Your Endless Love

by Layla Hagen

  “I thought it looked like him,” someone whispers.

  Before I can even open my mouth, Summer laughs, turning to me.

  “Oh, honey, I told you they’d say that. You really, really should apply for that job again.”

  I bring my hand to Summer’s back, pulling her into me. “I applied to be his double, been racking up rejections into two digits by now, but I’m not giving up.”

  “Oh.” The redhead’s disappointment is clear.

  “But he looks just like him, doesn’t he?” Summer continues. “He can even imitate that smile Westbrook’s famous for. With the dimples. He practices in the mirror every day.”

  The redhead steps back, shaking her head, pity in her eyes. The few who had stopped in their tracks to watch us go on their merry way. Summer is a genius. I could kiss her.

  “Right,” she whispers, once the redhead is far enough away, “I changed my mind. Going to PIER 39 was a stupid idea. It’s crawling with people. Let’s go to one of the other piers. How about Pier 7? We’ll find a lot of fishermen looking for crabs.”

  “Lead the way.”

  Twenty minutes later, we reach the pier. I don’t know about fishermen, but couples mill around on the wooden floor, sitting on benches, leaning against the black iron railing or against the lampposts casting a dim glow.

  “Is this San Francisco’s official kissing spot?” I ask when we come to a stop on a deserted stretch of the railing. The air is salty and fresh.

  “It is quite romantic, don’t you think? With the lampposts and the fog.”

  She turns her head to look at me. I don’t even remember leaning in, but I’m so close, our noses are almost touching. I feel the reaction of her body as she becomes aware of how close we are. She straightens a little, brushing against my chest. Her lips part, her gaze dropping to my mouth for a second. This moment here... Jesus. We might have been playing a charade for the others earlier, but this feels so real. The underlying warmth in her glance, the simple fact that she was putting herself out there on my behalf. Her pretty, pink mouth beckons to me. Without thinking, I close the distance between us, capturing her lips.

  She sighs, a sweet, perfect little sound, and then parts her lips in invitation. I slip my tongue inside, feverishly coaxing hers into a wild tangle. I feel her melt against me, her little body pressing into me. I slip my hand a few inches under her shirt, needing to feel her skin, to touch her. Kissing her lights a fuse inside me. Her reaction to me is intoxicating. She makes a small sound of pleasure at the back of her throat. I cup the back of her head, pressing her closer to me, fisting her hair in my fingers. I kiss her until we’re both out of breath.

  Summer steps back the next instant, her mouth pink and swollen, breathing hard.

  “Wow,” she whispers. “You can kiss.”

  “Summer—” I begin, but she cuts me off.

  “Oh no. I know that tone of voice. I have a feeling a variation of the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech is coming my way, and it’s not necessary. It was a spur of the moment thing, I get it. I mean, look at this place. It’s made for kissing.”

  She’s still smiling, and there’s no resentment in her voice.

  “I want to explain anyway.”

  “Really, don’t. I know what’s going on, and I’m not interested in being your rebound.”

  “A rebound?” I ask blankly. “I didn’t kiss you because I’m on a rebound.”

  Vulnerability flits over her features, and fuck if I don’t want to kiss that away.

  She backs away from me, gnawing at her lip. “I hate to break it to you, but you might not know you’re on the rebound. Doesn’t mean you’re weak or anything, but it’s a pretty normal reaction after a relationship implodes.”

  I eye this little spitfire closely, weighing the pros and cons of being 100 percent honest with her. The con is the usual—the risk of the media finding out. But with Summer, that never seems like a real risk. I feel more at ease around her than anyone else. And she deserves to know. I’d hate for her to think I took advantage of her. I look around us to make sure no one is within earshot, but everyone else is far enough away.

  “I’m going to tell you something few people in Hollywood know. We broke up four months ago, but it only slipped to the press last month. We thought we could keep it quiet until the premiere.”

  “Why did you want to keep it quiet?”

  “My relationship with Amy started as a fake love story for the media. The studio executives explained that a supposed romance between us would be a golden ticket for the box office. We agreed to it because it seemed harmless, and we were almost done shooting. We’d only have to keep up the charade until the premiere. But the movie was so successful that the studio wanted a sequel. We were asked to keep faking. At some point, we fell for each other. The fake romance became a real one. The engagement was not a PR thing; it was real. But it all fell apart four months ago. She’s with that guy.... Anyway, per our contract, until after the premiere, Amy and I can’t be seen dating other people. But I’m not on a rebound. I want that to be clear.”

  Summer’s mouth hangs open as she leans back a little.

  “Wow, I don’t know what to say. This sounds... straight out of a movie, if I’m honest.”

  “That’s Hollywood for you. Lesson learned. I’ll never agree to something like this again. As soon as the premiere is over, I can forget this happened. Anyway, I wanted you to know.”

  She tilts her head to one side, asking, “Why did you kiss me?”

  “I couldn’t not kiss you. I couldn’t not taste you.”

  Her tongue darts out, wetting her lower lip. Then she tears her gaze away from mine. “I can see now why your PR team started the Smolder Tumblr page. Did they also come up with the Twitter handle @SuperSmolder?”

  “Nah, the fans came up with it on their own.”

  “Hmm... I don’t believe a word of it. Once you admit to PR sins, there’s no going back.”

  I love that she has no problem handing me my ass.

  “For someone who doesn’t want my autograph, you’re immersed in the fandom.”

  “I looked it up purely in the name of research.”

  “Exactly when did you think that research might be useful?”

  “I’m not a fortune-teller. Hence why it’s helpful to have such info handy. I’ve cut my teeth by using these tactics on my siblings, so I know what I’m talking about.”

  We burst out laughing, and laugh until the tension between us dissipates.

  “You’re close to your family, I take it?” I ask.

  “Close doesn’t even cover it. My sisters are my best friends.”

  “And your brother?”

  “S. Plural. You only met Daniel?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’m one of nine kids. They’re all married, and most have children, which means I have plenty of nieces and nephews to spoil. Anyway, I have two sisters and six brothers. They’re great. A tad overprotective sometimes when it comes to my dating life, but don’t worry, you’re safe. Won’t tell them about the kiss.”

  “Or what, they’d come bang down my door?” I challenge.

  “I wouldn’t put it past them.”

  The thought of Summer dating another guy irks me to no end. Jesus, I have to stop. One kiss doesn’t give me any right over her.

  “We should go. It’s getting late,” she comments. “There will be cabs at the end of the pier, I think.”

  A few minutes later, we reach the street. There are cabs driving in every direction. I hail one for her. I don’t want our outing to end, even though I now fully realize that venturing out into the city with Summer was reckless. I’d feared paps showing up, but it slipped my mind that anyone with a camera can snap a picture. Summer’s idea for me to pass off as a wannabe double was genius, but even so, I’ve been pushing my luck.

  The studio would skewer me if I started dating someone new. I hate that they own me so thoroughly that they have a say in my personal life. But
when you’re young and stupid, you sign contracts without considering the long-term too much.

  I could invite Summer over to my house, but after the kiss, I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. Even though I want to listen to her talk about her family, or her job, or St. Anne’s... or anything at all. I want to spend more time with her, but the smart thing is to do the exact opposite. Summer is too sweet and lovely to deserve being swept in my Hollywood drama.

  So instead of inviting her to join me for a drink, I open the door to the back seat of the cab for her.

  “Oh, before I forget....” She rummages in her purse, handing me the cap back.

  “Thanks. I’ll walk around a bit more.”

  I tilt my head down to kiss her cheek, just as she shifts to climb inside, and my lips land near her earlobe. I kiss her there, then trace my mouth to where a regular kiss should land. She lets out a sound so delicious, I barely keep myself from pinning her against the car and capturing her mouth.

  Summer kisses my cheek too, a peck so quick I barely feel it. She avoids my gaze as she lowers herself into the back seat, and I close her door.

  As I head toward the ferry building, I catch myself almost jogging, and slow down, smiling, Summer’s voice popping into my mind. Step one to enjoying a walk: move sloooow.

  I laugh, measuring my steps, wondering if Summer would approve of the pace.

  Chapter Six

  Summer

  I crumple the sheet of paper, tossing it in the pile of discarded, scrunched sheets in the middle of my living room. In the winter, I toss them directly into the brick fireplace.

  Rainy Sundays like today are perfect for painting, but my creative juices aren’t cooperating. Possibly because I have other things on my mind. I read a disturbing article this morning. The ongoing Amy-Alex narrative took a nasty turn. Now the tabloids want to paint him as a cheater, and I hope to God our kiss on Friday didn’t have anything to do with it.

  I’m about to start with a blank sheet when my phone buzzes. Glancing at it, I see St. Anne’s on the screen and immediately answer.

  “Hey, Shawna. What’s up?” I stand, rolling my shoulders and swinging my hips from one side to the other. I’ve been kneeling in front of my coffee table, bending over it long enough for my body to stiffen.

  “Hey, Summer! How’s everything going? Busy bee as usual?”

  “You know me.”

  “Listen, I wanted to talk to you about the camp.”

  I’m helping her organize a camp for the kids at Lake Tahoe. It starts right after the kids finish the school year.

  “It’s a huge favor. They loved having Alex here. Loved it. Do you think he’d be open to stopping by the camp at Lake Tahoe and showing the kids some more stunt tricks? Or maybe even short acting classes?”

  “I don’t know his schedule, and the lake is hours away.” I rub the stiff side of my neck, my wheels spinning.

  “He’s welcome to stay at the resort with us, of course, but I imagine he’s too busy for that.”

  “I imagine that too.”

  “But will you ask him?”

  “Seems like a lot to ask. I don’t want to put him in an uncomfortable position.”

  “How close are you to him?”

  What a loaded question after that amazeballs kiss. I’m still reeling from it, two days later.

  “Not very close, but I’ll talk to him.”

  “Thank you, Summer. You’re... I can’t tell you how grateful I am for everything you’re doing.”

  “Oh stop, Shawna. You’re making me blush. Or are you just buttering me up so I don’t give up until I get some sort of promise out of Alex?”

  “Shucks, I’m that transparent, huh?”

  “Just a tiny bit. I’ll talk to him and let you know what he says.”

  “Thanks, Summer.”

  After clicking off, I decide to try Alex right away. He doesn’t answer his phone, though, so I return to my painting process, facing the blank sheet again. An idea strikes me, and I sketch two crossing, undulating lines in pencil. My phone buzzes before I manage to start the third line. Alex.

  Clearing my throat, I pick up.

  “Hey! Sorry, was on the treadmill when you called.”

  “No problem. Thanks for calling back. I just spoke with Shawna, from St. Anne’s, and we have a huge favor to ask.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “We’re organizing this camp for the kids at Lake Tahoe. They’re going to have Spanish lessons in the morning and all sorts of activities in the afternoon. For example, I’m going to teach painting. And we were wondering if you could stop by and teach them some more stunts and tricks, maybe an acting class.”

  “When is this exactly?”

  “Starts Monday in one week, lasts for two weeks.”

  “Which days are you driving up there?”

  “Oh, I’m staying there.”

  “For the entire two weeks?”

  “Yes. It’ll be a vacation for me too.”

  “Okay, wait, I’m checking my calendar now. My manager marks all my appointments on it....”

  I sit cross-legged on my floor, absentmindedly tracing my thumb on the green and golden woolen carpet.

  “Right, I need to fly out to LA for one day, but other than that, I’m free.”

  “Wow! I wasn’t expecting that. Don’t you have two premieres coming up?”

  “I do, but things only kick up hard in the month leading up to it, and the premiere month itself.”

  “So, on which days do you want to drive to the lake? Or I can arrange a driver for you.”

  “I could stay there for the duration of the camp, think up an acting workshop.”

  “Are you sure? I mean, it’s awfully nice of you, but that’s a big-time commitment.”

  “Two weeks isn’t such a long time. I’m currently reading scripts. I can do that there too. Besides, my sister and her family just left on a month-long trip to Europe, so I don’t have much going on here.”

  I’ve helped Daniel organize a few events for his famous clients, and I know that people with Alex’s pockets and status can always have something going on if they want to. And usually, they opt for something much flashier than volunteering, especially if they don’t use it for PR purposes. The desire to peel back more layers and find out what lies under that gorgeous smile slams into me. I could do that in two weeks, a naughty voice pipes up at the back of my minds. Hot-white energy strums through my body at the thought. Bad, bad thought. I hug my knees to my chest, resting my chin on the right kneecap.

  “I’ll do some research on the best hotels in the area and send you some options,” I say.

  “Where are you staying?”

  “In the resort where the camp’s taking place.”

  “Any reason I can’t stay there too?”

  “It’s not a five-star hotel.”

  “I don’t mind. Besides, I’d be lonely, living separately from everyone else. If it’s good enough for you, it’s good enough for me.”

  That bad thought circles back. All because of a kiss, which I should really forget. We kissed, we talked, we moved on.

  “Okay, got it. I’ll set everything up. The kids are going to be very happy.”

  “So am I. Ah, before I forget. I have the same request again. No PR, no pics.”

  “That goes without saying, at least to the extent I can influence it. We’ll ask the workers at the resort to respect your privacy, but you know that doesn’t always work out.”

  “I know. But hey, I’ll have you with me, my savior.”

  That makes me laugh. “Hardly, but I’ll do what I can.” I tap my fingers on the floor, wondering if I should bring up that article I read. If I were Alex, I’d avoid reading the press like the plague. But maybe this is something he needs to be alerted to. “Listen, I read an article today—”

  “The one calling me a cheater?” The humor all but evaporated from his voice, which now has an edge I don’t like.

  “Sorry to bring it up
. I was just wondering if it had anything to do with... Friday.”

  “No, that’s just speculation. If there was a pic of us kissing, it would’ve already made the rounds, and the studio would be at my throat.”

  I startle as an unpleasant smell coming from the kitchen reaches my nostrils, then spring to my feet.

  “Crap, I forgot I had a pizza in the oven.”

  I pray to all the gods the smoke detectors don’t go off as I open the door to the oven and smoke whirls out. My pizza is burnt to the crisp.

  “Shit, there goes my dinner,” I mutter.

  “You make your own pizza?”

  “Not usually. I order from my favorite Italian restaurant, Vicente’s, but they’re closed on Sunday. It’s the best pizza!”

  “I have a hard time believing that.”

  “Oh, you better believe it, mister. I lived in Rome, and Vicente’s is better than anything I ate even in Italy.”

  I pull out the pizza and poke at it to see if something is salvageable.

  “I think I can eat some of the vegetables on it,” I mutter to myself. “The pepperoni is only half burnt. And the artichokes aren’t entirely black.”

  “That’s a lousy dinner.”

  “Ugh, I know. Maybe I’ll just order something else later. I’m not even that hungry. But I have to clean the kitchen now, or my entire living room will stink. I’ll e-mail you all the details about the camp later, okay?”

  “Perfect. Take care, Summer.”

  Cleaning up takes longer than I hoped. The mozzarella overflowed on the metal tray. My right arm aches, but at least the damn thing is close to squeaky clean. I straighten up when my bell rings. Maybe one of my siblings decided on an impromptu visit? It’s not uncommon in my family, even though we usually call or message as a heads-up.

  Swinging the door open, Carlo, one of Vicente’s delivery guys greets me. “Evening, Ms. Bennett. I have your pizza here.”

  Stunned, I take the box he hands me. “I... err, didn’t order. And you’re closed today.”

  Carlo smiles knowingly. “Special delivery.”

  “Okay,” I say slowly, “let me get my wallet.”

  “All paid for. Enjoy your evening, Ms. Bennett.”