by Max Monroe
I grin at that, but before Tim can chime in with more nonsense, Andrew walks back out onto the deck with a strawberry pie in his hands. Mary Lou quickly shuffles out behind him and begins to light the candles sticking out from the whipped cream with a lighter.
Once Andrew stops in front of me and all the candles are lit, the Watsons proceed to sing “Happy Birthday” to me. Tim is by far the loudest, but Andrew, with his pretty blue eyes and handsome smile, is the sweetest.
“Happy birthday, firecracker. Make a wish,” he whispers.
I stare down at the pie, watching the flames flicker with the soft breeze and search my mind for the perfect wish.
Grass Roots doing well at the box office? My next album being a huge hit?
When nothing seems even remotely good enough, I look up at the people around me—Andrew, his mom and dad, his uncle Tim, his brother Lance and his sister-in-law Kelly. And then, it hits me—family.
I know I’ll always have Billie, but she doesn’t need me like she used to. She has Luca, and the two of them are starting a family of their own. And this evening, being here with the Watsons and seeing Andrew’s parents so happy and in love and observing the way both of their boys adore them, it makes me realize more than ever that I want that someday.
My perfect wish locked in my mind, I think, I wish for a family of my own, and proceed to blow out all the candles.
Everyone hoots and hollers for a playful moment, especially Uncle Tim, and it only takes Mary Lou—otherwise known as the hostess with the mostest—all of five minutes before she’s serving up a fresh piece of pie to everyone.
The instant I take a bite and the delicious flavors of strawberries and buttery piecrust and whipped cream hit my taste buds, I moan. “Oh my goodness. Did you make this, Mary Lou?”
“I did.” Her face brightens with a smile. “Andrew told me you weren’t a big fan of birthday cake, but that strawberry pie was your favorite.”
Good God, he remembers everything.
“Well, it’s absolute perfection. Thank you so much.”
“Aw, sweetie, it was my pleasure,” she says and sits down in the deck chair beside her husband with a plate of pie in her hands. “I’m honored that you’re spending your birthday with us today. I’m just sorry you had to be subjected to Ted’s brother.”
“Hey now, Mary Lou!” Tim interjects around a mouthful of pie. “Them’s fighting words!’
“Just shut up and eat your pie, Timothy,” she says, a teasing smile sliding over her lips.
Ted laughs. And surprisingly, Tim listens, but I’m pretty sure that has more to do with the fact that he’s shoveling big bites of pie into his mouth.
Once the pie is finished, the men head inside the house to clean up.
Apparently, it’s a tradition.
Mary Lou cooks. And all of her boys clean up. Even Uncle Tim.
Which just leaves us girls—me, Mary Lou, and Kelly—sitting out on the deck, drinking wine, and watching the sun set over the horizon.
“Thank you so much for today,” I say, and both the girls smile over at me.
“You’re going to need to stop thanking us, Birdie,” Mary Lou responds with a soft smile. “Both Kelly and I were over the moon when Andrew brought the surprise party idea up to us.”
“I think we were more than over the moon, Mom. For one, it was for solely selfish reasons since we’re huge fans of your music.” Kelly smiles over at me. “And two, Andrew never brings any women around. It’s safe to say we’re both getting a little tired of always being outnumbered.”
Her admission makes me too curious not to ask.
“You’ve never met any of the women Andrew has…dated in the past?”
“Nope.” Kelly shakes her head.
“You know,” Mary Lou begins, her voice almost a whisper. “Besides high school dances, I’m pretty sure this is the first time my Andrew has ever brought a girlfriend home to meet us.”
Holy shit… Girlfriend? They think I’m Andrew’s girlfriend?
The word takes me by utter surprise, and my heart starts beating wildly in my chest.
Honestly, I’m not real sure what Andrew and I are. A part of me wants to correct them, but when I try to figure out how to correct them, I realize it’s not that simple.
Technically, we’re not dating. And we’re not just friends.
I mean, just friends certainly have fun together, which Andrew and I do, but they don’t have wild, insane, amazing sex together on a near-nightly basis. And they certainly don’t make a point to cuddle each other to sleep or steal kisses while working or text dirty things when seeing each other isn’t possible.
Yeah, so, I don’t really have a freaking clue what we are, but I know I’m not going to be the one to burst his sweet mom’s bubble and traumatize her with details of her son’s sex life.
So, I do the only thing I can do.
I just smile and go with the flow.
“And don’t worry,” Mary Lou adds. “My Andrew has already told us that you guys are keeping your relationship a secret for now. So, mum’s the word. Even for Tim. He knows we have plenty of room to hide his body in our backyard if need be.”
Holy hell. Tonight, I guess I am Andrew’s girlfriend.
Too bad you can’t be his actual girlfriend, huh?
My heart flips inside my chest and butterflies float around inside my belly.
Oh, what the hell is that about?
Me, Birdie Harris, falling for Hollywood’s biggest player?
That would be absurd…right?
Play the game, Birdie. Don’t get attached to the player, I remind myself.
Andrew
Filming might be coming to an end, but I’m not ready to say goodbye to Birdie.
“Hot damn, everyone!” Howie shouts. “If we’re very lucky and Birdie and Andrew bring their A-game right now, this, right here, is the final shot for Grass Roots!” He flashes a grin toward Birdie and me, who are currently standing on set, ready to dive into Scene 102.
The final scene.
For once while filming a movie, production has managed to schedule the true last scene of the film on the final day of filming.
I swear to God, this has never happened. Not once in my entire career.
Generally speaking, everything is filmed out of order and solely dependent on location and budget.
“You guys ready?” Howie asks.
I nod and look down at my costar. “You ready, Birdie?”
She grins. “Yep.”
“Are you sure, though?” I ask, a teasing hint to my voice, and she rolls her eyes, visibly remembering the past moments when I’d asked her just that with the sole purpose of riling her up. “I mean, I know sometimes it takes you a little while to find your stride.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Andy.” She narrows her eyes and pointedly scratches her cheek with her middle finger. “I’m ready.”
Fire and sass. I smile down at her and lean forward to whisper something into her ear.
This time, though, I don’t want to rile her up.
I just want to see her soar.
“I’m not worried, sweetheart. I know you got this.”
For the briefest of moments, her eyes flash with sweetness and a soft smile plays at her lips, but it doesn’t take long before she’s schooling her face in preparation. “Everyone, quiet on set!” Howie shouts and sits down in his director’s chair.
“Scene 102, Take 3!” a PA shouts. “Action!”
Instantly, the buzzing sounds of silence fill my ears.
And Birdie morphs into Arizona Lee.
She’s dressed in this sexy little dress with her favorite cowgirl boots, and her lips are turned down at the corners. She just finished a show. Her biggest show. And she just found out that Cal was in the audience.
It’s been a few months since she’s last seen Cal. A tragic breakup led to Arizona leaving him behind in Memphis, and ever since then, even though it’s where her uncle Joe’s bar is located, she’s refus
ed to step foot in the city where her tumultuous love story with Cal started.
Too many memories. Too much sadness. The wounds still too raw.
Until tonight.
When her record-breaking album and a sold-out arena brought her back.
“It’s been a while, darlin’,” I say, and she stares up at me with those big brown eyes of hers. “Too fucking long, if you ask me.”
She scoffs. “Why are you here, Cal?”
I could respond with a million different things, a thousand different reasons, but the truth is simple.
“I miss you.”
My words force her body to take a step back, the outside lights and the tall cement structure and the dark alley playing together and casting shadows over her pretty face.
“Don’t bullshit me,” she whispers, and I shake my head and step toward her.
“I miss you something fierce, Ari,” I repeat and reach out with my hand to brush a lock of her long hair behind her ear. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that night you walked out on me.”
She starts to open her mouth, but I shake my head, already refuting whatever sassy, defensive response she’s going to try to toss my way.
“Look, I know I fucked up. I know I fucked up real bad and tried to control things that weren’t mine to control. I let jealousy get the best of me. But, see, what you don’t realize is that I’m just a man, and sometimes, men say all the wrong things in the name of protecting something that means a fuck of a lot to them. Sometimes we make mistakes because of the woman we love. Because we need her. Because we want her. Because we can’t live without her. Doesn’t make it right, but it’s the truth.”
She searches my eyes.
“I love you, darlin’. You hold my fucking heart in both of your small hands.”
Her breath catches in her throat, and I step even closer, pressing my lips to her forehead.
“I just want you. Only you. All day, every day,” I whisper against her skin. “And, fuck, I’m so proud of you. Tonight, seeing you on that stage, watching you with that crowd, hearing you sing your songs, I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.”
I look down at her, and she stares up into my steady gaze.
“You love me?”
“More than anything.”
Silence stretches between us, and it takes all my goddamn willpower not to pull her into my arms and press my lips to hers, but I stay strong.
I wait.
I give her time.
Because this is her decision. Not mine.
“I’ve missed you too, you know,” she says, her voice barely a whisper.
“Yeah?”
She nods. “And I love you too, you cranky bastard.”
A raspy laugh jumps from my lungs, and I let myself give in to the urge to pull her into my arms and kiss her.
My lips to hers, I show her just how much I’ve missed her.
Just how much I love her.
Just how much she means to me.
She moans against my mouth, and I feel it to my fucking bones.
“Cut!” Howie shouts.
But it takes another two shouts of “Cut!” for me to come back down to earth.
When I finally manage to pull my mouth away from Birdie’s and look down at her, it’s apparent by the heated look in her eyes, I’m not the only one who was a little lost in that scene.
“Everyone, that’s a wrap!” Howie shouts. “We are officially done with production on Grass Roots!”
The cast and crew surrounding the set dive into applause and hoots and hollers, and Howie makes his way on set to give Birdie and me hugs.
“Goddamn, you two actually did it,” he comments through a chuckle. “Great job. Great fucking job.”
Birdie giggles. I grin.
“Congratulations, everyone!” Howie turns back toward the rest of the cast and crew. “We did it! And tonight, to celebrate, I want to see everyone at the Copper Door, dancing and drinking their fucking asses off!”
More cheers follow his words.
And while I want to pull Birdie into my arms again and kiss the fucking hell out of her, I have to fight the urge. She’s made it clear that she currently wants to keep this all a secret, and I have to respect that.
Although, that doesn’t mean that since we’re finally done with filming, I can’t work to convince her otherwise.
While Howie starts rambling excitedly in my ear about being finished, I watch as Birdie walks off set and in the direction of her trailer. It takes a whole five minutes for me to point Howie’s mouth toward someone else’s ear and follow her.
When I step inside her trailer, I’m happy to find her alone, sliding off her cowgirl boots and sitting down on the small sofa.
I don’t let her stay sitting for long, though.
In three strides, I’m lifting her back off the sofa and into my arms.
“What the hell?” she mutters on a giggle.
I wrap her legs around my waist, grip her perfect ass in my hands, and press my nose to hers. “I’m so fucking proud of you, Birdie. You nailed that scene. Actually, you nailed the whole damn film.”
Her eyes search mine. “You really think so?”
“I know so.” I press my lips to hers. Once, twice, three times, until I coax her mouth into deepening the kiss.
And that delicious kiss goes on for a long fucking time.
Until a few knocks to her trailer door startle us both.
“Birdie, it’s Maureen! Do you want me to do your hair and makeup tonight before the wrap party?”
“Yes, please,” she says, glancing toward the door.
“Meet me in my trailer in about ten minutes?”
“You got it!” Birdie responds and meets my eyes again. “I think I’m going to have to take a rain check on this.”
I grin. “Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll make sure we continue this tonight.”
“Promise?”
“You have my fucking word.”
Birdie
That’s a wrap, baby!
In the name of a private wrap party for Grass Roots, Howie and Serena managed to shut down the Copper Door for one last night.
And let me tell you, besides the establishment’s bartenders and wait staff and live band playing onstage, the place is bursting at the seams with our entire cast and crew.
Excitement and elation vibrate off the walls in the form of lots of booze, lots of dancing, boisterous chatter, and never-ending laughs.
It’s certainly a night to celebrate, and my director is here for it.
Howie hands me my second shot of the night, and I scrunch up my nose. “Ah hell, How, what are you trying to do to me?”
His already red cheeks puff up in a grin. “Congratulate you on doing a fantastic fucking job,” he says and holds his shot glass up in the air. “Cheers to Birdie! My perfect Arizona Lee!”
I groan, but I also smile and give in to his alcohol-pushing demands. With the shot of clear liquid lifted in the air, I clink his glass and let the booze flow down the hatch.
Ugh. Tequila. It burns the entire way down, and I don’t hesitate to slam the shot glass back on the bar and snag a sip of my beer to chase away the horrid aftertaste.
I hate tequila something fierce.
Actually, I’m not a fan of any hard liquor. Give me sweet wine. Even an occasional beer. But unless you want me to become a disaster by the end of the night, keep the hard shit to yourself.
Howie moves along, setting his sights on his next victim, and I breathe out a sigh of relief when he takes Johnny by the shoulders and guides him away from a few of the camera guys he was chatting with and toward the bar.
I spot Serena in the center of the dance floor, shaking her ass and tossing her arms up in the air with her newest PA, Melinda, and Maureen and Cara from hair and makeup.
The vision of them makes me smile.
And I’m just about to join them when my cell phone vibrates in the pocket of my jeans.
Andrew: Yo
u’re killing me in those jeans, firecracker.
I smirk and glance around the room to find him standing at one of the high-top tables with a few of our fellow costars who played the roles of Cal’s band. He lifts his beer in the air while his eyes stay focused on my ass.
I flash a secret smile his way, and he sets his beer down to type out another message.
My phone vibrates a moment later.
Andrew: You ready to get out of here and do something fun?
Me: With you?
Andrew: Uh-huh. Just me, you, and your glorious ass.
Me: I guess I can be swayed, but my ass needs convincing…what can you tell it to force a decision in your favor?
Andrew: The same thing I told it last time.
My cheeks hurt, I smile so big. He’s not lying. Traditionally, he and my ass really know how to have a good time.
Me: My hotel room or yours?
Andrew: In about ten minutes, I want you to head toward the bathroom, but sneak out that back exit door of the bar. I’ll be waiting for you.
Me: You sound like you have plans.
I quirk a brow in his direction, and he smirks as he types out another message.
Andrew: Oh, believe me, I do. ;)
Me: What are you up to, Andy?
Andrew: You’ll find out in ten minutes, firecracker.
Once I finish reading his text, I look up from my phone and back toward the high-top table, but he’s no longer there.
Well, I’ll be damned. Looks like he’s not giving me much of a choice.
Yeah, but it’s not like you even want a choice…
I certainly can’t deny that. I mean, over the past several weeks, I’ve found that I’m a big fan of Andrew’s brand of fun.
I check the time on my phone and note it’s 11:05 p.m.
So, I busy myself with finishing off my beer. Watching Serena and the girls cut a rug on the dance floor. I even witness another round of shots being forced on the bearded wonder Johnny.
But when I glance at my phone again and see it’s 11:15pm, I hop off my barstool and make my way through the crowd and toward the bathrooms.