Los Angeles Bad Boys: The Complete Series: Cold Hard Cash, Hollywood Holden, Saint Jude

by Frankie Love

  "We're so pleased to be welcoming back our own hometown star, Holden Hatfield. This beautiful theater is a gift from him. And, to that end, let's thank him with another round of applause."

  As I adjust the mic, I grin, flashing the cameras my most stunning smile, deciding that Bexley may not have wanted me before, but damn if I'm not going after her now. Fuck letting her go. One look at her, and the wave of memories crashes down.

  This theater is for her, and I'm fucking lying to myself if I pretend it isn't. I don't need Trenton's canned speech. I've always killed it at improv; I can wing it now.

  "Thank you, everyone, for coming out tonight," I address the audience. "I know that I wasn't exactly a star student back in the day. I remember spending half of my time here in in-school suspension." I smile, shake my head in a self-deprecating way as a small laugh rolls over the crowd. "But the other half was spent on stage. The drama department at Tolling High gave me a place to shine. And I want every student at Tolling to find their place, too."

  The audience claps and I smile. I dreaded coming here tonight, facing my past, but shit, it’s actually pretty damn nice to be received so well by the people who thought I was a joke before I left town.

  But as I look around, I'm once again reminded that not everyone thought I was a joke.

  Bexley sure as hell never did.

  "I'd like to dedicate this new theater to every aspiring actor in Tolling. I hope this theater can give you a place to stretch your wings and soar." I pause, wanting Bexley's attention as I finish my speech. "And I'd also like to dedicate it to our own Bexley Maddon. She’s the reason I’m where I am today. She was my biggest fan, and believed in me when I didn't believe in myself. So, without further ado, Principal Pratt, will you do the honors?"

  Principal Pratt tugs on the cord concealing the signage to the theater. After the unveiling, the audience will be invited inside for a talent show put on by students, but I won't need to stay for that.

  This is the moment I came all this way for.

  The canvas falls, revealing the name: Belden Theater at Tolling High School.

  No one else is going to understand the name—they might think it's a blatant typo—but I don't care.

  It's my theater, and I can name it anything I want.

  I watch for Bexley's reaction. She knows, remembers. She understands. She bites her lip, containing a smile.

  But not me. I beam, and clap as Principal Pratt returns to the stage to thank me again and welcome everyone to the Talent Show and reception.

  I stand, wave, and then allow Lindy to whisk me to the sidelines as the crowd moves toward the entrance. It takes about thirty minutes to get through the throng of former classmates who are apparently dying to see me again. A cluster of Lisas-Kaylees-Jens try to get my attention, but I wave them off, trying to keep these interactions brief so that my focus is reserved for the only person I actually want to see.

  The person I'm shocked is here at all.

  She made it pretty damn clear what I meant to her four years ago.

  Eventually, Lindy takes my arm and leads me from the crowd toward the limo.

  "That went well," Lindy laughs, looking back at the women who came tonight with a single motivation: getting the famous Hollywood Holden in bed, knowing my reputation. "Now," she presses. "Are you gonna tell me what the name is about? For the theater? You kept it on the down-low for months."

  I shake my head. Some inside jokes are best kept under wraps.

  "Okay, your call," Lindy says, knowing I'm not one to be easily swayed. "I think this went really well. A perfect Op-Ed piece for the reporters who came out. Everyone loved you. I mean, the ladies at least."

  I press my hand on her back, guiding her toward the limo now that the crowd has dissipated.

  "Listen, Lindy, I'm gonna stay here for a bit, you mind getting my mom home?"

  "Uh, no problem—she's already in the limo, anyway—but are you sure? This crowd could get rowdy."

  "I'm cool. I just want to check out the old stomping grounds is all.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bexley watching me from the distance. I instinctively remove my hand from Lindy's back, and hate the swift way I did so. By the time I look back toward Bex, I see she's already headed toward the parking lot.

  She isn't even staying to talk to me.

  Still doesn't want to walk back, look me in the eye. Explain.

  "All right," Lindy says. "I promised your mom drinks anyhow."

  "You're going out on the town with my mom? You know you're only, like, thirty and don't need to hang out with her, right?"

  "Your mom is more fun than mine. And I never get to go out. I'm always babysitting your ass." She laughs and keeps talking. "Text me if you need anything. Otherwise, I'll see you later. A car will be here at noon tomorrow to get you."

  "Fantastic. Thanks again for everything. Let Trenton know it went well, will you?" I can't end this dialogue fast enough. Lindy is a great assistant, but she’s no Bexley.

  She nods, then walks away. I turn back to where I last saw the tall brunette with the narrow waist and round ass.

  I sprint over to her. Call out her name.

  "Bex, wait up."

  It's not beneath me to chase her.

  In fact, looking at her now, I'm reminded that I should have started sprinting a long-ass time go.

  Chapter Six

  Bexley

  He touches her in a way that screams intimacy. And yeah, all it took was that quick flash of hand-on-back to be reminded of why I could never compete with girls like her.

  I mean, there were like twenty women up in Holden’s grill the moment he got off stage, practically begging him to take them home and fuck them.

  I remember him telling me that he lost his virginity at fourteen, to the next-door neighbor. She was a seventeen-year-old senior who straddled him on her mother's couch.

  I remember feeling so jealous at the time—of all of it.

  Of the girl who was able to take what she wanted.

  Of Holden, who recounted the story with a boyish grin.

  Of the sex in general, because even then I knew that all I wanted was to lose my virginity to him, but I was terrified of what that said about me.

  Holden was the guy who never outgrew blow jobs in the school parking lot, never outgrew getting high before math class. Never outgrew detention for cutting class.

  And the fact that he was the one I wanted? I could never make sense of it.

  So I drew a line in the sand, and decided he was off limits.

  But looking at those women tonight who fawned all over him, I'm reminded of those pangs I felt when we were at school together. How I wished I were braver, more reckless. Less Bex, more sex.

  Cheesy, but freaking true.

  And I can't help but feel a surge of jealousy at the woman who’s standing with him now, after everyone else has left, the woman who’s laughing with Holden as they linger at the limo.

  Probably his new girlfriend. New fuck buddy. New lover.

  New whatever.

  I can't believe I thought I could actually hook up with him tonight. Who am I kidding?

  Moving toward the parking lot, I'm shocked at the tears in my eyes, blinding me.

  Why am I crying over a boy I pushed away?

  Only because deep down, I want him so badly.

  I always have.

  "Bex, wait up," he calls.

  Holden is here. His hand on my shoulder. Pulling me around.

  "Bex," he says again. He's out of breath. He ran after me. "We're in the parking lot."

  I look around, at the cars, the football field in the distance, the ground. Anywhere but Holden's face. Because I can't.

  "Kinda funny, right?" he asks. "To meet back at the very place we said good-bye."

  I can't help it. I lift my chin, raise an eyebrow and smirk. "Said good-bye?" I ask, my heart catching—because one look at him and it's like no time has passed. Like we didn't just spend four years apart.
Like I never cut him off.

  He laughs, that effortless Holden laugh. The laugh that causes shivers to cover my skin and my breath to catch. The laugh that reminds me of everything we shared. The laugh that makes my longing for what we almost had palpable.

  His bright eyes squint, remembering me at my worst. "It was more of a yelling, screaming, all-out brawl, wasn't it?" He presses his lips together before adding more softly, "And, to be fair, it was more of a curtain call, wasn't it, Bex?"

  I nod, blinking fast, knowing the tears are going to spill no matter what. And they do; running in rivers down my cheeks.

  In a flood, just like my tears, my words rush out. "I'm sorry for never calling. For never ... for never explaining ... for never giving you—"

  Before I can finish—and who am I kidding, I clearly am not going to be able to finish that sentence—Holden folds his arms around me.

  I breathe him in. His arms wrapped around me feel the same, like a night sky full of stars. Majestic and luminous and so very far from my grasp. It's like … he's right here, I'm literally in his arms, but there has always, always been something between us as thick as the atmosphere.

  My fear. His recklessness. Our spoken and unspoken desires.

  But four years is a long time. Stars don't burn that long, do they?

  "I can't believe you named the theater Belden," I tell him, my face against his shirt, inhaling him. I know in an instant that my deepest fantasy could come to life tonight. I know, with his arms wrapped tight around me, that it will.

  "You remembered," he says.

  "When it comes to you, there isn't much I've forgotten," I admit.

  "I personally always thought our take on Brangelina was remarkable."

  I look up at him and step away, knowing that I owe him more than brushing all of this under the carpet. Laughing at the past and skirting our "curtain call" isn't fair. Not to him.

  "I was a crappy friend," I tell him.

  Holden laughs uneasily. "Friends? That's what we were?"

  "I was scared."

  "And now?" He tilts his head, watching me closely.

  "Oh, I'm pretty much terrified."

  "Of what?"

  "I'm scared you won't accept my apology, Holden. And I'd deserve that. Four years is a long time."

  "Done," he says quickly. "Apology accepted."

  "Don't." I shake my head. "Don't just say done. I haven't even properly told you what I'm sorry for."

  "Then tell me. If you need to, tell me what you want forgiveness for, Bexley. But the truth is, I could come up with a long list of things I need your forgiveness for, too."

  "That's not true. You didn't quit on me. I quit on you."

  "I've missed you, Bex."

  I shake my head, scared that I'm going to cry again. Damn, seeing Holden makes me regret so much. Everything.

  "Let's not do this tonight," he says. "I don't want to make you cry."

  "What do you want, Holden?"

  He draws in a deep breath, then smiles softly, shaking his head. "Girl, you've always known what I wanted."

  I don't push back and say You may have wanted me, but not enough to give up all the other girls you slept with. You wanted me, but not enough to stop smoking pot even though you knew I hated it. You wanted me, but not enough to claim me as yours.

  I don't say that. Because four years of silent treatment is more than enough.

  And in this moment I don't want anything to ruin what might come next.

  "Then take what you've always wanted, Holden. I know it's insane, but I've been saving myself for you."

  His jaw tenses. His eyes narrow. He's caught off guard. "Just like that, after all this time?"

  I smile, wondering if it will be this easy. This simple. Tell him to take all of me, and let him. "Yes. It's my peace offering."

  "Bex," he says softly. "I can't accept that."

  "Please." My chin quivers. "Please. Sleep with me. It's all I want."

  He shakes his head. "I've never even kissed you, Bexley."

  I don't want to walk away the same girl I was. I want Holden to make me a woman.

  Tonight.

  I step closer to him, lowering my chin, looking into his eyes. "I’ve read enough magazine articles to know you have no problem taking things fast."

  "Bex," he says, his breath heavy, his lids hooded. I know he wants this. Has always wanted this.

  Wanted me.

  "Please, Holden. Don't make me beg."

  He cups my face with his hands, lowers his face to mine. "I forgive you, Bexley."

  And then his mouth presses against mine. I moan immediately, because I met Holden when I was a freshman in high school and it’s been eight years of waiting. Eight years of imagining kissing him. Eight years of fantasies that involved his hands on my face and his lips on mine.

  So I can't help but melt a little now. I lean in to him and his tongue slips into my mouth, our kiss deepening as his hand moves to the base of my neck. I sink into his hold, into his mouth and body … and oh, he tastes as good as I imagined.

  My body is alive, ignited with this desire that I've always kept firmly behind the line. Ignited with the longing that I’ve held for too long.

  My knees are weak, but my conviction is strong.

  I'm finally going to have the night I've been waiting my entire life for.

  Chapter Seven

  Holden

  She wants me. I can feel it in the kiss. The kiss that I’ve quite possibly been waiting eight years for.

  We pull apart, gasping for breath.

  "Let's go somewhere," I tell her. I pause, thinking. The last thing I want to do is drag Bex to the local motel and create fodder for the tabloids. She's not just one of my hook-ups. "My mom's house? I know, not very Hollywood movie-star-like ... but Bex, I can't wait. Not after that kiss."

  Her eyes are filled with desire, her lips swollen, her back arched as she looks up at me and nods.

  "I can't believe we made out in the high school parking lot," she says. "I mean, at least it's Friday night—but still, I work here now, you know."

  "I heard." I take her hand. "Uh, I don't actually have a car. Can you drive?"

  She leads me to the small beat-up Volvo she drove in high school, and unlocks the door. Sitting in the passenger seat, I look over at her and shake my head.

  "Memory lane, right?" she says, putting the car in reverse. I'm guessing she's also remembering the times she would answer her phone late on a Friday night, and come pick me up from whatever party I had gotten sloppy drunk at. Or maybe she's remembering the party we got sloppy drunk at together and slept in this car.

  The night of our second-worst fight.

  "Have you ever drank from a beer bong since that night?" I ask her.

  "Nope." She shakes her head. "And I never will."

  "I remember being shocked that you went all-in that night."

  "I was in a bad mood if I remember correctly." She raises her eyebrows, keeps her eyes on the road.

  I don't say any more about that night. I remember why she was mad. Because I asked Kiera to prom instead of her.

  But that was only after I heard her backstage, before our final performance of Oklahoma!, telling a girl that no, she did not want to go to prom with Holden. That Holden was a player, and would only try to get in her pants.

  "I don't want to live in the past, not tonight," I tell her, running a hand through my hair.

  "Good," she says, rounding the corner and pulling up to my house. "Because I don't want to either."

  I unlock the front door, and pull her upstairs. Even though I've offered to buy my mom a new place, she's still living in the townhouse where I grew up. I push open my bedroom door, and smile. I like that nothing has changed.

  The room is dark; I turn on a lamp, letting a soft glow cover the room.

  "I haven't been in your room for ages," Bexley says. "Oh my gosh, look." She points to a bulletin board filled with pictures from high school. Programs from every play
Bex and I were in together are taped to the wall. "I'm back at my parents’ house for this semester while I student teach, but they re-did the room the moment I left for college. My childhood is in a plastic bin in the garage."

  "I thought we weren't talking about the past," I tell her, taking her hand and pulling her to face me.

  "You're larger than life now, Holden—a huge movie star," she says, taking pins out of her hair and letting the brown locks fall past her shoulders. "But when I'm standing here in this room, all I see is the boy I knew. The boy I knew could do anything."

  "Bex," I whisper, "You're so beautiful."

  "Shush. You're just saying that to get me naked."

  It's strange to see Bexley like this, so willing to give in to the sexual frustration that’s boiled between us for so long.

  "Did you come to the school tonight planning on having your way with me?" I ask her, my fingers undoing the buttons of her blouse until a slice of her skin is revealed.

  "Yes, Holden, I did."

  She lets her top fall to the floor, then takes my hands and leads them to the buttons on her pants. Her skin is warm, and it feels like I'm undressing something precious and delicate—and much too tender for an asshole like me. Like I'm being given a gift I don't deserve. Bexley walked away from me … but I gave her plenty of reasons to go.

  Her pants drop, and she stands before me in tiny pure-white panties and a lacy bra. She looks like a goddess, like a nymph from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. She is a dream, a woman more magical than I've ever had standing before me.

  "You're perfect, Bex," I tell her, pulling off my shirt and stepping toward her. I kiss her again, harder this time, with more force. Because I’m no longer merely infatuated with the idea of Bexley; I’m consumed with the knowledge that I am going to have her, tonight.

  I run my hands over her back, up and down her spine, settling a palm on her curvy ass. I squeeze her softly, and my cock is instantly hard because I’ve dreamed of this moment for a long, damn time.

  "Once I start touching you, I won't be able to stop," I promise.