Remember When 3: The Finale (Remember Trilogy #3) by Torrest T

Author:Torrest, T. [Torrest, T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: T. Torrest
Published: 2013-11-18T23:00:00+00:00

* * *

Trip was sitting in an armchair in a corner of the foyer when I met up with him. He looked positively drool-worthy, lounging out casually in his formalwear, his fingers against his temple, waiting for me.

I stood in front of his knees, gave him a twirl and asked, “How do I look?”

He didn’t break his pose, but appraised me with a scandalous perusal along my entire body. “I don’t know, babe. It hurts to look right at you. Gorgeous, in any case.”

Then he got up from his chair, wrapped an arm around my waist, and pulled me to him. “Stop smiling at me like that. It makes me want to blow off this whole night and just take you back to bed.”

I almost let him.

I was a nervous wreck in the limo on the way to the Kodak Theatre. Trip kept his hand on my knee, and he must have been nervous, too, because his fingers never slipped any higher. The limo had a bar alcove with a few decanters of liquor, and I wondered how many times he’d taken advantage of such perks in the old days.

We made it to our destination in decent time, but had to idle in a queue of similar cars, waiting for our turn to pull up to the main entrance. That was the hardest part of the whole evening, I think. Just having to sit there and sweat it out, the raucous cheers of the crowd pouring through the closed windows in an oppressive deluge of sound. Despite the waning sun, the strobe-like flashing of hundreds of cameras punctuated the sky. Up ahead, I could see the sentinel of monstrous Oscar statues, their heads glowing a fiery gold, lining the entrance to the red carpet.

Holy shit. I was really there. At the Academy Awards. Holy. Effing. Shit.

Are you there, God? It’s me, Layla. It’s been a while, and I’m really sorry about that, but I would be eternally grateful and all that jazz if you could help me make it down this carpet without stumbling, sweating, or otherwise embarrassing myself in any way, shape, or form. I’m guessing you’ve never given stilettos a shot, and let me tell you, you are one lucky dude. They are like spikey little torture devices designed solely to make your feet throb incessantly while mocking your lack of grace. And we both know grace has never been high on my list of positive attributes to begin with. So, yeah, any help you can give? Greatly appreciated. Oh. And please don’t let me have a wardrobe malfunction and slip a nip. Muchas gracias. Amen.

My nerves were pretty well shot to begin with, but sitting there, crammed inside some claustrophobia-inducing limousine, waiting indefinitely for the night to get underway, was positively nail-biting. Plus, I was trying to forget that the last time I’d seen Trip emerge from a limo, my world fell apart.

But then I made myself remember that I had asked for this. I was the one who begged and pleaded with my boyfriend to bring me to this thing.

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