“Wow,” he drawls out. “That has to be a lot for her to take in.”
As sad as it is, Brett drinking and driving doesn’t surprise me. He’s not the perfect boyfriend. Hell, he isn’t even a decent boyfriend or human being, but Willow refuses to leave him. They’ve been together off and on since high school, and she can’t walk away because of their history, even though she knows it’s not a healthy relationship.
I take a deep breath when I look at Hudson, and something hits me. We’re going to be all alone in the hotel. That’s different from my house where stairs and two thousand square feet separate us.
Oh shit.
I shouldn’t get drunk at this after-party. My plan has been to stay sober at all social events, but now all I can think about is a stiff drink to ease the nervousness shooting through me.
Chapter Eight
Hudson
“I’ll suck your cock if you let me through.”
“I’m sorry … what?” I stutter out, staring at the woman in front of me. Another woman who looks exactly like the one who just propositioned me stands next to her. They both look up at me with innocent baby blue eyes. Fuck. I want to take them home to their parents. How did they even get in here?
It’s been one long ass day, and it keeps getting stranger by the second.
We’re at the after-party in a club that’s filled with dancers and half-naked women serving overpriced alcohol, and it’s giving me a fucking headache. I don’t know when I turned into a fun sucking old man. I like to have a good time. I enjoy live bands and having a beer with friends, but this shit is a madhouse. People are bumping into people, screaming in their faces, and girls are fighting their way into the VIP section like Stella and Eli are the fucking King and Queen. They’re like roaches. I block a girl from getting in, and there’s another one coming in on my left. It’s like a fucking battlefield.
There’s no way I’m letting any of these opportunistic groupie vultures suck my cock. STD-free is the way I want to be.
Josh steps to my side with a cocky ass smile on his face. “If he’s not game, I am,” he tells the girls with a disturbing smile. Of course, he is. He’ll fuck anything so long he doesn’t have to lay in his bed alone tonight with his sausage link in his hand. This dude is dumb as hell if he doesn’t think these women are using him. They’ll climb on him to reach someone better – his boss. “How about you two make out and we’ll consider if you’re worthy of our time.”
My skin crawls at his creepiness. I throw my arm out, gesturing to them. “Dude, they’re fucking twins and look like they’re sixteen. Incest and pedophilia your thing?” Sick fuck.
He chuckles. “They’re not my sisters, and they’re also old enough to be in the club.” He leans back on his heels, crossing his arms and staring at them. “I’ve always wanted a night with twins. There’s just something so hot about it.”
“Hot?” I repeat. “I think you meant to say fucking gross.”
“Lighten up. We’re all here to have a little fun.”
The girls are still standing in front of us with innocent smiles while they wait for one of us to give them their golden ticket. “We’re eighteen,” one says, grinning wildly. “Legal as can be.”
I scowl at how pathetic they sound and look over at Josh. “Have fun with your cock-sucking sisters. I’ll be over here doing my job and relishing in the fact I won’t have to visit the clinic next week.”
He shrugs. “More pussy for me then.”
I shudder. “Enjoy it while it lasts because I have a feeling your dick will be falling off in the next few years.”
I move to the opposite side of them and lean back against a wall. I’m ready to blow this joint and get some rest. Eli and Stella are side-by-side and whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears. Why are any of these other women trying to get to Eli? He’s all over Stella, giving her all of his attention, and she’s the one he’s obviously going home with tonight. I’m only hoping they decide to take their fun to his suite.
I still don’t understand what’s going on with the two of them. She hasn’t seemed interested in him all day. She doesn’t even look happy now. She’s chugging down another drink while looking into space. She rolls her eyes when Eli starts to kiss her neck but tilts her head to the side to give him better access.
There’s no enjoyment on her face. He’s not getting her all hot and bothered.
It can’t be what it seems.
I let out a breath of relief when Stella informs me that she’s ready to leave. My head is dying for some silence, and I swear if another chick offers up sex, I’m going to throw her out of the club. Who would’ve thought that’d ever be a problem I’d bitch about? The worst part is that I have to wake up and do it all over again for the next two months.
Lucky for me, the club is in the same building as the hotel we’re staying in, so I’m walking back into the suite with Stella wobbling in front of me fifteen minutes later. The alcohol is getting to her, which doesn’t surprise me. She spent the entire night in a competition with herself on how many drinks she could suck down.
I close the door behind us and walk through the foyer of the decked-out suite. She lives a life of luxury; there’s no doubt about that. The place is nice and spacious, the décor expensive, and the furniture more comfortable than anything I’ve ever sat on. I have my own bed and bath, even though I’d prefer more privacy than that. I shared a bedroom and bath with dozens of other men for months – I need space.
“I can hang out in the lobby or get my own room if you want some alone time with your boyfriend,” I tell Stella. She should be staying with her boyfriend, and he can protect her, right?
I asked her several times if she wanted me to take her to his room on the walk back, but she only shook her head and muttered something along the lines of, “over my dead body.”
She collapses onto the tan leather couch and begins fumbling with the strap of her sparkly heel, stumbling a bit in the process. I should help her, but it’s not my place. I’m here to watch out for her, make sure she doesn’t get murdered, not to undress her. She throws the shoe down when she succeeds, and it takes her a few seconds to gain control of herself to start on the other.
“My boyfriend?” she asks when she manages to get the other shoe off. It hits a chair when she throws it.
I recline against the wall and watch her. “The dude you were all over at the theater? The one you were tonsil scrubbing with at the club?” How drunk is this broad?
She’s staring at me, looking clueless, and it takes her a second before she winces at the realization of what I’m talking. “Oh, Eli?” Her face turns horrified when I nod. “Gross. He isn’t my boyfriend.”
“Fine, your fuck buddy,” I clarify.
“We’re sure as hell aren’t fucking. We’re fake dating.”
The fuck? Who does that? I rub the back of my neck, replaying her response like I misheard it. “Why would you fake date someone?” It’s the most absurd shit I’ve heard all day. Maybe all year. And I’ve had one eventful year.
She leans back and waves her hand through the air. “It’s complicated.”
Complicated, yet captivating. I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans and prepare myself for story time. This is something I can’t wait to hear. “Sounds like it. I can do complicated.”
“You’re going to find out eventually,” she mutters, looking anxious. “We’re pretending to date to promote the movie. You know, drive up publicity and hype. His camp wants his reputation cleaned up because he’s been somewhat of a loose cannon man slut. They look at me as the perfect child star all grown up, so it was either I agree and get the movie role, or they find someone else to go along with it. I decided to advance my career.”
I can’t hold in my laugh, and her brows furrow at me. “So you’re a rent-a-girlfriend?” People actually do that shit? It dawns on me now that was what that Tillie chick was referring to. She’s in a contract to date Eli. “Like in Pretty Woman?”
She grimaces at my comparison. “Why do you have to say it like that?”
“I thought it was nicer than saying you’re pimping yourself out for the success of your movie.”
“Thanks, I appreciate you calling me a hooker.”
“I didn’t call you anything, Princess.”
“You insinuated it.”
“I guess so.” I shrug. “Not my business.” I point to the door. I don’t want to say it, but there’s no stopping myself. “Are you sure you don’t want me to leave? We can call Eli over, tip off some of those camera people, and it’ll look like you’re in here making sweet love when you’re both actually sexting other people from opposite sides of the couch. I can put some porn on to make it more believable.” I grin. “Perfect relationship if you ask me. Very romantic.”
My crudeness surprises her. It surprises me too. She frowns. “Has anyone ever told you you’re an asshole?”
I place my hand over my heart and lower my voice. “My feelings … stop.” I am acting like an asshole, but I’m mad at myself. I was beginning to change my mind about Stella. After our talk in the kitchen and then being there for her after the Willow situation, I thought I’d been wrong about her being a selfish brat, but this conversation just proves I was right from the beginning. That’s exactly what she is.
She snatches her clutch and starts to rummage through it like a madwoman until she finds her phone. “I’m texting Willow right now to tell her we need to find a replacement for you pronto.”
“Good riddance. My prayers have been answered. The sooner, the better.”
“Why don’t you quit then? Why did you even take this job if I repulse you so much?”
“My brother begged me to, and I keep my word. The last thing he needs is to be stressed about you being unprotected.” I pause, tilting my head to the phone in her hand. “And it’s probably a bad idea to text Willow.”
Her shoulders slump, and some of her anger dissipates. “True. I’d be freaking out if something like that happened to my boyfriend.”
“Your fake boyfriend or a real one? You need to be more specific because I can’t keep up.”
She flips me off. “Asshole. I’m speaking in generality. No boyfriend here. I’m on a break from dating.”
“Unless you’re getting a paycheck for it?”
She looks like she’s ready to lunge her cell phone straight at my head. “Go screw yourself. I’m fake-dating someone for the sake of my career. It’s not the first time it’s been done, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”
“It’s the first time I’ve known someone to do it. Where I come from, we don’t date people for a paycheck. We tend to call those people hookers … street walkers …”
“Well I don’t live where you come from, so how about that? Where I come from, we focus on our careers more than who we’re screwing, and people don’t insult their bosses.” She gets up from the couch and stomps towards her bedroom. She forcefully turns around to give me one last scowl before going in. “And by the way, don’t say anything to anyone about this conversation. It can’t get out. You can’t tell your friends, girlfriend, anyone.”
“You don’t have to worry about that.” I use my hand to form a zipping gesture across my mouth. “These lips are sealed.”
Chapter Nine
Stella
I slam the door shut and collapse on the bed all dramatic and pouting like a three-year-old whose blankie is in the dryer. I’m drunk and overreacting, but hearing the truth from him hurt. He only confirmed what I’d been afraid of from the very beginning of this deal – that I’m pimping myself out for the sake of my career and money.
I’m not having sex with Eli. Aren’t you only a hooker if you’re doing the whole fucking and sucking ordeal? So I’m in the clear, right? Now I just need to convince my Hudson-altered conscience that.
Fucking men.
This is exactly why I’ve sworn the pain in my asses off.
They might come with a good penis, but there’s always a side dish of problems.
A situation like this would usually warrant a phone call to Willow where I’d rant about how big of an asshole Hudson is. She’d then tell me to either kick him in the nuts or let it go – depending on her mood and how big of an asshole Brett was acting.
But I can’t do that tonight. She’s going through too much right now. It would be selfish of me even to bother her with something this petty. Her boyfriend might very well be on his deathbed.
Unlocking my phone, I scroll down to Dallas’ name. Maybe he can talk some manners into his jerk of a brother.
For a brief second, I thought Hudson and I were moving in the right direction, maybe even starting to like each other. We had the whole late-night kitchen conversation while sharing a cup of tea, we flirted (at least that’s what I thought it was) over coffee, and he stuck up for me with Tillie. I guess I was wrong.
Typical Stella – unable to read men since the third grade when I agreed to let Eric be my valentine, even though he’d already promised a box of ding-dongs to Amanda, which resulted in Amanda snipping off a lock of my hair in art class.
I hover my finger over Dallas’ name but stop myself. I’d be selfish to call him too. His wife has cancer. My hurt feelings aren’t shit compared to that.
Well damn.
Who can I call and complain to? Who can I ask for advice?
I hit Antonia, my sister. It rings a few times before going to voicemail. She’s probably busy. She signed her first modeling deal six months ago and has been touring the globe for fashion shows. I slap my forehead and know I’m hitting rock bottom when I call my mother.
Don’t get me wrong, I love her. I’m just not sure if she loves me or only sees my sister and me as her free meal ticket. She’d always been my biggest fan until my breakup with Knox. She wanted me to get back together with him for the sake of my career and went ape-shit when I didn’t. Since my refusal, she’s started distancing herself from me since I’m such a terrible person and all.
My call goes straight to voicemail. Shocker.
I contemplate calling a few other friends but decide against it. I’m so out of touch with my old circle. Most of them took Knox’s side in the break-up. He’s richer and has more connections than I do. Once he told them I couldn’t come around because it pissed off his new hippie girlfriend, the invites and calls stopped. Hollywood friends see you as disposable. Your existence to them depends on who you’re screwing and how many Chanel bags you have.
I toss my phone down and sigh. This is supposed to be the highlight of my career, so why do I feel so alone? Tears start to fall, and desperation leads me to grab my phone again and hit the last name I should.
Me: YOU ARE A STRAIGHT UP ASSHOLE! YOU SHOULD PROBABLY WORK ON YOUR PEOPLE SKILLS AND MANNERS!
There. I said what I needed to.
I set my phone back down next to me and pick up the Vogue from the nightstand. I don’t even make it through the first article before my phone beeps with a response. I drop the Vogue and take a deep breath before looking at the screen.
Hudson: Are you text-sulting me from the next room? Put on your big girl panties and stomp your spoiled ass out here if you want to scream at me. All caps aren’t necessary. They don’t do your entitled temper justice.
Ugh, the nerve of this jackass.
Text-sulting? Who even says that?
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed to hop off, open the door, and stomp my unspoiled ass back into the living room where he’s situated comfortably on the couch like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
Did our argument not even faze him?
“Temper?” I scream. “You want to see a temper?”
His arms are crossed, a smile dancing over his lips. “Sure, Princess. Temper away. Stomp your feet. Do whatever you feel is necessary to prove that you’re different than what all of those headlines say about you.”
Jesus, why does he have a good comeback for everything? I want to shock him, make him at a
loss for words, show him I’m a force to be reckoned with.
I thrust my finger his way. “You better start being nice or I’m going to tell Dallas to inform your girlfriend what a dick you’re being.”
Okay, I apparently still suck at comebacks. I sound like a tattletale on the elementary school playground.
He busts out in laughter, looking even more entertained. “Let me know how that one goes, will ya? I have a feeling she’ll be too busy fucking my best friend to worry about who I’m supposedly insulting.” My mouth slams shut. That didn’t go as planned. “Not the response you were expecting?”
I guess I was right about him not being in a relationship anymore. I can feel the embarrassment creeping up my cheeks. “I … I thought you were engaged?” Should this new information excite me? Because it does.
“I was. Not anymore. She decided she liked to screw my best friend, and I’m not one who likes to share pussy. When I make someone mine, they’re mine. Sharing is not always caring.”
His answer sends shivers down my spine. The way he talks about ownership, about a woman being his, makes my heart race. “That sucks. I’m sorry,” is the only response I can muster after basically throwing a failed relationship in his face.
He shrugs. “Shit happens. You move on.”
I venture further into the room and take a seat in a chair, now suddenly wanting him to go on. Give me more, goddamnit! I want him to unleash his secrets to me but have no idea why. “How long were you two engaged?”
“We dated twelve years. Engaged three.”
“Wow. That’s a long time.”
It crushed me when Knox and I finally decided to breakup for good. We were together for almost a decade, on and off. I’d be sitting in a jail cell and scrunching my hair with grape jelly right now if I’d found out he’d cheated on me with my best friend. Friendship code 101: Don’t fuck each other’s exes. Male or female. I don’t give a shit if the dude is young Fight Club era Brad Pitt. It’s off limits. If you do, you were never a true friend to begin with. There are millions of cocks and vaginas in this world. Is it that hard to find someone who hasn’t inserted his genitals into your best friend, or vice versa?
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