Better than the Book: A Romantic Comedy (Charitable Endeavors Book 4)

by M. E. Carter

Once we’ve swiped our metro cards granting us access to the platform, I release Celeste’s hand and wrap my arm around her shoulders, holding her close. She rests her arm around my waist and peers up at me. Her big blue eyes remind me of the water in Turks and Caicos. Endless and full of possibility.

  “You’re quite affectionate today, Mr. Stone.”

  “Does it bother you?” I ask, worry lacing my question.

  “Not at all. It surprises me a little.”

  Shifting, I drop my arm to give her some space. I’ve never been one for public displays of affection. In my business, you have to worry about always being photographed and some tabloid running the picture with an inaccurate click-bait type headline that most likely ends with my mother calling me to find out what’s going on. With Celeste, I don’t even think of those things. It’s natural to touch her. Besides, we’re in a New York subway. It isn’t exactly like we’re walking the streets of small town USA. And if my mom calls, the truth is easy to explain.

  I like Celeste. A lot. And I’m going to spend as much time with her as I can until my “real life” comes calling.

  “No way, mister,” she scolds, lifting my arm back to her shoulder as she sighs in contentment.

  Feeling like I’m ten feet tall, I relax and hold her to me as the train screeches to a halt in front of us. I step aside to let the masses exit the car, but Celeste isn’t having it, she grabs my hand and drags me through the crowd like a salmon swimming upstream. We barely make it through the doors as they close.

  “You’ve lost your big city edge, Stone. You have to be quicker than that if you want to make your train.”

  We stand, facing one another, holding the railing as the train jerks to life and we zip toward Manhattan. A jolt of anticipation and excitement hits me. When the train stops abruptly, Celeste stumbles forward and like the gentleman I am, I catch her.

  “Hey,” she whispers, looking up at me.

  Instead of answering, I lean down and capture her lips with mine, my left hand gripping her waist while the right holds the metal railing as the train begins to move again. It isn’t a kiss inappropriate for public but still not something I’m used to. When we separate, she burrows into my chest with a smile on her face.

  Our stop comes quickly, and we bound through the doors and rush up the stairs to the street. My heart races and my mind struggles to keep up at the chaos around us. Beautiful chaos. Manhattan is like a world of its own and am honored to visit.

  We begin our walk, once again holding hands. I allow Celeste to lead us, stopping for red lights and crossing at corners even before the light grants us permission. Again, not like Los Angeles at all. Then we turn and I slow my steps.

  “Is it the same?”

  “Yeah,” I say, looking down Broadway. The productions may be different than my years trying to make it here, but the feeling is the same. You can feel the passion and drive rolling out of the crevices of each building.

  “Do you miss it?”

  Turning to face Celeste, and with complete honesty, I say, “More than I realized.”

  We stroll down Broadway as Celeste regales me with her dreams of working on a major production. An aspiration I share. Sure, big budget action flicks are cool and working on a popular television show has its perks, but I haven’t given up my dream of one day returning to the stage. Maybe I’ll be like Daniel Radcliffe or Mark Ruffalo and make a splash on Broadway.

  “Shit!” Celeste exclaims, holding her phone in my face.

  I’m not sure what I’m looking at, so I don’t respond but she does it for me. “I have to be at the rehearsal space in twenty minutes. We need to boogie, Stone.”

  “Lead the way,” I direct as if it’s necessary. My little firecracker is on a mission and while my stride may be longer, she’s fast, that’s for sure.

  She bobs and weaves through the foot traffic and in no time, we’re standing in front of a non-descript building with a glass door. The same door with a handwritten note that reads “No public restroom here. Don’t ask.” Well, okay then.

  Releasing my hand, Celeste shakes her hands beside her body then moves her neck. If I’m not mistaken, she’s bouncing on the balls of her feet. Is she going into the ring to box or to work? At this point I’m not sure.

  Taking a deep breath that she holds for a few beats before exhaling, she grabs the handle of the door and pulls. Going nowhere. That’s a little bit of a letdown after the lead up.

  “Dammit.”

  Pulling out her phone, she lifts it to her ear and says, “Hi. Yes, I know the time. No I’m not late. But I will be if someone doesn’t open the door. Oh. Got it.”

  Tossing the phone in her bag, she turns to me. “Apparently we’re the only ones here today. There’s a door in the alley. Come on.”

  Once we’ve entered the building, I laugh to myself. I think I may have actually had one of my performances at this place back in my day. Or maybe it’s just similar to the small startups I spent too many months working at.

  I step aside, keeping myself in the shadows as a portly man greets Celeste. He’s loud and boisterous and very excited to see my girl. She seems equally as thrilled as she giggles and smacks him in the arm. He pokes his head around her, spotting me against the wall. His eyes narrow as he assesses me. I wait for him to recognize me, but the time never comes.

  Celeste turns to see what he’s looking at and gives me the sweetest smile. Stepping forward, I don’t say anything but accept the hand she’s extended.

  “Manuel, this is my friend. Thank you for letting him hang out for a bit.”

  “It’s a small price to pay for you to save me from working with that she-devil. Hello, I’m Manuel Hernandez and you are…”

  With his hand extended, he pauses, inviting me to introduce myself. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m …” I don’t say my name but turn to face Celeste. We didn’t talk about telling anyone I was in town or coming here. I’d rather not have word get out, but I also have manners.

  “Manuel, you have to promise not to say anything. Do not shout. Do not freak out. And whatever you do, do not tell anyone.”

  Furrowing his brow, Manuel looks to Celeste, never letting go of my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Manuel. I’m Hunter Stone.”

  Barking out a laugh, he releases my hand and smacks me on the arm. “Hilarious. And I’m Sir Anthony Hopkins.”

  Removing my hat I wait for him to stop laughing and realize I’m being truthful. Instead, he goes on. And on. And on. I’m not sure if I should be offended he doesn’t believe I’m me or if I should remember how great this unshaved look works to keep myself unrecognizable.

  “It’s true. This is my friend, Hunter. He’s in town for a few days and trying to keep a low profile. How likely is it that nobody will notice him?”

  Stopping mid laugh, Manuel rights himself and takes a deep breath. “Holy shit. Hunter Stone. Wow. It’s nice to meet you. My kids are huge fans of your show. I can’t say anyone will recognize you. How about a pseudonym? Is there something we can call you? Maybe your real name?”

  Laughing, “Hunter is my real name.”

  “Really? It sounds so…”

  “Hollywood?” I ask, and he nods sheepishly. “Yeah, I know. How about Daniel? It’s my dad’s name.”

  With that decided, Manuel turns toward the stage and pauses. “How would you feel about helping us with some blocking? It’s just the initial crew here and it would help if Celeste and I didn’t have to fill in.”

  “I can do that.”

  With a smack on my shoulder, Manuel leads us across the large room. Like I did in the tropics with Celeste, I feel more relaxed than I have in years.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Celeste

  It’s an odd feeling when you become friends with someone you admire. Or in my case when you start sleeping with your celebrity crush.

  On the one hand, Hunter is just a man. A sweet, shy, generous man with dreams and aspirations I can relate to. In the short time we’ve known
each other, I’ve realized how much we have in common. Not only our love of theater and New York. We both like to sit in quiet while we read and not be distracted by music. Funfetti cake is superior regardless of what others say. And, we both like to snuggle and talk into the late hours with only the moonlight guiding us. Those late night conversations are my favorite.

  Then randomly, I will have a weird moment where I want to fangirl over “Hunter Stone” the television and now movie star of my dreams sitting next to me. I freely admit, watching him assisting Manuel with blocking ideas and getting into character as he read from a script was one of those moments. I was supposed to be getting to know the crew and taking measurements for set design while he assisted Manuel. Instead, I got lost watching Hunter work.

  He was larger than life. Larger than that stage. And I was reminded once again how very different our lives are and for good reason. I have yet to find my footing in this industry while he continued to flourish. His talent and ease were apparent, and I couldn’t stop myself from watching.

  I also couldn’t help the smile that came over me as I did. Thoughts of how lucky I am that he has chosen to spend his time with me. Plus the sex. Woowee the sex is off the charts.

  Now that we’re back at my place, the movie star has once again disappeared, replaced by the regular everyday man who is perched in the corner of our small couch, his feet on my thrift store coffee table while he absentmindedly scrolls through his text messages and scratches his balls. I don’t even think he knows he’s doing it.

  Yep. Just a regular guy. A super-hot regular guy I wouldn’t mind having here forever but a regular guy, nonetheless.

  I’m tucked up on the other side of the couch, reading through my new script and making notes to go over with Manuel tomorrow. We spent six hours at work today with me playing catch-up and Manuel trying to keep things on schedule. There is so much to do if we’re trying to open in the next couple of months.

  I nudge Hunter with my foot. “Not avoiding your phone anymore?”

  He sighs deeply and turns to look at me, releasing his nuts and grabbing my leg instead, stroking it gently. “I figured I should at least let my mother know I’m not dead.”

  “You’ve been scrolling for a while. She really leave you that many messages?”

  He laughs once. “She left me one asking me to call her when I get home, so she knows I made it back okay. But then I saw the millions of messages left by my manager and decided to read them. Bad idea.”

  I grimace. “Is he pissed you’re still here?”

  “He doesn’t know. At least I haven’t told him where I am. I’m not to the end of the messages yet. So far it’s mostly updates on scheduling changes. According to the message left on”—he looks at his phone again—“Monday, there’s been a delay in production.”

  “That’s good, right? It gives you more time?”

  “No idea. That may have changed in the last couple days. I need to keep scrolling to confirm.”

  I give him that look, the one all women give when they think their man needs to stop avoiding and face something head on. Not that he’s my man, per se, but we’ve been playing the role for close to a week, so I think it’s safe to pretend it to be true.

  “Hunter,” I say gently. “Maybe you should just call him and get it over with.”

  He drops his head onto the back of the couch and blows out a breath. Apparently the dramatics aren’t only for the small screen. “I know. I’m just not ready to go back.”

  “So don’t,” I say with a shrug. “Tell him up front you need some more time to rest and then talk through whatever scheduling he has. Need his contact info? I have it right here.” I grab the small binder off the table that has my important lists and several business cards I may need. Pulling Eddie’s out, I wave it playfully Hunter’s direction. “Some random guy gave it to me, but I’ll share with you.”

  “Let me see that.” With a smile, Hunter grabs it out of my hand. “Some guy,” he grumbles with an eyeroll. The memory of him giving me that card is in the forefront of my mind and I wonder if it is in his too. As he looks, his face falls. “Wait a minute.”

  I watch curiously as he opens his phone once again and begins searching for something. Then he laughs humorlessly, and I know he’s found what he’s looking for.

  “Mystery solved.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The response you never got about the interview. You sent the email to the wrong address.”

  Furrowing my brow, I know that can’t be true. “I triple checked that address. Probably quadruple checked before I sent it.”

  “Oh I have no doubt. But Eddie is an idiot who thinks raised ink on his business cards makes him look fancy. Instead, it made the dot between his first and last name rub off.”

  “Give me that.” I snatch the card back out of his hand and sure enough, there is no dot between names. “So this whole time I thought Eddie was just ignoring me when really some other random guy got my email.”

  Hunter nods slowly. “It seems that way. Makes me wonder how many opportunities I’ve missed because of this damn card. Also makes me wonder who keeps getting the messages and what he thinks.”

  With a vigor he hasn’t had when it comes to his Samsung since, well, not ever that I’ve seen, he opens it once again and dials. It doesn’t take long for the tongue-lashing to begin. “Eddie… yeah it’s me. Yes, I’m fine. No I haven’t been kidnapped. Eddie… Eddie… stop talking, Eddie, and listen for a second. You need to get some new business cards.”

  I can’t help my giggle. Of all things to finally motivate Hunter to get back to life, it’s a missing dot.

  “I told you the raised ink was a bad idea. No… Yes… I’m looking at the card right here. There’s no dot…”

  I tune out their conversation and get back to my note taking. The script is good and entertaining. Not that there is any question since it’s been picked up by a production company. Regardless, my eyes wander to the table where my own unfinished screenplay sits. I can’t figure out why the story isn’t coming together, nor can I figure out why I have no interest in figuring it out. I haven’t touched it since the flight to the wedding. Even then, I spent most of the time correcting my punctuation more than anything. Writer’s block is a terrible thing. I don’t know how authors do it.

  No matter. The screenplay is a dream and I have a job to do. The stage can’t manage itself.

  Hunter continues his call with Eddie. I’m only half listening while he discusses scheduling and photo shoots and a bunch of stuff I don’t really understand. When he finally hangs up and tosses his phone on the table, I put the script down and turn my attention to him.

  “Got it all sorted out?”

  “Yeah.” He goes back to rubbing my leg absentmindedly. The feeling gives me goose bumps he doesn’t seem to notice. “Unless something comes up, it looks like I have a few more weeks to rest up. Maybe hang out a bit?”

  I can see the question in his eyes. The wonder if he’s imposing on my life. The answer is a resounding no. Not just for my purposes, but I feel like he needs to stay here for a while as well. Call it woman’s intuition, but he seemed so free while he lost himself in character last night. I just know helping out for a while will give him the mental rest he desperately needs.

  “How do you feel about hanging out with me at work for a couple of days? Share some of that big shot actor knowledge with Manuel.”

  Hunter’s eyes light up. “Yeah?”

  “Of course.”

  His smile is contagious. Or maybe it’s the excitement in his eyes. At least I think it’s excitement. Hunter turns to me, eyes glazed, as he slowly moves so he’s over my body and up the couch.

  “I’m not an inconvenience in your apartment?”

  Tossing my script aside, I scooch my butt so I’m lying down underneath him. “Not even close. Besides,” I say, running my fingers through his hair. “I already told you I’m not kicking you out of my bed any time soon.”<
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  “What about your couch?” he asks as he positions himself between my legs.

  “You’re safe on my couch too.”

  He shifts his hips, sending shockwaves through my entire body. “What about your life?”

  His movement combined with his words makes me gasp, my heart doing a staccato as I process his words. “How long and how much you are in my life is totally up to you.”

  Hunter smiles shyly and finally leans down to seal our conversation with a kiss. A kiss that’s long, languished… and interrupted when Anna walks in the door.

  “Honey, I’m home… oh. Well. Looks like you were getting to home too, weren’t ya, Fluffy?”

  Hunter collapses on me with a groan as I giggle at the interruption. And the nickname. Of course the one week I have limited time with Hunter, Anna’s dog walker job is cancelled. Something about the agency she works for having to discuss the “lack of appropriate boundaries” by their pet. I don’t understand it since every dog I’ve ever known stuck its nose in my crotch, but it makes no difference. All I need to know is Anna has been in and out more than normal lately, and it’s not a good idea to get naked on the couch because of it.

  “What are you doing home?” I ask and push Hunter off me. He goes back to the opposite side of the couch, albeit reluctantly, his hair sticking up in an unruly mess.

  Anna grabs her new box of Twinkies and rips into one, sighing as she chews before talking around her bite. “The subway was kind of dead. People were really stingy with their tip money and I got bored. Figured I’d get a good night’s sleep and go out again tomorrow. I’ve got some new music I’d like to try out. See what kind of response I get.”

  “Just don’t forget we need your blog post. I need to update that in a couple days.”

  Anna snaps her fingers together like she just remembered, not that I reminded her. “That’s right. I’ve already listened to Denise Pugotti’s new album. It’s really good. Think we can have a couple sample bites on the post?”

  “Sure,” I say with a shrug. “We’ve never done it before but anything interesting to get subscribers to come back just increases our ability to get ad revenue.”