I shake my head and move my hand away from hers. “Yeah, it’s not that big of a deal. I just replaced one addiction with another. Women are my vice now.” She sits up now. “And for the next sixty days, I’m obviously in sex rehab, and you are my counselor.” She doesn’t say anything; she just stares at me.
“Why do you do that?” she asks me and doesn’t wait for me to answer. “You open up just a touch and then you turn into an asshole two seconds later?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” I say, but I know exactly what she’s talking about. I did it, knowing I did it. Opening up to people is not my strong suit. Besides, I’ve been burned in the past, so the less I say, the less people can use to hurt me. “I was having a conversation with you.”
“No, you were opening up about a piece of you, and then you decided that ‘wait, I was too normal, so let me pull out my asshole persona.’” She throws her hands in the air, and the guy comes back with her mimosa. “Actually, I’m sorry, I changed my mind. Can you get me a water please with a wedge of lemon?” She waits for him to walk away, and she grabs some food. When the guy walks back with water, she smiles at him. “Can I have some fruit please?”
“Most certainly. I’ll cut some up now. Would you like some yogurt and granola with that?” He smiles at her.
“That sounds wonderful.” She is being so fucking fake. “Carter, would you like some also?” I just glare at her and then she turns back to the guy and says. “That would be all.” When she turns to me, her smile is gone and her eyes are glaring. “See, that’s you. Nice one minute and then shitty the next.”
“I’m not that bad,” I say, then she glares even harder, and her eyes narrow to slits. “Fine, okay, I just don’t open up to people as easily as you do.”
“I’m not asking to write your memoir. I’m asking you to be real with me and not an asshole. What the hell are you afraid of?”
“Nothing,” I say right away. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Whatever,” she tells me and stops talking when a plate of fresh berries is delivered with a bowl of yogurt and granola on the side.
“You just told me to fuck off,” I tell her, grabbing a bite of the waffle, and her eyes coming to me.
“Excuse me?” she says.
“Saying whatever is basically saying fuck off,” I tell her. “It’s like when someone texts you and you put K instead of okay.”
“Are we even talking about the same thing?” she asks me, eating some yogurt.
“We are saying whatever is as rude as when people abbreviate a word in a text,” I tell her, and she rolls her eyes. “That is also rude.”
“What? Rolling my eyes?” She laughs, and whatever I was feeling or however the conversation was going, it just feels better with her laughter. I feel better. “My father used to joke that my eyes would get stuck inside the sockets if I rolled them back any farther.”
I laugh at her, and right here, at this moment, I feel just a touch free, just a touch myself. No one is watching to take a picture or holding a notebook. It’s just the two of us, and for the first time in a really, really long time, it feels good.
Chapter Ten
Erin
After I called him out, I saw his guard lower just a touch, and when I say a touch, I mean a sliver. But I kept the conversation light, and I never asked him any personal questions. When the plane finally touched down, I got up and picked up my backpack, saying goodbye to the flight attendant. I walked out of the plane and waited for Carter to follow me. A black Range Rover was waiting for us. The airport official took our bags and put them in the back of his SUV while we buckled up inside.
The address is already stored in the GPS, so when he starts the car, he follows the highlighted route. When we start driving, I look outside at all the huge mountains in the distance. I see a couple of them with white dusting. “Look, snow.” I point at them as he makes his way around the huge lake.
“I told you it was beautiful here,” he says as I take in the breathtaking mountains and green trees. He pulls up to a gate where he presses the code on a keypad. The gate opens, and we make our way up to the house. He drives through the winding forest, and then I see the house come into view. I think I gasp out loud because it’s so pretty. It looks like six different houses all merged.
He pulls right up to the front door of the house under an awning. I get out and see about ten pine trees in the middle of the huge asphalt driveway. I grab my backpack and meet Carter in the back of the car, and he is rolling our luggage to the front door. The door has a keypad also, and he enters the code. When you walk in, there isn’t anything much except a cast-iron bench that sits on the brown slate floors. The walls all around are brick, and a staircase is right in front of the door. “Go on up. I’ll follow you,” he says to me, and I walk up the steps holding on to the black cast-iron railing.
Once I get to the landing, I stare at the room with wooden beams on the ceiling. The whole back wall is huge square windows, and you can see the mountains in the distance. A huge rock fireplace in the middle of the room faces two huge red couches and two leather chairs. A brown wooden coffee table sits in the middle. “Is that a moose?” I ask of the black head hanging above the fireplace.
“I think it’s a caribou,” he says, putting down our luggage. He walks inside and places his bag on the kitchen counter that is on the left-hand side of where the wooden floor turns to slate. The L-shaped countertop has five stools. I see the counter has two different heights and then see the huge island in the middle. The back wall has the ten-burner stove and double ovens, the fridge right beside it, and facing the kitchen to the right is a dining room. The windows are in a half octagon. The round table has eight huge chairs, and the chandelier looks like it has two rows of candles burning, but they are lights. “The bedrooms must be through there,” he says, gesturing toward the hallway. I turn to grab my bag and roll it down the hallway, coming to a rocked archway with stairs leading down. There is another rocked archway in front of the stairs that lead to the bedrooms.
Two wooden double doors are open on both sides. “Pick a room,” I tell him. He walks into the right one, and I enter the left one. The ceilings are high, and in middle of the room is a king-size four-poster canopy bed. An old-fashioned black and gold fireplace sits on an elevated rock floor. Lantern lights hang on either side of the bed. I walk in and see that the bed faces the lake. Two huge windows and a glass door give an outside view. I walk to the door and step out onto the balcony, the glass railing preventing any barriers to the view. The sound of the running water fills the air. I walk to the railing and rest my hands on top of it and just look out. “Erin.” I hear my name being shouted and walk back into the bedroom. “Let’s take a tour of the house so we know what we have.” We explore the house and are shocked to see it has a movie room with six huge leather couches that recline. We even have a wine cellar, a wooden dining room table with ten chairs is also in the middle of the cellar, and a game room with a pool table.
“This house is insane,” I tell him as we walk back up another set of stairs that lead to the backyard and outside. When we walk outside along the slate tiles, we see a huge fire pit and two steps up to an outdoor living space. “It’s so pretty,” I tell him, turning to him, and he just looks out at the mountains. “This is going to be my coffee spot in the morning.”
He shakes his head. “You know that it gets cold, right?” He points at the mountains with the snow. “I’m going to go in and run through the script.”
I turn to him. “If you want to get it, I can help you.” The breeze comes through, and I grab the sides of my sweater and wrap them around me. He smiles and shakes his head. “What?”
“You’re cold,” he says, shrugging his blue jacket off and putting it around my shoulders, just leaving him in a short-sleeved shirt. His musky smell now surrounds me.
“I’m not cold,” I tell him, and he rolls his eyes. “Rolling your eyes is rude. Don’t let them get stuck in
your sockets,” I say, shoving him with my hand.
“I’m going to grab a sweater because I’m freezing.” He laughs when I gasp. “Kidding, but I am going to grab one and the script.”
“I’ll be right here,” I tell him, going to the huge couch.
“We should go and sit over there,” he says, pointing at a huge rock fireplace on the right side. I look over and see that two round couches are positioned in front of the fireplace.
“Okay,” I tell him, walking away. “I’ll be over there.” I walk toward the fireplace where a stack of wood is on the side. Upon closer inspection, I find a couple of pieces already piled inside the fireplace, so I look around until I spot a box of matches beside the wood. Lighting one, I toss it inside. I grab a cast-iron pick, squat down in front, and make sure the fire continues to burn.
“You started the fire.” I hear from behind me, turning and looking over my shoulder at him as he walks back down to me. He’s removed his baseball hat, but his glasses are on now.
“I did,” I tell him, getting up and putting back the pick and walking over to the couch with his jacket.
“I brought you some water,” he says, holding out a water bottle. I sit on the couch, crossing my legs under me, and grab it.
“Thank you.” I smile up at him and see he has the script folded under his arm. “So tell me, how is tomorrow going to work?”
“We have a call at six a.m., which means I usually have to be on set two hours earlier.” I open my eyes wide. “Good times, right?”
“Until what time?”
“Until the director thinks it’s all good. I haven’t worked with Ivan before, but from what I heard, he doesn’t like to dillydally. He wants shit done,” Carter says, sitting on the couch next to me. “Besides, I have a trailer you can hang out in and get some work done in private.” Great, I think to myself, that sounds like a great plan. He grabs his phone. “The car is picking us up tomorrow at four a.m.”
I nod my head, and for the next three hours, we run through his lines. He gets into his head, and his whole demeanor changes. He paces in front of me, back and forth, saying his lines over and over again. When he finally collapses on the couch next to me on his back, looking up at the sky, I laugh. “Did you always want to be an actor?” I ask him, and he looks over at me. He took off his glasses when we started running lines.
“No,” he says. “I wanted to be a cop or a fireman.” I laugh, and he chuckles. “But then Mickey Mouse had other plans for me.” His tone changes.
“Were your parents supportive?” I know right away it’s the wrong question when he sits up. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that,” I say softly and start to get up.
“No, it’s okay,” he says, and I look at him. He sits crouched over with his elbows on his knees and his hands together. “I was their walking-talking ATM.” The words make me stop. “When I was fifteen, I begged them to take a year off. I wanted to go to real school with real friends and join the basketball team,” he says and then tries to make a joke to take away from the way his voice changed. “I mean, not that I was any good, but you know.” I want to ask him what happened, but I don’t know if he will answer me. “I was told that school was for losers, and that everyone in that school would die to be me.” He shrugs. “So I never brought it up again. My parents actually bought a house and gutted it to make it into a school. The basement was the gym, the kitchen the cafeteria, and there were lockers across the living room, and the bedrooms were classrooms.”
“That is kind of cool,” I tell him, trying to focus on the positive efforts his parents made to make him feel somewhat normal.
“I guess, if that made them feel better because they took off for about four months, leaving me to fend for myself,” he says, and his eyes just stare at the fire. “I mean, at that point, I was kind of used to it. I think the producers of the show suspected it, but I always got myself to the set on time.” He shakes his head. “So I guess as long as the money was coming in, and I was well kept, they let it slide.” The burning in my stomach starts to build. “I think someone asked for my parents once or twice, and I made an excuse for them. Meanwhile, they were in fucking Fiji spending my money.” Oh. My. Fucking. God. I have no idea what to say, so I don’t say anything. Instead, I cross my legs and hold my chin in my hand.
Needing to change the subject, I ask, “What’s your favorite meal?”
“I have no idea.” He laughs, looking at me, stretching his legs out now. “Why, are you going to cook it for me?” He nudges me sideways.
“Well, not right now, but I’m just curious,” I say, and he puts his arm around my shoulders and brings me closer to him. It’s done playfully, but it’s the first time he’s touched me. It’s the first time that he’s let me in without lashing out afterward, so I push him away, laughing.
“I would have to say anything Italian is my favorite,” he says, and his arm just hangs over my shoulders. “Probably chicken parm.”
“Really?” I say, and he just nods his head. We sit on the couch and watch the fire with his arm around my shoulder. Neither of us moves, and we just enjoy the quietness in the distance.
The beeping sound makes me open my eyes, and it takes me a second to remember where I am. I’m sleeping on my side in a fetal position, and the bed is heavenly. The thick white comforter is the perfect amount of weight. The beeping is still going, and I turn to the side, looking at the bedside clock, and see it’s 3:00 a.m.
The beeping continues, so I throw my covers over me and get up to follow the sound. Walking to Carter’s room, I knock on the open door and see that the covers are thrown back, and the bed is empty. I look at the door where his bathroom is and see that it’s also open. I walk to the bedside table and pick up his blaring phone. After pressing the snooze button, I leave his phone exactly where it was, then turn around and walk to the kitchen where I find him standing in the middle of it. The lights are dim, and he stands with his back to me. His gray sleep pants hang low on his hips. “Your alarm was going off,” I say, walking into the kitchen. When he turns around, his hair is all over the place, and his eyes are soft with sleep.
“Shit. I thought I turned it off,” he says, reaching his hands behind his neck, flexing his arms. “Sorry I woke you.”
“It’s okay. I set mine for three fifteen,” I tell him, going to sit on a stool. He starts opening the cupboard to grab two coffee cups.
“I don’t have vanilla,” he says, pouring the coffee and then turning around to place it in front of me. I watch him walk to the fridge and get the cream and milk. When we came in last night, we were happy to see that they stocked the fridge, and he cooked for me again, nothing fancy but it was still nice to watch him do it.
“I think I’ll survive,” I tell him, and he comes to sit on the stool next to me.
“I’m not sure if you eat breakfast, but I’m sure they will have some sort of craft service on set. If not, we can send someone to get you something to eat.”
“I can wait,” I tell him, getting up off the stool. “I have to get ready.” I grab my coffee and walk back to my room. I’m slipping on my black heels when there is a knock on the door. “Come in,” I say from my walk-in closet.
“The car is here,” he says, and I walk into the room to him. “What in the fuck are you wearing?” he asks me in a gruff tone.
I look down at what I’m wearing, seeing the high-waist gray pants with a sash at the waist. I paired it with a white long-sleeved silk shirt with a vee collar and the buttons stop halfway with the sleeves rolled at the wrist. “Is it not dressy enough?” I ask, not sure if I have time to change.
“We are going on a film set that is dusty and most likely dirty,” he says with aggravation. “You are like a walking wet dream wearing that getup,” he mumbles, and I don’t know whether to be happy with the comment or not. “Don’t forget a jacket. It’s cold outside,” he says, turning and walking out of the room. I run back to the closet and grab my brown cashmere jacket, then pick up
my Louis and walk to the front door. “You look like you are one of those girls from the porn movies. Not that I would know about that or anything.”
“What the hell is your problem?” I ask, irritated. “I’m not used to a film set, so how the heck should I know how to dress? I’m also still working, so why should I be dressed casually?”
“Whatever,” he says, and he walks away.
“Fuck you, too,” I say to myself and walk out of the house, closing the door behind me. He waits at the car with the back door open for me to get in.
I get into the car, and I don’t say anything to him. We don’t exchange any words for the entire trip, and I think to myself only thirteen more days to go.
Chapter Eleven
Carter
I tossed and turned all night, having almost wet dreams thinking about her. I never, ever told anyone any stories about my parents except Jeff. She sat next to me, and she just listened, and when I looked in her eyes, they didn’t have pity in them, and they didn’t have sadness. In fact, it looked like she was angry.
I woke up at two thirty and stayed in the bed until ten to three, then got up and made coffee. Actually, I stayed in bed, squeezing my hard cock until he went down. Then when I heard her voice, my cock stirred, and I had to talk it down. I was on edge. I needed to get laid soon, or my cock was going to self-combust. I had to google that to make sure it wasn’t actually a thing, and then when I went to get her, she walked out of her closet, and I swear the only thing I thought about was sinking my cock into her. She oozes sex appeal, and she is so oblivious to it that it’s even fucking sexier.
Then she put her jacket on, and I swear to God, I thought I was going to come in my pants. I got in the car, and all I could do was think of her with her hair up and glasses on bent over. Fuck, I needed to fuck period. She said nothing to me on the whole ride to the set, and I have to admit it was better because had she said something or sassed me, I wouldn’t have stopped myself from taking her. Even while the driver watched. Okay, I would have covered her so no one could see, but I still would have taken her. I would have kissed her until she couldn’t take it anymore.
Hollywood Prince Page 7