LOVE IN LOCKDOWN: A Charity Anthology

by Tracy Lorraine

  I shrug. “I guess. And yes, I’ve dated plenty.”

  “Do they randomly go missing?”

  I push at his shoulder, the thick muscle warm under my palm. “No. Don’t be ridiculous. My dad isn’t fucking Corleone. Calm your farm.”

  His eyes track along my face in quiet appreciation. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’d fucking do it.”

  “Do what?”

  Eyes closed, he smiles. “Risk my life for a face like that.”

  I duck my head to hide my grin.

  And now I’m blushing.

  Why am I blushing?

  Ari Hart has gone from potential client to asshole extraordinaire to the guy responsible for my racing heart and pink tinged cheeks.

  What the fuck is happening?

  “Saw that,” he whispers.

  “Whatever.” I lean forward, grabbing my handbag. “I think I have some Red Vines in my bag,” I confess. “I never go anywhere without them.”

  “I have no fucking idea what Red Vines are, but I am down. I’m starving. I could eat the arse out of a horse.”

  I pause. “What?”

  He shrugs dismissively. “An Aussie saying. Means I’m fucking hungry. Can’t you see me wilting away?”

  Glancing over my shoulder at him, I narrow my eyes. “I wasn’t gonna say anything, but you should really work out,” I tease. “You’re, like, super weedy.”

  I hand him the open packet. He offers me one first before taking his own.

  “What made you fall into the cesspool of Hollywood?” he asks.

  Pulling along the Vine, I free one string, take a bite of it and chew. “I’m good with people, with spinning shit. I’ve done it all my life. Decided this vulturous industry could use me.”

  Dropping a Vine over his upper lip, he smooths it down like a mustache. “Daughter of a mobster, has everything she wants in the world, always searching for trouble?” he jokes.

  “No,” I retort. “You make a lot of generalizations about people.”

  Pulling the Vine away from his face, he head rears back, eyebrows narrowing. “Fuck, Blake. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  I rip at the candy in my hand with my mouth, chewing aggressively. “You don’t get to judge me based on the way I look or because I’ve made it and assume I’ve had it handed to me. It’s quite the fucking opposite, Hollywood.”

  He draws his head back quickly. His eyes bulge. “Baby, you need to take a fucking breath. I didn’t make assumptions. You said you were good at spinning shit right after telling me your daddy is a mobster. I made a stupid comment and you’re down my throat. Why are you so testy?”

  I refuse to look at him as I swallow the sweet taste of candy down.

  When I don’t speak, he sighs, reaching forward to check his cell. “Still no reception,” he murmurs unnecessarily.

  “How’d you fall into Hollywood?” I ask bitterly, embarrassed he’s called me on my outburst. “A sunburned Aussie searching for fame?”

  “Now who’s making assumptions,” he states humorlessly.

  Taking another piece of candy, I hand him the bag.

  “We call these lollies in Australia. Not candy.”

  I look at him. “That’s a strange word.”

  “I picked a career that would take me as far away from the cesspool I was living in as possible. One that could make sure I never had to go days without eating.”

  I stop chewing, my head turning slowly.

  “I grew up poor, Blake. Dirt fucking poor. My mum was a druggie. The worst kind. The one who gave zero fucks about her kids. She got knocked up and the rest of her life was an ode to why we should have been grateful she kept us. Why should she feed us, you know? She’d done her part opening her legs and giving birth.”

  A lump I hadn’t realized had formed in my throat forces me to swallow deeply.

  “Too much?” He smirks.

  “I didn’t know that about you,” I whisper. “I make it my job to know everything about a potential client, but I didn’t know that.”

  He shrugs. “It’s a part of my life I’ve locked away for good. My mum was a drifter, so I never got close enough to anyone for them to out me to the media vultures. I was invisible for most of my life.”

  I laugh at the absurdity of that comment. “And now everyone knows your name.”

  He nods solemnly.

  “Except my dad,” I tease.

  “What?” he barks, hand pressed against his heart. “Your potentially criminal father doesn’t know who some asshole magazine has dubbed one of fifty most eligible bachelors in tinsel town?”

  I push against his arm with my elbow. “I’m sorry you had a cunt of an egg donor.”

  “Meh,” he dismisses. “I dealt with all that trauma a long time ago.”

  “I’m also sorry I bit your head off about you generalizing me.”

  He taps my nose with his Red Vine. “Forgiven. All it tells me is there’s a layer or five I need to peel away to get to know you more.”

  “Thought I told you we wouldn’t be working together.”

  He turns his body to face me completely. “Never said anything about working with you, baby.”

  Chapter Four

  “Do you have enough battery to keep this dungeon lit up?” I change the subject, hoping like hell he doesn’t see the soft blush heating my cheeks.

  “Enough to show me you're blushing at what I just said.”

  I roll my eyes. “I am not.”

  Lifting his thumb, he drags it along the upper line of my cheekbone. “Just here,” he whispers. “And here.” He uses the knuckle on his index finger to brush along the other cheek.

  “It’s hot,” I combat awkwardly.

  “Lies.” He leans closer to me.

  “Let’s play a game.”

  “Got a deck of cards in that handbag of yours?”

  I check unnecessarily. “No.” I pout.

  “How many of those lollies do you have left?”

  Picking up the bag, I squint into it in the dark. “Three.”

  “Break them in half. Let’s play truth and lies.”

  I pause, my hand in the bag. “I’ve never played.”

  “You tell me a truth and a lie, I have to guess which is your truth. If I get it right, you give me one of your Vine halves.”

  Ripping the candy in equal halves, I hand over his three, keeping mine in my open palm. “Is the aim to win all the candy?”

  He shrugs. “That and whoever wins holds the power to throw out a dare.”

  That gives me pause. “What could you dare me to do in a stairwell?”

  “It won’t be confined by time.”

  Teeth gnawing at my bottom lip, I nod slowly. “Okay.”

  I’m down for this. Having a Hollywood superstar at my mercy doesn’t sound so awful. A dare dangling over his head, to use when and how I deem appropriate. I can work with that.

  His smile is just as powerful shrouded in darkness as it is in full light. The way his apple-red lips stretch across the lower half of his face. The laugh lines that are visible in rest bury deep into his cheeks in joy. The white line of his teeth bracket the teasing tip of his tongue as it dances along his top row of teeth. It’s a sight, one that justifies his most eligible bachelor status.

  “Your smile makes me want to smile,” I say quietly.

  Blinking slowly, he rolls his bottom lip between his teeth. “Isn’t that the point?” he pushes. “They're contagious. Like a yawn, only prettier.”

  “Yawns are most contagious with friends,” I state matter-of-factly.

  “And smiles are most powerful amongst strangers,” he tells me.

  “Is that true?”

  “Is it scientifically proven that yawns are contagious?”

  I shrug both shoulders. “If I had reception, I’d google it.”

  He ducks his head. His grin gives way to a smirk that pulls at the right side of his mouth.

  “What?” I test.

  He shakes his head. “N
othing. You just said if you had reception, you’d be googling our conversation instead of calling for help.”

  “It was hardly a this or that type of statement.”

  He dismisses me on an easy lift of his right shoulder. “I like seeing my friends smile,” he confesses, bringing us back to our conversation. “But seeing someone I don’t know smile at me—it’s different. It’s more infectious. Knowing that random stranger is either in such a good mood that they want to spread their happiness, or they see me, and feel the overwhelming need to smile. . . it brings me joy. Whatever the reason, it coaxes a smile out of me no matter what my mood.”

  “More valuable than money,” I murmur.

  His eyebrows raise in agreement. “You got it, baby. You bring people joy and you feel like a fucking king.”

  There’s no fanfare with Ari. He is who he is, no apology needed. It’s refreshing, especially in our industry. I’m surrounded by the phonies with fabricated looks and disguised personalities. More often than not, I can’t pick the truth from the lies. I protect myself, no matter what. I’m always watching my back for fear someone is going to stab me there. But with Ari, there’s no confusion, no second guessing.

  It helps that he’s unfairly likable. It makes me want to know him more. To strip away the dust of Hollywood and see the simple Aussie who just wants the world to smile.

  “Let’s change it up,” I offer, speaking before I’ve even considered my words. “We get to ask one another a question each round. You answer with a truth and a lie.”

  Eyes widening in excitement, he nods. “No holds barred?”

  I consider this question. “As long as you don’t ask about my pussy, we’re good.”

  “Well, shit.” He throws his hands in the air. “There goes my three fucking questions.”

  I force a scowl. “If my Vines weren’t so valuable, I’d throw them at your irritating ass.”

  “Ladies first, principessa.” He winks.

  “I should’ve never told you about my dad.” I pause for a beat, my mind a blank canvas. “You start,” I rush out. “I want the very last question.”

  “Why were you late for our meeting?”

  I close my eyes and breathe deeply through my nose before opening them again. “I was nervous about meeting you. You’re my biggest client to date. I was going over my pitch in the bathroom and Mara couldn’t find me.” My words fall out without a flinch of doubt, the lie rolling off my tongue like caramel.

  “Or…?”

  “I was on the phone to my dad who was giving me grief about missing my little brothers’ fifth birthday.”

  “Easy.” He stretches a hand out, waiting for one of my pieces of candy. “You were on the phone to your dad.”

  I frown. “How did you pick that?”

  He pops the candy into his mouth, chewing triumphantly. “First, there is no fucking way you were gonna be intimidated by meeting me. Hollywood doesn’t daunt you. Second, your eyes smiled when you spoke about your dad and brothers.”

  “Cheesy.”

  “True,” he combats. “Your turn.”

  “You haven’t outwardly dated anyone since you stepped foot in the industry. Do you make them sign NDAs or what’s your deal?”

  Tongue tracking over his lips, he ducks his head for a beat. “I do have a girlfriend; we’ve been together for a few years now. We just don’t want it to be out in the open, so we keep it incredibly low-key.”

  “Or?”

  “I haven’t had sex in four years. I don’t date.”

  I widen my eyes. He laughs.

  “That is ridiculously absurd, so I’m gonna say it’s the truth?”

  He stretches an arm toward me.

  I take the candy on offer. “What? How? I mean, look at you.”

  “Thank you,” he accepts my compliment with a coy smile. “Last time I fucked someone after I was a household name, she sold the story of our night together to some shitty tabloid. Half of it was total shit, but she got her fifteen minutes and a few hundred grand for her story. I’ve stayed away from sex ever since.”

  I’m lost for words. “Don’t you have urges?”

  His hand reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. “Yeah, of course. My pride is just worth more than a sleazy fuck.”

  “I don’t even know what to say. Short of offering you an old-fashioned handy out of pity.”

  “I like you, Blake Shay.” He laughs. “I like you a whole fucking lot.”

  Popping the Red Vine in my mouth, I let the sweet flavor dance along my taste buds in happiness.

  “You hinted that life wasn’t easy for you growing up.” He breaks my happy moment. “Why?”

  I blink slowly, my jaw slowing to an almost negligible chew.

  He moves to speak, but I clear my throat first.

  “I also grew up dirt poor. My mother was a junkie—not the mean kind, just the weak kind. The man who raised us was a monster. He fed my mom drugs; he beat on me and my brother. He was evil incarnate.” I shiver involuntarily. “My mother died when we were fifteen and we fled. We lived on the streets. We hustled. We stole. We survived. Our monster was killed a year later and when we went to thank the man who did it, a man named Dominic Rein, our father happened to be there too. Our real one.”

  I shake my head at the memories of my past, hating having to dive into them, but needing to at the same time. “We were told he was vile. Some shit transpired. We almost lost him and the woman he loved, the woman we now call Mom. We didn’t and we’re happy, but life started as hard as it possibly could have.”

  Silence falls along the dim light, the bass drum of expectation once again echoing in my ears.

  “Or?” he tests quietly.

  “No or. That’s my truth. You gave me yours; I’m trusting you with mine. I don’t care to talk about it anymore. Like you, I’ve dealt with all that trauma. But that was your free pass into my past.”

  Reaching forward, he grabs my hand, not in pity or sympathy. More like camaraderie.

  “You’re close to your family now? he queries and I let my fingers link with his.

  “Very much so. I went from only having Jesse, my twin brother,” I clarify, “and thinking family meant absolutely fucking nothing… to having all these people who love me unconditionally. They’ve forgiven some life-altering transgressions on my part and not because they have to, but because they love me, flaws and all.”

  Chapter Five

  “Your pre-filming ritual. What is it?”

  He yawns. “Who says I have one?”

  I roll my eyes. “Puh-lease, everyone has one. I have a pre-meeting ritual.”

  “What is it?”

  Lifting a finger, I wave it back and forth. “Uh-uh. My turn.”

  “Fine.” He shifts closer so our knees are touching. “As soon as I wake up, I jack off—it has to be when I’m still half-asleep. I feel invigorated afterward. After I’ve come, I shower and have a cuppa. I refuse to talk to a single person while I’m drinking my coffee. I don’t watch the TV or look at any kind of screen. I sit in complete silence. I start the day with a banana and a banana only—nothing worse than feeling sluggish while filming. I also have a lucky pair of boxers that I wear.”

  “Every day?” I balk.

  “First day of filming,” he clarifies.

  I tip my head side-to-side, contemplating that version of his morning routine. “Or?”

  “Or nothing. Rituals are a crock of shit and I do whatever the fuck I want, whenever the fuck I want.”

  I’m stumped.

  Eyebrows drawn together, I stare at his impassively blank face.

  “Two,” I guess. “No, one. I mean two. No, yes. One. Definitely two.”

  “I’m gonna need you to be more specific,” he mocks me.

  “One,” I grit out.

  Clicking his fingers in triumph, he hollers loudly. “Two. Boom. Hand over that red rope.”

  “Vine. It’s a Red Vine.” I throw it at him.

  It lands on the concr
ete floor and I smirk.

  “For starters, you’re a sore loser, principessa. Secondly, if you think I’m not gonna eat it because it touched the ground, you’re crazy. We’ve been in here for what feels like hours. I’m fucking ravenous.”

  I huff loud enough for him to hear.

  “If I get this one right, you can’t win,” he mocks. “No pressure.”

  Straightening my shoulders, I inhale steadily, blowing out my breath quickly.

  “What’s your pre-meeting ritual?”

  Legs still bent at the knee and tucked into my ass at my side, I drop my hands into my lap. “I don’t want to play this one.”

  He pokes me in the ribs. “Don’t be a sore loser.”

  I sigh reluctantly. “I listen to ‘Eye of the Tiger’ and read a motivational calendar that basically tells me I’m a badass.”

  “Or…?” he invites.

  “I read over the notes I’ve made for my potential client three times. No more. No less. I don’t drink coffee on the day of a meeting. It makes me jittery. I speak to my dad. He calms my nerves.”

  “Annnd?”

  “What do you mean and?”

  “You don’t live in a Rocky movie. You don’t by any stretch listen to ‘Eye of the Tiger’, and you don’t need to read a calendar to tell you that you’re a badarse. You already know that. The second one is your truth, but you’re leaving something out.”

  “Am not,” I lie.

  “Blake. Don’t try and shit me. You didn’t want to tell me your ritual because there’s something in there that you feel is off-limits. Don’t chicken out on me now.”

  I tighten my ponytail. “I don’t wear panties.”

  “Come again?”

  “I don’t wear panties. When I feel sexy, I feel powerful. I feel sexy when I’m naked—sue me. I love my body and how it can make me feel. Obviously I can’t walk into a meeting stark naked, so this is the next best thing.”

  There’s no denying his voice has dropped an octave when he speaks. “Are you wearing panties now?” His eyes drop settling on my lap for a beat before rushing back to my face.

  His phone chooses that moment to die, casting us into a poignant darkness.

  Quiet buzzes around us and he feels altogether too close and too far away. I want to reach and touch him, if only to reassure myself that he’s still there.