“Ran out on you?” Mindy says, a note of humor entering her voice.
My heart pounds in my chest as I wait for his response. If he’s here to find out my identity so he can report me to my asshole boss, I’m screwed.
I hold in a groan as hear Gavin clear his throat. “Um, yeah, I bumped into her in a vending machine room on the top floor,” he lies.
Relief sweeps through me and I close my eyes in gratitude. Good, he’s not here to find out who I am so he can report me and make a big deal out of it. My eyes pop back open and go wide a second later as what he’s really here for hits me.
No way.
“Oh really?” Mindy hums innocently, making me want to smack her upside the head. She’s enjoying this a little too much. “How about you tell me what she looks like?”
“Well, she’s about five eight or so, with rich brown hair and big, beautiful brown eyes,” Gavin says, a slight catch in his voice. “And a face that’s just . . . perfect.”
My breath stills in my lungs as I listen to his description of me, and I have to wonder if he’s talking about someone else. I’ve got plain brown hair and there’s nothing special about my eyes.
“Damn, I’m jealous. You’re making me wish I were this chick with the way you’re talking about her,” Mindy jokes. “She sounds absolutely gorgeous.”
“She is gorgeous,” Gavin says, his voice heavy.
I nearly choke, I’m so flattered. I wish I looked like the girl he’s describing. I almost feel like he’s lying, but it’s obvious he’s not. He came all the way down here just to find me. I bite my lower lip, my heart racing. It’s just so hard to believe.
Mindy taps a finger to her lips. “Hmm . . . now that I think about it, I might know who you’re talking—” Mindy begins to say, but before she can complete her sentence, I pinch her leg as hard as I can. “OW!” Mindy squeals.
“What’s wrong?” Gavin asks as Mindy glances down at me, rubbing her thigh while I shake my head, mouthing no, no, no!
“A sudden sharp pain,” Mindy says smoothly as if nothing happened. “You know, one of those annoying, pesky things that just seems to stab you out of nowhere?”
Gavin chuckles. “You kidding? I play football. I’m used to—” A pounding on the window interrupts Gavin and he lets out a loud groan. “Fuck. Sorry. I didn’t realize they followed me here.”
“Anaconda, Anaconda!” someone yells, and then the door to the coffee shop bursts open, a crowd of people rushing inside. “How about some pictures!”
“Yeah!” someone else shouts. “Show us what you’re packing!”
Mindy lets out a disbelieving laugh as the cameras begin to flash. “They can’t be serious!”
“Sadly, they are,” Gavin growls, letting out a loud groan, the cameras flashing so hard I can see flashes on the walls in front of me. “I have to deal with shit like this all the time.”
“That’s gotta be a pain in the ass,” Mindy mutters in sympathy, raising her hand to shield her eyes before yelling over the tumult, “All right, people, if you’re not ordering anything, please leave! Hotel policy!”
“I’ll take care of them,” I hear Gavin say, his voice laced with embarrassment. Then he raises his voice, a note of anger entering it. “All right, you vultures want your pictures? Let’s go.”
“Hey, I want an autograph the next time you come in here!” Mindy yells after Gavin. And then she lowers her voice and mutters, “preferably next to Anaconda.”
I wait a minute until I hear the crowd exit the room before I stand up, brushing off my skirt.
Mindy is scowling at me.
“What?” I ask.
“What?” Mindy growls in disbelief. “Why the hell did you pinch me? You damn near broke the skin!”
“You were going to give me away!” I growl, half ignoring her as I look through the big plate glass windows of the coffee shop as Gavin talks with the media. My heart flutters as I watch him talking animatedly to the press, and I cross my arms across my chest.
“I wasn’t! I was just messing with both of you!” Mindy shakes her head, her gaze going out the window to the crowd of clamoring reporters. “Did you hear the way he talked about you? God, you should be on your way to his room right now!”
“Please. He doesn’t really want me,” I say, my eyes still glued on Gavin as several people rush up to ask for his autograph.
Mindy shakes her head. “You should have seen the look on his face while he was describing you.” She turns back to me with a wide grin. “He wants to pin your legs behind your ears, girl.”
I scowl. “That’s not happening and you know it.” I try to sound as convincing as I can, despite the desire I feel inside.
Mindy returns my scowl, rolling her eyes. “What’s wrong with you, Bri? I mean, I get it, you don’t want to be easy, but he’s a freaking legend! And hot as fuck!” And then she adds under her breath, “With a big cock to boot,” but I hear it anyway. “You know what I’d do!”
She has a point. But I’m too stubborn to concede. Besides, so what if he thought I was cute? After reading those articles about him, I’m not even sure if I care that he’s a celebrity or that he’s hot as hell with a big dick. The man is just one big manwhore. “So?”
“So? When’s the last time you got laid?”
I make a face, wishing I could pinch Mindy again. “Six months maybe?”
“More like a year, I’m betting,” Mindy says, chuckling. “I’m not saying you need to whore yourself out to every hot guy who comes in here, but what’s wrong with dusting the cobwebs off the muffin?”
“How long is he supposed to be here?” I ask, ignoring her crudeness.
“How should I know?” Mindy says. “But from what I’ve been hearing, they’ve got major shoots going for a week. He should be here for at least that long.”
I bite my lower lip as my gaze wanders back out the window and I see Gavin putting on a fake, pearly-white smile as his picture is taken with a group of rowdy fans. A week? I have to try to avoid this incredibly sexy man for a week?
Lord help me.
“I’m in big trouble,” I mutter.
Chapter 4
Gavin
“I’ll suck yo dick, man,” the toothless bum mumbles as he stumbles up to me, scratching himself all over his arms. Moments before, he’d asked me for some spare change, which I declined. Now he looks at me with his desperate, rheumy blue eyes, faded from being in the sun for far too long.
“What?” I ask with a scowl and an arched eyebrow.
The bum grins, displaying stained gums and broken teeth, then repeats more urgently through his mush mouth while flailing his arms at my crotch, “Man, I’ll suck yo DICK!”
I grab his hands, shoving them away from my waist, and then push the bum slightly to the side. He turns back to me, reaching for what looks like a box cutter on his belt. I lash out instinctively with my work boot, catching him straight in that sunken hole of a mouth, and he goes flying back onto the pile of boxes behind him.
“CUT!” someone yells behind me, shocking me out of the scene.
I turn to see a flurry of activity from the stage crew as the director, Jim Thompson, gives me an enthusiastic thumbs-up with a goofy grin on his face. “That was great, Anaconda! You nailed him good!”
I grit my teeth at the hated nickname. I’ve told everyone on set not to call me it, and they still persist on doing it. I swear I’m going to blow a gasket by the time filming is over with.
“No fucking shit!” Lance, the bum and stuntman doubling as an actor whines, holding his mouth as he crawls out of the pile of boxes with the help of a young stagehand. Blood is seeping between his fingers as he scowls at me angrily, “Fucking amateur, you’re supposed to pull the kick!”
“Dude, I’m sorry,” I apologize, stepping forward to offer him help.
Lance waves me off as he shoves the stagehand away and climbs to his feet. “You fucking suck, Anaconda.” He removes the fake gum caps from his teeth, showing the cr
ew of onlookers a blood-stained chipped tooth. “Look at this shit.”
“Hey, Lance,” Jim cuts in. “Cut Gavin some slack. It was a mistake. Let’s get you fixed up and redo the scene.”
Jim’s words only seem to make Lance even angrier as he scowls at me with hatred, grabbing a towel from the stagehand he just shoved and pressing it to his lips. “Fuck that! How about getting a real actor in here? This dude needs to go back to being an overhyped and overpaid football star.”
I was sorry before, but now I’m irritated. I didn’t mean to kick the guy, but honestly, this whole scene is fucking stupid. When I read the script, I was under the impression I would be taking down a bad guy and establishing myself as a hero, not beating down a toothless crackhead who was desperate for a hit. The whole movie seems like it’s going to be one of those low-budget, shitty D-rate, straight-to-DVD movies instead of the blockbuster Miranda promised me.
Lance continues his rant, spitting blood-tinged saliva at my feet. “Arrogant prick!”
Keeping my expression neutral, I turn away from Lance and walk off before I do something I end up regretting. The guy is testing my patience with his ranting. I didn’t mean to kick him, but I did feel a little off during the stunt sequence, finding it hard to focus.
It’s her, I think to myself, the image of the hot maid flashing in front of my eyes. The way she bounded from the room, her hair flying like a banner behind her like . . . Bunny. My little Bunny. I don’t know her name, so that’s what I’ll call her. Desire runs through my blood as I clench my jaw and make my way off the set. She’s in my head, fucking up my game.
I’m still smarting from the way she ran from me. No woman has ever done that to me. Not when they knew who I am. And she has to know who I am. Doesn’t she? And that sassy friend of hers, Mindy, knew damn well where she was when I walked into the coffee shop. I could see it in her eyes.
As I walk away, I hear Miranda yell from the agent seat, “Goddammit, Gavin, get back here! We have three more scenes to shoot!”
“They’ll be lucky if I come back at all,” I mutter, ignoring her, not really watching where I’m going.
I hear a short gasp as I bump into someone. Leslie Hart, the vixen who’s supposed to be my leading lady, stumbles back a step before catching herself. Dressed in jeans and a red halter top that showcases her cleavage, she’s pretty enough, with long blonde hair and a sultry smile, but she doesn’t interest me at all. Not after Bunny. I’m already dreading the romantic scenes that I’m sure are loaded throughout the script. Nothing else seems interesting so far. They’re going to have to fill it with something.
“Sorry about that,” I tell her.
Leslie waves my apology off with manicured fingers, the scent of her woodsy fragrance filling my nostrils. “I’m fine.” She frowns, glancing over at the raging Lance. “But do you think he’ll be all right?”
“I’m sure he will,” I say politely, walking past her and continuing on to my trailer. I need a moment to reset. To try to get Bunny off my mind. Or the rest of the day will be a disaster. “But I really don’t care,” I add under my breath.
* * *
I sit back in the leather tufted chair near the window of my suite, a cognac glass sitting on the small arm table beside me. I roll my neck until I hear a pop and let out a satisfied grunt, feeling the ache in the soles of my feet.
Filming was a bitch today. After the fuckup with the ‘bum’, I had to shoot an action scene with Leslie. I’d been hoping that we could be professional, and so far, so good.
Everything after that was a complete mess when it came time to act. Whenever I had to recite my lines, I stumbled over them, fucked them up somehow, or even forgot them altogether.
It’s that damn maid. Bunny. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to get her out of my head.
But I know exactly what I need to cure this problem. I need to be balls deep inside her. Shit, we both need it. I saw it in her eyes. She might’ve run away, but you can’t hide lust like that.
I shift in my seat and take a sip of the fine brandy, relishing the burn as it goes down. I’ve been unable to focus even off set. Rehearsing my lines seems a waste of time. Doing anything seems a waste of time. Unless it involves . . .
“Get yourself together, man,” I mutter. “There’s nothing at all special about her.” I recognize the lie as soon as it leaves my lips. I've never had this type of reaction to a girl before. Ever. But at the same time, I have no fucking clue why I’m so worked up over it.
I need to find out if this is just some sort of fluke. Some sort of anomaly causing me to act this way.
And the only way to do that is to get her in my bed.
I grip my glass tightly, trying to push the sexy maid from my thoughts. I’m still frustrated by how much I fucked up this morning. I want to be good at this. Not just because Miranda is hyping this for me, putting her reputation on the line, but simply because I want to be good at whatever I do.
And right now, I’m fucking it up.
My cell buzzes against the wood of the end table. I set down the cognac glass and check it. A slight grin plays across my lips. It’s my best friend, Mark Washington. He rode the bench all four years in college, but he and I still became good friends. We call each other every chance we get. “The very best speaking,” I greet.
Mark huffs out a laugh. “How’re you doing, Anaconda?”
Mark’s about the only person I know whom I don’t get pissed at for calling me Anaconda. Mainly because he’s almost like a brother to me.
“Not too bad, man. Just got done shooting a couple of scenes today. How’s life in Florida?”
After college, Mark went on to law school. Then he became a lawyer in Florida, specializing in admiralty law. He met a girl down there, got married, and has a kid on the way.
A part of me is kind of envious. And I don’t even know why. I’ve enjoyed my freedom to do whatever the fuck I want. But I’m getting older now, and it’s starting to not have the same appeal anymore.
“I’m doing good. Wife’s good, kids are good. Little Sarah is already talking and little Mark is having a fit over it. How’s . . . where the hell are you again?”
“You won’t find it on most maps,” I tell him. “They’ve got a decent college football team around here, a hotel that’s way too big for this place, and that’s about it.”
Mark says jokingly, “You find yourself some fine country girl yet?”
“Nah,” I reply. Yes. And she can’t hide from me forever.
“Seriously?” Mark asks in disbelief. “I thought you would’ve already plowed through a cheerleader squad by now or something.”
I grit my teeth, but I realize I shouldn’t be getting pissed. He knows most of my reputation is exaggerated by the media, and I know he’s just fucking with me.
“Actually, I’ve just been busy trying to get my lines right. This acting thing is pretty new to me and it’s going to take me a bit to get the hang of it.” I grunt. “I just hope I don’t give Miranda a stroke in the process.”
“Damn. Anaconda, the action movie star.” Mark chuckles. There’s a pause before he adds, “Shit, man, why don’t you just say fuck all that, turn in your retirement for football, and just become a porn star—”
Right then, I see the production assistant for Rundown pull up in front of the hotel from my window, reminding me I have a fuck-ton of work to do.
“Hey, Mark, I’d love to talk more, but I gotta work,” I tell him, no longer in the mood for discussion. Besides, I’d rather not talk about who I’m not fucking at the moment. I need to start trying to work on my lines even if I can’t concentrate. Or it’s gonna be hell on the set tomorrow.
Trying to muffle the disappointment in his voice, Mark says, “No worries, dude, you do your thing.”
No sooner do I hang up than Miranda buzzes in. I don’t want to answer, but I know if I don’t, she’ll be at my door quicker than a bolt of lightning to hound my ass. But that’s what I pay her to do. Som
etimes I don’t like it, but I need someone like her. Holding in a groan, I answer the phone.
I make no effort to sound pleasant. I know what this call is going to be about. “Yeah?”
And Miranda does not disappoint. “What the hell was that today?” she demands. “I didn’t exactly expect Shakespeare from you, but you performed like shit.” I can practically hear her shaking her head through the phone. “I’m just glad you didn’t knock that poor guy’s teeth out and we didn’t wind up with a lawsuit on our hands or something.”
Judging by the anger Lance displayed, I still might.
I grit my teeth, not wanting to deal with any of this right now. “Sorry. I just was . . . out of it.”
Miranda squawks, “Out of it? More like the studio is going to be out of a boatload of money if you don’t get your act together! Every day that we have to film over costs the studio tens of thousands of dollars.”
I almost huff out a laugh. Did she see the quality of the set? I doubt they were spending a fraction of that. “The entire production seems pretty low-budget, if you ask me.” Miranda pitched it to me like it was supposed to be an A-list film.
“Hey,” Miranda protests. “They probably had to cut back on the budget since they had to pay you more. But I still think it’s going to be a hit.”
I shift in my seat. It makes me uncomfortable thinking Miranda negotiated a seven-figure contract on my behalf, especially if it meant the cast and crew took a pay cut. I know it’s just business, but I’m not going to be starving anytime soon. Not to mention, I don’t really deserve it. I need to prove myself, but Miranda thought it was important for appearance’s sake.
“And I think it’s going to be good for your career, regardless of whether it’s a blockbuster or not,” Miranda continues. “Remember, you’re just starting out and your acting talent is almost nonexistent. We’re operating on your looks, your popularity as a football player, and . . .” her words trail off, but I know she was about to say.
That fucking video.
“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Miranda,” I say dryly.
Anaconda: A Sexy Romantic Comedy Page 4