“Do I even have a future with her?” I ask the voice behind the dark screen. “The producers seem to think otherwise or they wouldn’t have pulled that little stunt with Jules Maxwell, or have brought in another man from her past. Honestly, I stand a better chance with her ex in the room than I do with Bronx.”
“Please answer the question, Joshua.”
In this moment, I want this show to be over. I want to get out of here and start dating Joey to see how we are in real life. I want her to experience the Hollywood premieres, after parties, and nights alone on my couch. Can she keep up? Will she complain?
Does she know that the moment she steps out of my apartment, the cameras will be back? That people, fans, will watch her every move? They’ll track what she eats, wears, and where she goes every single day. Will she smile for them like she smiles for me? Or will reality hurt her, much like reality is hurting us now? Does she burp in public? Is she the type of girl who is constantly in her stretch pants and a tank top because it’s today’s norm on what dressed up looks like?
What does she look like dressed up in a fancy gown with her hand resting on my arm? How will she react on the red carpet? As my wife, the public expects her to be there and what if she can’t? Joey didn’t come on this show to marry a celebrity; she just got lucky, or unlucky in her case. She also wasn’t expecting to have her marriage annulled once the show stopped airing either. I feel sorry that she got stuck with a bastard like me.
Running my hands through my hair, I sigh heavily. It’s good for the ratings, me contemplating my answer. It gives others a hope they didn’t know they were looking for, that they could snag someone famous. Joey, even though she wouldn’t want this, is the poster girl for all women who have celebrity crushes.
“Yeah, of course, but shouldn’t the question be whether or not she’s looking forward to a future with me?” I stand and leave the confession room before they can ask another question. Being put on the spot is not something I enjoy. I don’t know many who do, but usually I’m prepared with a “no comment” or I can offer a smile and a slight shake of my head and that usually gets the reporters off kilter enough that they move on. Not this time. I can’t look them in the eye when they ask, and that bothers me.
The house is empty when I step out. The sound of laughter is faint and coming from outside. It’s too nice to be inside and when you have walls surrounding you, tensions seem to run high. Walking through the house, I look in the rooms for Joey as fear runs through me, wondering if I’ll find her with Bronx. I don’t think Joey is that type, but he is. He has no qualms weaseling his way into an existing relationship and I have no doubt he’d do the same with Joey, given half the chance.
As I step outside, the California sun blinds me. Immediately, my arm is up, covering my eyes as I try to adjust and work past the dark spots. Amanda and Millie are sunbathing. Gary and Cole are working out. My stomach drops as my eyes travel to the laughter and I find my wife and enemy in the pool together, with his wife wa
tching. I think I’d be okay if Rebekah was in the water, but she’s just sitting there, in a dress while Joey is in her bikini, sitting on Bronx’s shoulders.
If absence makes the heart grow fonder, it’s working. I want what I cannot have, what I pushed away. I had her, and she’s slipping through my fingers. I don’t know if it’s just pure stupidity or my ego getting in my way, it doesn’t really matter because right now all I can see is Bronx screwing up my life again.
I have to ask myself if the money is worth it because right now, the answer is no.
I’ve never seen the look of jealousy on a man before, until now. Sure, Tony would scoff when I professed my undying love for Joshua when I watched him on TV or saw him in a magazine, but he knew it was just an infatuation and something that would never come to fruition. Looking at Josh now, as he watches Bronx and I in the pool, tells me that he’s jealous, but of what? Is it the fact that I have a friend in the house or the fact that my friend is Bronx? Neither should really matter because he’s already tossed me out like yesterday’s trash. The end is looming for us. It’s flashing like an airport beacon getting ready for a plane to land. Even after we’ve been together, he hasn’t said things are different. Words are usually spilled in the heat of passion, but not from Josh.
I can’t change Josh’s mind. I’ve tried repeatedly and have only continued to hurt myself in the process. Would I rather be with him right now, and not when we leave this house? Yes, in a heartbeat, but he doesn’t want that. He has Jules waiting for him on the outside and I don’t care what he says, he’ll end up with her. He always does.
I tap Bronx’s shoulder, letting him know I want to get down, but it’s not soon enough. Josh is already back in the house with a weak attempt at slamming a sliding glass door. I don’t even know why I was up there to begin with, or why I didn’t ask to be put down right away. When he swam under my legs and lifted me up, it caught me off guard, but I thought it was all in good fun. Seeing Josh’s expression, though, tells me that he finds nothing funny with this situation.
“I should go find Josh,” I state as soon as my feet touch the bottom of the swimming pool. Bronx holds my waist and allows tiny water droplets to fall onto his face without a care in the world. I find it rather annoying myself, but whatever. His hazel eyes make up for my annoyance and there’s no mistaking how women can become lost while looking into them. Maybe it’s an actor thing and part of the mystery of being so sickeningly beautiful. I’m not sure, but looking him in the eyes is dangerous and should be avoided at all times.
“I’m sure he’s fine.” Bronx half slants his head toward the door and as I glance around, I notice that Josh is the only one inside, and he’s alone. Normally, I’d be an eager beaver and go running to find him especially since I haven’t seen him all day.
“I have to go,” I say as I step away from his grasp. Even though his fingers linger on my skin when I move away, I don’t turn back as I rush out of the pool and into the house. As soon as I step inside, I regret not grabbing a towel because the air conditioner is on full blast and the house is freezing. I cross my arms over my chest and run toward my bedroom where I find Josh packing his clothes.
“What are you doing?”
He doesn’t stop or look at me as he continues throwing his clothes into his bag. I’m half wondering if he emptied the contents, and this is his way of organizing his things, since neither of us have actually unpacked due to always changing rooms.
I find a towel and quickly dry off the water and step into a pair of sweatpants, slipping a T-shirt on over my head before placing my hand on his.
“Josh?”
His gaze meets mine and I wish it hadn’t. His eyes are on fire; he’s angry with me. He rips his hand away from underneath mine and continues to throw his clothes in his bag.
“Joshua,” I say his name again in hopes that he’ll at least talk to me.
“Don’t. You don’t get to talk to me right now.”
“Excuse me?” I commit the most childish act known to mankind and pull his bag away from him. He sighs and drops whatever piece of clothing he has in his hand.
“Joey, I don’t want to fight.”
“Well I do, so let’s have it.” I cross my arms in defiance and stare him down. Maybe this was the problem with Tony. When he said he cheated, I accepted it. I didn’t try to fight for us, not that I would have, but I was so indifferent with everything. Yes, my heart broke and I shed far too many tears but I didn’t call him, text him, or even answer his emails. Once he said the words, I ran and never looked back.
I can do that with Josh, too, because we’re ending. We have an expiration date, as much as I wish that weren’t true, it is. However, I’m not willing to end on bad terms. I want to say that things were happy and fantastic for the ninety-days we were married. I don’t want to walk out of this house with regrets.
Josh runs his hand through his hair and offers up a pained half ass grimace. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’s got a broken bone or something with the way he’s looking at me.