I press my side into his and wrap my arm around his back, the way he’s done with me. We’ve always been super comfortable with each other. Even before we tried a relationship… for literally two weeks.
Icy wind howls around us, blowing my long hair behind me like a cape. Spence holds me closer and we walk slowly down the steps before we reach the pebbly beach.
“Do you want to go as far as the sea?” he asks.
“No, there’s sand over there and I’m wearing trainers. Plus, it’ll be col—” I press my lips together again.
His face smug. “Col, what?
“Shut up.”
“So mean, Indie.” His eyes are smiling.
My heart leaps.
I love you.
Eight
Spencer
We finish our chips inside the restaurant, since she would moan if I tried to eat on our usual bench outside.
“Those were so good. I forgot how much I love the chips here.”
“You’ve not been back?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Not since the last time we were here.”
I can’t say I’m disappointed to hear that she won’t come to this old, run down beach without me. We both love that it’s quiet and in need of a lot of TLC. This is our beach.
“It’s not far from home,” I say.
“I should bring all of my dates.”
All?
I feel the scowl on my face. “How many men are you dating?”
My stomach clenches harder than when I do a hundred sit ups, which is now most fucking mornings, thanks to my satanic trainer. Indie’s single. I’m sure she is.
“You’re joking, right?” she asks.
No, fucking tell me. “You never said that you’d met someone.”
“I haven’t! I was kidding. When I date, you’ll be the first to know, Hollywood.”
That nickname is sticking. “I’ll need to check him out. He won’t be good enough. Not even if you find an actual prince.”
“I guess I should give up now and buy the cats.”
“You don’t like cats.”
“I’ll be a career woman who hates men and children.”
She would be an incredible mum. “That’s the spirit.”
“Hey, I could work as your PA when you’re a superstar. I’d bring you crazy, random shit that you absolutely have to have in the green room. I’d pay damages to hotels when you wreck the rooms.”
I wrap my chip paper up. “If you’re my PA, I can think of a far better use for your talents.” Like with those thick lips and killer legs.
“A movie star screwing his PA. How original.”
I laugh. “Do you need me to get you home?”
Her eyes lose their light.
What is her home like?
“I’m not in any rush. Unless you need to do something?”
“Not a thing. I’m yours all day… and evening, it seems.”
“You’re going to love drunk indoor crazy golf.”
I raise my eyebrow. “You’re going to get drunk?” I’ve never seen her have more than three drinks before. I’m not a big drinker, either—never have been after the first time I got paracletic. I don’t like the loss of control.
“No, but I’ll have a couple of cocktails. They’re meant to be really good.”
“I’m driving.”
“We can take my car, if you like?”
I turn my nose up. “Not a chance. You ready to go?”
“What’s next on the list?” She sits straighter. “Doughnuts?”
“It’s like taking a kid out for the day,” I mutter.
“We were kids when we started doing this.”
I look up and smile, thinking about seventeen-year-old us at the beach. I was nervous around her a lot at the time. She was everything, and I was scared that she’d pick someone better.
The first time I kissed her was right by the sea; the cold water licking our feet as we held onto each other. She was right when she broke things off two weeks later. I turned eighteen the day after I landed the role of Jack Miller—the original actor pulled out—and we were too new. She’s been my best friend since we were eleven. Neither of us were willing to fail long-distance and be left with nothing. We need each other. I couldn’t function properly without her. I’d rather be her friend than lose her completely.
“Everything was so much easier back then.”
“Yeah, but look what you’ve achieved now,” she says.
I smile at the sentiment. The role was pure luck, really. My school teacher Mrs Bea really pushed me role. She had contacts all over the world and just happened to speak to the producers of Quarantine about me. They asked for headshots. Mrs Bea also sent a video of my strongest performance. Everything happened so fast, I still can’t get my head around it.
Indie wraps up her leftover chips. “I’m ready when you are.”
I take her for the best doughnuts, and then we climb into my car.
The second I start the engine, Indie presses her palms to the warm air blasting out of the heater. She has the stuffed princess by her side.
“Were you that cold?”
“I can’t feel or move my fingers.”
“So dramatic,” I say, pulling out of the car park.
“Can we just drive for a while?” she asks, switching the radio station from my favourite to hers. Not once has she ever asked permission to do so.
“Sure,” I say, frowning. “Everything okay?”
“If we’re taking a trip down nostalgia lane, might as well do it right.”
We’d drive for hours sometimes. I think most of the miles I put on my old car were due to random driving trips with Indie. She would turn up on my doorstep and want to get straight into the car. To this day, I don’t know what prompted all that travelling.
“You going to call it then?” I ask.
“Take a left next.”
“You got it.” I make a left… the opposite direction to home. “You’re going to have us at this golf place on time, right?”
“Uh-huh,” she mutters, staring out of her window with her head resting back against the seat.
Something’s up.
“Care to share, Indie?”
“I’m not thinking about anything. It’s nice.”
“What do you usually think about?”
Jesus, I’m desperate for her to open up. I want to know all of her. I’ve been honest the whole way through, and while she doesn’t straight up lie to me, she just doesn’t tell me about her homelife. I’ve never seen any bruises on her and, believe me, I’ve looked hard enough over the years. She’s never had a lot of material things, but would she keep everyone away from her family just because they don’t have much?
“I think about things like the fact we pass the anniversary of our death every year, but we have no idea, and that our stomachs think all potatoes are mashed.”
What? “Indie…”
“You’re going to think about that, too, aren’t you?”
“Spend less time on the internet.”
She smiles and rolls her head towards me. “Spence, I need to book LA.”
“It’s already done. You just need to apply for an ESTA, or they won’t let you in.”
Sitting up straighter, her eyes round. “It’s done?”
“You’re sitting next to me… in first class.”
“Spencer!” Her voice almost shatters my windscreen.
“Rich now, remember.”
“You don’t need to spend money on me.” She pulls the princess into her chest. “Besides this, obviously.”
“There is no fucking way I’m having you sitting in economy when I’m up in first with my parents. It’s not happening, and I’m not arguing, so let it go.”
The temperature in the car feels like it drops below zero. “You can’t do stuff like that.”
“I don’t want to argue.” I sigh.
“Then you shouldn’t have bought my damn ticket!”
“You a
re the only woman who doesn’t like someone taking you abroad in first class. Where next?”
“Another left, and I’m not the only one. I don’t expect anyone else to pay for me.”
“I’m not anyone else.”
“And that makes it worse.”
I take a left at the lights, and I grind my teeth. Is she serious? “I need you there.”
“And I will be. I was going to book it. Take the next right.”
“Do you want to yell and get it all out of your system? I’ll wait.”
“Such a dick,” she mutters under her breath. “I can take care of myself.”
I glance at her for a heartbeat. “I’ve never thought that you can’t. Do you honestly believe I would have gone to LA if I didn’t think you could look after yourself?”
“You had a job.”
I scowl. “Fuck the job.”
“You can’t fuck the job.”
“What?” I growl. “I don’t even know what we’re fighting about now.”
She takes a breath and closes her eyes. Her fingertips claw at the stuffed doll. “I don’t want to fight at all. I’m not being ungrateful, Spence.”
“I know you’re not. I should have told you I was going to book your ticket with ours. Okay?”
“That’s the best apology I’m going to get?” she asks, her lips betraying her with a smile.
“You know it.”
Sighing again, she twists her body to face me. “First class, huh?”
“You’re going to love it.”
Nine
Indie
Spencer and I walk towards Serial Golf, the indoor course. So far, no one has noticed who he is. He hasn’t taken his sunglasses off, though.
I’m still annoyed about the plane ticket. I don’t need anyone to pay for me. We don’t have long together, so I’m not going to fall out with him over it now, but I’ll pay him back.
Mila, Wren, and Brody are standing outside the building.
Wren looks up, her blue eyes shine, and her mouth parts. Mila has a shit eating grin on her face.
My two best friends are going to love this. They can’t understand why I broke up with Spencer.
It had to happen. He can’t be chained to the train wreck girl from his childhood. Plus, the more famous he becomes, the more my life would be scrutinised.
“Well, hi,” Wren says, giving me a hug. “He’s back,” she whispers into my ear.
I nod before I pull away and hug Mila.
“Spence, you remember Wren, Mila, and Brody. Guys… Spencer.”
“Hey, man,” Brody says, doing one of those greetings of slapping hands together in the shortest handshake imaginable.
“Hey.”
“What’s it like on set? Is Ella really that nice or is she a total bitch behind closed doors?” Mila asks, her amber eyes wide at the thought of gossip.
Spencer chuckles. “Set is long, and Ella is genuinely lovely.”
Ugh, bitch.
“It’s good to see you. Indie’s missed you a lot,” Wren says, pushing her curled blonde hair over her shoulders.
My eyes cut to her. Stop talking.
Spence wraps his hand around my waist. “She’s always been needy.”
“Piss off,” I hiss, elbowing his side.
He laughs but ignores me. “We ready to go in?”
“Yeah,” Brody says. “Wren is ready for cocktails, and I’m ready for her to be drunk again.”
Wren shakes her head. “Such a pervert.”
Mila heads to the reception desk to sign us in.
Once inside, the place is relatively dark with neon lights in red and yellow. You can see the different courses well enough, each one a delightful display of murder. Our first course is some crazy clown dressed as a surgeon with a sword and fake blood everywhere. We have to get the ball up a little ramp to his operating table, which is full of fake blood and guts.
“This is cute,” I mutter, taking a golf club from the bin.
“He doesn’t look much like a clown. You’ll be fine,” Spence says.
“It has curly hair, a big red nose, and long red shoes. If you had a red nose and shoes…”
He narrows his eyes. “I’d look like a clown?”
“You have the hair.”
Okay, his hair is nothing like a clown’s. His is more wavy than curly, and it doesn’t stick up all over the place. I just like teasing him.
“I thought you liked my hair.”
Shrugging, I say, “It’s all right, I suppose.”
“Okay, I’m going to talk to someone else.”
With our earlier argument forgotten, but not quite over, I watch him strike up a conversation with Brody.
Wren and Mila choose that exact moment to pounce. Both stand in front of me with wide eyes, summoning answers.
“What?” I ask.
Mila’s big eyes bulge, as if she can’t believe I just asked that.
“Why didn’t you tell us he was home already?” Wren asks.
“He came early because he has to stay after the premiere now. It’s okay that he’s here, right? I know you haven’t hung out before.”
This is the first time my two circles of friends have properly spent time together. It’s easier to keep them separate, to not have them talk to each other and exchange questions and theories.
None of them know my parents.
“Duh!” Mila shakes her head. “He’s smokin’ hot, babe. You have to go there again.”
“We’re not having that conversation.”
“Why not? Have you noticed those gorgeous green eyes haven’t stopped staring at you yet?”
“She’s right,” Wren sings.
I casually glance over her shoulder. “He’s not looking at me.”
“Well, not this very second. He and Brody are getting into competition mode.” Wren rolls her eyes. “You’re going to be impossible with this whole thing, aren’t you?”
“Oh, and you were so normal over the Brody thing,” I mutter.
Mila waves her hand at me. “There you go. Just get drunk and marry the guy first.”
“I’m not marrying anyone.”
Quite literally. The revelation hits me hard as a freight train. All these years I’ve been so focused on doing everything I can to move out, I haven’t thought about what happens after that.
How would I get married with a massive secret weighing me down? Could someone accept that they would never have all of me? What kind of life will I have?
Mila tilts her head, over my shit already. “We’re all getting married. The rest of us will invite our best friends. I’m looking at you, Wren.”
“Thanks for clearing that up,” Wren mutters sarcastically.
“Indie, you’re up,” Spencer says.
Thank God. I can’t take much more of this talk. With a fake smile, I walk around the girls, leaving the to glare at me.
“Thanks, Coco.”
Now it’s Spencer’s turn to glare. “No clown names.”
My smile transforms from forced to genuine all for him. “What did you guys get?”
“We both did it in two.”
“Whatever,” Wren says, standing behind me. “Brody so didn’t get a ball in two.”
“Wow, babe, your faith in me is fucking overwhelming.”
She folds her arms. “Why do you always have to swear?”
“Why do you always make me sweary?” Brody’s eyes darken at Wren, and I look away. I know two people who are going to have sex as soon as they get home. “You’re hot when your mad.”
“You’re hot all the time.”
Spencer laughs at their exchange, and he watches me very closely when I take my turn. “Try and hit it directly up the middle or it might bounce off the side and lose momentum.”
I arch my eyebrow. “You’re helping me?”
“That’s surprising because…?”
“Because you’re, like, the most competitive person.”
“Untrue. You once hid my car keys
so I wouldn’t beat you to the fair.”
My cheeks heat. “It was you who made the challenge.”
“You play dirty, Indie.”
“I never said I didn’t.”
“Will you take your shot or are we all going to die here?”
In the background, Mila scoffs and mutters, “Why don’t I have anyone to flirt with?”
Shut up!
I turn my back to Spencer, my face now hotter than lava. Please say Spence didn’t hear that. Not that he doesn’t know we sometimes indulge in a little flirting.
Mila doesn’t have anyone to flirt with because she’s currently off again with Liam, and she hasn’t realised how much her hottie of a neighbour wants her. How she missed the look Reid gave her at the pub that day, I will never know. His eyes were practically on fire when he saw her. I don’t smoke but I needed one.
I’m not going to interfere… yet. She’ll figure it out.
I swing my club and hit the ball. The thing hits the side, but it doesn’t ricochet off and fall back down. Ha, take that, movie star! I watch it roll along the disgusting operating table and go through the evil clown’s mouth. Only Mila would think this serial killer golf is cool.
“Did it go in?” I ask Spencer, who is on the other side. There’s a chopped off leg that side of the clown, which is next to the hole.
Spencer’s eyes flick up and meet mine. “Nope.”
“Damn it.”
I walk around the clown and scowl at the close proximity of the ball to the hole. It’s about a centimetre away. God, I would have loved to get a hole in one and beat the boys on the first game.
“Unlucky, sweetheart.” His voice is soft, genuine. Not sarcastic.
My mouth parts.
Is this what an embolism feels like?
Sneaking a glance at Spencer, I wonder if he’s realised that he just called me sweetheart. Probably not. Does his character in the movie call Ella’s character that? Never before has that word come out of his mouth.
Why now? Why me? I want those questions answered immediately. Does it mean anything or was it just a slip of the tongue?
He’ll think I’m a desperate loser if I bring it up. He has women throwing themselves at him. Women who can share their whole life with him. Women who deserve him.
Just Like the Movies Page 5