Junk

by Komal Kant

  “Material possessions, blah, blah,” I interrupted with a roll of my eyes, studying the contents of the truck with a frown. “I know, I get it.”

  Really, though. It wasn’t that much stuff. Maybe four to seven boxes. Eleven tops. No more than fifteen.

  Okay, fine. Maybe it was a lot for one person, but if I was going to commit to this “moving to L.A. thing”, what better way to show Wade than by bringing everything I owned?

  It made sense to me. Not so much to my aching muscles.

  “Leave her alone,” Delilah scolded from beside him, immediately jumping to my defense. “She’s uprooting her entire life to be with my lame brother. If she needs her things for comfort, I can’t blame her.”

  Two months had passed since that life-changing day that Wade had found me in Chicago and refused to leave my parents’ house without me. In fact, when he insisted he would sleep on their couch for the rest of his life, my mom had gleefully skipped to the hallway cupboard to grab extra pillows and blankets for him.

  Of course, I had given in quickly. It was hard to turn down a man I had thought about every day since being away from him. Also, it gave me nightmares imagining my mom fawning over him if he inhabited our couch. Not to mention my dad, too.

  Yikes.

  Since then, we’d been living in a low-key hotel on the outskirts of Beverly Hills, while Wade’s new manager helped him find a project to work on. In the meantime, Wade had hired me—little, old me—to be his new publicist.

  Once we’d settled in, Wade had introduced me to one of his old friends, George Davis, who ran a successful PR company. Technically, I was a freelancer who worked exclusively for Wade, but I liaised with George, who’d taken me under his wing and was helping me network.

  In a matter of weeks, I had gone from an unhappy, uptight pet reporter to a positive, not-so-uptight publicist for a movie star who was about to make a huge comeback.

  It also didn’t hurt that I got to wake up next to said movie star every day.

  To help with the process, our family had flown to L.A. to help Wade and me move into our new condo on Venice Beach. The only family member who was missing was Cole.

  That was still an awkwardness that hung in the air between the three of us. A part of me hoped that would change one day. I wasn’t going anywhere, and even if I wanted to, I was pretty sure no one was going to help me move my nineteen boxes out of this condo.

  “Maybe three floors wasn’t such a great idea in hindsight,” I remarked, piling my hair up on top of my head and securing it with a scrunchie.

  Wade had been adamant that we get something away from Hollywood, and I’d wanted something by the water. When our realtor had found this gem, located close to the ocean, with a contemporary design, hardwood floors, natural light, and a view to die for, we didn’t need much convincing.

  “No shit,” came a surly voice from behind us.

  We spun towards the condo just in time to see Wade walk back outside, now shirtless, as his naked upper body glistened with sweat and the muscles in his thick arms rippled as he reached up to wipe the sweat off his forehead.

  Sigh. Was it normal to drool at your own boyfriend?

  “No need to get all snippy,” Delilah told him, pursing her lips.

  “Well, y’all are the ones standing around chattin’ away.” Wade somehow managed to shoot us all an annoyed look as he strode past. “Taking some stuff in wouldn’t kill you.” With that, he climbed into the back of the U-Haul truck and within seconds walked out carrying two stacked boxes.

  “This is why I choose not to form strong connections with material possessions,” Drew chanted, gliding into the back of the truck. “The only connections we should have is with each other’s souls.” visceral

  Delilah and I exchanged exasperated looks.

  If Drew said “material possessions” one more time, my foot was going to strongly connect with his ass.

  “Look at this amazing man moving boxes like a superhero,” my mom chimed, walking outside with my dad and Wade’s parents.

  Michelle frowned into the back of the truck. “He could be moving them a lot faster if he wanted to. Do you kids need us elders to help you?”

  “I don’t know who you’re calling an elder. I can out party anyone of these youngsters,” Ray remarked, striding forward with enthusiasm. “Yesterday, I drank down three Cosmopolitans like they were nothing.”

  Delilah snorted with laughter, and I shot Ray a sly smile. “I would never assume you couldn’t party with us.”

  My dad was now clambering out of the truck with one of my smaller boxes in his arms, one I was sure had socks and leggings in them. “Look, Lisa, I’m like a superhero, too.”

  Mom cast him a lazy glance, bobbing her head. “Yes, very nice, dear.”

  Between the eight of us, it only took ten minutes to get all my stuff inside. The rest of our furniture was supposed to be delivered in about an hour. I’d found a local furniture store and ordered a new bed, couch, and dining table and chairs.

  Dad and Ray were attempting—and struggling—to set up our TV, while Mom and Michelle were almost done unpacking all the living room and kitchen stuff. Drew, Delilah, and I had just finished carrying some boxes upstairs and had just returned downstairs when Wade stormed into the house with Achilles, swearing loudly.

  Michelle shot him a look of disapproval that he pretended he didn’t see.

  “Bad news,” he said, his face purple and red as he stopped in front of me. “They can’t deliver our bed today. Or any of the other furniture you ordered.”

  “What? Are you serious?” I asked, throwing my hands up. “Why not?”

  A vein was popping in Wade’s neck. “Something about their only truck having technical difficulties.”

  Oh. I guess that was the problem with ordering from a small, locally-owned store—they only had one truck.

  “What a shame,” Mom said from the entrance of the kitchen. “Let me light some of my positivity incense for you and ward this place of bad vibes.”

  If my new home smelled like perfumed sweaty shoes on the same day my furniture wasn’t going to be delivered, I was going to have a major meltdown.

  Thankfully, my dad could see the impending breakdown on my face and intervened quickly. “That’s not necessary, dear. Your personality is more than enough to repel bad vibes.”

  I snorted at that.

  “You could stay at a hotel,” Delilah piped up. “It’s not like you can’t afford it.”

  That was true, but Wade and I had been staying at a hotel this entire time. I’d really wanted to sleep in our new home tonight.

  Echoing my thoughts, Wade shook his head. “I don’t know. We’ve been living in a hotel for the last two months.”

  “Then stay in your damn house,” Michelle said, not unkindly, waving her arm around. “Rough it out for a night if it means that much to you.”

  “Mom, I traveled through a remote Nepalese village for a month and then lived in a cabin in a junk yard for three years. I know what roughing it means,” Wade reminded her.

  Michelle made a face, like she wanted to dispute his claims, but then shrugged a shoulder.

  “Let’s give them some privacy to figure out what they wanna do,” Ray said, clapping his hands together. “You know which hotel we’re staying at if you need us.” He paused, a glint in his eyes. “But I may hit that erotic dance club we drove by on my way back.”

  “Dad!” Delilah cried, which only made Ray let out a booming laugh.

  Wade hid a smile as we exchanged hugs with our family and walked them out to their rental cars. Once everyone had driven away, Wade turned to me, exhaustion written across his face.

  “I need a shower. I stink.”

  My stomach grumbled just then. “Okay, I’m gonna order a pizza.”

  “Awesome.” Wade wrapped an arm me, planting a sloppy kiss on my mouth. “Lots of pineapple on it, okay?”

  As he released me, I shot him a look of utter disgust. “This migh
t end our relationship.”

  A tilted smiled formed on his lips. “There aren’t many things I’m sure of, Goochee, but one thing I know is that you and I will never end.”

  With his words lingering in the air, Wade headed up the stairs, leaving me to bask in the glow of everything that he was made of—love, life, and a hell of a lot of sexiness.

  While Wade showered, I ordered a pepperoni pizza with a disgusting amount of pineapple on it, played tug-of-war with Achilles, popped open a bottle of champagne while I waited on the pizza, and, um, accidentally drank half of it.

  By the time the pizza arrived, I was more than a little tipsy. In my intoxicated state, I generously tipped the driver seventy-three dollars and eighty-one cents and hopped upstairs with the box of mouthwatering pizza in one hand and the bottle of champagne in the other.

  My clumsy steps finally took me to our bedroom, just as Wade walked out of our master bathroom, a small towel wrapped around his waist. Beads of water glistened on his chiseled chest and perfectly sculpted abs.

  Dayuuuuum. He was fine. There was no part of me that felt bad for openly ogling him.

  Noticing my movements, his head turned in my direction. A smirk twitched on his lips as his brooding eyes roamed my body.

  “Did you just drink half a bottle of champagne in thirty minutes by yourself?” he asked, reaching for me before I could reach him.

  Halting in front of him, I tousled my hair and stuck my hip out in what I thought was a sexy pose. “You can too if you’re feeling adventurous.” I wriggled my brows at him for good measure.

  “Are you trying to seduce me, Blair Fonseka?” Wade asked, the smile on his face spreading to his voice.

  “Well, that depends,” I said slowly, tilting my head back. “Is it working?”

  “Hmm, let me see.” He took the bottle of champagne and pizza box out of my hands and set them on the floor.

  They were probably safer there.

  My breath hitched as Wade’s thumb slid up my leg, teasing the hem of my shorts. Lust churned in his eyes. “Maybe it’s working a little.”

  “Well, let me hop in the shower and get clean for you,” I said, batting my eyes at him flirtatiously.

  “Sounds good,” Wade said, smacking my butt as I strutted past him and into the bathroom.

  Never in a million years had I imagined I would have a bathroom this opulent. It was bigger than the bedroom I’d had at my parents’ house and almost as large as the master bedroom itself.

  The floor was light grey tiles, the countertop spanned six feet and had a sink big enough to comfortably bathe a Labrador in. Heck, I was pretty sure I could fit my big booty in it if I really wanted to.

  Obviously, I went the normal route and showered instead, the anticipation of Wade against my skin motivating me to be done quicker than usual and hurrying out into the bedroom with only a towel wrapped around my body.

  Then I paused, taking in the scene in front of me.

  Wade had set up our blankets and pillows on the floor and was lying so still on top of them that I was sure he’d fallen asleep. But then he shifted, and I caught his blue gaze.

  “Hey, babe, I’m exhausted,” he said with an embarrassed chuckle. “I’m old and lame. My dad has more energy than I do.”

  An unwanted image of Ray at the strip joint flashed across my mind.

  “To be honest, me too,” I said, slumping down beside him and stretching out as achiness sank into my body. “Moving might be my least favorite thing to do.”

  “No shit.”

  We lay on the floor, staring up at the blank ceiling, my head on his chest and my leg intertwined with his.

  “Are you happy, Blair?” Wade asked after several minutes of silence, his tone hesitant, like he was almost afraid to hear what I really thought.

  Our bare room.

  A blank slate.

  Our new beginning.

  It was in this moment, surrounded by nothing except the man I loved, that it truly hit me.

  We didn’t need a bed, a couch, or a table.

  All we needed was each other. Even with nothing, we had everything.

  “So happy,” I assured him, giving his hand a squeeze as my heart burst with an overwhelming sense of peace.

  “Me too,” he said, his voice gentle.

  And with that assurance, we let sleep overtake us.

  “Well, if it isn’t Evan Grant,” Dr. June Walsh said, scowling at me. “The last time I saw you, your tongue was down some intern’s throat.”

  It didn’t matter how many times I told myself that I didn’t feel anything for June, those thoughts changed the second I walked into her lab.

  Running my eyes over her body, I forced my eyes on our surroundings to distract myself instead. The lab was large, filled with all kinds of scientists running around and conducting different research tasks.

  Exuding confidence, I ran my fingers along the top of the desk. “Are you jealous it wasn’t you, honey?”

  June balled up her fists and turned away from me. “You’ve got to be kidding me! You’re the last person I want to do that with.”

  Her comment made me chuckle. It was so similar to something Blair would say.

  I shook my head.

  Don’t think about Blair.

  This was about June, my fling from the past. Years had passed since we’d last seen each other, back when she’d been a bright-eyed research assistant and I’d been an up and coming field scientist.

  “Maybe I will be your last,” I told her with a wink.

  June shot me a look of pure loathing. “Not even if you were dying.”

  “And cuuuuuut!”

  Applause filled the air.

  June—A.K.A. my co-star, Anna Hendrick—broke out of character and gave me a huge hug. “That was amazing! You were great!”

  “Thanks,” I told her as we stepped away from each other. “You did a phenomenal job. It’s like you’ve done this a million times.”

  This was Anna’s first major film role. Up until this movie, she’d had a few recurring TV show roles, but this was the project that would be her breakthrough in the industry.

  It was my manager, James Borowitz, who’d negotiated this two-film deal for me; a reboot of a very successful action/adventure franchise with dinosaurs where I played the lead role of field scientist, Dr. Evan Grant.

  My character was the smart-mouthed, cocky, yet soft-hearted leader of an expedition that was supposed to uncover a deserted park overrun with the prehistoric creatures.

  There was no feeling quite like slipping into a new character’s mind and letting that personality overtake you.

  Harvey Springsteen, the somewhat wacko director, hopped off his chair and hurried over to us. He always wore jeans and Hawaiian shirts, which always made him look like an uncool dad. “Harlen! You killed it, yes? Didn’t it look like he’s been doing this for years?” He cast a glance at Anna, who nodded enthusiastically.

  Never mind that I had been doing this for years, aside from my three-year break.

  Brushing off his comment, I gave him my trademark smile. “Thanks, Harvey, that means a lot.”

  “And, you, Anna,” he said, placing an arm around her shoulder, “you were exquisite.”

  She beamed at his compliment as they walked a few steps away from me. “Did you like the way I said…”

  Before I could have a second to myself, the key costumer, Le Frida June rushed over to me, flashing me the whitest smile I’d ever seen. He cut an interesting figure in neon green hammer pants and hair in a shade of bubblegum pink. “Harlen, darling! That jacket looks amazeballs on you!”

  Le Frida June was one of the best costume designers in the industry, trumped only by “that guy” who’d worked on Les Miserables, whom Le Frida June refused to address by name.

  “Only because you designed it,” I said with a wink, causing him to blush

  “Oh, stop it, darling! You’re too sweet!” he said, waving a hand at me. “Now, out of those clothes! Chop! C
hop!”

  As Le Frida June stripped me free of the khaki jacket that looked like it belonged to Indiana Jones or a very fashionable park ranger, my eyes fell on a silent, approaching figure, so effortlessly beautiful in a short, white sundress that she could have been mistaken for the lead in this film.

  It was Blair—the energy surrounding her so bright, it spread to my chest and drew me to her.

  “Hey, you, my big movie star,” she greeted me with a teasing smile. “This might be better than your role as an angry junk yard owner.”

  “Har, har, very funny,” I said, pulling her in and placing a kiss on her forehead.

  Holding her this freely was such a new experience for me. We had spent many days and nights being hounded by paparazzi, trying to avoid being photographed together, but eventually I’d said, “Fuck it,” and decided we needed to live our lives.

  Even as I thought all this, I was distinctly aware of everyone in the room staring at us. Maybe it was time to find somewhere else to snuggle with my girlfriend.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked. “The catering truck should be up and running.”

  Blair nodded. “As long as there aren’t just salads, I’m up for that. I need some carbs after the week I’ve had.”

  As we wove our way around the crew and cast, she launched into an intense one-minute breakdown of her hectic week trying to set up interviews for me.

  In the past, it would’ve cracked me up to see Goochee stressed out. Now, I was genuinely frustrated for her.

  We stepped out into the Californian sun, and I basked in the hum of activity surrounding us.

  Assistants scurried around on their phones, their expressions frantic. Golf carts zipped across the lot, ferrying cast and crew. The catering truck was parked a few feet away, delicious smells drifting in our direction.

  My stomach let out a lurching growl in response.

  It was just then that one of the golf carts pulled up in front of us, and a guy with shaggy blond hair and a winning smile, who could have easily been mistaken for an actor or professional surfer, jumped out.

  “G’day, Harlen,” he greeted me in a thick, Australian accent, pushing his long hair out of his eyes. “Long time no see.”