Hollywood Prince

by Natasha Madison

  “That is incredible,” Sylvia says, and now she leans back in her chair. “And I have to say there have been no negative stories in the press, so you’re obviously doing your job.”

  I nod my head. “It’s really hard to do all the sinful stuff when you’re on the set for fourteen hours a day. So my job has been a lot easier than I expected.”

  “Well, from what I saw, you have tomorrow off, so sleep in and get some rest,” Sylvia says. “I’m here if you need me.”

  “Thank you so much.” Disconnecting the call, I rub my hands over my face. I look around the trailer at the two vases of flowers on the table that I brought from home. When I walked into the house and saw all the flowers, I was in shock. Every single place I looked had flowers. And so many different colors. I knew then I had to up it and do something for him. Chicken parm was it, but holy shit, did I want to die.

  “I’m done,” Carter says, walking into the trailer. “The car is already here, so if you can hurry, I would be so thankful.”

  “I just have to grab my jacket,” I say, getting up and putting my computer in the Louis and then walking out. “Tired?” I ask him, and he just nods.

  For the past week, it’s been routine for us to leave together in the morning. Breakfast together, lunch together, dinner together. Except yesterday when he wanted to eat in his bed, which I was totally okay with, but five minutes later, he came looking for me and said it was too quiet in his room. So he sat on my bed as I watched television. He ate his grilled chicken that we had delivered and then put it on the side table. He then closed his eyes, and I felt bad and didn’t want to tell him to get up, so I went under the covers and shut off the light. He stayed on his side of the bed, and when his alarm rang, he sprang out of bed. He didn’t mention falling asleep in my bed, and I didn’t mention it either. I guess if neither of us mentions it, it means it didn’t happen.

  “I swear I’m so tired I’m going to sleep until noon tomorrow,” he says, putting his head back on the seat. I grab my phone and snap a picture of him with the caption.

  “My plans for the next twenty-four hours.”

  I post it and put my phone away. When we get to the house, I get out first, and he follows me. When we make our way up the stairs, he goes straight to his room and shuts the door. I do the same and take a shower. I put on my dark gray jeans and big gray long-sleeved cashmere sweater. I walk out, seeing that his door is still closed, so I walk to the kitchen. I’m a little shocked when I see him standing at the fridge wearing nothing but shorts. “I thought you were going to sleep?”

  He looks over his shoulder at me. “I have to eat before I hibernate for the day,” he says, grabbing some eggs and bacon. “I’m craving breakfast.”

  “Brupper,” I tell him, going to the cupboard and grabbing the box of pancake mix.

  “Brupper?” he asks mid-step to the counter.

  “When you have breakfast for lunch, it’s called brunch, so when you have breakfast for supper, it’s called brupper,” I tell him, grabbing a bowl and a measuring cup.

  “Clever,” he tells me, cracking eggs while he throws bacon in a baking dish and puts it in the oven. We work side by side as I make the pancakes and he scrambles the eggs and makes the toast. We sit next to each other at the counter. “The weather is going to be nice tomorrow. We should go for a hike.”

  “A hike? I thought you were going to hibernate?” I ask him, and he just shrugs. “Where?”

  “Some of the local crew told me about Yellowstone River. We can hike up and see.” He gets up and puts his plate in the dishwasher and starts to clean up the pans while I finish eating.

  “Sure,” I say even though I’m not sure I even have clothes for a hike. I get up and put my dish away, and he goes back into his room. I go to my room, grab my Kindle and phone, slip on my Converse, and walk outside to the fireplace. I’ve been stuck in a trailer for most of the week with my only fresh air when going from one stage to another. I walk outside and see the orange sun in the distance setting behind the mountains.

  I start the fire, and when it’s roaring, I get on the round chair in front of it, grabbing a throw blanket stored in one of the plastic chests to cover myself with. I sit with my back to the house and scroll on Instagram, seeing that the picture of Carter has gotten four million likes and two thousand comments, most from women wishing he would sleep in their bed. I roll my eyes and grab my Kindle. But instead, I stare at the flames of the fire. The heat slowly warms me, but the breeze makes me shiver now. “You are going to catch a cold sitting outside.” I hear his voice and turn around to see him wearing sweatpants, a thick long-sleeved beige turtleneck, and a beanie that just hangs on the back of his head. He gets on the round chair with me, sitting next to me. “I was looking for you everywhere,” he says softly, putting his arm around my shoulders and pulling me close to him. I don’t move and just fall into his side. My heart starts to speed up a touch, but I don’t move out of his embrace. He grabs the blanket from my lap and covers his own. Anyone coming to check on us would think we were an intimate couple.

  “I thought you were going to sleep until noon tomorrow,” I remind him. My eyes focus on the fire, listening to the crackle.

  “I was going to, but then I got into bed, and I tossed and turned and then just got up, and I checked around for you,” he says, and I look over at him as he watches the fire.

  “I came out to get some air. I’ve been cooped up all week,” I tell him, and he grabs my Kindle.

  “What were you reading?” he asks, and I almost turn the same shade as the fire when he starts to read it aloud.

  “Christian Grey.” He laughs. “Didn’t you watch the movie?”

  I push away from him and reach out to grab my Kindle. “I did watch the movie, and I read the books,” I admit. “I haven’t read in a while.”

  The sound of his laughter fills the silent night. He grabs my shoulder again, pulling me to him. “It’s okay to admit that it turns you on.”

  “Of course, you would turn this into sex,” I tell him. “This must have been the longest week of your life.”

  “I’ve gone without sex before, Erin,” he says, and I turn my head and see him smiling at me. “Just not lately.”

  “Serious question . . . when was the last time you went this long?” I ask him, thinking it’s an innocent question.

  “When I found out that my only girlfriend was cheating on me,” he says, and I stop breathing when he says the next part, “with my father.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I say, looking up at him. “I didn’t know.”

  “Yeah, it isn’t something that someone would advertise,” he says, his voice low but steady. “Can you imagine the headlines? Hollywood prince’s girlfriend cheating on him with senior.”

  “That’s horrible,” I answer, and my heart breaks for him. I wonder if it’s the girl with him in all his early pictures.

  “No,” he says, shaking his head. “That isn’t the horrible part. The horrible part was that we were together for over two years, and my parents were paying her for info about me.” I try to swallow, the back of my neck tingling, and I feel suddenly ill. “It was after I kicked them out and started running things on my own. Seems they still wanted to have a hand in the cookie jar. So one night while I was in this club, she came up to me, and well, we had a lot of things in common.” His laugh is almost like a sneer. “Fast forward two years, and we are practically living together.”

  “You don’t have to,” I say to him, hoping he stops talking, but he doesn’t.

  “I came home three days early from shooting and went straight to her apartment. Let’s just say I’m the one who got the surprise.”

  “Do you think your mother knew?” I ask, hoping to Christ she didn’t, and that what little she did for her son, she somehow stuck up for him.

  “I have no idea. I didn’t stick around to ask questions. I went home, packed her shit, and had it delivered to her. I changed my number, my credit cards, and sold the house. Chan
ged everything for the second time in my life, and I started over at the beginning.”

  “I can’t even imagine,” I tell him the truth.

  “It is what it is.” He shrugs, and I get it now, the no-strings sex and the different women. He doesn’t trust anyone.

  “I still can’t imagine,” I say. He doesn’t answer me, and I don’t bother saying another word. I sit here looking at the fire, imagining the heartbreak that he went through. My eyes get heavy, and I force them open, but then I tell myself I’ll just rest for a minute. My head rests on his shoulder one minute, and then the next, I hear his heartbeat echo under me. I try to open my eyes, but I give myself just a minute longer. I feel myself being carried, and I slowly open my eyes to find my cheek against Carter’s sweater. “I can walk,” I tell him, my voice coming out in a whisper.

  “It’s okay,” he says, his voice is soft also. “This is the most action I’ve had in a week. Let me have this moment.”

  “If you try to cop a feel, I’m going to kick you in your junk,” I mumble to him, and then I’m placed so softly on the bed I don’t even feel it.

  “Good night, Erin,” he says softly right next to my ear, and I can smell him all over me. I open my eyes, and now I see why I smell him all around me. His arms are beside my body as he leans in just a touch, and if I moved my head a bit more my lips would touch his. My eyes watch as his eyes roam over my face. His face gets closer and closer, and I hold my breath. I stop breathing and close my eyes, waiting for it. And then just like that, he’s gone. “See you tomorrow,” he says softly, closing the door behind him. I hear him go back outside, and I go to the shades and look at him sitting down in front of the couch. His head hangs down as he probably thinks of what a mistake it would have been to actually kiss me. I watch him get up and put out the fire. I undress, slip into my pjs, and slide into bed the same time I hear his door close softly. I look over at my closed door when my phone beeps. I reach out and grab it, thinking it must be work, but I’m surprised it’s Carter.

  Carter: Thank you for tonight.

  Four words and I should just leave it, but I don’t. Instead, I answer back.

  Me: Thank you for carrying me to bed.

  I place the phone next to me, wondering if he will answer me when I hear a soft knock on the door. “Come in,” I say. He opens the door and stands there in his shorts that hang way too low on his hips. His chest is bare as he walks into the room.

  “I can’t sleep now,” he says, scratching his head. “Do you want to watch a movie?” I should tell him no; I should tell him that I’m tired and I’m going to bed. I know I should tell him all that, but my mouth, however, doesn’t.

  “Sure,” I say, and even I want to shake my head at myself. This is not good. None of this is good. I’m here to do a job. “Do you want to watch it in here?” No, no, no, no, the good part of my brain chants. That isn’t going to help anything.

  He grabs the remote and turns on the television as he climbs into bed with me. Grabbing the pillows, he props himself up, leaning against the headboard. “Is there anything you want to watch?”

  “The Notebook,” I say, trying to hide my smile while I lie down and put my head on the pillow, angling it to see the television.

  He groans. “Not The Notebook. Anything but The Notebook.”

  I try to hide my giggle. “The Lake House.”

  “Oh my God, I’m going to die,” he says, and I finally let go of the laugh I’ve been holding in. “Jesus, I thought you were being serious,” he says, finally laughing and turning on all the movies. We settle on an action movie, and halfway in, I’m asleep. And when I finally roll over in the morning, the bed is empty, but I can see the indent of his head is still on the pillow.

  Rolling to my side, I see it’s almost ten o’clock, and I smell coffee. I go to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth and then head to the kitchen. He is sitting at the counter with his phone in one hand and the coffee in the other. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” he says. His bedhead is still sticking up, and I have the sudden urge to run my hands through it.

  “Morning,” I say and look over at the box sitting on the counter next to him. “What is that?” I ask, going to grab my own cup of coffee.

  “This,” he says, “is for you.”

  “Me?” I ask in shock, getting my milk out and then finally taking a sip of the coffee. “Who sent me this?” I ask, going around the counter and seeing the box with no name on it.

  “I didn’t know if you had anything for the hike, so I had them send you stuff,” he says, and I take the top of the box off to see that he had black Billy boots sent to me with the name HUNTER across the front. A black down-filled vest sits on the bottom of it. “We should eat and then head out.”

  “Oh, I’m excited now. I don’t think I’ve ever had Billy boots before,” I tell him, and he gets up. Going to the fridge, he grabs some bread, and I see the shocked look on his face. “I grew up in Florida.”

  “Did it never rain in Florida?” he asks, laughing, and I just shrug.

  “My mother doesn’t do anything that would require rubber boots,” I tell him. “She would definitely frown on going on a hike, but she would probably look amazing wearing Billy boots. She looks good in everything.”

  “Then I guess you get that from your mom,” he says, and I just look at him as he changes the subject. “I’m making grilled cheese with bacon.”

  “Do you need my help?” I ask him, and he just shakes his head. I sit at the counter and watch him. I watch his back, and I swear I think it’s even sexier than his abs. He butters the bread and takes the bacon we had from last night. He grabs some cheese but not the sliced cheddar. He grabs special cheese like Gruyère, Emmental, and Provolone. When he puts the plate in front of me, I cannot hold back my groan after I take a bite. “It’s so good,” I say, and he just nods.

  “It’s my specialty,” he says, laughing and sitting next to me as he eats three for my one. “I’m going to get ready.” Putting his plate in the dishwasher, he walks to his room. “Twenty minutes, Erin. No need for any froufrou!” he yells before he slams his door.

  I get up, putting my own plate away and grabbing my box. “No froufrou, my ass,” I say to myself, walking into my own room and seeing my bed and the indent from his head still on the pillow. “This is a bad idea,” I tell myself out loud, but my mouth just smiles as I walk into the bathroom and totally start with the froufrou but just lightly.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Carter

  When I woke up next to her for the second day in a row, I had a slight panic attack. Especially since I was spooning her. I got out of the bad so fast I’m surprised she didn’t wake up. I looked over at her, and I had to stop and just take her in. Her long hair fanned across her pillow, and her lips were slightly parted. Getting home last night after that crazy scene I filmed, I was gutted and destroyed. It was another heavy scene. This one with me holding my missing daughter’s pjs and crying into it. I just wanted to be alone, and then when I was finally alone, I wanted her there with me. Not just anyone. I wanted her, her smile, her eye roll, her sassy, just fucking her. That is what I wanted, and when I found her outside shivering, it was a no-brainer to grab her in my arms even though I knew I shouldn’t have. I knew the risk I was taking by letting my guard down, but with her, it’s just natural and comes easy. She doesn’t want anything from me. In fact, she wants the opposite from me.

  Now here I am, getting ready to take her hiking, and I’m so nervous I feel sick. I run my hands through my hair and grab my blue vest, shrugging it on over my thick knitted wool sweater. I had to wear a thermal shirt under it so it didn’t itch. My green khakis make the look. I grab my glasses and beanie, then open my door and am surprised when I see her door already open. I walk into living room and spot her looking at her watch, and I take her in. Fuck, I wasn’t lying before when I said she looked good in everything. I never thought Billy boots could be sexy, but fuck, if she would just wear those, it would be s
exy as fuck.

  Leaning against the couch with her head down, looking at her phone, she is wearing black leggings with her black Billy boots. A long thick gray long-sleeved hooded sweater, the black vest on, and a black baseball hat on her head holding her ponytail in the back. I clear my throat. “Twenty-four minutes.” She smiles and then puts on her glasses. “Did you put on froufrou?” It takes everything in me not to claim her mouth and kiss the sass right out of her. Instead, I shake my head almost like I’m erasing the image from my head. But nothing I’m doing is making it go away.

  If only she knew I jerked off for a good five minutes before I could even think of getting dressed. I smirk at her. “Okay, let’s go.” I walk to the fridge and grab two bottles of water and chuck them into the black backpack that was dropped off with the boots this morning. Getting into the truck, I plug in the address and make my way there. Pulling into the parking lot, I see only two other cars in the parking lot. “Ready?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she says and then grabs some lip gloss from her pocket and puts it on. Now all I can think about is whether she tastes like strawberries or cherries. She gets out, and I follow suit, and we walk to a guy waiting at the entrance of the trail.

  He is wearing all beige with a brown hat. “Welcome, welcome,” he says in a booming voice.

  “Hi, I’m Erin,” she says with a smile on her face and her hand extended.

  “I’m Jim.” He smiles at her, grabbing her hand, then looks at me, extending his hand to me. “Right on time.”

  “Yes, sir,” I tell him, and he just nods his head.

  “We are going to start at the bottom and work our way up,” he says, pointing with his finger. “Then work our way down.”

  “That looks high,” she says quietly, leaning into me. I chuckle and grab her hand. She intertwines her fingers in mine, and we just walk. It’s natural, and she doesn’t make a big deal that we are holding hands. We start walking up the hill with Jim in front of us, the sound of water running to the right of us. I walk closer to the edge, and she stops, letting go of my hand. “No.”