You Had Me At Christmas: A Holiday Anthology(8)

He loves me, she told herself now. He committed to me. And mostly believed it.

“Yeah, but celebrity free pass,” the bride-to-be repeated doggedly. “It means, I can, like, do it with you.”

“I can’t do it with you,” Jared said. “My wife and I don’t have that arrangement. Here she is now.”

Far from being embarrassed, Paula looked at Kayla and pouted like a child. “You can’t have a man like this and not share him. That’s not fair.”

“Fair?” Kayla put the drinks on a nearby table because her hands had started shaking. “You know what isn’t fair, Paula? Your sense of entitlement. You think a bridal veil gives you some kind of pass to grope any guy that catches your eye?”

“Lighten up, it’s just a bit of fun,” one of her bridal party muttered.

“Yeah?” Kayla’s anger exploded, all sound and fury after months of being repressed. “If any of you were getting this kind of attention from a group of drunken males, would you still call it fun? Or would you call it sexual harassment?”

“I think you’ve made your point, honey,” Jared said quietly, holding out a hand to her. Kayla ignored the call to sanity.

“Oh, I haven’t even started.” Some part of her brain screamed, Listen to him, but her rage sent up sparks when she tried to apply the brakes. She could only barrel along the train tracks and who cared if the bridge was out?

“You’re all drunk and having fun and yeah, I could make allowances, but I’m so f*cking tired of doing that.” She eyeballed each and every one of them. “The only part of Jared you own is how his music makes you feel. His dick isn’t attached. He’s not a celebrity squeeze toy, he’s a human being, and my husband. And you’re ruining the first date night we’ve had in forever.”

She returned her glare to the bride who was sobering fast. “Oh, and by the way, Paula, there is no free pass on commitment, not if you want trust. And if you don’t know that Relationship 101 stuff, then you have no business making vows next weekend. Because marriage is more than losing ten pounds to fit into your wedding dress and playing princess for one day. Marriage is real life and hard work, sometimes the hardest work you’ll ever have to do. And that’s even before you add kids to the mix.”

She ran out of combustible fury, and stopped. Right outside OMIGOD-you’ve-done-it-now station.

She became aware of her surroundings first, then the quiet. Every conversation in the bar had fallen silent. The bartender stood with the cocktail shaker motionless in his hands.

“Guess they are married,” murmured the waitress.

A guy raised his cell to peel off a shot and Jared turned his head to glare. The cell lowered. “We’ve been under a lot of pressure, with everything that’s going down with the band.” As he spoke, her husband moved away. It hurt, until she understood that he was drawing attention with him, giving her privacy to steady her ragged breathing. “I’m sure you all understand that it gets to us sometimes.”

As conversations resumed around them, he turned grave, beautiful eyes on the bachelorettes. His sisters laughingly called it Jared’s “come to Jesus” face—You’ve disappointed me, but with love and patience we’ll get through it.

It was the same expression he’d adopted when their four-year-old drew on the wall with crayons yesterday.

It was not the look Kayla wanted from him tonight.

The women shuffled, shamefaced and uncomfortable.

“Oh yeah, sure…I mean, I totally get that it’s hard living a normal life when you’re famous.”

“Maybe we were a little pushy.”

They left as though departing a funeral, touching Jared’s hand and murmuring sympathetically. Standing slightly apart, Kayla couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she could imagine it. So sorry you’re married to a whack job.

They sidled past her, avoiding eye contact, except for the sober one who mumbled an apology.

She nodded, grateful for scraps.

As Paula brushed by, close to tears, Kayla said weakly, “Good luck with your wedding,” but only succeeded in sounding sarcastic. The other woman shot her a poisonous look.

“Fuck you.”

Unable to look at Jared, Kayla grabbed her coat from the couch and shrugged it on. “Since I’ve clearly ruined the mood,” she told her shoes, “let’s call this date a failure and go home. I’ll get the car.”

Leaving him to settle the tab, she picked up her bag and walked blindly to the rear exit, unwilling to run the gauntlet through the bar.

Outside, the temperature had dropped, and she stopped to button her coat. The waning moon was a sliver in the sky, the stars faint and faraway above L.A.’s power grid. In Bridgeton, they looked so close, she always felt she could reach up and touch one.

Her SUV was at the office end of the parking lot, away from the bustle of the entertainment precinct. She’d taken three steps when arms enfolded her.

“No,” Jared said in her ear. “We’re not giving up on tonight.”





Chapter Four





Kayla’s stoicism crumbled. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s my fault. I should have cut them loose earlier, but I haven’t learned the skill yet.”