Curvy Girls Can't Date Bad Boys - Kelsie Stelting Page 0,17
to the theaters. I followed a step behind him, more than ready for this night to be over. An usher took our tickets and led us to seats near the middle of the theater.
Before I sat down, I picked up the gift bag atop the seat, thankful that it would give me something to do other than talk to Ryde. Besides, he was socializing with everyone around us, putting on a good smile like a politician greeting each parent and kissing every baby that he could. Every person he crossed was a well of potential money or power to him. It felt sleazy to me.
Inside my bag, I found an action figure of the superhero character Ambrose played, along with a copy of the book upon which the movie was based. Ambrose stared back at me from the cover, intense and brooding.
Ryde reached over me, dipping his hand in my popcorn bag, and I pulled it away. “Isn't this too high calorie for you?”
He looked around to check if anyone was listening— they weren't— and then said low, “I thought you said you were going to act normal.”
I barely contained my eye-roll. “This is normal, didn't you know?”
He turned away from me and continued his conversation with someone else, anyone who would listen to him. The minutes passed on like molasses, and I couldn’t wait for this thing to be over so I could go home, put on pajamas, let my hair down, and forget all about Ryde Alexander.
Ambrose and his fellow cast members walked onto the stage in front of the big movie screen, and over the sound system, we could hear them introducing their characters in the film.
Everyone around us seemed excited, and it sucked that this felt like just another day. I was here with a movie star, watching a film before anyone else, and I was still unhappy. What was wrong with me? A pit of dread grew in my stomach. What would it take for me to feel satisfied? To feel like my life wasn’t slipping through my fingers before I’d even had a chance to live?
Eventually, Ambrose came and sat next to us, and we watched as the movie began. It wasn't a bad film, honestly. Being the daughter of a major producer helped me know what was good, aside from just having my own opinions. Ambrose was a talented actor, and if he kept his reputation in check, he would have a long career ahead of him.
As the end credits rolled over the screen, we clapped especially loudly for Ambrose. When the final line rolled off the screen, Ambrose leaned over and asked, “Are you guys up for a little after-party?”
Ryde didn't even bother to consult me. “Of course we are.”
We followed Ambrose out of the theater, albeit slowly for autographs to be signed. Then we parted ways with him and got into the limo and drove across town to the outskirts of LA. Closer to the manufacturing district in Seaton, which confused me.
“What are we doing here? I asked.
“We usually have parties out here because they're less likely to be caught by paparazzi,” he explained.
I didn't respond, just got out of the car when we reached an old warehouse building. A security guard let us in, and we walked into a full-blown party with loud music, a bar in the corner, and seating spread throughout. I wasn't sure how, but Ryde immediately found Ambrose, and they began talking. It was like they had magnets for each other or something.
I found myself quickly bored, leaning against the bar, hoping a bartender would get me a drink. An older man, probably around thirty, came over to me and put his arm around me. “How are you doing, baby girl?”
I shrugged out from under his shoulder. “Just fine by myself, thank you.”
He grumbled something with a few derogative words and walked off before another guy came over. This one was younger and much more attractive. He smiled down at me, his blue eyes shining. “You doing okay?”
I saw him check my hand—he thought I was old enough for a ring. I wasn’t, but that didn’t stop my dad from planning my marriage. “Honestly?”
He nodded.
“My feet are killing me, and I'm so ready to be out of this dress.”
His eyes twinkled at that last bit. “Well, I couldn't blame you. Can I get you a drink?”
“Yeah,” I said, “that would be nice. If the bartender would actually come this way,” I said loudly.