The Decoy Girlfriend(13)
There’s a group chat?
Not the one they started back in the Once Bitten days—a different one that doesn’t include him. He’s taken aback when he sees his face in the small front-facing camera screen. Nothing about his expression gives away that his teeth are gridlocked and his heart is Olympic sprinting for some invisible finish line that he’s not sure he’ll ever reach.
“Well, we’ve gotta eat some real food. We’re dying for some broccoli beef and veggie lo mein. And it looks like you’ve gotta jet, too? Lookin’ snazzy, Bamber.” Connor wolf-whistles.
Even though Connor is talking him up, Taft feels his heart sink. This is how he always does it, Taft realizes. As though Taft is the one too busy to stay on the line, to catch up. When really it’s Connor who has other, better things to do.
Things that don’t involve Taft, like housewarmings and group chats and, fuck, probably even Kora’s christening. Thank god he didn’t call himself Uncle Taft; there’s probably already a godfather-to-be waiting in the wings. Probably fucking Jake.
“Kinda jealous you’re living the life while I’m covered in baby drool and whatever this unidentified stain is.” Connor flashes an end-of-call smile. “We’ll let you go. Talk soon?”
Taft opens his mouth to say, No, it’s fine, I’m in no rush, or even My life isn’t as glamorous as you think it is; I was actually thinking about going to a bookshop.
But Connor doesn’t wait, and a second later, Taft’s phone reverts to the home screen. He stares at the brightly colored icons until they dim to black, and his phone turns to a brick in his hand. Of all the roles he’s played, the one of unreciprocated friend is the worst.
He and Connor came up together. Got their first big break together. They’d shared the most Icarian of highs and the most heartbreaking, hellish Hollywood lows.
They’d gotten shit-faced after bombed auditions, after pilots not getting picked up, after being unapologetically replaced by someone with bigger name recognition and star power—they’d been through the trenches, chewed up and spit out by the same people who dangled the golden tickets. Survived the hailstorm of noes before hearing that first yes.
Taft had even cried in front of him when they’d landed their first roles in Once Bitten, Taft as the lead and Connor as a supporting character, and then cried again when it got canceled before the first season even finished airing. His performance was scathingly called “paper-thin” and “as shallow as a kiddie pool” by more than one critic. Only a couple of reviewers acknowledged that his story lines and dialogue didn’t give him a lot to work with. But particularly cruel had been: “Throw the whole show away—one bite is all it takes to spit it out,” followed by a targeted breakdown of his weak acting chops.
Through sheer grit and hard work—and a couple of failed pilots that in retrospect he was glad hadn’t gone forward—he’d dug himself out of his career grave. He’d gotten a guest spot on other supernatural teen dramas, and a few times, the viewers loved his characters so much that the showrunners had decided to expand his role.
He’s grateful, but despite catapulting to a new level of fame with Banshee and the anticipation for the movie, he can’t wait to move on from it. He’s got some scripts for indie films waiting for him, any of which he’d be happy to attach his name to. He’s not looking for something with big names and an even bigger CGI budget—just the chance to reinvent himself from his typecasting as the lead’s hot boyfriend.
Taft wants to shed this reputation but not his friendships. He knows some A-listers who drop their friends when they “make it,” but that’s not him. So why does it feel like he’s the one being left behind?
Sometimes, Taft can’t shake the feeling that despite knowing Connor’s worst fears and biggest dreams—and even the way he snores like a trash compactor when he’s drunk off his ass—they’re still strangers in the ways that really matter.
Then again, maybe he’s being too hard on his best friend. Maybe Connor genuinely assumes Taft is just as busy as he is. That they’re all leading these fast-paced lives, squeezing in friends during the gaps in their schedules.
But Taft’s slipping through them, and no one’s noticed.
So when Mandi calls him a few minutes later to see whether he’d be up for hitting the clubs tonight, he doesn’t tell her he’s planning to go to a bookshop. He can imagine what she’d make of that on a Friday night. She probably wouldn’t come right out and call him boring, but the subtext would be loud and clear. And Taft’s a reader; he’s good at reading between the lines.
“We have to make at least one appearance this weekend,” Mandi reminds him. “Come on! It’ll be fun! You weren’t doing anything else, right?”
“Yes, I was, actually. You’ve interrupted a wild orgy I’m hosting,” he deadpans.
“Sarcasm is one of your least endearing qualities, dear boyfriend.”
“Are you looking forward to this being over?”
Taft prides himself for always thinking before he speaks, so at first he’s surprised that this slips out. But then he gets it; if he and Connor are friends out of habit, then maybe that’s how Mandi feels about him, too. With him because she has to be, for both their careers, not because she gives a shit.