Gal Pals Read online

  Gal Pals

  Lily Craig

  Copyright © 2018 by Lily Craig

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Thanks for reading

  Chapter One

  “Ok, cut for lunch, people!” shouted Mark, “We’ll meet back at 3:00 to start on the fight scene.”

  I finally exhaled, unlacing the complicated boots my character wore to combat the authoritarian government. They were way too warm for a June day in Los Angeles, especially when I wanted to grab a sandwich down the street. I changed into the sandals I kept in my trailer and set off.

  My mind kept returning to an email my manager, Steph, had sent me. Something about the potential role intrigued me, but I still had two more Dream Time sequels to film before I could get back into indie work. The money was great, sure, but creatively I missed the way indies pushed my boundaries.

  Dream Time 2, however, did not. At least not in a way other than forcing me to frown and make a lot of commanding speeches.

  The sandwich place was only a couple of blocks away, and I had a hat with a huge brim and large sunglasses. Underneath, my hair was dyed purple on the left side to work with the Dream Time 2 story about my character embracing her identity as a leader and iconoclast. Out on the streets of Los Angeles, the hair color helped me feel less conspicuous, oddly enough.

  Everyone knew me as the pretty bottle blonde from the first Dream Time, so they wouldn’t be expecting to see me like this.

  It was a small refuge from stardom, at least until the sequel was finished and came out to the millions of eager fans around the world. For now, I would appreciate whatever I could take that let me feel normal again. It wasn’t every year you were catapulted into super fame, and I most definitely wasn’t used to it yet.

  Hence my adventure out to get food, when I knew well I could be spotted.

  Hummus, roasted veggies, and whole wheat bread: the sandwich was a truce between my filming diet and the things I craved.

  A.k.a buckets of carbs.

  But I couldn’t stick around to eat the thing in the shop, or I’d run the risk of someone recognizing me. Mark would be furious if I was late for the afternoon scenes, so I’d have to eat it in my trailer. At least that’s what I should have done.

  Maybe it was because it had been so long since I’d spent time out in the sunshine, filming schedule being the complete lord and master of my time these past few months. Or maybe it was some part of me that wanted to rebel.

  I sat down on the bench around the corner from the sandwich shop and allowed myself a few minutes to sit and eat, soaking in the brightness and vitamin D without guilt. It was incredible. The warmth on my legs soothed my aching quads.

  The euphoria didn’t last long, though.

  I felt someone staring.

  Sure enough, across the street there was a girl taking pictures of me.

  Damn paparazzi. Vanessa, you should have known better.

  Once I looked at her, the girl drew her camera back down to chest level and held my gaze. She was wearing a floaty peach top, her shoulders kissed by the sunlight and hair tied in a relaxed bun at the nape of her neck. Even from here, I could tell she was stunning.

  But that wasn’t what held my attention.

  “Don’t take my picture!” I yelled at her, despite my better judgment. “I’m eating.” I held up the sandwich like it could shield me from her camera.

  I could have sworn she shrugged apologetically, but before I could respond any further, I heard a whirring flurry of clicks. The rest of the cavalry had arrived.

  Down the block, and scurrying rapidly closer, there was a pack of paparazzi, a group of men with the many bags and lenses of those constantly ready to invade privacy.

  Whatever shreds of privacy I had left, that is.

  To my surprise, when the girl across the street saw them coming, she didn’t join them. She hesitated.

  I didn’t have that luxury. I stuffed the sandwich in my purse and then ran, as quickly as I could wearing sandals, in the opposite direction of the pack. My movement whipped them into a further frenzy, though, like a predator’s instinct only heightened by the prey’s attempts to flee.

  I heard shouts and the repetitive sounds of the cameras capturing every moment. I wished I’d worn more flattering pants to grab lunch, knowing full well that these ones sagged a bit in the butt.

  Hey, you can want superficial improvements in an admittedly terrible situation, right?

  This would be the last time I assumed that purple hair would save me from recognition. These paparazzi guys probably didn’t even care who I was at first, just saw someone else taking pictures and couldn’t lose valuable time ascertaining whether I was worth it or not. And then trying to get away just confirmed it.

  It was too late to turn back. I briefly considered ducking into the studio, but I didn’t want to go back to work yet.

  That was my second mistake.

  I turned down an alleyway and caught my breath for a split second, then heard the mob approaching, cameras active even without a visible target. They were getting closer. I don’t think I’d fooled them.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  I ran a few more steps down the alley, then stopped. Maybe I could go back the way I came? Or one of these back doors might open and I could run through the kitchens of a restaurant and exit out the front door. The possibilities paralyzed my mind and I heard the shouts of the paparazzi drawing nearer.

  Then, screeching around the corner, I saw the girl. She was behind the wheel of a bright yellow car, windows down and hair dishevelled in the breeze.

  “Get in!” she said, pulling up to me and braking suddenly so that the passenger side door was right in front of me. It was complete madness, like something out of a high-octane movie chase scene.

  And even crazier?

  I got in.

  “Sorry about that,” she said. Out of habit, I reached out to shake her hand but both of them were on the steering wheel, navigating us out of the alleyway at a speed I would have called breakneck if I hadn’t been startled speechless.

  She spotted my hand just as it moved from mid-air to clutching the seat belt with knuckles whitening.

  “Sorry about that, too,” she laughed. “Are you ok?”

  “Mostly,” I said. I found myself laughing with her, the adrenaline from the paparazzi chase still coursing through me wildly.

  “I’m Tara,” she said. For a split second, she glanced over at me and I was caught in her eyes, the thick lashes surrounding them so long I was momentarily jealous. Then she smiled and my heart quickened.

  It was odd. You tend to meet a lot of gorgeous people as an actress, their chiseled bodies and perfect hair so much the peak of human appearance that regular folks can’t measure up. But this girl was different.

  She was breathtaking, and completely natural. No injectables, no stylist, just her peachy skin glowing in the afternoon sunlight.

  “And you are?” she asked. Guess I’d gotten lost in my thoughts.

  Did she really not know who I was?

  Tara screeched around another corner, causing me to grab at the seat frantically and break my train of thought. She smiled at me again, though, and looked expectant.

  Like she actually meant the question.


  Then I realized the time between her asking me my name and my answer was going to become embarrassingly large. Plus, I had no idea where we were going.

  “Vanessa,” I said. I swallowed, shaking the feeling that I just kept making mistake after mistake today. “Where are you taking me?”

  “Oh right,” said Tara. She glanced in her rear-view mirror and seemed satisfied by what she found, because she zipped across several lanes of traffic to get to the spot where she could pull a u-turn. “Lost them. Where do you want to go?”

  “Back to the studio, I guess.”

  But something inside me wanted to keep driving. Well, not driving, since she was clearly a madwoman hell-bent on destroying every last nerve in my body. I wanted to keep being around her.

  There was a glow to her, something incandescent that drew me in and left me breathless.

  Or maybe that was the sheer driving-related terror.

  “So you’re an actress?”

  I couldn’t remember the last time someone had talked to me who had no clue that I was famous. The urge to lie and say no rose up in my throat.

  “Yeah,” I finally said. “A few movies.”

  “That’s so cool!” said Tara.

  “Why were you taking my picture, if you didn’t already know who I was?”

  Those long lashes fluttered while she blinked, blushing. The rosiness of her cheeks complemented her top perfectly, and I wanted the moment to stretch into the future indefinitely.

  “Cause I thought you were cute,” she said, leaning in as if divulging a social faux pas.

  My heartbeat raced even faster.

  “And I like to wander around taking pictures,” Tara continued. “Makes you see the world in a different way. I just didn’t think that I might be siccing paparazzi on you like that. Really, I am sorry about it. They must have been grabbing lunch just down the street or something.”

  “It’s no problem,” I said. “I was being stupid and reckless anyway. I should have assumed I’d get recognized and asked my assistant to get the sandwich for me.”

  “You have an assistant?”

  I nodded. But I didn’t want Tara to know the full story of just how famous I was. At least not yet.

  We pulled up to the gates of the studio, the car lurching as Tara braked.

  “Close enough for ya?”

  “It’s perfect, thanks.”

  “So listen,” Tara said. “I owe you a drink or something. I really didn’t mean to cause you any trouble like that. Want to grab one tonight?”

  And for yet another time that day, I felt myself resisting logic. I followed the completely irrational sound reverberating up from my gut, and I said yes. We made plans to head out after my shoot was done for the day, exchanged numbers.

  When I watched her reverse back into traffic and zoom away down the road, I found myself grinning like an idiot. Shortly afterwards, I realized I was still shaking.

  Whether it was from the paparazzi chase, the horror of Tara’s driving, or nerves about going out for a drink later, I wasn’t sure.

  Filming wasn’t done until almost 9:00 that night. Steph called me the moment I got to my trailer, and though I wanted to ignore the call, I knew she’d been trying to reach me all day.

  “Vanessa!” she exclaimed, as if thrilled to hear from me, even though she was the one calling.

  “Hey Steph, what’s up?”

  “I see you went out for lunch today.”

  “Blogs posting pictures of me?”

  “Yup.”

  “Sorry about that, I was dumb and got caught. Won’t happen again.”

  “That’s fine, really. It’s just the story has this thing about you driving away with some girl in a hideous car, did that really happen?”

  “Yeah…”

  I wasn’t sure how much to tell her. Steph had only been my manager since Dream Time came out, a move up the agency’s rankings from my previous indie slow-burn. Trevor and I had had a rapport. I was still figuring Steph out.

  “Stay safe, ok Vanessa?”

  “Sure thing.”

  There was no concern in her voice, but I understood the meaning nonetheless. It wasn’t ‘make sure random people don’t murder you in and or with their cars’ so much as ‘if you make weird choices like this don’t get photographed doing them.’

  I’d try my best.

  “So anyway, I’ve got a few invitations to parties I wanted to talk about, figure out which ones you should go to and get the dresses organized.”

  “Can we do that later, Steph? I have plans tonight.”

  “Fine, but I need you to respond to the email I sent you today then. By tomorrow noon.”

  “Got it.”

  I ended the call after a brief goodbye dance where Steph clearly wanted to get me to commit to more appearances at events than I was willing to do. One of the benefits of my newfound wealth was feeling a little more capable of saying no.

  It just turned out I still didn’t know what to do with situations where I said yes yet.

  My palms were clammy as I walked up the steps to the Mexican restaurant where Tara wanted to meet me for drinks. She’d agreed to get a spot in the private area near the back so I wouldn’t be hounded, and I thanked her profusely even though I wasn’t so convinced it would work.

  After I rounded the corner from the side entrance, my doubts were vanquished. The entire back room was empty except for Tara, sitting casually in a wicker chair twice her size. Somehow, it framed her body perfectly despite dwarfing her.

  “Hey!” she said, leaping up and smiling with warmth I could practically feel on my skin. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure if you’d come.”

  “Here I am,” I said. I shrugged, the muscles in my back still sore from the action sequences we’d filmed. There were bruises all along my shins and knees, too. Despite that, I’d worn a light summer dress to feel less like my character from Dream Time.

  As I stood in front of Tara, the fabric seemed too rich, too colourful. It brought her attention to my body in a way that I simultaneously craved and needed to reject.

  She was gorgeous; I knew that. I also had the luxury of knowing that she thought I was cute. The tension between us was real, delectable and powerful. But I couldn’t have a romance right now, not with anyone, and especially not with a woman.

  Steph didn’t know that I was gay. She’d all but made clear that she didn’t want to know if the rumors she’d heard were true. And she had been insistent that I appear eligible to help my Dream Time 2 release persona seem more approachable and down to earth.

  Too bad I was in front of Tara, almost floating away from the sensation of her eyes on me. Too bad I knew now, more than ever, that I needed to act on my longing.

  Too bad that Tara came up to me in that dimly light back room, her soft lips parted and eyes full of heat, and kissed me.

  Chapter Two

  It wasn’t just a kiss. It was the ignition of something powerful and fierce within me, a jump-start to a raging inferno. Desire consumed me within a split second and my hands found Vanessa’s waist. She was fit and perfect, just like you’d expect from a movie star.

  But there was a certain form of shyness in her response. Rather than deepening the kiss, she pulled back.

  “Hi,” she said. If I wasn’t mistaken, her eyelids fluttered with the same lust I was feeling. Only, somehow, she repressed it.

  “Hey,” I said. The green of her eyes seemed all the more vivid in this setting, a glowing intimate space where we could be alone. But I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t enjoyed the rush from escaping the paparazzi this afternoon.

  “Can we sit?” Vanessa asked before she started moving towards the table, not waiting for my response.

  The dress she was wearing highlighted her chest in a flattering way, and her skin looked perfectly cared for aside from the bruises along her knees and shins. Vanessa was shorter than I would have guessed of an actress, but what she lacked in height she made up for in presence.

 
Once we were both seated at the table, the waiter came back and took our order—daiquiri for Vanessa, Sol for me.

  “I secretly love girly drinks,” she said, as if there was something she had to apologize for about her order.

  “I’ll keep your secret safe.” I pantomimed zipping my mouth shut. Her smile in response was brilliant, practically illuminating the restaurant just from that action.

  “And I haven’t gone out in a long, long time,” Vanessa continued. “In fact, I can’t even remember the last time I did.”

  “So you’ve been busy filming things?”

  “Yup, sequel to Dream Time. I guess I lied, I’ve been to awards shows and galas and stuff, but I haven’t gone out with actual human beings in a long time.”

  “Actors don’t count as humans?”

  “Not in my book.”

  “So what does that make you?” I smiled, leaning in closer. There was a combination of vulnerability and confidence to her that didn’t seem possible to coexist. And yet there they were, shining out of her beautiful green eyes as if she was supposed to seem perfect and anxious at the same time.

  “Vanessa,” she said. It was simple but profound at once. I wanted to kiss her again, but settled on allowing my eyes to wander back to her lips. “What are you?”

  “Tara,” I said, laughing.

  “Are you a photographer?”

  “Only an amateur. Taken a few classes but they cost so much it just makes more sense to practice on my own, you know? And I work as a data entry clerk in the meantime.”

  “Robots must be your main competition, then,” Vanessa said. Once our drinks arrived, she took a dainty sip of the daiquiri.

  “Oh yeah, it’ll definitely be automated into oblivion at some point. But for now, helps me pay my rent while I wander around L.A. looking for things to shoot.”

  “Or people.”

  “Yeah, or people.”

  We sat in comfortable silence, eyes locked on each other while we each took a sip of our drinks.