Page 44 of The Rules of Dating My One-Night Stand
In the elevator, I scrolled through my cell. There were half-a-dozen text messages from actors I represented. As I went to open the top one, a new message arrived. I smiled seeing it was Owen. We were on the same wavelength.
Owen: What’s your favorite junk food? I’m picking up some road-trip snacks in case we go tomorrow. I can’t drive without a bag of Swedish Fish and a pound of wasabi peanuts. Are you sweet or salty?
Before I could reply, another message came in.
Owen: Oooh. They have Pop Corners—kettle corn flavored. My favorite. Though I better get two bags, because I don’t share this shit.
My smile widened. I was a road-trip-snack girl, too.
Devyn: Never tried Pop Corners but I love Swedish Fish.
A few seconds later, a picture arrived. I clicked on it and a snapshot of a very full basket of crap popped up. There had to be twenty different snacks in there—chips, chocolate, candy, nuts.
I chuckled as I typed.
Devyn: Umm…how long is this trip? A month?
Owen: I might be driving to Canada and back if you decide you don’t want to find Vera. I’ll need an excuse to eat all this shit.
Another text popped up.
Owen: So are you in? Or do I need to pack my passport for tomorrow?
Monday was barreling down on me, and I really needed to trysomething. My wait-and-hope approach wasn’t working out too well. And let’s face it, my hesitancy was more about me being afraid of getting close to Owen than anything else, and I shouldn’t let anything stand in the way of finding Vera. My sister and brother needed her back home. So I took a deep breath and typed.
Devyn: Think you have room in that basket for Reese’s Pieces?
Another photo arrived a few minutes later. Owen smiled in a selfie with afive-poundbag of Reese’s Pieces. His message was underneath.
Owen: Meet you in the lobby at 4 AM.
***
“I got one.” Owen waved a Twizzler at me as he drove. We’d been playing a game I’d dubbedGuess Which Buddy, for the last hour. “In fifth grade, we had to do a creative writing project where we made up a story about Santa Claus. One of the guys wrote about Santa leaving Mrs. Claus for a hotter, younger woman, who was secretly a disciple of the Grinch and replaced all the toys he delivered with ugly brown turtleneck sweaters knitted by grandmothers.”
“Oh my God.” I laughed. “That had to be Holden. Only because there’s a hot woman involved.”
Owen smiled. “Nope. That was me. My grandmother knitted me a lot of itchy sweaters. I hated them, but my mother made me wear one whenever we visited. Meanwhile, Holden’s grandmother bought him shit like an electric keyboard and a Nintendo 64.”
I laughed. “You guys must’ve been some crew growing up. I bet the girls went crazy when you walked into places all together.”
“Are you saying you think my friends arehot,Devyn?”
“I’m pretty sure you must know that already. I can’t imagine that any of you struggled to get dates.”
Owen glanced over at me. “I’m sure you didn’t, either.”
I sighed. “I actually didn’t have many boyfriends growing up. My mom brought home so many random men, and they all used her for one thing or another. They’d be around for a few weeks, and then my mom was always sad when they’d disappear without warning. And half the time they left with whatever cash she had in her wallet. So I assumed that’s the way all men were. Made me not very interested.”
He frowned. “Do you still feel like that?”
“No, I’ve been lucky enough to have some good examples of stand-up men in my life. Remember the producer I told you about? The one who guided me toward casting and was my first official client when I went out on my own?”
“Yeah…”
“Well, he’s like family. He’s thirty years older than me and has been married to the same woman since he was nineteen. I’ve learned a lot from him, and not just about the movie industry.”
“Would it be too intrusive if I asked about your dad? Do you have any contact with him?”