Remember When 3: The Finale Part 18

I knew Trip had only lashed out at me because he was under stress. Plus, he'd gotten too used to the idea of being sold out. That didn't make it okay, and his outbursts were something we'd have to work on. I didn't sign on to be his punching bag.

He didn't sign on to be mine, either.

I went into that Jenna conversation determined to be calm. Zen. Rational. Instead, I'd freaked out at him because... well, because I obviously didn't like the idea of Trip's name being thrown around with hers again. Or any of those other women.

I'd dealt with that enough while we were separated.

In the weeks after The Lunchbox, I kinda went a little nutty. I holed up in my old bedroom and watched E! religiously, torturing myself with every report about Trip's new movie, every mention of his engagement. The only times I left the house were to buy up all the movie magazines and rag mags that had his picture on the cover. There were a lot of them.

As usual, Lisa was my saving grace.

She came over every day, made me shower, put on clean clothes. She brought over mindless romantic comedies and snacks to pig out on while we watched them. She took me shopping. She bought me that membership to the gym so I could use the pool. Eventually, she dragged me to her Lamaze cla.s.ses. She tried to keep me focused on life.

She even tried to get me to swear off the tabloids, but those things were addictive. It took quite a while before I could wean myself out of their grasp. But even though I stopped buying them, I couldn't ignore the covers. So, it was hard to avoid Trip altogether. With so many entertainment magazines, his face was everywhere, all the time. Normally, not alone.

During those years after rehab, he went back to his playboy ways. I couldn't go more than a week without seeing him on some magazine, some new girl on his arm, living it up with some random woman or another.

A few months back, he was even named as People's s.e.xiest Man Alive.

For the second year in a row.

So, in my defense, you need to understand that I was acting out because of more than just plain old jealousy. Any reminder of that period of his life inevitably reminded me of mine, and that wasn't really the greatest time for either of us.

He'd spent our years apart with a fake smile plastered to his face, concentrating on nothing more than his career and turning fully into him.

The newfound stardom forced Trip's alter ego to appear more often than usual, and he hid behind that persona for so long that there were times I was sure he didn't even realize he was slipping into it.

Like the night we went to The Viper Room.

Trip decided that I couldn't come all the way out to Los Angeles without experiencing at least a taste of the famed Sunset Strip. He chose that place not only because he was friendly with the owners, but because it was practically pitch black inside. I could barely see my hand in front of my face, much less would gawking fans be able to recognize him in order to swarm him all night.

He kept ordering Tanqueray and tonics for me, and after about three of them, I suddenly decided I felt like dancing. There was a great band playing, and we abandoned our private booth in order to make our way closer to the stage. It wasn't the smartest move on either of our parts, because the lighting was a bit brighter near that part of the club.

People noticed.

A group of girls that were dancing nearby started nudging each other and looking our way before I realized our mistake. They were young-in their early twenties-and I immediately felt like The Old Lady at the Bar. I'd already come to the conclusion that the Sunset Strip was a younger person's game, and I'd most likely missed my window for optimal clubbing a few years before. I was hoping that maybe since I was there with a celebrity that it shaved a couple years off my tally.

One of the girls finally mustered up enough bravery to walk right up to Trip and ask, "You're Trip Wiley, right?"

I could see the hint of white powder along the edge of her nose. G.o.d. c.o.ke was so eighties. Wasn't ecstasy or meth all the rage nowadays? I didn't even know. That's how uncool I was when it came to the club scene.

Him made his appearance as he smiled and answered, "That I am."

Fangirl shot over her shoulder, "Told ya!" as her girlfriends started giggling and closed in around him. I was unceremoniously shoved out of the way as they asked for his autograph and tried to buy him a drink. Trip just ate it up. He shot me an apologetic look as he signed their sc.r.a.ps of paper, gave hugs, posed for pictures. I wanted to just get the h.e.l.l off the dance floor before more people recognized him.

At one point, Fangirl gave me the once-over and said to Trip, "Why are you here with her?"

Ummm, excuse me, c.o.key McWh.o.r.es.l.u.t?

She should've used daddy's credit card to invest in some etiquette lessons instead of blowing it up her nose. I put my hands at my hips and got right up in her face to respond, "Maybe because I have more cla.s.s than to say something like that?"

She stood there, speechless. She might have had youth over me, but she sure as h.e.l.l didn't have my years of cultivated wit. Or my boyfriend. f.u.c.k her.

Trip grabbed my hand and led us back to our booth. He looked pretty p.i.s.sed. I was, too. I mean, who the h.e.l.l did that c.o.ked-out b.i.t.c.h think she was, right?

But when we got back to the booth, Trip said, "Layla. You can't say stuff like that!"

"What? You're kidding, right? I'm pretty sure she had it coming."

"Those are my fans, Lay. They're the ones who'll actually buy a ticket to my next movie. You can't ream every one of them out every time one of them says something stupid."

I looked at him in astonishment. "Well, maybe if you had put her in her place first, I wouldn't have had to. But you didn't say anything!"

His eyebrow quirked at that. "I would have. You jumped in before I could."

c.r.a.p. He was right.

I started laughing. "Well, okay, Mr. Cool. How would you have handled it?"

He slid along the pleather bench seat, close enough to rub a hand along my bare thigh. "I would have asked her kindly to treat my girlfriend with a little more respect. That's all it would have taken. She's young and catty; she was showing off for her friends. A simple reminder that she was acting out of line would have done the trick. But now...."

"Now what?"

He raised my chin to face him and smirked out, "Well, now she has a story to sell. You're the one that gets all bent out of shape about the tabloids, and now you know how these stories happen, Lay-Lay. She could call up any of those d.a.m.ned magazines and those bloodsuckers would be able to pull an entire article out of a two-minute incident."

"I highly doubt she even knows how to read."

That made him laugh. "You're right. I'm sure it won't turn into anything. But please just let me handle this stuff from now on, okay?"

I snuggled in a little closer against his side. "Fine. You're the boss, Chester."

He just chuckled and shook his head.

Then his hand rose a little higher as his mouth came down on mine.

"Oh my G.o.d! I'm kissing Trip Wiley!" I busted, as I ran my hands through his hair and opened my lips, right there in our darkened booth. The music was pumping through my body; Trip's tongue was invading my mouth.

We were totally making out.

I slid my hand down his chest, my fingers traveling south on their way to his jeans, pressing my palm insistently against his- "I'm sorry to interrupt, but you didn't sign my paper."

My hand stilled as I broke away from Trip's mouth. I looked up to find one of our new friends from the dance floor standing there expectantly, holding a pen and a piece of paper.

"What?" Trip asked her gruffly, his thoughts clearly on my abandoned handy.

Dance Floor Girl said, "You signed all my friends' stuff. You walked away before you could sign mine." She stepped closer and shoved the paper in his direction. "Do you mind?"

My first thought was to answer her with Do you? but I kept my mouth shut. Trip smiled politely, signed her stupid napkin, and sent her on her way.

He shot an apologetic look my way and I just rolled my eyes.

And then we went back to making out.

My thoughts were more on the evening we'd had rather than the evening still ahead of us. I mean, the first night we went out in weeks, and we had to spend it dealing with strangers. That night, I felt like he belonged to the world more than he belonged to me. Maybe he always would.

Trip went to the bathroom, so I hit the dance floor. It's not like I was the one who needed to live my life in hiding, right? No one would give a darn about me.

But just in case, I stood off to the edge of the floor where it was a little darker. I was feeling the effects of those gin and tonics, and figured I'd look like a drunken idiot if I busted a move anyway. So, I was just kind of swaying along and bobbing my head to the music when a voice behind me asked, "Good band, huh?"

I turned and found a really cute guy standing there. Young. Probably early to mid-twenties. Fantastic eyebrows. "Yeah. They're great. I'm enjoying the h.e.l.l out of them!"

"You know what I'm enjoying?" Eyebrows asked. He leaned in closer and said, "Watching you dance." I just gave him a courteous smile and a yeah right smirk as he added, "Can I buy you a drink?"

I was feeling like an old lady in that club filled with twenty-somethings, so it was flattering that some young stud was laying on the charm. He was sweet, but I politely thanked him and explained I was there with someone.

Suddenly, that someone swooped out of nowhere, grabbed my hand and hauled me out of the club. Once we got outside, I gave a rub to my shoulder where Trip had practically pulled my arm out of the socket. "Whoa, there, pal. What's with the-"

SLAM! My back was suddenly plastered against the black walls of The Viper Room, Trip's mouth descending on mine. I was a little buzzed from the drinks, but I was positively drunk from Trip's drugging kiss. I melted under his a.s.sault, his body pressed along the length of mine, his breath against my lips as he pulled back and said, "You tease. Wiggling around in this little skirt. You thought you'd go unnoticed? I leave you alone for five minutes and you've already got some guy hitting on you."

I bit my lip to keep from smiling. Jealous Trip was just too hot for words. I decided to stoke the fire. "You were only gone for three."

He growled, smacked me on the a.s.s and gave me a sham dirty look out of the corner of his eyes. "You're asking for it, Warren. Just wait until I get you home."

The valet brought the Batmobile around and Trip practically shoved me in the pa.s.senger seat, the line of awaiting clubgoers gawking at the scene we'd just made. Crud. Forgot about them. A few Blackberries made their appearance, but thank G.o.d there were no actual photographers around for that.

Trip started the drive home, his hand sliding up between my legs, under my skirt, teasing a look at my panties.

"Eyes on the road, cowboy. Let's remember where we are."

He snarled, "There's only one place I want to be right now and it's right here. Maybe here. Or here."

I almost melted into the seat. It was going to be a long ride home.

Like a total gin-head, I unzipped him and slid my hand inside his jeans as he wound the car up Mulholland Drive. He was already hard, and he groaned as my hand worked him over. I was a bit worried that he'd drive us over the edge of the cliff.

Maybe I shouldn't have had my hand down his pants.

Rationality returned as I shook my head, trying to get my brain straight. "I'm thinking this can wait a few minutes," I said as I reclaimed my hand.

Trip let out with a frustrated breath. "I'm only agreeing because we're almost home. Christ. You're such a tease. I'm dying here."

I giggled as I watched him zip up and readjust himself.

We finally made it home-in one piece-and Trip hit the b.u.t.ton to open the gate, but didn't drive through. "Huh," he said. "That's weird."

He got out of the car and checked his mailbox, which was gaping wide open. Slightly odd.

He pulled an envelope out and ripped it open right there at the end of the driveway, read the card inside, then promptly folded it up and shoved it in his pocket before coming back to the car.

"What was it?" I asked.

"Nothing."

"Let me see it."

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Well, if it's nothing, then you won't mind me looking at it."

He reluctantly pulled the card out of his pocket and handed it over. I took note of the googly, bubbly lettering, hearts over the "i"s and everything.

Trip- I am in love with you and want to show you how much.

I heard you were going to The House of Blues tonight.

I can do things to you that you've only dreamed of.

Xoxo Sarah P.S. I will be wearing a purple dress. But don't worry, I'll find YOU.

I folded the card back up and put it in the envelope. "This is a little weird, don't you think?"

"It's just some stupid teenager or something. I wouldn't worry over it."

The fact was, we almost went to the House of Blues. It was on our short list of possible places to hit that night. What if we had gone there and Psycho-Stalker thought it was for her? What if she had some burly maniac there with her, waiting for the opportunity to slip something into Trip's drink before throwing him in the trunk of her car or something? What if they came to the house to carry out their plan? "Well, this 'stupid teenager' knows where you live! She was here. That doesn't disturb you?"

"It's not like she hopped the gate and snuck into my bed. Really, don't worry about it."

"How can you not worry about it? Trip, maybe we should call the police."

He let out with a heavy breath. "Babe. They'd laugh at me for something like this. It's not the first time some crazy girl stuck some letter in my mailbox. It probably won't be the last. I have the best security system money can buy. No one's getting in here. You're making too much of it."

Not the first time? This had happened before? And my G.o.d, he was okay with it happening again? How could he just be so calm about something like that? I was trying to keep my cool about it for Trip's sake and my sanity, but the truth was, I was pretty flipped out.

For all the foreplay and teasing leading up to his house, I suddenly wasn't in the mood. That card had freaked me out enough that we decided it was better to just go to bed.

I didn't fall asleep until dawn.

I awoke to a certain body part prodding me from behind.

I'd barely slept the night before, which only added to the half-asleep, dreamlike quality of Trip's body nudging against mine.

Wordlessly, he slipped his hand under the sheet and around to my front, grasping at my b.r.e.a.s.t.s as he continued to shove his hips against my backside.

Mmm. Good morning.

I was only half-conscious as I reached up and back, pulled his face in tighter against my neck, his hot breath against my skin, his hand sliding down inside my panties. He ripped them down my legs and I kicked them off my feet, his fingers exploring again, making delicious circular motions against my pinkest part. Kissing that spot behind my ear where the skin meets the hairline. Is there a name for that spot? I decided to name it a fleeb.