by Maggie Marr
“Maybe we could go out this week,” Amanda said. “Grab some dinner?”
“Uh… sure.” I was surprised by the invite. “I’d love that.” I missed palling around with good girlfriends, and while Amanda seemed in a completely different league than me as far as beauty and class, and well, just everything, she also seemed to genuinely like me and I thought she seemed nice.
“Have fun tonight,” she said and drifted off toward her superstar friend Zoey.
“I know, right,” Taylor said. “It all seems a little unreal.”
“It does.” My eyes glanced around the room, taking in all the famous faces that I recognized from film and TV. I now knew that even the faces I didn’t recognize at this party worked in entertainment too.
“I mean, my entire world is so different. Who would ever believe I would be living with Dillon MacAvoy and going to a party with Zoey Collin?”
Taylor coughed on his beer. He shoved his fisted hand in front of his mouth and cleared his throat. “You live with Dillon?” He tilted his head like he wanted to be certain of what I said.
Of course that sounded weird and strange. “Not like live with, I just… I didn’t have a place to stay and when the gig at CTA fell through, well, Choo”—I nodded to where Choo and Jackson stood across the room, speaking to a cute-looking couple—“offered me the job and I took it. They wanted me in the house because Dillon is getting so many offers.”
“Any possibility that Choo’s brother Dillon is gay too?”
“Hardly.” I rolled my gaze toward the ceiling and shook my head.
The memory from last night of Dillon having sex with that girl in the backyard flashed in my mind. I glanced at Taylor, thankful he couldn’t read the thoughts in my mind.
“You two aren’t…” Taylor let his words trail off like he didn’t want to have to ask.
“Me and Dillon?” I wasn’t something that Dillon wanted. He tolerated my presence because he needed a reader. I was disposable. “We’re nothing,” I said. “Choo’s my friend and I read for Dillon. That’s all.”
“I like that,” Taylor said.
Even with this really gorgeous guy smiling at me, I still couldn’t get Dillon MacAvoy out of my mind. Taylor’s fingers ran over the edge of my wrist. The touch was soft and felt… nice.
“Let me get you another drink,” he said.
I handed him my empty glass. Taylor walked to the bar. He was so good-looking, tall, and muscular. He had golden hair and his skin was a golden-tan color. Girls looked at him when he went by; he was definitely that kind of guy. His smile was megawatt with ultra-white teeth and bright blue eyes. His whole face lit up when he smiled. And he was nice. I sighed. But it wasn’t a good sign when I didn’t feel anything when his fingertips touched my wrist.
Taylor shot that brilliant smile at me and I returned his smile. Maybe I could learn to like Taylor as more than a friend? I didn’t have much experience with dating. That could happen? Right? Maybe I could build some sort of fire between us. I thought was Taylor nice and cute. Nice and cute was good, it was safe, it was so very different than what I felt when I was with Dillon. The fire I felt around Dillon was only something that could hurt me and burn me and wouldn’t give me the gentle warmth I needed.
Choo was suddenly beside me. “He is so hot.” Choo nodded over his glass toward Taylor. "And nice."
I nodded. “He is.”
“Did you know his uncle—”
“Is Steve Legend.”
Taylor chatted with his cousin Sterling on the far side of the room.
“He races bikes,” Choo said. “So sexy. He hasn’t had a serious girlfriend in like a year and—”
“Where did you get all this information?” I turned to Choo.
“Girl, I dig,” Choo said and tilted his chin. “If I’m going to be an agent, I have got to know how to collect the dirt.”
Choo would make a great agent.
“So what are we thinking about Mr. Biker Boy,” Choo asked. He leaned his head toward mine and we both checked out Taylor.
“We’ll have to see,” I said. A sinking sensation dropped through my chest. Taylor was nice and I liked him, but not in the way he wanted. I could tell already. There was no pounding in my chest, no fiery ache between my legs—no need—no want. Maybe I was just too internally messed up to actually fall for a good guy. Maybe I had deep-seated abandonment issues or a lack of self-confidence—who knew?—but whatever the hell it was, something made me want a guy I shouldn’t have, a guy who the night before had sex with a girl other than me under my bedroom balcony. I shivered. Dillon wasn’t good for me, he wasn’t good for my future, but I wanted him.
Taylor and I might become friends, but I didn’t think that this would become more. There was just no spark, no thrill, when he looked at me. My heart already knew. Taylor was a good guy, but he wasn’t Dillon MacAvoy.
Chapter 13
Dillon
“Man, Steve Legend is in love with your ass.” Webber practically yelled into my ear. “I just got off the phone with Steve’s agent. The guy loves you. What the hell did you do?”
I yanked open the door to the Pampered Pup and nodded toward the owner, Allison. She smiled and waved and then turned down the dog-food aisle. I walked past the chew toys—Allison would have already put a couple of bones in the care package. I stopped in front of a rack of leashes.
“Nothin’ man, we just totally hit it off. Shot the shit, talked about his movies and making movies. It was pretty awesome.”
“He’s approved you. Now all we got to get is Kiley.”
“I hear she can be tough,” I said and grabbed a bright blue leash from the rack.
“Tough?” Webber’s tone indicated the word was an understatement. “She’s a crazy-ass bitch. But you have to meet with her. Aside from Legend, she’s the biggest actor on the project. I mean, it’s his and Fabian’s decision. She doesn’t have to like you, but it would help.”
I pulled a matching blue collar off the rack. It was the right size for a lab.
“I hear she’s banging Legend,” Webber said.
“Man, that can’t be right,” I said. “He’s like sixty and she’s what? Twenty? Twenty-two?”
“He’s still got the goods.” Webber chuckled. “I should be so lucky at his age. Hell, at my age!”
“Legend is married,” I said. “I met his wife.”
“Who you might have noticed is about the same age as Kiley, or at least she was five years ago when she and Legend got hitched.”
I shook my head. Why bother? Why get married if it wasn’t for forever and you were just going to sleep around? What was the point? I walked to the counter and set the leash and collar down.
“Mr. Legend does, in fact, like his ladies young. I hear Kiley actually went to high school with Legend’s daughter.”
“Ouch,” I said.
“Okay, enough gossip. You want the good stuff, call Boom Boom. She knows everything about everyone. She even knows some shit about me that I don’t know.”
I laughed out loud at that comment.
“Negotiations start today. Good job with Legend.”
“Go get ’em, my man,” I said and pressed the Off button on my phone. I slipped it into my jeans and tapped my knuckle on the counter. I hoped to get Allison’s attention. Where was she? I turned and walked toward the pet-food aisle where I’d noticed Allison disappear. I turned the corner.
The breath whooshed from my lungs and a hot thrill chased up my spine.
I’d know that ass anywhere.
The golden-colored legs. The caramel-colored hair that fell beside her face. The pug nose that tipped out. The pout of a mouth. The obscene denim short shorts that made me hard by showing off the under-curve of her tight ass. I hadn’t seen Lane in nearly a week. We e-mailed. We texted. Always about scripts. Only about scripts. I hadn’t seen her since the morning she found her Jeep. The morning after the night before, when Lane had watched me, when she’d watched me have sex with an
other girl. A girl I didn’t want. A girl I'd been with only because I couldn't have Lane.
“Hey, Dillon,” Allison said in her breezy voice. She tucked a strand of her short gray hair behind her ear. Lane turned away from the giant bag of dog food she was trying to lift. She caught me in her blue gaze.
“Allison,” I said.
“I didn’t know you were coming by,” Lane said. Her gaze drifted over me. “Mathilde said the guys needed food and—”
“And Lane didn’t know that we deliver to your place when you call us.” Allison dropped her gaze to the blue leash that I held in my hand. “Oh,” she said and pressed her hand to her heart, “you got another one today?”
I nodded.
“Give me the address for the care package and it’ll be waiting for them at the house.”
I fished a scrap of paper out of my jeans pocked and handed it to Allison. Lane’s head tiled with a curious look in her face.
“I’ll take care of it,” Allison said.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You’re taking the leash and collar with you?”
“Yeah.” I reached out and handed them to Allison so she could add them to my bill. She took both and scurried toward the counter, and I turned my gaze back to Lane. She twisted a lock of that caramel-colored hair between two fingers and shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
“Guess I’ll go,” Lane said. “Allison said they’ll have this bag delivered to the house.”
I nodded and hitched my thumbs in the loops of my jeans. I didn’t know what to say to her or how to say it. I was just an actor—people wrote my words for me. I couldn’t begin to explain to Lane how this desire for her wrapped in my gut like barbed wire and tugged, or how try as I might, I couldn’t get rid of her face or the scent of her hair or those damn blue eyes. I couldn’t find the words in my throat to say it.
“Okay,” Lane said. “Maybe I’ll see you back at the house.”
She walked toward me and her shoulder brushed past me. I reached out my hand and grabbed her arm. We both locked our gazes to each other.
“Go with me,” I said. My voice was soft and thick like the words were almost painful to get out of my mouth. There was a reflection of all the emotions I felt in Lane’s eyes. “Please come with me.”
She nodded. Silent. But aware of my need.
Lane
We exited Pampered Pup and Dillon held the door for me.
“Where’s your Jeep?” he asked.
“I walked.”
“What it is it with you and the walking?” He slipped his aviator sunglasses over his eyes. “We’ll take my bike.” He nodded toward a sleek creation of chrome and black steel. I wasn’t a motorcycle fan. In fact, I had managed to avoid riding one until just this minute.
The wicked smile that seemed to permanently inhabit Dillon’s face whenever he discovered something new about me was once again there, reflecting back to me my naiveté, my innocence, my very Kansas-type quality.
“Don’t worry, Dorothy,” he said, all slow words and sexy tones. “I’ll take care of you.”
The want that slid through me when I was with Dillon shivered up my spine. The very idea of Dillon MacAvoy taking care of me and all that might entail was enough for desire to thrum over every inch of my skin.
He walked to the rocket on wheels and pulled a helmet from the back of the bike. “See, already protecting you.”
I grabbed the helmet. Dillon straddled the bike. The outline of his thighs, thick with muscle, pressed through his jeans. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from watching him handle the bike. How he mounted it and pulled hard on the handlebars and made this machine be a part of him. He turned to me and just that—him astride a giant engine with wheels—almost turned me to a puddle on the sidewalk.
“Get on,” he growled.
I pulled the helmet over my head and threw my leg over the bike. There was only one place to hold on. My heart hammered hard in my chest with the realization that I would need to grasp Dillon. Not only grasp, but hold on to him as though my life depended on it, which it did. I pulled tight to him and slid into him. The tenderest parts of my body pressed up against his smooth wall of a back. Through the flimsy material of his T-shirt and my T-shirt, my breasts felt the very pressure of his skin, the heat radiating from his body, the curve of his broad, muscled back. A hot tingle rolled through my body with this machine beneath me and Dillon in front of me and between my legs. He kicked the bike and it roared to life.
“Where are we going,” I yelled over the wind. He either didn’t hear me or chose to ignore me because instead of an answer, he pulled on the throttle, accelerated around a curve, and blew past a Prius and an Audi. He zipped around a city bus and I clasped him tighter around the chest.
I felt a low laugh rumble through him. He slowed for a red light and turned his head over his shoulder toward me. “Not an adrenaline junkie, I see.”
“No, I like adrenaline,” I said. “I just don’t want to die on the streets of L.A.”
Again that low laugh. The laugh that made heat spiral through my belly.
“Not much farther,” he said. He pulled past the Beverly Center and into the parking garage across the street. He grabbed a spot near the door to Cedars-Sinai.
“Is someone sick?” I asked.
He slid from the bike and my body missed his nearness. The warmth of him pressed to my chest. I slipped the helmet from my head.
His face looked harder, nearly sad, as though he didn’t want to do whatever waited for him inside this hospital but a solid have-to-do attitude sealed around his entire frame.
“Someone is always sick,” Dillon said. He waited for me beside the automatic hospital doors. We went inside and walked toward the elevator. When we got to the pediatric floor, a woman in a blue nurse’s uniform stood beside the elevators.
“Dillon!” she said. She hugged him and a smile deep with gratitude broke over her face. “Thanks for coming by.”
“No problem.” He slid his eyes toward me. “This is my friend, Lane.”
“I’m Sheryl.” She reached out and shook my hand. A yellow lab sat obediently by her side. He wore a blue service vest around his chest. “And this is Brokaw,” she said and patted his head.
“May I?” I asked before reaching down to give Brokaw pat. Even I knew that you weren’t supposed to pat a service dog that was on duty without asking its master. Sheryl nodded and I gave him some pats on the head. His tail wagged back and forth across the linoleum floor, but he kept his body still.
“You’re a good boy,” I whispered to him.
I followed Sheryl and Dillon down the hall, past room after room after room. I hated hospitals. Every hospital smelled the same. With a whiff of the antiseptic, the memories of last fall clattered into my mind. I’d spent a giant chunk of time with my hand clasped into my mother’s while there was test after test and procedure after procedure. I bit my bottom lip and forced the memories out of my mind. Instead, I focused on following Brokaw and Sheryl and Dillon down the long hall with pink-and-yellow polka-dotted elephants painted on the walls.
“This is it,” Sheryl said. She handed the leash to Dillon.
I watched him pull a giant smile from out of nowhere—this wasn’t a place where smiles were easy. He walked into the room with Brokaw. Sheryl and I followed a few steps behind.
In the bed was the cutest kid. His mom sat beside him while his dad stood between the bed and the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. His mom looked up and her eyes were just filled with sadness. Dark circles hung beneath her eyes. His father’s shoulders sagged, and his cheeks looked sunken with defeat.
“Hey, Matty, I’m Dillon.” He reached out his hand to the kid, who couldn’t be much older than nine.
Matty’s skin was yellowish and he didn’t have any hair. He was so sick. I could see it. I could feel it. The whole room just held this unshakeable sadness.
“And this is Brokaw,” Dillon said, and as if on cue, Brokaw ju
mped up onto Matty’s bed.
“A dog!” Matty said and his whole face lit up, just exploded with joy.
I clenched my jaw because it took everything inside me not to cry. I mean, here was this little kid that to me looked like he might die, and he was suddenly so happy over having a visit from a dog. I looked at his mom and her eyes were just wet, like she could barely hold it together, but she fought hard and there was a smile on her face. His dad actually turned away and I saw him squeeze his fingertips to his eyes.
“He’s a great dog,” Dillon said and sat on the corner of the bed. Brokaw was up near Matty and settled right beside him, and he was careful of the tubes coming out of Matty’s arms, almost like he knew.
“So listen, Matty, I was wondering if you could take care of Brokaw for me?”
Matty’s face lit even brighter. He looked to his mom and his dad and they both nodded yes. Matty beamed at Dillon and started to speak, but then his smile froze, his lips turned down. His eyes filled with a deep worry, a worry that no kid at nine should know. He looked at Brokaw and gently stroked him, then Matty looked at his bed.
Dillon leaned toward him. “Matty, man? What’s wrong?”
Matty peered up at Dillon, his mouth fixed like a little man with a big responsibility. “I want to take care of Brokaw,” he whispered, “I really do, but… I’m sick.” He took a long, hard breath. “And, well, I can’t promise you how long I can take care of him.”
I pressed my lips together. I couldn’t—I could barely breathe.
Dillon’s smile stayed fixed on Matty’s face, but I could see him fighting, his eyes looked red-rimmed, and he was doing everything he could not to lose it. He reached his hand to Brokaw and patted him too.
“Matty, don’t you worry about it. I am always here for you and for Brokaw. If you need to, you can call me or your mom or dad can call me and I’ll help take care of him. But for now, I think being with you is the best place for him.”
Matty’s smile burst out again. “I love him already.”
Dillon smiled and stood from the bed. “I know you do.” He hugged Matty and then, while Dillon shook hands with Matty’s parents, I waved good-bye to them and scooted from the room. Sheryl dug a tissue from her pocket and handed it to me as I exited. I held it together until I got into the hall.