“Shit, Lexie, I don’t see a condom wrapper anywhere.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes! I’ve looked everywhere. There’s nothing!”
“Don’t panic.” Lexie’s calm voice was a stark contrast to Heather’s racing heart. “Morning after pill. I’ll arrange to get one for you.”
“No! I can’t.”
“Why?”
Heather rubbed a hand across her aching forehead and sat heavily back on the bed. “It’s like abortion. I’m Catholic.”
“You are not.” Lexie laughed. “You haven’t stepped foot in a church since I’ve known you. And Catholics are against birth control in general.”
“But birth control is not the same as killing a baby that might already be in the process of…” She let her voice drop off with a sigh. How could she possibly explain this? When she’d left the trailers, left who she was, she developed a short list of values. Things she’d never back down on, no matter what. Like, she wouldn’t do full nudity onscreen. She’d never sleep with a guy to get a role. And no abortions or morning after pills. She didn’t want to spend any part of her life in regret, and she had a feeling that erasing a would-be person could lead to some serious regret.
But she didn’t expect anyone else to understand. She sighed again. “I know, it sounds ridiculous, Lexie, but I just can’t do it. I can’t explain it.”
“You don’t have to. I get it.”
Had she mentioned in the past twenty-four hours how much she loved her assistant? She should send Lexie to the spa in her place. Or just buy her a day of her own.
Meanwhile, Heather had to face the possibility that she might be pregnant. Except…had she and Seth actually had sex? God, she wished she could remember. “Maybe I won’t even need it. I don’t even know for sure if we had sex.”
“You don’t know?”
“I passed out.” She cringed at how slutty her words made her sound. Knowing Lexie wouldn’t judge her, she forced herself to go on. “But I was na**d and coming on to him…he couldn’t have resisted, could he?”
“Do you feel sore?”
Heather did a few Kegels, feeling for any sort of tightness. “Not at all. But I took Advil when you called.”
“Maybe he was small.”
No way. She’d felt his erection through his pants. More than once. “I don’t think that’s it. God, I wish I could remember! The last thing I can recall is an incredible orgasm.” Incredible was defining it lightly.
But then he’d left. “And he wasn’t here when I woke up.”
“Asshole.”
“I told you.” Heather glanced down at the folded hotel stationary she’d seen next to the Advil. Now she picked it up. “Just a sec, Lex. He left a note.”
The ball’s in your court, princess. If you want to see where this could go, give me a call.
She read it several times before she spoke. “He left his phone number. I could call him.”
“But you won’t.”
Heather thought about it. Part of her really wanted to call him, wanted to see him again, wanted to see where things could go between them.
But another part of her, the bigger part of her, was scared. Scared of what Seth reminded her of. Scared of what Seth brought out in her.
“I won’t call him. He shouldn’t have bailed. And he shouldn’t have f**ked me without a condom!” If they’d f**ked at all, which Heather was beginning to doubt more and more. Doubting made her angry. Sure, he’d left a note. And water. And Advil. And maybe hadn’t taken complete advantage of her while she was na**d and vulnerable. Though she’d been in the wrong state of mind to consent, he had given her a mind-blowing orgasm. Now that she thought about it, it seemed she’d seen him drinking an awful lot too. And had she thrown herself at him, or was that just a bad dream? Memories of lying na**d and in wait for him tugged at the edges of her consciousness. Had she really done that?
Perhaps Seth Rafferty wasn’t the ass**le she kept making him out to be.
But if he wasn’t an ass**le, then she’d have to face the fact that she really was a bitch.
And that wasn’t happening. Not today anyway. “I’m done with Seth,” she told Lexie, mostly to convince herself. “And I’ll be glad to never see him again.”
“Sounds like a plan. But keep his number in case you need to contact him for a paternity test.”
“Please don’t even go there,” Heather groaned. “But I’ll keep it.”
After Heather ended her phone call with her assistant, she grabbed a pair of sweats and some underwear from her luggage with plans to shower before heading to the spa. But first, she folded Seth’s note into a small square and stuffed it into an empty pocket of her suitcase.
Maybe, if she buried it deep enough, she could forget about the hot carpenter and the myriad of confusing feelings he imposed upon her.
Except she knew that wasn’t likely. Especially if she already had a permanent Seth reminder growing in her belly.
Funny how that thought didn’t freak her out as much as it should have.
Chapter Seven
Seth stared at his Google calendar and cringed. It was completely blank. Blank for the next three months. The movie he had been booked to do had suddenly been postponed a year. Such postponements weren’t uncommon in Hollywood, but often it was a sign of other problems with the film. The delay gave him an out in his contract, if he wanted it. He’d have to look more into the situation before he made a decision.
Meanwhile, his calendar was empty. First thing on his day’s agenda was to find a project to work on. Not that he needed the money, but he didn’t enjoy being idle. He’d been idle the two days since the 24-Hour Plays ended and was already about to go insane. All he could think about was Heather Wainwright.
Figuring out what to do about Heather was the second thing on the day’s agenda. He’d known she was a big barrel of badness from the beginning, and he wasn’t changing his mind about that theory. But since he’d had a taste of her, both in the literal and figurative sense, he had to have more, barrel of badness or not. She was like a good malt beer—he shouldn’t have as much as he wanted, but he could rarely stop after only one glass. Everything about her turned him on: her eyes, her br**sts, her silky skin, her pouty lips. Just thinking about her gave him a giant hard-on. A giant hard-on that had been impossible to relieve no matter how guilty he felt for taking advantage of her drunken state or how many times he stroked himself.