Page 27 of One Weekend in Los Angeles

“Shall we get some drinks?” Deacon suggested.

“That would be wonderful.” We went to the bar.

A couple of the City of Angels cast members were gathered there, and their eyes went wide when they saw my date. Patrick, one of the other principals on the show and Jeff’s frenemy, blurted out, “Holy shit,” before grinning widely and chuckling.

He and Jeff had often butted heads over the last two seasons, both of their egos competing for airtime and the sanctimonious upper hand in the season. I imagined Patrick was enjoying this turn of events more than anyone else here.

While his date and another couple occupied Deacon with what I could only call fandemonium, Patrick clinked his martini glass against mine. “You having the balls to show up here tonight looking gorgeous in that dress is sweet enough. But bringing Deacon Miller as your date—who, by the way, looks, no offense, even hotter than you if I were to swing that way—takes the cake.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Deacon was undoubtedly hot. “No offense taken.”

“Please tell me you’re returning next season? Would be nice to get to know you outside of Jeff.”

“I haven’t decided if I’ll come back. But thanks for the support, Patrick.” I’d found him harmless for the most part. Immature and hungry for camera time, but hindsight afforded me the ability to see Jeff had been the same way.

The next twenty minutes went about the same, conversing with various cast and crew while I paid no attention to Jeff, who was standing across the room talking with Paula, his obvious glare seldom leaving me or my date. He was dressed in black slacks and a white collared shirt which I’d normally say made him look handsome. But the yuck of finding out he’d cheated had altered the way I viewed him. As for Paula, she wore a short, sparkling dress, her long legs on display. She’d always been a pretty girl, but I’d yet to see her leave Jeff’s side during the party or act like she was having a good time.

I settled into an indifference toward the situation, surprised at how easy it was to ignore him. Ironically, this was the first party I could remember where I was actually connecting with others, probably because Jeff wasn’t dominating the conversation or steering it toward what he wanted to talk about.

Here was Deacon, with a hundred times the public attention and a bona fide A-list star, but in contrast, he would generously turn the conversation toward the other person talking, or to me. He was gracious, charming, and genuine.

“I’m running to the ladies’ room,” I whispered into Deacon’s ear and was surprised when he took the opportunity of my proximity to sneak a quick kiss.

“I’ll order you another drink and be waiting.”

It feels real. I wasn’t surprised by the thought as I walked away from him. I only wished I could’ve kept it tamped down deep enough inside that I didn’t actually think it and thus potentially ruin the perfect weekend.

Lest I forget, like Cinderella, this ball was over at the stroke of midnight. Then it was back to reality.

As I was doing my business in the stall, I heard the main door to the bathroom open. I didn’t think anything of it until Jeff’s voice rang out. “We need to talk, Andrea.”

“For fuck’s sake. I’m peeing.”

“I’ll wait.”

The absurdity of the moment nearly caused me to giggle. After I was done, I straightened my dress, took a deep breath, and walked forward to the sink to wash my hands, completely disregarding his presence.

“What the hell are you wearing?”

In the mirror reflection I caught his gaze angrily raking over my dress as though he had any right to the question. I refused to answer.

“You’re not speaking to me now?”

“I’m not responding to your asshole questions, no.”

“We need to talk,” he repeated, causing me to arch a brow.

“Then you do the talking because I have nothing left to say to you.”

He had the audacity to appear hurt. “This isn’t you, babe.”

The once familiar term of endearment turned my stomach. “Maybe it is now.”

His entire face softened. “I’ve been thinking, and I want us to go to counseling to work on our relationship. My mom called and said that our pastor will counsel us. Maybe we go home to Kansas for a couple weeks, ya know.”

Blink. Blink. He couldn’t be serious. “You cheated on me with someone I considered a friend, and you’re asking to go home and ‘work on some things’?” There hadn’t even been an apology, let alone any remorse.

“I still love you, Andrea. But you haven’t exactly been supportive of my band or the bar, and⁠—”