Except I don't.
Oh, I believe that what he says is part of it. But I remember only too well his words that first night. His pressure cooker approach to sex. The realization that he wasn't looking for a companion, but a release.
And maybe that's all it was. But I can't help but think there's more. Because friendships take work, too, and Lyle doesn't seem to be lacking there.
My guess is that it's not about work, but about himself. About denial or punishment or something else. Something I can't see yet because I don't know him well enough.
And even though it's really none of my business, I want to understand. More than that, I want to help.
11
"I lost you."
I blink, then look up, Lyle's voice pushing through the storm of thoughts in my head.
"Sorry," I say, hitting a mental rewind button. "I'm right here. I was just thinking."
"You do that a lot," he says, his blue eyes teasing. "Should I worry?"
I laugh. "No. I was only wondering why exactly you're playing this game." That's not what I was thinking, of course. But it's still true. "I mean, your friends obviously know you're not big on the dating. So why this sudden performance? Why not just say that you met a woman in a bar and some fan with a camera phone pushed it out on social media. And then that's the end of that?"
He props his chin on his hand and peers at me with just enough intensity that I shift uncomfortably on my stool. "You see a lot," he says.
I shrug. "I'm a waitress. Which pretty much means I deliver food and watch people."
"Can't argue with that," he says. "And it's a good question. There's the reason."
I look in the direction he's pointing and see Francesca Muratti, one of the most famous women in Hollywood, talking to a man I don't recognize. She's tall and absolutely stunning with thick auburn hair and a regal demeanor. And I have absolutely no idea what Lyle means when he says she's the reason.
"Short version?" Lyle says when I ask him. "Frannie has a thing about dating her co-stars, but I'm not inclined to date Frannie, and that frustrates her. A frustrated mega-star isn't good for either the production or my continued employment with the picture."
"Seriously? Your business is crazy."
He nods. "Can't argue with that. But she's also got scruples, and she's hands-off any co-star who's otherwise involved. Involved seriously, at least. Which," he adds, taking my hand again, "we most definitely are."
"Absolutely," I agree. "She makes a move on you, and the bitch goes down."
He'd been about to take another sip of wine, but instead bursts out laughing. "You've definitely got the role down," he says, and I grin, both pleased and amused.
My grin fades, however, when Lyle mutters, "Oh, hell."
I'd turned away from Frannie, but now I shift back and see that the guy she'd been talking to has left, only to be replaced by a short man with a round build and wiry hair. Except for the fact that there's something a little too smarmy about his expression, I'd say he had a Teddy bear quality. Instead, I'm thinking he looks more like the evil marshmallow man at the end of the original Ghostbusters.
"Trouble?" I say, as both the marshmallow and Francesca turn toward me and Lyle.
"You can pretty much bet the ranch. That's my former co-star, Rip Carrington. Let's just say we aren't the close buddies that we were in the show."
He looks away, but I keep watching as Rip continues talking to Francesca, who in turn looks our way. After a moment, Rip leaves, and Francesca strides toward us.
"Incoming," I say, just seconds before she arrives.
"Hello, lover," she says, bending down to kiss his cheek. She turns to me. "Only on-screen, of course. From what I hear, that's your real life role. I'm Francesca Muratti, by the way," she adds, extending her hand to me. "Call me Frannie."
"Sugar Laine."
"What a charming name," she says.
"Where'd you hear that?" Lyle asks, his words overlapping hers. "From Rip?"