by Frankie Love
Evie smirks, giving me a satisfied shrug. "Then give her a reason to believe your zone is one she can feel safe in."
"Easier said than done," Jude says. He looks around, probably to make sure his girl is okay—not somewhere doing something that will embarrass her, or him. Rachel has a past as complicated as Cassius's, as far as I can tell.
"Go get her, douchebag.” Cassius waves his hand toward the women strutting all around us. “Don't sit here with these girls, when you could be with the woman of your dreams."
He's right. They all are.
Still, it takes me until Monday night to get the fucking balls to call her.
When I do, she answers.
Maybe she's looking for a way into my "zone" as much as I want her there.
Chapter Twelve
Bexley
The last thing I expected was for Holden to call me on Monday. I still don't know what to think of it.
He invited me to a premier—not his, but one of his friend's films that he had tickets to. He said he thought maybe I'd want to “check it out.”
He said it just like that. Like I've ever been to a freaking Hollywood premier before. Like I know the first thing about attending anything on a red carpet. Like he and I are actually friends.
And we're not. Because when you don't talk to someone for four years, and then just let them into your vagina, and then tell them to get off your front lawn the next day, it wouldn't exactly be what I'd call “buddy-buddy.”
Still. It's a premier.
With Holden.
I couldn't say no. I didn't want to say no. So I allowed myself to say yes.
And now, it's Saturday afternoon, and Sami is in my room telling me to go commando. Well, not literally in my room—she's FaceTiming me on my laptop, which is propped on my desk.
"The last thing you want is a panty line," she says, grimacing.
"It feels a little...."
"Like you're saying something with your lack of an undergarment?"
"Pretty much."
"Good, because you are saying something. You’re saying Fuck me please, Holden, and show me what it's like to be Johnny Jumper. Jump my bones."
She moans dramatically and I immediately click down the volume, holding a finger to my lips.
"Language, woman, my parents might hear."
"Oh, you're no fun," she pouts, throwing a kernel of popcorn at her computer. "Just go all-in. He's being nice. I know you said he was a player, but maybe you ruined him. Maybe, after you broke his heart in high school, he had no choice but to sleep with all of Los Angeles."
"I did not ruin Holden," I scoff. "He was sleeping with plenty of people before we took Acting 101 our freshman year."
"That's impressive, to be sleeping around as a high school freshman. I didn't get my cherry popped until I was a freshman in college."
"I remember." I shake my head, grossed out by the memory. "I was your roommate, and above you in that freaking bunk bed, while Maloney-Baloney tried to put on a condom. It's pretty much cemented in my memory as one of the most awkward nights of my life."
"Poor Maloney-Baloney. A man with a dick as flimsy as lunch meat." Sami picks up a can of Diet Coke, sighing before taking a sip. "And now look at you, all grown up and going out with a man rumored to have a cock the size of a summer sausage."
"Eww, stop it. I'm going to hang up on you."
"Never!" she mock-screams. "You love me."
"I do." I slide my panties off, then pull the skirt of long black strapless gown back down.
Holden sent it over via FedEx yesterday.
It's exactly the sort of dress I'd have chosen for myself: form-fitting but classic, with a mermaid tail. I smooth it out, adjusting the fake diamond bracelet on my wrist—which I've kept in a jewelry box since my senior prom, when I wore it last. "But seriously, Sami, I'm scared. What if I fall for him all over again?"
She moves so that her entire face fills up my computer screen. "There are worse things than having your heart broken."
I nod, not wanting to cry and mess up my mascara.
"Now put on some lipstick and walk downstairs, pretending that you don't have the parental issues that you so clearly do, and get into that hottie's limo. Do you even know how jealous I am of you right now?" She moves her screen so it takes in a panoramic view of her in her apartment. "I'm in leggings. And I'm not wearing underwear, but it isn't because I have a hot date, it's because I didn't do the laundry. So, please. Go play. Drink champagne. And have sex with Johnny Jumper."
I air-kiss her good-bye before closing my computer.
A text comes in from Holden: Ten minutes until I'm at your front door.
Sliding matte red lipstick over my penciled-in lips, I look at myself in the mirror, unable to hide the smile spreading across my face.
I may not be a movie star, but I know I sure as hell look like one.
I try to pretend like this is a normal thing as I head downstairs with my overnight luggage. Yes, I’m a grown-up, but my parents’ judgmental eyes keep me in a perpetual state of inadequacy.
Stepping into the kitchen where my parents are sorting mail at the kitchen table, I barely receive a double-take. And I know I'm double-take worthy at the moment.
"So," I tell them. "I'll be back tomorrow sometime."
"Well, you know where we'll be," Mom says, not looking up.
My parents have volunteered at the local Food Bank every Sunday for the entirety of my life. I’ve spent enough weekends there to know the drill: 10-4, stocking shelves, sorting food, bagging up food for the people who come through the doors.
"Do you have a problem with me going?" I ask. "Because you've barely said two words about it since I told you."
Dad and Mom exchange a look that says where did we go wrong, and I suck in a deep breath, determined to have a good night.
"Bexley," Mom begins, "you know what we think about you spending time with a man like Holden. We just want what's best for you, and starring in movies that are superficial and don't really add anything to society ... well, we're just glad you didn't let his harebrained ideas sway you when you were vulnerable to his attention."
"You're being a little harsh, aren't you?" I know Holden's going to be here any moment, and I don't want him coming all this way to get another condescending tone from my parents.
"You decide that for yourself. Meanwhile, we're glad you're teaching youth about getting some self-esteem and confidence before they go out into the real world. And meanwhile, on our time off, your mom and I will continue to choose the less fortunate in our community, serving those in need. We all have our roles to fill."
My eyes widen, taking in the most passive-aggressive words I've ever heard from my father's mouth. And that’s saying something—my parents have passive-aggressive tendencies down pat.
The doorbell rings. I take a deep breath. "I'll see you tomorrow. Thanks for trusting me," I tell them, unable to stop myself from sinking to their level.
I open the door, clutch and canvas bag in hand, and look at my date.
"Damn," he says, shaking his head and biting his bottom lip. "You look fucking incredible."
Normally I’d look over my shoulder, scared my parents may have heard.
But tonight I don't.
Instead, I offer him my hand, knowing that by the end of the night I'll be offering him a lot more.
Chapter Thirteen
Holden
She's gorgeous—which I knew she would be. Lindy picked out a dress after I gave her the specifications, and damn, she did good.
With her lips ruby red, her hair in a bun, she looks like herself—except those bare shoulders, the heavy-lidded eyes, those fuck-me-please heels, and that skin-tight satin gown. In those, she looks like my fucking date.
The drive is full of me adjusting my twitching cock, her smiling demurely out the window every time I do. We talk about our weeks—safe topics, not the past or the future.
"My agent wants me to choose between two scripts
, but it's fucking impossible. So instead of choosing, I went out with my boys, Cash and Jude. We went golfing."
"You golf?" She eyes me with disbelief.
"Not well," I laugh. "But we know we aren't hot shit, and we totally piss off the dudes there who take it hella seriously."
"You're such a dork," she says, shaking her head.
"Better than being a douche, right?"
Her eyebrows furrow. "I guess."
"And you, tell me about your week," I ask.
"Well, I'm back at Tolling High. Obviously. Student teaching in the drama department. Which is sort of surreal, to be honest. It's better now, though, in the new theater."
"Why's that?"
"Come on, I'm sure you can guess." She shrugs. "The old theater is full of memories. Good and bad. Just, I have a lot of history there. It's basically where I grew up." Her words turn softer as she finishes explaining, and I remember what it was like behind those thick, black curtains between set changes.
What it was like to sneak up to the catwalk and chase one another before a show. What it was like to unlock the costume room and play hide and seek with the cast on closing night.
Bexley and I always chose the same place. Behind the row of dusty suits and ties, where a green velvet couch was piled with discarded clothes, we would sit with the lights off, far enough from everyone that no one would ever look for us way back there.
We would dissect the performance in hushed tones, not wanting to be found, and also not really in a hurry to leave the theater and go to a lame cast party in some stage crew guy’s basement. I never went to those anyway. I'd leave and find a real party somewhere in town, beg Bexley to join me.
She rarely would.
Tonight though, she's here, with me. And I'm choosing to let that be enough.
"So you're going to be a drama teacher. I'd never have guessed that."
"No? I always love the craft more than the spotlight."
I grin, giving her a sidelong glance. "That's what you said, at least ... but I know there was a part of you that liked the standing ovation, the final bow. The bouquets of roses after opening night."
"Maybe a little," she says.
I know not to press Bexley on much. Every time I have, it ends in a fight. Instead, I take her hand, lace my fingers through hers. "I bet you're a great teacher," I tell her. "Those bastards in your class, though, I bet they have no idea how lucky they are to have you."
"Right, because Bexley Maddon has so much experience to impart."
I take a deeper look at her. "Did you perform in college, in a theater group?"
"Not really." She swallows, and I can tell I'm touching on something uncomfortable. "I mean, mostly I just did the minimum requirements for the degree. Took the acting courses, but didn't audition for anything outside of class."
My jaw drops, as cheesy as that sounds. "What the hell, girl? Just like that, you stopped?"
She looks out the window, pressing her lips together, and since we’re exiting into Hollywood, toward the theater where the premier is held, I don't want to press any harder. I've gone too far as it is.
"Listen, Bex," I tell her. "I meant what I said. Those students are lucky to have you. Fuck, I'm a little jealous is all." I roll my thumb over hers. "Tonight, let's just have some fun, okay?"
She nods, meeting my eyes. "That's what I want, Holden. I just want to have fun with you. Fun like last weekend."
"Good," I tell her, leaning my forehead toward hers, our noses touching. "Except this time I won't fuck you in my childhood bed."
"Where will you fuck me this time?" she asks, whispering as the limo comes to a stop at the red-carpeted entrance. Paparazzi are everywhere, reporters here for the inside scoop.
"This time I’ll fuck you in my king-sized bed. This time, I’ll fuck you until the sun comes up."
Chapter Fourteen
Bexley
The premier is amazing. Overwhelming, but amazing. I smile, look at the ground so I don't fall in these heels, and hold onto Holden's hand for dear life.
The entire time, this forbidden surge of sexual energy pulses between Holden and me. I know what’s in store later tonight—what he’s promised me—and it’s impossible not to get a little turned on by the prospect.
"Did you like the movie?" he asks as we exit, headed to an after-party.
"It was cute. I mean, it was what I'd expect from a movie where the punch line is delivered by the couple's dog." The movie was actually dumb as hell, but I'm not going to say that to Holden; he mentioned being friends with the woman who starred in it.
"Wow, hard sell there, Bex." We climb back into his limo, headed toward Santa Monica. "I didn't realize you'd become such a film critic."
"I'm not a critic. It was just a little vanilla is all. Generic?"
He laughs, nodding. "I can't judge this romantic comedy. Johnny Jumper isn't exactly cinematographic brilliance."
My eyes widen in mock-surprise. "Wait, this was a comedy?"
"Remind me to never take you to the premier of one of my movies." Holden grimaces. "Don't think my ego could take it."
"I've seen your movies," I tell him. Of course I have. Every single one. Multiple times. And in every one, he looks sexy as all get-out.
"And?"
The limo is flying down the freeway and, while a part of me is curious about a Hollywood party, another part of me would rather be going to his place. To his bedroom.
"And…." I indulge him, licking my lips, leaning closer to him in the limo where we sit side-by-side. "I can see why millions of American women love you. You play the part of Johnny Jumper well. Sexy, confident, the hero."
"Why does it feel like you're about to say something that’s gonna wreck my self-esteem?" Holden smirks, running a finger down the length of my bare arm. His touch makes my skin prickle with desire.
"I'm not judging you, Holden." I smile softly, remembering the premier, the cameras flashing for him, the elite actors and actresses stopping him—not for a photo op, but to say hello. "I think you're pretty incredible. Coming here to LA, making this life for yourself. You rose up from nothing; you had no connections, no money … just a killer smile and the Holden charm."
He grins, seeming to love the way I'm complimenting him, and I realize that, even though he has so many people fawning over him, maybe he still needs his ego stroked by someone who actually knows where he comes from.
"Is charm a euphemism for big cock?" he asks, his eyes searing into mine.
"You tell me," I tease, leaning closer to him. In a daring move, I reach my hand to his crotch, running my fingers over the growing bulge in his tuxedo pants. "Did you sleep your way to the top?"
He runs his hand over his jaw as the limo pulls up to a lavish mansion.
"All I know is this: I can't wait until after this party to sleep with you, Bexley."
"Then let's not go," I tell him, relieved at the idea of not having to face any more of his colleagues tonight. I still need more time with him, to decide if Holden is playing me or not.
He doesn't hesitate. He calls to the driver and tells him to take us back to his place.
Then he takes my face in his hands. "I want you out of this dress so fucking bad."
If this dress wasn't so awkward I'd tell him to pull it off of me right this second. Instead, I lean in, and his mouth covers mine. Heat explodes over my lips as he presses against me. His tongue slides into my mouth, and I’m melting.
Melting into him, far from the stress of my passive parents and the insecurities of being with him. I sink into his touch, his arms reaching around me, running down my back.
"I need you, girl," he tells me, whispering in my ear as we pull up to his place.
"Good." I need him to want me in a desperate way. It makes me feel less vulnerable about going so far out of my comfort zone.
He opens his front door. It's a gorgeous mansion, very modern. So much black and white that it looks just like my closet.
"Your place is beau
tiful," I say as he takes my overnight bag and grabs my hand.
"You'll get the tour later—right now, I'm taking you to my room."
He leads me through the house to a massive bedroom. Enormous floor-to-ceiling windows look out at a huge stretch of the Pacific Ocean. It's holy shit amazing. He comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist as I take in the view.
"That bed is way bigger than a king-size," I tell him, relishing in this moment where we’re pressed together, looking out at the crashing waves.
"You scouted the room pretty damn fast, woman," he teases, nibbling my ear.
I spin to face him, reaching for my side zipper.
He shakes his head ever so slightly, and reaches for it himself. Slowly, he unhooks the top, then slides the zipper down slowly, his fingertips grazing my ribcage.
I know that once the dress falls to the floor I’ll be bare before him, having taken Sami's advice on the underwear.
My eyes close; his breath is so hot as he steps closer to me.
"It's a custom bed, if that's what you are wondering."
I can't help but reveal my insecurity. "For all the fucking that takes place here?" I dare to open my eyes, look at him.
He feels the jab; I see it in his eyes. "Harsh, Bex."
"Sorry."
"Do you want me to apologize for the women in my past?"
"How far past are you talking?"
His fingers freeze. "I didn't sleep with anyone this week, if that's what you're asking."
"That's some restraint, coming from you."
"Do you wanna do this now?" he asks. My zipper is pulled down; one shimmy of my hips and the entire gown will fall to the floor. "Because, baby, you have a sharp edge coming out. I want to make sure you can handle the cut."
"I'm baby to you now?"
"If you want." He tugs on the dress, and the fabric drops.
I'm naked before him, and I inhale, exposed.
"You avoided the question, Bex." His eyes are still on my face, and I'm both grateful that he's not staring at my tits and uncomfortable for how visible I feel.