roses Gideon had sent me the previous weekend. Petals fel to the countertop like tears. I thought about cutting the stems and using the flower food packet that came with the bouquet, but it was pointless hanging on to them.

I’d throw the arrangement away tomorrow, the last reminder of my equal y doomed relationship.

I’d gotten farther with Gideon in one week than I had with other relationships that lasted two years. I would always love him for that. Maybe I’d always love him, period.

And one day, that might not hurt so badly.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” Cary singsonged as he yanked the comforter off of me.

“Ugh. Go away.”

“You’ve got five minutes to get your ass up and in the shower, or the shower’s coming to you.” Opening one eye, I peeked at him. He was shirtless and wearing baggy pants that barely clung to his hips.

As far as wake-up cal s went, he was prime. “Why do I have to get up?”

“Because when you’re flat on your back you’re not on your feet.”

“Wow. That was deep, Cary Taylor.”

He crossed his arms and shot me an arch look. “We need to go shopping.”

I buried my face in the pil ow. “No.”

“Yes. I seem to remember you saying this was a

‘Sunday garden party’ and ‘rock star gathering’ in the same sentence. What the hel do I wear to something like that?”

“Ah, wel . Good point.”

“What are you wearing?”

“I…I don’t know. I was leaning toward the ‘English tea with hat’ look, but now I’m not so sure.” He gave a brisk nod. “Right. Let’s hit the shops and find something sexy, classy, and cool.” Growling a token protest, I rol ed out of bed and padded over to the bathroom. It was impossible to shower without thinking of Gideon, without picturing his perfect body and remembering the desperate sounds he made when he came in my mouth. Everywhere I looked, Gideon was there. I’d even started hal ucinating black Bentley SUVs al around town. I thought I spotted one damn near everywhere I went.

Cary and I had lunch; then we bounced al over the city, hitting the best of the Upper East Side thrift stores and Madison Avenue boutiques before taking a taxi downtown to SoHo. Along the way, Cary had two teenage girls ask for his autograph, which tickled me more than him, I think.

“Told you,” he crowed.

“Told me what?”

“They recognized me from an entertainment news blog. One of the posts about you and Cross.” I snorted. “Glad my love life is working out for someone.”

He was due at another job around three and I went with him, spending a few hours in the studio of a loud and brash photographer. Remembering it was Saturday, I slipped into a far corner and made my weekly cal to my dad.

“You stil happy in New York?” he asked me above the background noise of dispatch talking over the radio in his cruiser.

“So far so good.” A lie, but the truth helped no one.

His partner said something I didn’t catch. My dad snorted and said, “Hey, Chris insists he saw you on television the other day. Some cable channel, celebrity gossip thing. The guys won’t leave me alone about it.” I sighed. “Tel them watching those shows is bad for their brain cel s.”

“So you’re not dating one of the richest men in America?”

“No. What about your love life?” I asked, quickly diverting. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Nothing serious. Hang on.” He responded to a cal on the radio, then said, “Sorry, sweetheart. I have to run. I love you. Miss you like crazy.”

“I miss you, too, Daddy. Be careful.”

“Always. Bye.”

I kil ed the cal and went back to my former spot to

wait for Cary to wrap things up. In the lul , my mind tormented me. Where was Gideon now? What was he doing?

Would Monday bring me an inbox ful of photos of him with another woman?

Sunday afternoon I borrowed Clancy and one of Stanton’s town cars for the drive out to the Vidal estate in Dutchess County. Leaning back in the seat, I looked out the window, absently admiring the serene vista of rol ing meadows and green woodlands that stretched to the distant horizon. I realized I was working on Day 4

After Gideon. The pain I’d felt the first few days had turned into a dul throbbing that felt almost like the flu.

Every part of my body ached, as if I was going through some sort of physical withdrawal and my throat burned with unshed tears.

“Are you nervous?” Cary asked me.

I glanced at him. “Not real y. Gideon won’t be there.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“I wouldn’t be going if I thought otherwise. I do have some pride you know.” I watched him drum his fingers on the armrest between our two seats. For al the shopping we’d done yesterday, he’d made only one purchase: a black leather tie. I’d teased him mercilessly about it, he of the perfect fashion sense going with something like that.

He caught me looking at it. “What? You stil don’t like my tie? I think it works wel with the emo jeans and my lounge lizard jacket.”