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

by Frankie Love

  "To be fair, you did challenge us, even with the time you spent at that theater. It was all so indulgent. So ... unnecessary."

  "I loved the time I spent on stage."

  Mom smiles, much too sweetly. "We know you did. But does doing something because you love it make it worthy of your time?"

  I pick up my empty coffee cup, knowing this conversation isn't going anywhere.

  "Thank you for the offer to stay here. It means a lot," I tell them, determined to take the high ground.

  "Of course, Bexley. You're the best daughter—and best teacher—in all of Tolling."

  "Big shoes to fill," I say, leaving the kitchen, biting the inside of my mouth to squelch any possibility of losing my mind.

  I FaceTime Sami after work, knowing she must be buried in finals. Grateful, for the first time, that I spent last summer doing extra courses so that now, while student teaching, it’s the last box that needs checking to get my college degree.

  "Hey," I say, pulling a French fry from my bag of fast food—a PMS indulgence I legitimately deserve. End-of-year high school students suck, even if they are cute drama geeks.

  "You okay? You went MIA all week," Sami says, reaching for a Frappuccino while sitting in the front seat of her car.

  "Are you driving?"

  "Relax. I'm parked outside of Starbucks. I've been here cramming for hours."

  "Which class is stressing you out the most?"

  "Poli-Sci. It's so dumb. Remind me again why I wanted to be a Psych major?"

  "Uh." I laugh, knowing Sami may be great at pop culture bar trivia night, and better at naming songs on the radio than Shazam, but she doesn't have the market cornered on depth. It should be interesting to see where she ends up in the fall.

  "I know," she moans. "God. I've been studying every free moment."

  "Is it helping?"

  "Well, I was going to add, I've been studying every spare moment starting yesterday at like six PM."

  "So less than twenty-four hours?"

  "Pretty much." We both laugh, her drinking her coffee shake and me gobbling up greasy fries. "So what's up?" she asks. "You never really told me how your date went last Saturday."

  Knowing I only gave her cryptic texts since then, I dish the entire story. Walking the beach, awkwardly meeting the agent, the patio sex, the shower quickie, ending with the disastrous drinks at TropiCALI.

  When I finish, Sami sighs. "Did he seriously say you were the one scared of commitment?"

  "Why?" I ask, surprised that she's chosen to latch onto that nugget considering I had a hunch Holden might actually be right about that part. I am the one walking away. Always.

  Pushing him back. Always.

  "It's just kind of insightful, don't you think?"

  "In a lot of ways, yeah ... but, Sami, Holden's the bad guy here, right? He had his agent come to scope me out. I never asked for that."

  "What did you ask for, Bexley?" she asks.

  "I didn't ask for anything. Not a single thing."

  "Are you sure?"

  "What are you talking about? Of course I'm sure."

  "Okay." Sami looks away from the camera, and I know her well enough to know there is more to this than okay.

  "Just say it," I beg her. "Please."

  "He said he loves you, Bexley. And then you literally ran away. I just wonder if maybe that's worth looking into."

  "But, Sami," I tell her, dropping my guard. "If Holden was right ... that means I just wasted four years of my life. I don't know if I can face that."

  "Would you rather waste the next four decades? Hell, Bexley, we can all get re-dos. Start-overs."

  "No." I shake my head. "Life is not a video game."

  "Maybe not," Sami says. "But it isn't all or nothing. Life isn't black-and-white."

  "Maybe you will be a good psychologist."

  "Thanks, brat," she tells me. "Now help me study. I need you to quiz me."

  I open the email she's forwarded from the professor about the final and start reading off questions, while stuffing my face with the rest of my fries.

  I’m grateful as hell that she isn't the type of friend who walks away; she stays, listens, speaks her mind. And I can't help but wonder if that's the sort of girl I want to be.

  And what it would take to stay.

  Not here in Tolling, but with Holden, through thick and thin.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Holden

  I put Trenton off as long as humanly possible.

  Long enough to decide what the fuck I need to do.

  What I really want to do is Bexley—anywhere and everywhere. I want her to ride my cock up and down, all day. All night. Always.

  She still hasn't called. Two fucking weeks and not a single call.

  Nothing.

  At this point I want to fucking let it go. Drop it. Every godforsaken memory of her perfection.

  Because I can take a fucking hint.

  She doesn't want me. If she did, she’d be here. With me. Now.

  The morning I'm supposed to head to Trenton's office to deliver my decision, I wake with a raging hard-on that only Bexley could ease down.

  The sun shines through my drapes. My house is empty, my hand firmly planted on my cock.

  I indulge myself by thinking of her, and of her big, luscious tits. I imagine her rubbing them up and down, the length of my cock, titty-fucking them nice and good. I stroke myself as I imagine her hair falling over her shoulders, her bright red lips widening over the tip of my cock as she sucks me nice and slow, rolling my balls in her hand.

  Her ass would be in the air, of course, and I imagine myself slapping it, giving her a nice spanking—one she deserves, and one she wants. For being so naughty. For making me wait for her for so long.

  My cock is so hard in my hand, as I keep rubbing it out, wanting to come as I imagine her round ass in my face, me licking that sweet cunt of hers, as she licks my cock until I come all over those tits.

  Fuck. I move my hand faster on my shaft, exploding as I think of her gagging on my cock, as I think of her swallowing my come, the salty release dripping on her swollen lips as I suck her clit, letting her pussy juice pour all over my face, just the way I like.

  I could lick her pussy every day for the rest of my goddamn life. If only she'd fucking let me.

  Getting out of bed and showering, I try to wash away my thoughts of Bexley, try to let the memories swirl down the drain—but just one look at my softening cock, and I know even the thought of her is strong enough to get my wood hard as nails, unrelenting. Needy.

  Driving to Trenton's, I mentally psych myself up for what's ahead, for what we need to discuss: the future of my fucking career.

  "Holden, good to see you," Trenton says, as I step into his office.

  "Yeah, sorry I took so damn long to get a decision to you."

  "Will I be happy?"

  "Not sure. I don't really fucking know what you want."

  "You don't? I want tons of cash, and that's about it."

  "And for your clients to be happy, right?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.

  "Of course, of course," he adds, with too much force, which tells me that actually, no, my happiness is at the bottom of his list of priorities.

  "Good. Because I am happy."

  "Really, even though that girl of yours is out?"

  "Shit, of course I want her in. But dammit, I'm done forcing something that someone else doesn't want. She wanted out. So she left."

  "You, Hollywood Holden, notorious asshole and womanizer, just let her walk away?"

  "It wasn't walk so much as run." I laugh, knowing how self-deprecating I sound. And he's right. Maybe as recently as a few months ago, my biggest concern was getting the heat off my back over a stupid-ass fight at a bar that got me bad press.

  But it isn't anymore.

  Being with Bexley—however fucked-up the time together was—reminded me that I came to this town on my own terms. I walked into LA and created a name for myself by b
eing myself. Those fans I made, they can follow me anywhere I go, but I sure as hell don't want them if they only want my back as Johnny Jumper.

  I’m more than that.

  Bexley always thought I was.

  I've been scared, too. Scared to take a risk.

  I said that Bexley was the one who was scared, but I was fucking wrong.

  Because Johnny Jumper may be a firefighter who jumps out of planes, dodges bullets, and saves the fucking day … but he’s a safety net. A sure thing.

  And that isn't who I want to be. I want to be a risk, a chance. I want to beat the odds.

  "So is it script number one, or number two?" Trenton asks, a smug look of curiosity on his face.

  "Neither," I tell him. "I take door number three." I drop a script on his desk. "This is the movie I'm making. Make it happen."

  I don't wait for an answer.

  This time, I'm the one who walks away.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Bexley

  The school year is wrapping up. It's Friday night, and only two more days of class next week before it's over.

  And no job prospects. Not even a nibble.

  I'm not stressed, exactly, but I am feeling less grounded than ever.

  But my advising teacher, Rita, is out for three days with her mom in San Diego. I can't help but wonder if something has gone wrong.

  When Mom and Dad show up in Rita's office, the one I use, during my planning period I’m a little caught off guard. They’re very respectful of personal space during work hours, no surprise. They take everything super seriously, and even if I'm student teaching at their school, in their opinion decorum preempts family.

  "Hey Mom, Dad. Everything okay?"

  Mom grins and reaches for my hands, squeezing them. "Oh, honey. We just heard through the grapevine."

  "What?" I ask, confused.

  "Has Mark not been in yet?" she asks.

  "Mark?"

  Dad waves his hand. "She means Principal Pratt."

  I register the principal's first name—something I never think about, considering he was my principal when I was a student for four years. "No, he hasn't been by. Is something wrong? Have you heard something from Rita?"

  Mom beams at me, looking prouder than when I got the full-ride to college.

  "What?" I ask, laughing in confusion.

  "We're just so darn proud of you, sweetie. Always working so hard, choosing such a noble profession. We are so honored to be your parents."

  "Okay, now you're scaring me." I wave my hands in the air. "What's this all about?"

  "Don't ruin the surprise," Dad says.

  "Surprise?" My eyebrows raise, wanting to know what's up.

  "Tonight," Dad says, wagging a finger at me. "We celebrate. I'm grilling steaks, for our girl."

  "And I'm making coconut cream pie," Mom adds as they scoot out of the office, causing me to smile despite myself. It feels good to make them so happy, and the nervous energy they brought with them circles me for the rest of the planning period.

  So when Principal Pratt shows up in Rita's well-organized—courtesy of me—office in the new theater, I'm not surprised.

  "Morning, Mr. Pratt," I say formally, then asking if everything is okay. Not that something would be seriously wrong if my parents were acting so dang cheery.

  "Oh, things are fine on my front. Ms. Childs, on the other hand, has informed me that she won't be returning next year."

  "She won't be? Like, at all?" I pull out the pencil that's tucked behind my ear and twirl it nervously in my fingers. "Is it her mom?"

  "Afraid so. She had surgery this spring, and the recovery has been poor. Rita is moving in with her, and has requested a leave of absence for the upcoming school year."

  "Wow. I'm so sorry, but I'm glad her mom has her," I say, absorbing this unexpected turn of events.

  "The same way your parents are lucky to have you, Bexley. They were so happy to know you were doing your student teaching here."

  "It's been a great experience."

  "So you feel as though you can hack it? These crazy kids aren't giving you a run for your money?"

  "Not exactly." I laugh. "Rita was a good example, and of course my parents have been more than willing to help as I learned the ropes."

  Mr. Pratt smiles warmly, and it feels nice to know I did such a good job here. I put my heart and soul into my student teaching, and had a fun time while doing it.

  "So what would you say if I offered you a one-year contract, Bexley?"

  My eyes widen. "Is this an official offer, Mr. Pratt?" I press my hand to my chest, flattered, and knowing that this is a moment I will never forget—the moment I make a choice about so much.

  "It is," he says, grinning. "It's the end of the year, and it isn't an extended contract. So if we can avoid a hiring committee, it would be my pleasure to end the year knowing we had a drama teacher secured for next year."

  I smile. Swallow.

  One year isn't forever. Heck, I spent four years wondering what sleeping with Holden would be like. Four years tormenting myself over our good-bye.

  Four years wanting a re-do, but also terrified at the prospect of what I would actually do if I was face-to-face with him again.

  And now I know. I know that when Holden said he loved me, when he flat-out told me I was his, that his heart was mine for the taking ... I ran.

  But I don't have to run anymore.

  Now, I get to choose.

  For the first time in my life, the choice feels easy.

  Like it isn't a choice at all.

  Like it was predestined, like it’s meant to be.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  TWO MONTHS LATER...

  Bexley

  I'm driving my crappy Volvo, headed to my very first day on the new job.

  There was literally no way I could say no to the offer even if I wanted to. My parents had expectations of me, and I had expectations of myself.

  And in the end, I knew what being a grown-up meant. It meant a 401k and a retirement plan and a sure thing.

  My stomach is in knots. I'm probably dressed all wrong. This uniform of mine—black pants, white blouse, red lips—was cute when I was a teenager, acceptable when I was a college student ... but now I’m beyond all that.

  Now I’ll have all eyes on me, scrutinizing everything I say or do. And I don't want to look like an idiot.

  I should be more confident. This isn't my first time at this rodeo. It's not like this is completely new. I've practiced.

  But still ... just because I'm prepared, doesn't mean it will be easy.

  God knows I've second-guessed my choice a thousand times. I think if Sami had to listen to one more night of my lamentations regarding my life choices she might genuinely have screamed in my face—but, as a dutiful best friend, she chose to support me.

  She even came and helped me move out of my parents’ house, loading up a tiny rented U-Haul to move into my own place. Like a real grown-up with an actual job. A career.

  And she's slept over at said new place for most of the summer. Because she didn't have a job to go to herself and, luckily for her, her parents are willing to fund grad school.

  We enjoyed a California summer, driving to the beach and reading trashy romance novels in the sun. We drank cheap boxed wine in my new digs while binge-watching Outlander. We pretended we were still in college.

  Which Sami still is, technically.

  And the summer dragged on forever, the build-up for my new job growing every day, mounting as I debated whether I made the right call.

  But she left my place last week, and now I'm flying solo.

  I wanted to start this new chapter all by myself.

  But driving into the parking lot now, lifting the brake, and grabbing my tote bag, I wonder if I made a million wrong decisions that landed me here.

  Brought me to today.

  Because this is not what I planned. Not what I expected.

  But it is always—always—what I dre
amed of when I imagined myself all grown up.

  I open my car door, and step into the first day of the rest of my life.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Holden

  Stepping on set, my heart races.

  I am so fucking excited for this project, even if Trenton thinks it's a complete fucking disaster waiting to happen.

  I don't really care, though. I'm going with my gut, trusting my instincts, and going all-in.

  This is a risk.

  No more hiding behind blockbuster movies that are sure things. This is a gamble. A chance to fucking take a leap of faith.

  In myself.

  When Jude accepted Cassius's funding for his new film, Here in a Breeze, everyone was overjoyed. In fact, it was what led me to get the guts to take that very script to Trenton's office, drop it on his desk, and demand he get me a part.

  Of course Jude agreed. Hell, me starring in the film will no doubt give the entire movie a leg up.

  Not that I believe Jude will need it.

  He's an incredible filmmaker, although a very private one. I don't even know who’s starring in the movie opposite me.

  But I don't care. Let him do his thing, and I'll do mine.

  Is this movie a risk on a bunch of fucking levels? Hell, yeah. I've been Johnny Jumper, an alpha with a few lines and an eight-pack. Now I'm going to need to actually act.

  Act, like Bexley always believed I could.

  "Hey, man." Jude steps out of a trailer and greets me. "Looks pretty fucking good, right? And that right here is your private trailer," he adds, pointing to the last trailer in the row.

  "Yeah, it looks amazing," I say, taking in the huge lot full of trailers, a massive outdoor set where the opening scene takes place.

  I'm not shooting anything today, but I'm here meeting the rest of the cast. I'm playing the modern version of Rhett, and I'm very interested to meet my Scarlett.

  "So," I turn to face him. "Rachel doing okay?"

  "Yeah, she still has a few months to go. I'm hoping that most of the shooting is done before then."