by Monroe, Max
I don’t want anyone else.
“Who?” he asks, his eyes bouncing back and forth between Howie and me. “Do you know about this, Howie?”
Howie raises both of his hands in the air. “I know as much as you do.”
“It’s a new relationship, but it’s serious. And that’s all I’m telling you for right now,” I chime in, and Andrew starts to open his mouth to retort, but I’m quicker to the draw. “You good, though, Andrew?” I ask him and tilt my head to the side.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, are you good? Have you slowed down on all the fucking partying?”
Back in the day, it felt like that was all we did together—booze, drugs, women, parties.
He shrugs. “I still dabble.”
Howie snorts. “He more than dabbles. Andrew here is a one-man show of sex, sin, and debauchery.”
Andrew waggles his brows. “What can I say? The ladies can’t get enough of me, and I sure as fuck can’t get enough of them.”
I shake my head on a laugh. “Jesus, I should’ve known.”
Howie smirks. “He’s at least taken my advice on double wrapping his dick prior to his dirty sexcapades.”
“It’s true,” Andrew says with a nod. “I suit up my cock in two layers of condom armor these days. And sometimes, if things seem a little riskier than usual, I add a third layer.”
“Three condoms?” I laugh. “Can you even fucking feel anything?”
Howie cracks up.
Andrew grins. “I can feel enough. Plus, it makes my stamina off the fucking charts, if you know what I’m saying.”
“Fucking hell, it might be time for you to move to Alaska. Get some goddamn perspective. I’ve got a place you can stay in for a while.”
“And leave this lavish life and all the beautiful women roaming about?” He holds out his arms and smirks. “I don’t think so.”
Howie rolls his eyes. “He’s at least keeping up with his career. That’s one thing I can say in his favor.”
“What are you working on now?”
“I’m getting ready to do a movie with this bastard,” Andrew answers after he takes a sip of his beer.
“Oh yeah?” I question and meet Howie’s eyes.
“Yep.” He nods. “Just got the green light from the studio. We have most of the cast, just looking for the female lead.”
“What’s the project?”
“A little film called Grassroots.”
Andrew smiles proudly. “I play Cal Loggins.”
I laugh out loud. “Wait…as in Cal Loggins, the famous country music singer?’
“You guessed it.”
“You?” I question. “A fucking singer?”
He flips me the bird. “I can sing, you fuck.”
“Voice lessons,” Howie adds. “Lots and lots of voice lessons and auto-tuning.”
I laugh again. “Now that makes more sense.”
“You know,” Howie continues, “it’d be a real fucking honor if you’d do a cameo in this flick…”
“Is this why you asked me to dinner?” I tease.
Howie grins. “It was part of it.”
“Send me the script, and I’ll consider it.”
“No shit?” he questions in surprise. “You’ll actually consider it?”
“I might have been a bit of a dick back in the day, but I was always a man of my word.”
“You just didn’t make any fucking apologies for your word.”
I grin. “That is also true.”
“Hey,” Andrew chimes in. “Did I see you driving a fucking Ford Edge up to the valet, or was I just seeing shit?”
“It’s a rental,” I answer. “And what’s wrong with a Ford Edge? It’s a good car.”
“Jesus,” he mutters. “Luca fucking Weaver cannot drive around in LA in a goddamn SUV.”
“You do realize I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks of me, right?”
He waves me off and snags his phone from the table. One tap to the screen and he puts it to his ear. “Janie, be a dear and help me remedy Luca Weaver’s awful car situation.”
It’s his assistant. The same one he had before I left town. Honestly, I’m shocked she’s been able to put up with his bullshit for this many years without cracking.
“Yeah… We’re at Tao… It’s a rental… Ford Edge… Uh…I don’t care… One of the Porsches will do just fine… Okay… Thanks, Janie. You’re a doll.”
He hits end on the call and sets the phone back on the table.
“You’re welcome,” he says, and I roll my eyes.
“I’m not driving one of your stupid, snooty fucking Porsches around.”
“Firstly, don’t you ever talk about one of my babies like that again,” he retorts with a smirk. “And secondly, it’s done. You’re welcome, by the way.”
“Jesus Christ, you haven’t changed a bit.”
“I know, right? Isn’t it fantastic?”
I just chuckle and shake my head.
Andrew Watson is a one-of-a-kind guy.
He used to be one of my best friends. And the one person who was by my side for some of the lowest periods in my life. Sure, with his tendency to get into trouble, he wasn’t always the best influence, but the same could be said for the old me.
I spent far too much time getting into trouble, too.
In the good times and the bad times, Andrew was always there for me.
He supported me, no matter what, even when I decided to leave Hollywood.
And as I sit here at dinner with him and Howie, I find myself thinking, I guess being back in this town isn’t so bad after all…
Two hours later, I watch Howie help a boozed-up Andrew into the passenger seat of his fancy sports car and find a bright-red Porsche staring back at me.
Jesus Christ. So much for keeping a low profile.
I tip the valet, get into the car, and head for home.
Paparazzi are waiting at the exit driveway, and the flashes of their cameras follow me until I’m pulling out onto the main road and out of sight.
Luca Weaver is back in Hollywood, and he’s driving a red Porsche!
The next possible headline fills my mind, and I sigh.
It is a never-ending battle and one I’m going to have to learn to adjust to because it’s a constant with this career.
If you’re in Hollywood, then the paparazzi will be on your ass like white on rice.
For LA, the traffic is light, and I make it back to my new home in no time at all.
But when I pull into the driveway, I don’t get out of the car.
Instead, I pick up my cell phone and try to call my baby sister again. Hoping maybe she’ll answer my call, but to no avail. I’m still only hearing her voice through her goddamn voice mail.
Annoyed and disappointed, I slide out of the car and head inside.
Bailey greets me at the door, wagging his tail and jumping around me in excitement.
“Have a good day, bud?” I ask and give him a few gentle pats to his back.
He follows me into the kitchen, and I fill his dog bowl with a hearty serving of dry kibble. The instant I set the bowl on the ground, he dives in face first.
Just about ready to call it a night, I change out of my jeans and toss on a pair of sweat pants.
And then I get an idea and do the most important task of my evening.
Me: I need a ride to set tomorrow morning.
Her response comes in a few minutes later, and I grin.
Billie: What do you mean, you need a ride tomorrow? You have a car.
Me: I’m having car troubles, and I need a ride.
Billie: Are you freaking serious right now?”
Oh yes, princess, I am serious.
I’m lying about the car, obviously.
But definitely serious about seeing her tomorrow.
Me: Uh-huh.
Billie: You mean to tell me, you, famous celebrity, can’t call a driver or something?
Me: I don’t want to ca
ll a driver.
Billie: Well, I don’t want to pick you up.
Me: Well, then I guess I won’t be at work tomorrow.
Her ticked-off response comes fifteen seconds later.
Billie: God, you’re so annoying.
Me: So, I’ll see you at five?
Billie: I hate you so much right now.
Me: I don’t hate you at all. Sweet dreams, princess. I’ll see you in the morning.
Smiling at her words, I set down my phone on the coffee table and open the back door to let Bailey out.
Tomorrow, I will get to see Billie.
Just the two of us. Alone in a car for at least forty-five minutes.
Maybe this town isn’t so bad after all.
Billie
I’m like the girl who does her ex’s laundry. Frankly, even after all of my granny’s training to be a strong, independent-minded woman, I’m doing a piss-poor job of hating Luca Weaver. The sky is still dark and my eyes are tired and I wish I were doing anything other than what I’m doing right now—picking up Luca for work this morning.
He said he was having car troubles, but he didn’t want to call a driver. So, due to the fact that I’ve drawn the short straw since he stepped foot in LA, I was the unlucky person who had to wake up an hour earlier than normal just to give him a ride.
A yawn escapes my lips as I pull my Honda Civic into Luca’s driveway, and I narrow my eyes when I spot a shiny red sports car in front of the freaking house.
You have got to be kidding me.
The odds of that Porsche having car troubles are slim to fucking none.
Hundred bucks says that bastard tricked me into coming here this morning.
A groan escapes my throat, loud enough to chime over the radio.
Irritated, I honk my horn twice.
But he doesn’t come to the door.
So, I honk two more times.
Two minutes later, no Luca.
Good God. I huff, cut the engine, hop out of my car, and stomp my way toward his front door. Multitasking at my finest, I bang on the door and ring the bell several times.
Thankfully, the door starts to open, and my eyes are graced with Luca standing there in just a pair of boxer briefs.
Holy moly.
It takes all of my willpower not to let my gaze fall down his body, but I manage.
Glare engaged, I stare at him with a hand on my hip. “What the hell, Luca?”
“I’m so sorry.” He runs a hand through his perfectly messy hair. Jesus. No one should look this good when they wake up in the morning. It’s fucking unfair. “I woke up late.”
“Ya think?”
He smirks. “Just come in for a minute, and I’ll hurry up and get ready.”
“I’ll wait in the car.”
“But I have coffee.”
Goddamn him. He knows I can’t resist coffee.
“Ugh. Fine.” I groan and push my way past him and into the house. “But you better move your ass.”
“Will do, sassy pants.” He chuckles behind me and shuts the door.
While Luca heads toward the master bedroom, I make my way into the kitchen, but I don’t miss how far the house has come. Furniture, paintings on the wall, a television in the living room, everything is pretty well set up.
And it looks really nice, actually.
Sophisticated. Modern. Not like a bachelor pad at all.
But I shouldn’t be surprised. Luca’s cabin in Alaska wasn’t anything to snub my nose at. There is no denying the man has taste.
Bailey greets me in the kitchen, and I squat down to pet his ears. He obliges by slapping two licks to the side of my face.
“You’re such a good boy,” I tell him, and he wags his tail in response.
Once Bailey has received his fill of attention, I stand back up and find freshly brewed coffee in the pot on the counter.
I pour myself a cup and add a little sugar and cream to the mix.
The first sip hits my taste buds just right, and I sigh in contentment.
“Besides you,” I tell Bailey, who is now lying by my feet, “this cup of coffee is my favorite thing of this morning.”
I drink a little more of my coffee, and it takes a moment, but when a low, familiar beat filters into my ears, I realize Luca Weaver is listening to music. I scrunch up my nose in surprise and listen to the soft, endearing sounds of Fleetwood Mac’s Gypsy vibrating gently through the surround sound speakers placed throughout his fancy-schmancy home.
He once told me he never listens to music.
If that was the case, what in the hell changed?
Right on cue, the devil himself strides into the kitchen, freshly dressed in a pair of dark, faded jeans and a white T-shirt, and I hate how good he looks.
When my fingers itch to reach out and run through his perfect, messy hair, I clear my throat and change my focus to something less crazy.
“So…you’re listening to music,” I say, and he tilts his head to the side in confusion. “I thought you didn’t listen to music.”
“I didn’t. But I took someone’s advice.” He snags two to-go mugs out of the cabinet and takes the ceramic mug out of my hand. “Someone who is very special to me, by the way.” His eyes lock with mine for a long moment, and I don’t know what the hell to say.
Someone who is very special to him?
Is he talking about me?
My heart skips a beat inside my chest.
Thankfully, Luca turns his attention back to the coffeepot. He pours my coffee into one of the to-go mugs—topping me off with fresh brew in the process—and prepares one for himself. “Ready?” he asks, and I have to blink out of my confusion.
“Uh-huh.”
We head to the door, but then he pauses. “Wait…did you eat something?”
I shake my head. “Didn’t have time.”
In an instant, he turns on his heel, jogs into the kitchen, and a moment later comes back with a banana and a granola bar.
“I’ll drive. You eat,” he says as we head out the front door.
I shrug and start to hand him the keys, but he smirks.
“I got my car fixed. So, we can take the Porsche.”
I quirk a brow. “You got your car fixed? In the middle of the freaking night? By who?”
“I guess you could say I know a guy.”
“Bullshit,” I retort. “And there’s no way in hell I’m going to let you drive us in your fancy sports car and leave my car here to pick up later.”
He grins. “Don’t worry,” he says with a smirk. “I’ll have Charles the ass-kisser deal with getting your car to set later today.”
I stand there, completely unsure of what to do. I mean, having Errand Boy Chuck run an errand for me is a bit too tempting to resist…
“Get in, Billie,” Luca urges. “Or else we’re going to be late.”
Somehow, the bastard tricked me into coming to his house this morning for no actual reason. And now, I’m going to be stuck in the car with him for a forty-five-minute commute.
God, it’s like he won’t go away.
Yeah, but do you really want him to go away? It’s not like you’re putting up too much of a fight whenever he requests something from you…
Stupid brain. I ignore it and get in the car.
I mean, I don’t really have a choice at this point, do I?
At least he fed you breakfast and provided your morning caffeine fix…
Luca
I wish I’d known eight years ago how good it feels to be high on hope. One day, Billie will be mine. I have no choice but to believe it.
Fifteen minutes into the drive and Billie hasn’t done anything but eat her granola bar and banana and take sips from the to-go cup I brought for her.
And she’s kept her responses to any of my questions short and to the point.
“You excited to head to Austin tomorrow morning?”
“Yeah.”
“How is your sister’s tour going?”
“Good.”
/>
“Do you want to listen to some music?”
“Sure.”
“What do you want to listen to?”
“I don’t care.”
She’s as stubborn as a mule, I’ll give her that.
But I refuse to let this rare moment of being alone with her go to waste.
And I refuse to be anything else but open and honest with her.
Old Luca would’ve given up a long fucking time ago. Hell, old Luca wouldn’t even be in this situation. He was a noncommittal bastard with a chip on his fucking shoulder.
Thank god old Luca is a thing of the past.
But me, the man I am today, knows Billie is worth my patience, worth all of my goddamn time. She is worth every-fucking-thing.
As I merge onto the highway, heading toward the studio, I glance at Billie out of the corner of my eye and find her just sitting there, looking cute as a fucking button in her all-too-familiar style of cowgirl boots and jeans. Obviously, she found the time to get a new pair at some point.
Her hair is tossed up into a messy bun, and besides some kind of shiny gloss on her lips, her face is bare of makeup.
Other than seeing her in my clothes all those weeks ago when she woke up at my cabin, this is one of my favorite Billie looks.
Natural. Beautiful. Perfect.
If only she could see herself through my eyes. Maybe then, she’d understand how I really feel about her. How much I care about her. That she is the only woman on the planet I have eyes for. Maybe then, she’d forgive me for being such a prick on that awful day she walked away from me in Alaska.
Maybe then, she’d be mine.
Because that’s all I really want.
I want her to be mine.
God, I wish my baby sister could see the lengths I’m willing to go to to win this woman’s heart, I think to myself.
Rocky would lose her shit if she knew about this. In the best way.
The thought urges me to break the silence in the car.
“So, I took your advice.”
Billie’s big green eyes turn toward me. “What advice was that?”