The Decoy Girlfriend(7)
Who does he think he is, storming in here and all but demanding she set everything aside to cater to his wants?
Thorny irritation prickles up her arms. It doesn’t matter how handsome he is, with those Aegean-blue eyes that beg a woman to sink into them like Poseidon’s seas and sexy two-day scruff that would cause the most delightful friction along her jaw when they kiss . . .
Stop it, Freya! You may impersonate his girlfriend from time to time, but that does not make you the girlfriend he kisses, even in your horniest daydreams!
In the awkward lull where her imagination runs rampant, Taft rakes his hand through his brown waves, drawing attention to the streaks of stardust silver. He’s way too young to be considered a silver fox, but damn, he’s making that look work for him.
Though there’s still a trace of boyish charm about him, he’s nowhere near as preppy as he used to look. Even on his most recent show, Banshee of the Baskervilles, another supernatural period drama that just finished airing its final season, his hair wasn’t this long, silvery, and temptingly tousled.
Even years later, Once Bitten is still one of Freya’s beloved comfort watches; Taft played a cynical vampire who had been turned and abandoned by the love of his life, a mysterious woman he’s chased through the centuries, consumed only with thoughts of revenge and a closed-off heart. He’d nailed the tortured, emotionally unavailable spurned lover like no other actor has been able to do since, spurring a thriving fanfiction community even so many years after its cancellation and only one season.
On Banshee, he plays a stuffy-but-sweet Victorian occult detective whose cases are usually crashed by a socialite with a secret—she’s a banshee. Played by It Girl Mandi Roy, her character’s particular skill (other than butting heads with Taft’s) is her bloodcurdling wail, which heralds imminent death, but they’re usually able to avert disaster.
Filmed on location in Dartmoor, England, the fourth-season series finale ended with her banshee scream for Taft’s character, pegging him for death just as the two realized their feelings for each other. It was the worst kind of unceremonious cliffhanger. Freya’s watched each movie-length episode—of which there are only an infuriating six (!) per season—twice, and it’s still not enough. Apparently the production budget was way too high for a fifth season, and the show was canceled, but thanks to dedicated fans, it’s getting a movie instead to bring the beloved series to a more befitting end.
Freya yanks her gaze away from Taft, even though her thoughts determinedly cling on. If she ignores him, he’ll go away, she reasons, so she does her best not to look at him as she continues scanning the books in Skye’s pile.
I will not be weak for rude men. I will not give him the time of day, and I will most certainly not ogle him. I will pretend he isn’t the most hot and provoking man I’ve ever met.
Taft seems to take her silence as a call for more information, so he propels into a long-winded explanation. “You don’t understand,” he says, trying and failing to keep the edge from his voice. “I’m filming a cologne commercial on the street behind you, and I literally have fifteen minutes before the next take. I called a while ago and spoke to someone who said they’d set it aside for me. This is my only chance to grab that book before they notice I’m missing.”
Still not looking at him, she suppresses an eye roll. Everyone’s an actor or a model or a yoga instructor or something else très California. The glossy, rosy sheen of celebrity has long since faded from her eyes.
Celebs are either people who give new meaning to the expression “never meet your heroes” or they’re so next-door normal that they’re happier going about their life as incognito as possible and not name-dropping just to skip ahead in line, unlike someone Freya could mention. Freya’s had a lot of time to practice the tactic herself in her Mandi getup.
“Oh, it’s fine,” says Skye. “Honey, you go on and help this handsome young man.”
Freya shoots her Are you kidding me? eyes. “That wouldn’t be fair. You were here first.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he says. Then, to Freya: “She said it’s fine. Please?”
She refuses to be swayed by his surprising show of manners. Brandishing the price scanner in his general direction, she bites out, “Sir, I’m not sure who you think you are, but you can’t just—”
“I could tell you, if you want.” He sounds plain amused by his offer, like there’s no end to the things he’d delight in telling her.
She gapes, forgetting for a second that she’s pretending he isn’t there. “Excuse me?”
“Who I think I am,” he clarifies.
Freya runs her eyes over him, hoping her gaze sears. “Oh, I think I’ve already got a good idea.”
With a little smirk, his eyes flick to her chest. “Look, Randy, I’m willing to bet there’s a book under the counter with my name on it.”
There’s a freeing anonymity with being able to give as good as she gets when no one knows it’s her, Freya, giving it. It’s nice to have a conversation with someone who isn’t gouging a new wound or picking at an old scab.
She smiles through clenched teeth, scanning another book. “Not unless you’re the author.”
Taft’s smile, on the other hand, is flagrantly genuine, his dimples resembling parentheses popping up on either side of his mouth. “What, you don’t think I fit the author aesthetic?”