I swipe a fragile crystal tumbler, and deliberately drop it on the marble floor of the bar. It shatters into about a billion shards with a musical tinkling sound. “This is fun,” I say unenthusiastically. I pick up a lovely onyx vase and contemplate its weight in my hands. “How much do you think this is worth?”
Before I can break it, Luke takes the vase away and sets it back on the table. Smirking, he concedes. “Alright, you made your point. Damn, you really can suck the fun out of anything.”
“Thanks. It’s what you pay me for.” Yawning, I head toward the comfiest-looking chair and curl up in it. “So, what’s with you? What’s with the celebrity meltdown?”
Following my lead, Luke collapses on the leather sectional sofa, leaning his head back so he’s staring at the ceiling. He emits a harsh sigh as he runs his hands through his short blonde hair. “I take it you’ve heard about my near miss. It was close, Tiger. Too damn close. Jesus, those little kids—I could’ve killed them!”
There is real torment in his voice, so I force myself to think before I reply. Sometimes I say things that are completely inappropriate. Like right now, I almost make a tasteless joke—I don’t want to say about what because then I’d sound like a monster.
“But you didn’t,” I say finally. “And even if you did—Luke, it wouldn’t have been your fault. The assholes that ran you off the road would have been responsible.”
“That’s not how they’d spin it, though.” A cynical smile touches his mouth. “The paps would crucify me. They already hate me because I’m…uncooperative.”
I hesitate, pulling my knees up to my chest, and wrapping my arms around them. “Maybe Jessica is right,” I say, referring to his scary publicist. “If you let her leak your location a few times, they might be less aggressive about tracking you down. Do you know how much a candid picture of you is worth right now?”
“Do you?” he shoots back.
“I do. I could probably pay for the rest of college with one shot…” I trail off, pretending to consider.
Luke straightens up to mock glare at me. “Don’t even.”
I bite back a smile, resting my chin on my knees. “You know, I still have that picture of you covered in Nate’s Baked Alaska.”
“And I still have that signed confidentiality agreement,” he counters.
“Touché.”
He chuckles, and I’m relieved to see some of the tension leak from him. But then he turns serious again. “I’m not going to make myself accessible to those bloodsuckers just so they’ll back off my ass. That’s like giving in to the terrorists.”
I roll my eyes at him. “Terrorists. What’s the big deal? You take pictures with your fans all the time.”
“That’s different. My fans own a piece of me; they helped get me to where I am.” Luke gives a muffled groan. “What the hell am I gonna do about this? I feel like I’m walking around with a target on my back.”
“You could quit acting.”
“Hell, no!”
“…he says indignantly,” I murmur.
He glares at me. “Yeah, I’m fucking indignant! I worked my ass off to be here. No way am I quitting.”
“Then cooperate a little.” I shrug at him. “Don’t be so mysterious. Join some social media sites; take a few selfies. Anonymously submit a few photos of yourself to the tabloids. That way you control the when and where.”
Luke is silent for a moment, mulling over my advice. He slumps back on the couch with his arms crossed over his chest. “Maybe,” he says reluctantly.
“I’m only repeating what Ivan and Jessica have been telling you forever.”
“Yeah, but you’re a lot cuter.”
He suddenly grins at me, that stunning movie star smile, potent enough to burn the panties off the most unsuspecting sleep-deprived girl. Even my heart flutters a little, and I’m totally immune to him.
“Have Nate set you up,” I tell Luke through another yawn. “He’s got legions of followers.”
My eyes are burning. I’ll just shut them for a bit. Then I’ll…
“Hey, wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”
I open my eyes to find Luke standing above me, an amused smirk on his gorgeous face. I groan and slowly sit up, my joints making popping noises as I stretch. “I wasn’t sleeping,” I mutter.
Luke chuckles at my grumpy tone. “I’m gonna take a shower. If you’re so tired, take a nap in my bed. After you wake up, we can grab something to eat. Sound good? Andi?”
“What?” I keep my eyes unnaturally wide. “Yeah, whatever. Did you take your pain meds?”
“Are you kidding? Alcohol and pills don’t mix.” With a wink, Luke starts walking away, throwing over his shoulder, “Get some sleep!”
Yeah, like it’s that easy. Grumbling to myself, I slowly get to my feet. I would love to fall face first onto the sofa, but I need to clean up in here a little. There’s not a whole lot I can do without any cleaning products, though. I toss the bottles in the trash and use towels from the bar to sweep up the glass. Then I drag myself to Luke’s room to assess the damage.
No mess, thank god. But look at that absolutely decadent king-sized bed. The covers are turned town, and the snowy white sheets call to me. I have to see if the mattress is as comfortable as it looks. I’ll just sit on it for a few seconds because I’m dying to know.
Heaven. It’s like sitting on angels. Damn it, I don’t care if Luke had sex on this bed. I am freaking tired. I’ll just sleep above the covers. I’ll worry about…zzz…
I wake up degree by degree to a dark room. I am so supremely comfortable that it takes me a while to realize I’m half-lying on someone, my hand resting on a warm bare chest and one leg slung across a hip. Strong arms are wrapped around me, trapping me against his side.
I realize immediately who it is, though I have never been in his arms like this before. I know his soap and sun scent. Who else is it gonna be—the maid? Ugh, I can’t believe he climbed into bed with me.
This is awkward. I gently try to extract myself from his embrace without waking him. He mumbles incoherent protests, and tightens his hold on me.
“Luke, let go,” I whisper, struggling to disentangle myself. God, his arms are like steel bands. Ooh.
Nope. Can’t enjoy it.
“Mmm, don’t go,” he murmurs huskily, still asleep. “I’ve finally got you in my bed.”
Hm. I wonder who he thinks I am. I pinch his side and he grunts, finally letting go and rolling over the other way. Relieved, I scoot off the bed, falling to the floor in my urgency to get away from my half naked boss.
I cannot believe that just happened. The last time I slept in the same bed as someone else was two years ago, with Bran—my traitorous ex. And I’ve never been a cuddler. In fact, I’ve been told that I kick and punch in my sleep. I never believed it until Bran set up a camera, and aimed it at our bed to catch me in the act. In the video, I can be seen shoving and pushing at him, lying sideways so I can kick him completely off the bed. That explained the fresh bruises he would always sport in the morning.
Oh, well. I find a bottled water and some aspirin and leave it on the night table for Luke, just in case. I grab my backpack from the living room and lug it into the bathroom with me. A long hot shower sounds like just the thing to clear my foggy head.
I take my time in there, but Luke is still fast asleep when I come out. Look at him. He’s too beautiful to be real, with his face half illuminated by the soft glow coming from the bathroom light. The reckless smirk he usually wears is gone, and he actually looks kind of sweet and almost vulnerable. His long dark lashes touch the top of his cheeks and his sharply defined lips are parted as he breathes deeply, in and out. Cute. Sometimes it hits me that I’m one of the privileged few that get to see Lucas Greyson in his unguarded moments. It’s crazy to think how many people would literally kill to be this close to him. The thing is, even when you get to know him, he’s still larger than life. Even if he wasn’t famous, he’d still be important. Some people are just
born magnetic and fascinating, the way others are born predisposed to diabetes and cellulite.
I make myself leave before I start ogling his boxer-clad body. I’m only human, after all. This guy is a work of art, and I’m just appreciating it. It would be a crime not to.
I text Ivan to let him know that the situation’s been defused, and that I need to get back home as soon as possible. He calls me back fifteen minutes later, thanking me profusely. I start to feel like I’m kind of amazing, especially when he tells me I can hitch a ride on a client’s private jet. I love private jets. They are the only way to fly, in my humble opinion.
I stand at the foot of the bed, admiring Luke one last time before I go. I’ve mostly learned to ignore his looks, but sometimes—when he smiles, or when the light hits him just right…he just takes my breath away. Platonically speaking, of course.
I write him a note so he doesn’t freak out when he wakes up and finds me gone. Then I give myself a pat on the back for a job well done.
Goodbye, Paris. It’s been weird.
Chapter 3
I am in a good mood. I just took my last final today, and I’m pretty sure I aced it. Now I’m on my way home and I’ve got serious plans to devour all the contents of the giant food basket Luke and Nate sent me as a congratulations. It’s filled with my favorite snacks, and I will eat them all as I watch screener copies of movies that haven’t even been released yet. Another perk of working for a celebrity.
I live in a decent apartment complex twenty minutes from campus. With what Luke is (over) paying me, I could afford better, but I’m saving my money for the business I’m eventually going to start. I’m not too clear on what kind of business I want to own but I figure by the time I graduate, I’ll have developed a more concrete plan.
My one bedroom apartment suits me just fine. The complex is cheaply made, but well-maintained. I live on the third floor and I have a good-sized balcony where I used to sit outside and do my homework—until the neighbor across from me decided to take a smoke break whenever I went out there. And he’d talk to me. And talk. And hit on me. Once, when I was trying to study for an exam—and he would not shut the hell up and leave—I got so frustrated that I threw my calculator at him. I did not know he was a bleeder. I don’t go out there anymore, and neither does he. It’s kind of a shame, but what can you do?
Anyway. Guess what I’m doing this summer? That’s right: I’m going on vacation at a private island in the Caribbean! Luke will probably make me swim with sharks (again) and juggle fire—but I don’t even care. I’m going to embrace new experiences this summer. I’m also going to be a nicer person. This summer will be the renaissance of Anderson Kelly.
I change into comfortable clothes and lug my food basket over to my bed. The movie is already rolling on my laptop. Oh, shoot. I suddenly remember that I turned my phone off before I took my final. I switch it back on and notice that I have a missed call from Oregon, and a text from Luke. I ignore the missed call and open the text.
Hey, good news. Eyan and Rob are joining us for the summer. Call u later with the details.
I frown down at my phone. I only met Luke’s co-stars from the Soul series a couple of times, and they seem pretty cool. The trouble is, whenever Luke is around his Hollywood friends, he becomes subtly different. Like he’s always “on,” always that charming and exciting guy that the public knows and loves. When it’s just him, Nate, and me he’s much more chill, and not afraid to show his goofy side. He can veg out for hours with us watching movies on the couch, or playing stupid video games. But when he’s with those guys—he’s still himself, but he can’t fully relax. I guess there’s a lot of pressure to maintain a glamourous image when all eyes are on you. It’s one of the reasons I’ve always refused to attend industry functions with Luke. I’m doing him a favor—I could ruin his career just by opening my mouth. I’m…not the nicest person. Hence, the renaissance of—
Who the hell is knocking on my door?!
I never get visitors. I hate visitors, especially when I’m trying to relax. I glance down at myself to make sure I’m presentable. The worn shorts and t-shirt I’m wearing have no obvious holes or stains on them, and that’s as good as it’s gonna get. I roll off my bed and trudge reluctantly to the door.
I accidentally throw it open with too much force; then when I see who’s standing there, I immediately slam it shut.
It’s Bran, my ex-boyfriend.
Are you kidding me?
A timid knock sounds at my door. Taking a deep breath, I open it a few inches, wedging my body in the crack, and glare at him. He’s even thinner than before but he still looks skater boy good, with his messy brown hair and friendly blue-gray eyes. I just now notice that he’s on crutches, and there’s a clunky cast on his right leg.
“Hey, Andi,” he says finally, nervous with my continued hostile silence. “I’m sorry to drop in on you out of the blue like this. I tried calling, but…”
He trails off, nervously rubbing the back of his neck with one hand while expertly balancing his weight on the crutches. A sigh leaks out of me. This is not what I wanted to do today or…ever.
“What do you want?”
“I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, cheeks flushing. “Is it—can I come in? I really need to talk to you.”
I give him in an unenthusiastic look, but I stand to the side and wave him in. I look around outside before shutting the door. “Did you come alone?” I ask suspiciously.
“Yeah, it’s just me.”
“How did you get all the way here with that cast on? Did you drive?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, and it wasn’t easy.”
I eye him warily as he studies my glaringly empty apartment. I have no furniture in the living room, or in my little dining alcove. I have the table and chair out on the balcony. I have an office chair in my room, but Deadeye Jones—my sock monkey and longtime bedmate—is occupying it at the moment.
“Nice place,” Bran lies, taking in all the nothing.
I feel like he thinks I’m pathetic because having no furniture equals to having no life. Suddenly, I can’t stand for him to be in my apartment, judging me.
“I don’t really have anywhere for us to sit,” I say. “Why don’t we go somewhere else? There’s a coffee shop just around the corner; we could talk there.”
“Okay,” he instantly agrees, looking relieved. He probably thinks I’m less likely to do anything violent in public. He’s right.
No, I can’t trip him going down the stairs. I can’t. I mean I could, but I won’t. I watch him skillfully navigate the steps, but then I have to walk away to avoid temptation. I can’t believe how he still looks the same. Two years isn’t actually all that long, but…I don’t know. It’s weird to see him looking almost just how I remember him. He should have grown a bushy beard and a beer belly.
The polite thing to do would be to offer to drive him to the coffee place, but I’m not polite. If he can drive from Eugene to here with a broken leg, he can make it a block. I’m annoyed to see that he’s still got his blue Civic. He’s had that heap since high school. It doesn’t look any worse for wear, but then Bran’s always taken good care of his possessions. Just not his girlfriends.
I realize my mistake when I pull into the crowded parking lot of Sweet’s Coffeehouse. A car parked in the front magically pulls out for my ex, but I have to circle the area like a shark waiting for a spot to open up.
Bran is standing on the sidewalk in front of Sweet’s, patiently waiting for me. I stride up to him, my arms crossed in a defensive posture. I swiftly survey the area. The indoor and outdoor seating areas are full of happy chatty people.
“Let’s sit over there,” I say, gesturing to a brick planter to the side of the building. There’s no one nearby, and it’s shaded by fat green bushes. “I’ll get our orders. You want the usual?”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize how familiar I’m being, like we’re still a couple. “Whatever that is,” I amend, angrily push
ing back a lock of hair that escaped my bun.
I can tell Bran notices my slip but pretends not to. “Iced caramel, like always,” he says with a gentle smile. Then he fumbles in his shorts pockets for something. “I have cash on me, somewhere.”
“I got it,” I snap.
I’m glad for the interminably long line inside. It gives me time to sort my emotions. I’m still furious! It’s like his betrayal happened just yesterday. I find myself reliving that moment when I walked into the bedroom I shared with Bran, and discovered him and Megan having frantic sex on my bed.
My hands clench into fists at the memories. I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t think I can sit down with him and have a civilized conversation without wanting to punch him in his skater boy face. Two years is a long time to hold on to a grudge, I try to tell myself.
I want to text Luke and Nate to ask for their advice, but then I come to my senses. They would give me boy advice, which would be to punch him in the face. The only other person I text on a regular basis is my little cousin, Talon. And he likes Bran, so he may or may not advise me to punch him in the face. He’s a nine year old boy, and a big fan of violence.
By the time I’ve placed and collected my order, I’ve calmed down a bit. I’m going to be cool about this, because to be anything else would mean I still care. I don’t, but I have this insatiable thirst for revenge. Just in case, I get a soda instead of my usual hot chocolate. Don’t want the temptation of a hot beverage just begging to be dumped onto someone’s crotch.
“Thanks, Andi,” Bran says gratefully when I thrust his drink at him.
I keep a respectable distance between us. It annoys me that my body remembers him and wants to occupy the space right next to him, simply out of habit. I am by no means a touchy person, but Bran is, and he sort of got me used to having his warmth close by.
“How did you know where I live?” I blurt out while he’s taking a sip of his drink.
Bran chokes a little. He coughs and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before answering me. “Uh, Susan told me. I hope that’s okay. I—uh, how have you been?”
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