by Maggie Marr
What if that girl had been me?
My body tingled with the idea of Dillon’s hands grasping my waist, the idea of Dillon’s hard body pressed into me, the idea of him moaning my name, of me being the reason that his face contorted and his body crushed forward with desperate need.
Kong licked my cheek. “Okay, okay,” I mumbled. I pressed my fingertips to my eyes and scrubbed the images from my brain. Scorsese and Spielberg were already prancing around the bedroom door when I finally sat up.
I plodded into the kitchen, thankful that Mathilde always set the coffee pot for the morning. I grabbed a to-go cup and poured coffee into my mug. Choo wasn’t home. I’d gotten a text from him late last night that he was staying at Jackson’s, which meant I was home alone with Dillon and possibly his overnight guest. I grabbed the four leashes. The fellas and I would walk to Runyon today. Hopefully we’d be away long enough for Dillon to get that girl gone.
I walked out of the garage door and stopped. Bernie rolled his head toward me as if to ask “What’s up?”
“My Jeep!” I said and darted toward the bucket of bolts that was worth next to nothing, but was the most precious thing I owned. The value was not in the money but in the mobility it provided and the sentimentality of my mom and me picking it out together. I ran my hand along the side of the hood. My Jeep was cleaner. And the tires were . . . newer? I opened the driver’s side door and popped the hood. I peeked over the engine.
There was a new air filter, new plugs, and a new timing belt. I guessed that the oil had been changed too. I slammed shut the hood of my vehicle. I wasn’t keen on taking any type of handout. I already felt like a mooch living in Dillon and Choo’s house and eating their food. Choo assured me this was the most convenient setup for Dillon since he was filming back-to-back all summer.
I chewed the inside corner of my mouth. This… this was exactly the type of thing that created so much confusion in me about Dillon. Last night he slept with some random girl outside my bedroom window, and today not only has he found my Jeep, but he’d also had it detailed, delivered, and overhauled. I glanced toward the house and the upstairs window I knew was Dillon’s. I couldn’t figure him out.
Why try?
Our interactions seemed random. It wasn’t necessary for me to decipher his mercurial moods. I pulled open the driver’s door and before I could pull the seat forward, Scorsese and Spielberg jumped up, climbed over the console, and settled in the back seat. Bernie flashed me a look that seemed to say “I need some help with this.”
“Okay, buddy, no problem. But you have to work with me.” Bernie weighed a ton. I’d never lifted him, but I knew how heavy he was because he slept beside me and was a bed hog. I often had to try to scoot this big boy over in the middle of the night. I walked around to the passenger side and opened the door. Bernie put his front paws on the seat and I wrapped my arms around his middle. “Okay, boy, we got this.” I lifted and Kong barked. Bernie scrabbled his paws forward across the seat. “Bernie, you’ve got to cut back on the food,” I huffed.
“I got it.”
The deep voice was like soft sandpaper on wood. My skin prickled. His bare shoulder brushed by me as he leaned in, picked up Bernie, and set him on the seat.
He turned to me. He didn’t have on a shirt. We were inches apart. He was as close as he’d been the night before, but anger wasn’t rolling off him. The heat was still there, the chemistry that curled between us. His face didn’t move, he didn’t smile, but his eyes studied my face. They held something—something like a little boy who expected to be scolded. There was pain, and sadness, and want, and something so… so… broken.
I fought my urge to lean into him, to place my hands on his chest and rest my head under his chin. I had a compelling, indescribable want for him. Even with last night still fresh in my mind, I wasn't angry. We weren't together, had never been together. The Dorothy comment at Area hurt me much more than seeing him with that girl.
“Thank you for my car,” I whispered.
“You’re welcome.” His gaze dropped to my mouth.
“I’ll”—my eyes darted past him—“I’ll pay you back.” My chin jutted forward. I felt wobbly standing so near him. The scent of him washed over me. His body—I needed to feel stronger, not so lost, when I was next to him.
“Don’t,” he said. “Please.” He reached out and his fingertips brushed against the back of my hand. I shut my eyes and my tongue licked over my lip. How could such a tiny touch cause such a powerful response?
Kong hopped up on the seat. He twirled and whined.
“I have to go.” I stepped back away from his magnetism. “Kong won’t wait.” I pretended that his touch didn’t matter. I pretended that I didn’t feel the surge of energy between us. I pretended that—God help me—I just didn’t care.
*
Runyon, on a Saturday at seven a.m., was full of hard-core fitness people—not my peeps. I liked a good run, maybe a hike or a swim, but I definitely wasn’t a sporty girl. In fact, being a reader was a perfect gig for me, but today I wanted the exercise. I wanted to clear my mind of all that had happened over the last twenty-four hours. I didn’t want to think of the club, or the girl, or my Jeep, or the tingling sensation flicking over my skin when Dillon pressed close to me. I needed to sweat and exercise and suck in clean air and sunshine, because those things I knew would clear my head.
I unsnapped Kong and Bernie’s leashes and let them sniff. Scorsese and Spielberg whined.
“Guys, you got to run free yesterday,” I said and patted them each on the head. “It’s their turn.”
They seemed to understand my words and fell into step beside me and behind Bernie and Kong. We made quite a quintet, me with the pups. After taking the dogs to Runyon every morning around this time for over a week, I was starting to see some familiar faces and even getting some smiles and nods. I turned the first bend and kept pumping my arms, fighting hard to keep up with Kong’s pace. Bernie didn’t need to work too hard—he had four long legs to Kong’s short ones. Scorsese and Spielberg were holding back. They were so filled with energy that if I let them off their leashes, they’d bound up to the top of Runyon Canyon in minutes.
I made another turn. I spotted Bernie, but no Kong. I crinkled my eyebrows. Bernie stood just to the side of the trail next to a giant bush that grew out of some flat rocks with ledges. His big brown-and-white tail wagged when he saw me.
Adrenaline surged and my stomach bottomed out. I didn’t like seeing Bernie without Kong. Kong was little. If Bernie, Scorsese, or Spielberg got bit by a rattler, they had a fifty-fifty shot, but Kong? His body was too little to survive a snakebite.
“Kong?” I called. Panic laced my voice. I stepped carefully through the bush toward the rocks. “Kong!” I yelled louder.
“You call this guy Kong?”
I whipped around. A tall guy with sun-kissed hair held Kong in his arms. His smile was huge and a girl could fall into his dimples. He scrunched his eyebrows together and scratched Kong’s belly.
“You must have an awesome sense of humor.” He looked around at my dog pack. “And a deep-seated affection for dogs.”
A smile spread across my face. “My boss has the love of dogs, not sure about his sense of humor.”
He settled Kong onto the ground. He was lithe and lean with the hint of a well-built body beneath his T-shirt and shorts. His arms were well muscled and his skin a light bronze.
“Taylor.” He held out his hand. “I think I’ve seen you here before.”
“My name’s Lane. And maybe,” I said and was, like always when speaking to a member of the opposite sex, thankful for my sunglasses. “We come here every morning about this time.”
“Then it is you. The gorgeous girl with the dog pack.”
A blush burst across my face. I didn’t think I was gorgeous, but it was certainly nice to hear a guy say it. Especially a guy with a smile like Taylor’s. Kong pranced, weaving a figure eight around my legs. Finally he looked up at us and
let out a little bark.
“Sorry,” I said and glanced at Taylor. “He doesn’t like it when we stop.”
“Now I see who’s in charge.” Taylor leaned down and petted Kong. Kong walked right into his hand. The other three circled, looking for their piece of the attention that Taylor was doling out.
“Affectionate bunch,” he said from his squatting position. Spielberg jumped up and planted his front paws on Taylor’s chest. Taylor fell back and Spielberg gave him a jumbo lick. “Very affectionate.” Taylor rubbed Spielberg’s head and jumped to his feet. He dusted off the back of his shorts with his hands. “Mind if I walk with you to the top?”
I tilted my head and checked him out. He seemed nice and all the dogs liked him. “Sure.”
I could use the company. After the last week, it would be nice to spend time with a guy who smiled and seemed to think I was good-looking and funny. As we walked, he laughed at my jokes. I didn’t feel tense around him. I just enjoyed walking with him and the dogs.
“Great view, isn’t it?” Taylor said when we got to the top of Runyon.
“Amazing.” The beautiful blue sky was always cloudless and perfect.
“Listen,” Taylor said, his hands on his hips. “I know this is kind of out the blue and you don’t know me, but my roommate and I are having a party tonight.” The sun shone on his blond hair. His smile was charming and his voice was hesitant but hopeful. “Would you like to come?”
“Maybe.” I was a little anxious at the idea of going to a party at a guy’s house I’d never met, but I was living in a house with two guys I barely knew. “Sure, why not.”
“Awesome. Bring a friend if you want.” He pulled out his phone, then looked up at me. “Not that you have to bring a friend. I mean, it’s totally cool if you want to come alone. It’s great, but if you want to bring a friend or more than one friend, that’s okay too.”
He scrunched his eyebrows together and tapped his fingers to his forehead. “Okay, I am just totally rambling. Lane, please come to my party tonight and bring whoever you want.”
“Okay.” I smiled. “I don’t have a lot of friends in L.A., I just moved here, but I might bring my friend Choo and his boyfriend.”
“Awesome!” Michael said. “Give me your digits.” He pulled out his phone and I rattled off my number to him.
“That number isn’t from here,” he said as he typed in the last digit.
“Nope,” I said and mentally prepared myself for the bit of teasing I would get about being from a fly-over state. “I just moved from Kansas.”
“Great state. I grew up in Missouri.”
I scrunched my eyebrows together. “Seriously?” My eyes roamed from the top of Taylor’s bleach-blond hair to the tips of his toes. He looked like a serious L.A. kind of guy.
“We moved here when I was in high school,” Taylor said. “Been here ever since.”
My heart did a little flip. I wasn’t sure why; maybe because it was nice to meet someone that knew where I was from and understood the Midwest. I liked the idea that Taylor could at least point out the state of Kansas on a map.
Taylor walked the downhill part of the Runyon with me and the boys. When they stopped for their water break, Taylor gave each of them a final pat on the head.
“Okay, I’ll text you the address,” Taylor said. “And I’ll see you tonight.”
He put on a burst of speed and headed back up the hill from where we’d just come. I watched him run. He turned toward me and waved. A giant smile curled over my face.
I was happy that I’d met somebody that didn’t make fun of me or where I was from or give me strange looks or confront me or run hot and then cold. He didn’t seem to like me and then loathe me. Taylor didn’t confuse me. I was happy that Taylor just seemed normal.
Dillon
Boom Boom’s assistant scurried around Boom Boom’s all-white living room. The girl set down a tray of fresh fruit, a carafe of fresh coffee, even scones. She had a wild-eyed look of terror. Of course she did. Even I was afraid of Boom Boom, and I employed her. My eyes flitted across the room to where Boom Boom stood muttering into her headset. She stared out at her view. She wasn’t a good-looking woman. But from what I knew of fashion, she dressed well. Her hair was jet-black and right at her shoulders. She was Asian, so her features had all that went with her nationality, and she was sharp. When Webber signed me as a client, he’d insisted that I hire Boom Boom as a publicist. I hadn’t wanted the added expense, but after checking around, everyone said yes. Hire her. So far, I was more than glad that I had. She turned toward Webber and me. He lounged on a chair and looked to be nursing a bad hangover—his skin was a little green.
“Boom Boom, it’s Saturday,” Webber whined.
“Darling, a publicist never takes a break. My work requires me twenty-four seven.” She settled on the chair next to Webber. “Unlike you lazy-ass agents.” She snapped and pointed to her coffee cup. Her assistant jumped forward and filled it.
“So here’s the deal, my beautiful Dillon.” Boom Boom pointed her sharp black eyes at me. “Pictures of you with one Miss Lola Rodriguez will hit the rags at the same time as pictures of you last night with Ashley Weston.” Boom Boom’s wicked smile crawled over her face.
I remembered Lola. She’d been the girl decorating my bike one night. The same night Choo had shown up with Lane. But Ashley? Even though she was from last night, I wouldn’t be able to pick her out if Boom Boom hadn’t slapped a photo of the two of us leaving Area together onto the table. The only face I’d seen was the one I couldn’t have. My jaw clenched tight and I rolled my head to the side, trying to loosen my neck. The face I’d seen while I’d been with Ashley was Lane’s.
Webber bent forward and lifted the pic of the hot model off the table. “You, dude, you bagged that last night?”
I didn’t answer. Two weeks ago, a sneaky grin would have climbed across my face at Webber’s words. Today, I wasn’t proud of last night.
“Webber, wipe the drool off your chin,” Boom Boom ordered. She smiled, but there was no joy in her eyes. She was calculating. Every move she made was planned, and she focused that same crazy attention on her clients. Right now she was focusing that crazy-ass attention onto me.
“So it’s working, darling,” Boom Boom said. She leaned back in her chair and raised her coffee cup to her lips. “Not that it’s a stretch, darling, with your looks, your womanizing, and your”—her eyes roamed over me and I felt like a slab of meat on a hook—“assets.”
I shifted in my seat. That wicked smile again played about her face. My gaze bounced from Boom Boom to Webber.
“When’s his meeting with Steve Legend?” Boom Boom asked Webber without pulling her gaze away from me.
Webber was still ogling the picture of the girl from last night. “Next week. Hey, B,” Webber asked, “you think she’d be interest in an agent?” Webber’s gaze shifted from the picture he held to Boom Boom.
“Ashley has an agent darling,” Boom Boom said. “And a publicist.” She tapped the giant gold pendant that hung from her neck and mouthed the word “me.”
“Right,” Webber said. “I don’t want to rep her, I want to fu—”
Boom Boom tossed her hand into the air to halt Webber’s words. “I know what your disgusting little mind wants.”
“Why isn’t it disgusting when he does it?” Webber whined and nodded his head my direction.
“Because he is my client. Because he doesn’t look over photos as though shopping for a woman at a supermarket.” She turned the full force of her gaze on Webber. “Because he is creating a brand, which will in turn make him a star and all of us an obscene amount of money!” A smile crept across her face. “Right, my darling?”
I suddenly felt a little cheap and a little dirty. I’d been down with this plan, this building an image and building a brand since the first time Webber and Boom Boom had told me what they wanted, what they needed, and why they wanted me.
I was the whole package.
Young. Hot. Talented. Single.
Me they could sell. Sell me to the highest bidder like a piece of overpriced beef. And they had been. I was on movie number three, but nothing had opened yet. Mission Ranger, my first film, my first role, would open next month and that was why Boom Boom wanted me in the mags. She wanted to build awareness of me and my name in the public so when the movie opened and did well, the fans would start to know me. Then the big money offers would roll in.
“You’ll get the role in the Steve Legend film,” Boom Boom said. “I have no doubt. The meeting is a formality.”
“She’s right,” Webber said. “Fabian wants you, Legend wants you—”
“Kiley Kepner wants you too,” Boom Boom said.
Webber screwed up his face. “Did she get it?”
Boom Boom nodded. “Ten minutes before you walked into the room.”
“How do you—” Webber’s phone beeped and interrupted his words. He pulled it from his pocket. “She sure did. Boom Boom, you’re better than Deadline Hollywood.”
“She’s a client,” Boom Boom said and shrugged.
Those three words explained everything.
She nodded toward me. “Go meet Steve.” She pointed a finger toward Webber. “You, negotiate the hell out of the deal.” Her gaze returned to me. “And you”—a sharp black eyebrow pulled upward and she pointed a long red fingernail my way—“you keep banging every hot actress and model you can find.”
Chapter 11
Lane
By the time I got back to the house, Taylor had texted me the details for his party. I spent most of the day avoiding Dillon and reading scripts on my balcony. Choo finally got home around two. He looked tired but happy. He flopped on the lounger on my balcony.