“It’s Willa. We’ll be there in like twenty minutes.”
“Yeah, I’ll be there in half an hour.”
“Right. See you in forty-five minutes.”
“I’ll be there in half an hour.”
Forty-five minutes later, I’m walking into Erewhon and scanning the café area for Nico, but I catch sight of a world-class ass in a pair of tight faded jeans and I can’t seem to look away. This girl is in the floral section, sniffing a bouquet of flowers and smiling like she’s being reunited with a long-lost love. She is stunning. She is surprisingly gorgeous in the way that a sunset is gorgeous. You just have to stop what you’re doing to marvel at the natural beauty and remember that it’s not your problems and To-Do lists that define you. It’s the things that take your breath away and give your life back to you by nudging you off track.
Suddenly, I am not so tired.
Suddenly, I feel wide awake, all over.
She turns her head, as if she senses that she’s being stared at.
We lock eyes, and at first, her face lights up. She recognizes me. I’m a man again. There are enough hours in the day. I’m not going to die alone. Everything is going to be okay. I can have it all.
Then, her smile fades, her expression hardens.
And I recognize her.
Same dark hair, same olive skin tone, same golden-brown eyes, same full smirky mouth—as my best friend.
It’s Willa Todd.
The unfuckable sister.
A sunset that I can only catch glimpses of in passing, if I’m lucky.
Fuck.
Fuck this day.
4
Willa
You know that scene in The Great Gatsby where the girl is admiring the ridiculous number of orchids in her cousin’s living room when he invited her for tea, and then she hears someone enter, slowly turns around, and sees Leonardo DiCaprio standing there, all rain-soaked in a white suit, with his intense blue eyes? They stare at each other, after years apart, for an eternal breathless moment. The music swells. Finally, she says, “I’m certainly glad to see you again.” His jaw clenches and he says, “I’m certainly glad to see you as well.” And you just want to watch it over and over again, twenty times, because it’s so damn perfect and romantic?
Well, that little cinematic moment sucks donkey balls compared to what just passed between Shane Miller and me in the middle of a fancy overpriced organic market.
For a few magical, floral-scented seconds, I completely forgot that I was mad at him for forgetting my fucking name when I had spent my entire adolescence believing that we were soul mates.
He is so handsome now and shockingly sexy when he’s not being a relentlessly charming goofball in testosterone-fueled blockbuster comedies. He’s got bedhead and bedroom eyes that are somehow even more piercing blue because of his day-old stubble. His moistened lips are parted and look like they are on the verge of whispering something dreamy and subtly devastating and then kissing you until you forget your own name. The expression on his face, the way he was staring at me, it made me feel more beautiful and desirable than I’ve ever felt in my life.
And then I remembered that I am just the goofy little sister that he thinks of as “Willow” and that he’s a movie star with two kids who probably only dates actresses and supermodels. And his expression changes. Like I’ve suddenly come into focus and he’s realizing he doesn’t like what he sees so much after all. Worse, even. Like I’ve reminded him of everything that’s wrong with the world.
He takes a deep breath, runs his fingers through his hair, and takes a step toward me but stops when he hears my brother say, “Yo! Superstar!”
Nico comes bounding over from wherever he was, abandoning whatever hot chick he was chatting up. Do people still call them hot chicks here? Whatever. I place the bouquet of freesia back into the flower bucket and fiddle with the little gold heart pendant of my favorite necklace, watching as Nico and Shane hug each other. Not just a bro-hug, but a real, full-on, been-too-long-missed-you-old-friend embrace. It’s sweet.
When they finally pull away from each other, I start to make my way over to them, but some woman, about my age, goes over to ask if she can take a selfie with them. She inserts herself between them, and they all lean in together so she can take a picture with her phone. It seems like the kind of thing that happens all the time. I know that girls used to love the idea of them being friends in real life. My brother instantly lowers his chin and makes his smirky musician face at the camera, but Shane is looking beyond her phone, smiling at me. Like he’s remembering something amusing.
Probably thinking about how I kissed his hand.
Whatever. I’m sure tons of girls have done spazzy things like that to him.
It’s a good thing I’m not a naïve, impressionable twelve-year-old anymore, because it would be really easy to misinterpret that look as something meaningful.
But I won’t. I’ve learned my lesson. I’ve moved on.
The girl says something gushy to them and then immediately steps away, probably to post the pic on Instagram. Nico grabs Shane’s shoulders and squeezes them, musses up his hair. and starts catching up with him. They seem completely unaware of anyone else’s presence here, so I go back to perusing the floral offerings.
A minute later, my brother calls out my name.
I slowly remove my face from the eucalyptus branches that I’ve been inhaling and place them back in their bucket.
Nico brings Shane over to me. “You remember my little sis? Willa.”
His face is so serious now. “I do. Sweet pea. P-e-a, the flower, not urine.”
Great. That he remembers, but not my name.
“What?” My brother laughs. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” Shane says, grinning at me now. That trademark flirtatious but safe and friendly grin that sells tickets and dreams and wastes years of a girl’s life. “Hi.” He holds his hand out, and I glance down at it before taking it because I’m afraid that despite being twelve years older and ten times wiser than I was the last time I touched that hand, I will do something idiotic like kiss it.
I need to say something amazing but understated and memorable.
“Hi. Your shirt’s on inside out.”
He lets go of my hand as soon as he’s given it a good firm shake. “Yes. Yes, it is.”
Well, that was underwhelming, but at least there’s no way either of them can tell how I used to feel about him.
We both look back at my brother and wait for him to steer the rest of this conversation in the right direction. He shakes his head at me, silently wondering what is wrong with me, but he suggests we order coffee and take it to the covered outdoor seating area. Shane orders decaf and informs us that he has insomnia. I have about a thousand things to say about that, but it’s probably not my place.
He still smells clean, but in more of a housecleaning product way, with a hint of something earthy or nutty. Hummus?
I take a seat at a small table, Shane takes the seat across from me, and Nico pulls up another chair.
Now that my brother is around, Shane has barely made eye contact with me. It’s fascinating. And it sort of makes me want to capture his attention again.
“Let’s see the kid pics,” Nico says to him, like he wants to get it out of the way. Asshat.
Shane laughs. “You don’t have to indulge me. They’re just as cute as they were the last time you saw them.”
“I want to see them,” I say, tossing my long hair over my shoulders and leaning forward. His tired eyes barely slip to glance at my exposed cleavage in this silk camisole before staring down at the table in front of him as he reaches for his phone. I’m wearing a blouse over the cami, so my brother can’t see any boobage from where he’s sitting. That was just for you, tired daddy.
He flicks through a few images and then turns his phone to face me. “This is Summer Rain and Lucky Scout.”
I gasp. It’s not even a fake reaction. Those are two of the cutest,
most beautiful children I have ever seen. They have their father’s blue, blue eyes and his wavy brown hair. I suppose I can see their mother in their pretty faces too, but mostly Shane. “Oh, Shane. They’re wonderful. What are they—five?”
“Yeah, they’re in kindergarten.” He tilts his phone for Nico to see.
“Yup. Still cute,” my brother says.
Shane swipes to another photo to show me.
“You took these pictures, right?” I ask.
“Mmhmm.”
“I love how they look at you. Summer’s a little bit sassy and Lucky kind of reveres you.”
“Yep. That about sums it up.” Shane shifts around in his chair and places his phone facedown on the table, still avoiding eye contact with me.
My brother looks back and forth between us. “You know…Willa was a nanny in France. You should hire her to help you with the kids.”
I practically sprain my neck when I snap my head around to widen my eyes at him.
“What? You need a job. He needs a nanny. You need a live-in, right?” he says to Shane. “This could work out well for all of us.”
“You don’t—uhhh—I’ve been applying for jobs at perfume shops,” I explain to Shane.
“Yeah, that sounds more…”
“But you’d rather make your own perfume and set up your Etsy store, right?”
“Well, an Etsy store is just the first step.”
“Whatever—you could do that if you stay at Shane’s. Right? The kids are still in school. She’d have time to do her own thing sometimes.”
“Sure, yeah. Are you—would that interest you?” he asks me.
I think we both want to kill my brother right now. “I mean. I wasn’t…” Would it interest me? “Yes. It would,” I hear myself saying. “If you… I don’t want you to feel…”
“No, I just—it’s a really good idea, actually, if you…”
“Yeah, I would…I mean, we should talk about this.”
“Sure, let’s talk about this.” He smiles and shakes his head at Nico.
Meanwhile, my brother’s attention has turned to a model-y looking blonde who is entering the store.
“Holy shit,” he mutters, craning his neck to watch her through the window. “I’ve seen that girl around. I’m gonna go get a green juice or…something.” He stands up, pats Shane on the shoulder. “You guys figure this nanny thing out. I’ll be back.” And the fucker’s gone.
Shane and I just stare at each other for a few seconds and then laugh.
“You wanna go ‘get a green juice or something’ too? I can sit here and drink coffee by myself. It’s fine.”
“I don’t think green juice is what I need right now.”
“Oh yeah? What do you need?”
“A three-day nap.”
“Have you always had insomnia?”
He shrugs. “Off and on since…since right before I got married, actually.” He says it as if he’s just realizing this now.
Interesting.
“And you need a nanny now because…”
“Because the regular nanny quit on Friday, so I have the kids while Margo and her husband are shooting a movie in Poland for a few months. I’m taking time off from work so I can be with the kids, but it’s been so long since I’ve had a good night’s sleep, I can barely function. The weekend was okay, but I almost didn’t get them to school on time today.”
Poor guy. This is a man who’s led a charmed life. He’s not used to feeling overwhelmed and out of sorts. I look down at his hands, both of them holding on to his cup of decaf coffee.
He needs so much more than caffeine to wake him up right now.
“Have you ever had your palm read before?”
He quirks a brow at me. “No. Have you?”
“Yes. By a woman in Versailles.” She told me that I met the love of my life before I was in high school. “I’m pretty sure everything she said was a crock of shit, but she was very charming and convincing.”
I can’t tell from his expression if he’s a cynic or not.
“Let me see your right hand.” I hold out both of my hands, palms up.
“Wait a minute,” he says, smirking and cocking his head to one side. “Are you the charming and convincing crock-of-shit palm reader from Versailles?”
“The grandmother of the family I boarded with taught me a few tricks.” I beckon him with the fingers of my outstretched hands.
He pushes his coffee aside and stretches his hand across the table without hesitation. Surprising. I take his hand in mine and examine the shape of it. I am fully aware that this would play out very differently if we were at a bar instead of a supermarket and if my brother were half a world away instead of at some counter inside the store, chatting up a hot chick. I am also aware that the last thing I should be doing is pulling out the party trick I’ve employed to flirt with guys who are either too pretty or too shy to make the first move. But I guess this is what’s happening.
His hand.
Oh Lord, his hand.
The texture of his skin is not quite rough and not exactly smooth. It feels good. “You’re down-to-earth, but you’re also sensitive.”
“Am I?”
I turn his hand over to press my thumbs into his palm. It’s firm and resilient. “You’re very practical and hard-working.”
“And you’re still kinda weird, huh?”
“Am I?”
His skin has a pinkish hue. I bet his penis is really pretty. “Well, the lack of sleep isn’t affecting your overall health. That’s good.” He’s loving and supportive. Margo Quincey is a fucking idiot for letting this guy go. “Oh, you have a square palm.”
“What does that mean? I’m good at opening square jars?”
“It confirms that you have good energy and you’re a hard-worker. You don’t mind a challenge.” His long fingers are capable and sexy, and I want them on my body. Shit. “You’re responsible and you finish what you start.” I want these fingers inside me. Fuck. “This is your heart line,” I say, tracing the major line across the top of his palm with my fingertip. It’s long and strong. I want to see him wrap this hand around his cock, and I want him to ram that cock into me. He could really give it to me good. Goddammit, what is wrong with me? “This tells me something about your emotional life.”
“Oh yeah? What’s it telling you?”
His heart line is curved. Shit, it’s really curved. Sex is very important to this man. “I, uhhh…That’s about the extent of my palm-reading abilities. Sorry.”
He pulls his beautiful hand away to rake it through his amazing hair. “Well, I learned a lot about myself, thanks.”
I place my hands at the edge of the table in front of me and push myself against the back of my chair. This is a passionate man who will stop at nothing to make a woman come, and I can’t be that woman and I need to shift gears. “So, are you doing an ad for hair products later today or what?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Then why do you look like that?”
“Like this?” He points to his perfectly tousled hair. “I literally wake up with awesome hair every day. I couldn’t make it look bad if I tried.”
“That’s kind of annoying.”
“I know, but to be fair, it’s my only annoying quality.”
“Unless one considers the inability to select a decent movie to star in a quality.” Shit. Too far. I’m going too far in the other direction.
And yet, he seems totally unoffended.
“Once again, to be fair, that’s just my inability to fire my agents for encouraging me to do those mainstream movies that pay me millions of dollars so I can feed my children.”
“And you couldn’t possibly feed your children with money earned from films that don’t star former wrestlers? I’m curious—do you even read the scripts before you agree to make these movies?” Oh my God, Willa, he’s a nice dad who is exhausted and he really needs your help. Don’t be a dick.
Where’s my idiot brother?
; I need to shift gears again.
And Shane Miller needs to stop staring at my mouth or I’m going to fling myself across this table and never stop kissing him.
5
Shane
This girl is giving me whiplash.
I never know what she’s going to say next, and I love it.
She needs to stop staring at my mouth or I’m going to lean across the table and kiss her.
But also, why is it so adorable that she’s being such a little turd to me?
“First of all, yes I do read every script that my agents read first and then pass along to me. Secondly, John Cena is a hilarious and talented actor who was a costar—not the star—of that movie. And third, it just so happens I recently wrapped a fantastic little independent film that I was only paid scale plus ten for.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means I didn’t do it for the money and if it doesn’t get into Sundance I’m screwed.”
“Uh-huh. So you also didn’t do it because you loved the script.”
“I did love the script. It’s a great script… You know, it’s funny—I’m remembering now that Nico once mentioned that you’ve been sort of a dick ever since you moved to Europe, but I didn’t believe him.”
“And now?”
“And now I think that was an understatement.”
She blinks once and then looks down at her coffee cup. “Yeah. Sorry. It seems the only way my super impressive science degrees actually benefit me in Los Angeles is that they make me feel superior enough to ridicule attractive, successful actors who make more money in one month than I’ll probably make in five years. If I’m lucky.”
“Wow, there is a lot to unpack in that sentence, but all I really heard is that you find me attractive, so I’m gonna let you continue to make fun of me.”
“Thanks. I would have continued even without your permission, but your mild narcissism makes it even more rewarding.”
Sleeper Page 4