by Colet Abedi
I nod in excitement and continue to chew away. She expertly pours two glasses and hands me one. I wash my pizza down with a long sip.
“I’m dying,” I plead with her. “Speak.”
“So…” She lifts her glass up and swirls it around. “I met a boy.”
We both squeal in excitement. Kerri hasn’t met anyone she’s given any thought to since the day I met her. She’s dated… but she’s never liked any of them. She’s hooked up, but she never seemed to want more, and I know she’s been going to the club for a long time. She told me that since she turned twenty, she’d go every time she came home from school. It was her little secret until I moved to LA.
This is big news.
“What does he look like?”
“He’s beautiful,” Kerri says, and her eyes meet mine. She looks like she’s on cloud nine. “He’s beautiful, and he’s soulful, and I think he’s seriously damaged because he’s kind of dark. And he’s—he’s just, trouble.”
“Trouble?”
Kerri gives me a secretive smile. “His name is Trouble too.”
“Hot.” I whistle in appreciation.
“Oh my God, Wylder,” Kerri gushes. “He is so freaking hot. I can’t even tell you—” She glances over my shoulder for a moment before going on. “But then so is this tall, gorgeous, seems-to-be-out-of-the-doghouse director who likes to walk into other people’s homes without knocking first.”
I turn my head and see Jamie standing in our kitchen.
“But I forgive him and won’t scold him this time because he’s holding a box of Stan’s donuts that he needs to hand over to me right now if he knows what’s good for him.” Kerri charges, walking right to Jamie, and pulls the box out of one of his hands. In the other, he’s holding a brown bag with two baguettes popping out, along with other groceries.
The butterflies do synchronized spins in my stomach.
He’s showered and dressed in casual black track pants and a black T-shirt, with a zip sweatshirt over it. He’s got a bit of a stubble, and it makes him look more rugged and masculine—impossibly handsome—and I love it. I can’t wait to rub my face, body, and inner thighs along those stubbly cheeks of his. The thought alone gives me goose bumps.
“Morning, sunshine.” Jamie smiles sarcastically at Kerri as he smoothly checks out the state of affairs. “Did we have a fun or troublesome night?”
Oh, shit. He heard Kerri and me talking. Luckily, she doesn’t seem bothered by it at all. She’s too busy stuffing a donut in her mouth. I’m in some serious shock. I’ve never seen her eat so many carbs in one sitting.
“Both,” Kerri admits. “Champagne?”
She picks up the bottle and hands it to Jamie. He grabs it and takes a long swig.
“Does this mean I’m officially part of the sisterhood?” he teases.
“Jamie Donovan, you will never be part of any sisterhood.” I laugh.
He gives me the best smile, like ever. He sets the champagne and bag down, walks to where I’m sitting on the counter, and pulls my body into his delicious embrace. His mouth quickly finds mine, and it’s all I can do to stop myself from wrapping my legs around his waist. Kerri is standing right here!
He pulls his lips away.
“Morning, beautiful.” His voice is soft and tender. “I thought I was going to wake you up in bed.”
“And how were you gonna do that if the door was locked, lover boy?” Kerri drawls from behind, taking the words right out of my mouth.
“Tony let me know where the spare key was hidden when I was here one time,” Jamie says matter-of-factly.
“Tony told you where the key is?” I’m not surprised. Tony still probably harbors a serious man-crush on Jamie. But honestly, I’m going to have a talk with him about it. He’s so not allowed to do that.
“He’s dead,” Kerri says as she grabs another donut, then hands me the box. “If you love me, you’ll take these and keep them away from me. I’m going to hate myself in four hours.”
I gladly take them and help myself to a gooey one.
“Why four?” I ask.
“Seems about when I’ll have sobered up,” Kerry says.
Makes sense. I turn to Jamie and hold up a glazed beauty. “Thank you for these,” I say before I take a bite and close my eyes in bliss. It’s still warm. Oh, my. It’s like heaven. When I open them, I catch Jamie staring at me through hooded eyes.
“I’m gonna make that look happen again,” he promises me, then takes another swig of champagne.
I know he doesn’t mean with food, and I can’t wait to have him make good on his promise.
“Anyone want real breakfast?” Jamie lifts his bag. “I brought over the good stuff from home.”
“If you’re cooking and cleaning.” Kerri grabs another slice of pizza.
“I don’t clean,” Jamie says matter-of-factly.
I roll my eyes when I take in his look of disgust and then because I can’t help myself, I ask, “What? Little Jamie is too good for the dishes?”
“Watch me on the show last night?” His response is quick, knowing.
Shit. Craig Williamson had referred to him as Little Jamie. Talk about obvious.
“I won’t tease you, buttercup. I know you couldn’t help yourself.” Jamie has a wicked smile. “You’re hot for me.”
“I’m going to throw up.” Kerri rolls her eyes. I try not to smile.
“So here’s the thing,” Jamie says, ignoring her. “I work really hard. I have money. This kind of stuff is what I have it for, so I don’t have to do shit I don’t want. That’s the point. End of story.”
Logical. It makes perfect sense, and I can’t really argue with him, but still.
“So who’s cleaning up if you’re not?” Kerri interjects sarcastically, asking the obvious question. “Wylder?”
“Of course not. I’ll have a service over to take care of everything when I’m done.” Jamie places the bag on the counter.
“On a Sunday?” My voice is laced with sarcasm. “Come. On.”
Jamie looks at me like I’m an alien.
“I’ll call my agent.”
Kerri shouts with laughter, and I join in. Jamie smiles at us.
“The idea of you calling Jim Parsons on a Sunday before ten a.m. to clean up your cooking mess is astronomical,” I say, shaking my head. Jamie’s agent is a legend. He’s one of the most powerful men in the business.
“I’m not asking him to clean it up. I’m asking him to find someone to do it for me,” Jamie explains as he pulls items from the bag. It looks like he stopped at a gourmet shop rather than brought them from home.
“Don’t you have Kathleen for that?” I say, then regret the question as soon as it comes out.
I’d never let him call Kathleen. I have no problem washing the dishes myself. It’s something I’ve had to do my whole life, and I kind of like it. Sometimes it’s therapeutic. I look at Jamie and realize I shouldn’t be surprised. I have been told over and over that anything goes in Hollywood.
“What kind of person do you think I am?” Jamie sounds offended I’d even suggest such a thing. “I like Kathleen.”
It takes me a second, then I lean back on the counter and laugh, the implication of him not liking his agent is pretty damn obvious. Kerri thinks it’s hysterical too.
Kerri’s able to talk before I am. “Then why are you with that asshole?”
“Because he’s a clever asshole.” Jamie searches through the kitchen, opening cabinets and taking out items he needs. “He’s a shark, and he makes me money. And just like your daddy, I like money too.”
“I’m pretty sure my dad is more like the Jim in the situation.” Kerri’s nothing but honest, but from the little I know of her dad, I’d tend to agree.
“You don’t seem too damaged.” Jamie actually says without cracking a smile as he stares at Kerri’s mascara-streaked face. The irony of his words when looking at her appearance now is laugh-out-loud funny.
He is out of control.
/> “My dad’s cool,” Kerri admits with a shrug. “I kind of like him. Most of the time anyway.”
“Well, speaking of dads… Mine is more like me, so I fucking love him,” Jamie says, making us laugh again.
“And you, Wylder?” Jamie looks at me casually. “Is your dad a Jim or more like me?”
The second he asks, I can tell he regrets the question.
I know it flew out of his mouth, and it’s an obvious one, but it’s still the worst kind for me. Any question about my dad angers me. It also does the best thing ever. It reminds me what torture my mom went through—and then I did, by extension—because she’d married a notorious player she thought she could change. A notorious town player who also liked to hit the bottle a bit too hard. Trust me, I have been witness to many ugly situations I wish I could just forget.
“My dad is an asshole.”
I could feel Kerri’s gaze on my face the second Jamie asked. I know she’s probably worried, maybe even irrationally pissed at Jamie for even mentioning my father. She’s protective like that.
Jamie and I lock eyes.
“He’s not a Jim.” I know my voice is cold, but I can’t help it. This is what happens when I think or speak about my dad. “And I can promise you this: you definitely don’t want him to be anything like you.”
Jamie cocks his head to the side and nods.
“I thought that might be the case,” is all he says to me. There is no mockery or humor in his voice. There’s not even pity, which I’m immensely grateful for. The last thing I need or want is for anyone to feel sorry for me.
“All right,” Jamie says as he opens the carton of eggs. “Who wants a Spanish omelet?”
I’m relieved he changes the subject.
“I do,” Tony calls out loudly as he walks in the kitchen.
I take in his disheveled appearance. He looks hung over as hell.
“Is that vomit on your shirt?” I ask in disgust.
He glances down at the stains on his white T-shirt and shrugs. “Possibly.”
Kerri snorts. “Classy.”
“I really wouldn’t throw that word around right now,” Tony says sarcastically as he checks her out. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”
“I think she can pass for Gothic chic.” I defend Kerri as best as I can, even though she does look like a hot mess.
“Nice try.” Tony laughs sarcastically, then walks to the counter and grabs a slice of pizza. “She’s got walk of shame written all over her.”
It’s really hard not to laugh.
Tony looks at Jamie, and the hero worship in his eyes is there for all of us to see. He’s not even surprised to see him in our kitchen.
“Hey, man,” he says with a bro nod. “Good to see you.”
“Have a seat, kid,” Jamie says as he moves around our kitchen like he’s done it a million times before. “I’m making breakfast.”
I’ve never seen anyone enjoy every part of food quite as much as Jamie. It’s definitely his thing. I know firsthand he can cook, which is sexy as hell, and he eats a lot and decadently. He must work out often to keep himself in such good shape.
“Thanks, man,” Tony replies and takes a seat on the counter stool next to Kerri.
When Jamie turns his back to us and begins cracking eggs into a bowl, Tony gives me wide eyes and mouths, What the hell is going on?
I shrug, then kind of nod, and before I can mouth words, we’re back on, back to him, Jamie turns around. We all try to act cool.
“Yes, it’s back on, Tony.” It’s like he has eyes in the back of his head and watched our entire interaction. “We’re just going through some Wylder growing pains.”
“Sounds about right,” Tony responds disloyally and grabs a donut.
As Jamie cuts potatoes and onions, Tony swivels in his chair and turns to stare at Kerri some more. She looks pretty epic.
“Rough night?”
“Not really,” she says.
“Just so you know, the look completely negates your words.”
Jamie and I laugh.
“You’re so funny,” Kerri says, mocking him. “When you grow up, you should be a comedian.”
“Maybe I will,” Tony says.
I know he has comments for me too and that he’s saving them for when Jamie’s safely out of the house—only because of the hell I’ve been through these past couple weeks. I’m sure I’ll have to deflect my own Tony zingers soon.
“Wylder, will you grab the baguette and start cutting?” Jamie kind of ask-orders me. “And someone needs to set the table. I like to sit down when I eat a meal.” He gives me a wink. “It’s the adult thing to do.”
There are many adult things I’d like to do to him right now, and they all involve him naked, but I guess I can wait.
Impatiently.
He looks at me with a hint of a smile as he slices more potatoes. The world’s hottest director in my kitchen, making me and my roommates breakfast.
Okay, very impatiently.
Chapter Five
A lazy Sunday with Jamie was the perfect remedy for all ailments.
I was definitely lazy.
And horny.
He helped in both departments. After we had breakfast, we retreated to my room where we proceeded to make up for lost time. Jamie and I had sex in every corner of my personal abode. In my bathroom. In my shower. Next to my plant kids. I hope they forgive me and aren’t traumatized for life.
On the bed.
Next to the bed.
You name the location in the room, and we probably had sex on or around it. In between, we did the whole Netflix-and-chill thing. We managed to binge watch an entire series in a day in between all the sex we were having. I’m impressed we actually got something done.
Jamie ended up sleeping over but left so early in the morning, it should be a crime. I was definitely sad to see him go.
When I’m finally able to pull myself out of bed, my body moves in slow motion. I get ready for work rather reluctantly. I so wish the Thanksgiving holiday was already here. Much to my mother’s dismay, I have no plans to go home. I told her it’s too long of a drive for just a few days, but I’ll be home for Christmas. It’s the last thing I want to do, but I can’t be a no-show; it’ll break her heart.
Kerri was nice enough to invite me over for Thanksgiving with her family. They usually go to their home in Yellowstone, but this year, they decided to stay in LA. The plan is for us to stay in their guesthouse for the four-day weekend, play pickleball, and pretend we’re on some exotic vacation, which isn’t that hard to do at their house. Obviously, Kerri doesn’t have to pretend anything because she’s always going on exotic vacations, but she’s playing along for me.
As I finish applying my mascara, Tony texts Kerri and me on a group message and asks if we’d like to carpool today, and we both agree.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re in the car and on our way to the gas station mini-mart. It’s not the best stop in LA for coffee, but it’s the cheapest.
“Well, Wylder, I must say from the sounds of things yesterday, it seems like you’re making up for all the years you denied yourself sex,” Tony says conversationally as he drives along the winding roads of Hollywood Hills.
“I know I should be embarrassed,” I tell him honestly. “But I’m not.”
I wonder what that says about me?
“Own it,” Kerri says and puts on some lip gloss. “I had some serious envy yesterday, and Tony over here is just pissed off he hasn’t gotten laid in over a month.”
“Oh, how you wish you were correct.” Tony gives Kerri a smug smile. “But I got what I needed on Friday.”
“I call bullshit,” Kerri says caustically. “You were with your personal nightmare on Friday night.”
The nightmare Kerri is referring to is the senior vice president of the company. Tony’s had to drive her around town to various appointments to different famous cosmetic surgeons, pick up her crap from department stores, and supply her with her fav
orite pills from various pharmacies.
I stare at Tony through the rearview mirror. The look on his face says it all.
“You. Did. Not!” I shriek in horror when the shocking realization dawns on me.
Tony’s face turns red in about four seconds. He looks like the cat that got the cream—the much older cream.
“Oh my God! You so did!” I say in shock. The picture in my head is all sorts of wrong, like weird wrong.
“You had sex with Patricia Weinberg?” Kerri sounds as horrified as I feel inside. “I’m having serious trauma thinking about it.”
I agree. “I might need therapy.”
Patricia isn’t known for her sex appeal. She’s known for the unbelievable amount of injections she likes to put in her face. In fact, many of us have often wondered how her husband, who happens to be a big player in town—and I mean in the business and the sexual sense—is still with her. After years of plastic surgery and Botox, Patricia has a bit of the cat lady thing going for her.
True story.
“I didn’t have sex with her, per say.” Tony sounds flustered.
“Then what happened, per say?” I ask, watching his every facial expression. I’m so glad it’s raining, and he can’t put on sunglasses.
“She sucked me off.” He says it almost defensively.
“I am so sorry, Tony,” I say rather dramatically. “But that’s not going to cut it. You need to tell us everything, like how the hell did it even happen? Cause I’m picturing her pulling your pants down in her office in broad daylight.”
He moves his head from side to side like my sense is accurate.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Kerri bursts. She turns in her seat to stare at Tony while shaking her head. “You sold your soul.”
“I didn’t sell shit,” Tony says defensively. “I let her blow me. Big deal. I needed it, and guess what, she needed it too.”
I’m speechless. I mean, she’s married—not that it means anything to some of the power players in the business. Cheating and Hollywood seem to go hand in hand, but it usually happens on set, like when you’re away in some foreign location with a crew for a long period of time. I’ve heard it tends to get a bit rowdy, and it’s almost like anything goes.