Your Endless Love

by Layla Hagen

  I startle as cold drops land on my skin, making me shiver. The early June evening was pleasant enough that I didn’t take my coat from the car.

  I instinctively run my hands up and down my arms.

  “It’s raining. Come on, let’s go to the car. You’re already shivering,” Alex says.

  Without warning, he lays an arm around my shoulders, tucking me into him, presumably so I can absorb his body heat. Oh boy. Any red-blooded woman would take advantage of this. Right? Right? No, just me? Well, then.

  I’ll be dropping Alex home in half an hour, and then I probably will never see him again in person. A little lusting never hurt anyone. And because I’m an opportunist, I scoot even closer, taking thorough advantage of his generous offer.

  He only lets go of me when we reach the car, and the second we part, cold grips me. The raindrops become larger, pour faster as we climb inside the car.

  “Aah, just in the nick of time,” I exclaim, gunning the engine and cranking on the heating in the seats, rubbing my palms together to warm up. Next to me, Alex doesn’t seem to feel even a whisper of cold.

  As I pull in front of his house a while later, a pang of regret grips me that the night is coming to an end.

  “Well, here we are,” I announce unnecessarily.

  “Do you want to come in for a drink?”

  I lick my lips, pondering his question. Part of me screams Yes, Yes, Yes.

  Not just because he’s Alex freaking Westbrook. In fact, I’d like to know more about the man behind the actor. I like what I see so far. But another part of me urges me to be cautious. Clearly, he’s shaken after his engagement with Amy exploded in his face. Men are known to do silly things when they’re shaken. Such as seducing impressionable women like myself.

  “Not a good idea. I have to wake up at five tomorrow, and it’s almost midnight.”

  He flashes me his winning smile, staring at me intently.

  “Don’t you dare use your smolder on me,” I warn.

  “My what?”

  I tilt my head to one side. “Don’t pretend you don’t know. Google ‘Alex’s Smolder.’ You’ll find a million pictures of you looking just like this to the camera, and a Tumblr page.”

  Alex chuckles. “Okay, I admit. I know about it. My PR team actually started the Tumblr page.”

  “I am crushed. You start your own hype?”

  He wiggles his brows. “Hey, they need the raw material to actually base that hype on.”

  “I bet those eyes and smile make you think you can get away with a lot of things.”

  “What exactly do you think I’m trying to get away with, Summer?”

  He drops his gaze to my lips. God, the way he says my name and looks at me has my panties in a twist.

  “I have to wake up at five,” I repeat. “Not even your smolder is a match for my alarm clock.”

  “I guess I have to work on it, then.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Well, I’ll leave you to your beauty sleep. But I’d like to see you again. I had a lot of fun tonight.”

  My heart beats faster, and a thin sheet of sweat covers my palms. Did he just friend zone me? But he looked at my lips before.... Why am I so bad at reading signals even after a decade of dating?

  Despite the confusing signals, I do want to see him again. He seems like a nice guy. A nice, incredibly handsome man. Deadly combo, really. “You have my number. Use it.”

  “I will.”

  He leans into me, kissing my cheek. His lips are soft on my skin, his breath hot. His cologne is so deliciously manly, it sends my senses into a tailspin. I nearly melt from the sheer masculinity pouring off him.

  With one last smile and smoldering look, he climbs out of my car, walking off into the night.

  Chapter Four

  Alex

  “You’re a grill master.” Sophie leans back in her seat, chewing on the steak.

  “That’s pretty much the only thing I’ve mastered in the kitchen.”

  I take another steak off the grill, placing it on her husband, Neil’s plate.

  “Drew, dinner’s ready,” Sophie calls out to her son. He’s too focused on the fish swimming around in my koi pond for dinner.

  “Let’s just save him something for later,” Neil comments after several more futile attempts to convince Drew to join us at the table. That little guy is one hell of a stubborn seven-year-old. When the last steak is done, I join my sister and her husband at the table, raising my glass of wine.

  “To Sophie, who found me the best house in San Francisco.”

  She really outdid herself. We’re sitting on the deck, surrounded by a landscaped garden. The wall of evergreens protects us from any curious eyes. It also obscures the view, but from the second floor of the house I can look out onto the ocean. I have a view of Alcatraz on one side of the house, and the Oakland Bay Bridge and Coit Tower on another side.

  They clink their glasses to mine.

  “To you, brother, for finally getting rid of Amy.”

  Neil shoots her a warning look, but Sophie shrugs. “What? Drew’s out of earshot, and someone has to say it.”

  My sister gives me a sympathetic smile. She never liked Amy much and had no qualms saying so.

  “To a fresh start,” I say, before taking a sip of wine. Drew and I had a blast today, fishing. At the end of our trip, I invited my sister and her husband over for dinner.

  “What’s the plan right now?” Sophie asks.

  “I don’t have any filming scheduled. I’m reading scripts for some indie movies in the downtime until the promo tours begin.”

  I have two premieres coming up. First, Bree Shannon Finds Love #2, a romantic comedy, and then the last installment in the superhero franchise. The promo for that one starts earlier though.

  “Any idea when the spin-off will be green-lighted?” Neil asks.

  “We’re close to signing the deal.”

  “Hats off for wanting to do another franchise,” he continues.

  “They’re fun.”

  I’ve been doing franchises for ten years. My big break came when I was cast as the lead in a dystopian trilogy at nineteen. It was a worldwide phenomenon, and I’ll never deny it, it put me on the A-list. Filming that took five years, and then I started on the current franchise, which revolves around an ensemble of superheroes. Getting a spin-off for my own character is the big ticket to cementing my status, making sure my career won’t fade into oblivion.

  Most actors start turning up their noses at roles that made them famous, but I’m not one of them. I know I wouldn’t be where I am without it. And yeah, it’s grueling work, but I like playing the same character in multiple installments. It allows me to peel back layers, delve deeper. The spin-off will focus more on character development than flashy action scenes, which is right up my alley.

  “I’ve talked to Mom and Dad, by the way,” Sophie says. “Sent them a few more house descriptions to look at, but they’re on the expensive side.”

  “Money is not a problem.”

  Our parents have been thinking about moving to San Francisco for a while to be closer to Sophie, but since housing here is exorbitant, I’m subsidizing the cost.

  “You’re spoiling them too much.” Sophie presses her lips together, shaking her head. “And they’re not making much of an effort in return.”

  Our parents haven’t adjusted to my fame too well. I can’t blame them, though. They’ve had paps pestering them, and on the one occasion they’ve visited me in LA, paps broke into my home. Gave them both a scare. Ever since, they’ve refused to visit me in LA and weren’t keen on me flying over to Portland either. Over the last couple of years, I was lucky if I saw them twice a year. Whenever I broached the subject, they insisted they felt unsafe when I was around. Here’s to hoping things will change now, even though they’re more hesitant to move since I’m living here too.

  “They’re our parents, Soph. They’re going to get used to all of this eventually. It’ll be nice for all
of us to be in the same city again.”

  This is exactly what lazy evenings should be for. Spending time with the family. After we finish all the food, Sophie says they’d better go, because Drew gets cranky if he stays up too long after his bedtime.

  “Go out,” she says, kissing my cheek goodbye. “Don’t stay cooped up here all the time. This isn’t LA. You won’t have paps following your every move.”

  “I do go out. I went fishing with Drew today.” I open her car door. She lowers herself in it.

  “Smartass. I know that. I meant go out with people your own age.”

  “Don’t you worry about me.” I shut the door, and a second later, the car lurches forward.

  I head back inside the house and slump on the couch. An image of Summer pops up in my mind, sitting in the same spot, her skirt moving up when she crossed her legs. I have the image of her sweet, perky body bubbling with laughter branded in my memory. I also remember the way her skin reacted to my touch, how flustered she got when I complimented her and when I touched her while she helped me with the stunt. I won’t lie. I was tempted to touch her again, just to see her delicious reaction: the goose bumps, the blush.

  I’m used to women reacting this way to me even if I’m not flirting. They see the on-screen character when they look at me and react accordingly. But I think Summer saw me last night, not any of the characters I’ve played. It was so easy to talk to her, to open up. I glance at my phone until I give in to the temptation of calling her.

  “Hey! What are you up to?” I greet when she picks up.

  “Alex?”

  “Why so surprised? You told me to use your number.”

  “I know. Didn’t expect you to do it... so soon.”

  Something in her tone is off. “Anything wrong?”

  “No, just a sleepy Friday evening.”

  I pick up on the underlying sadness right away. “You sound down.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Acting school 101. Conveying feelings through tone of voice. Just putting it out there, but whatever you say on the phone... stays on the phone.” It’s a wordplay on what she told me yesterday, and it earns me a tiny laugh.

  “No biggie, just got a brush-off from a guy I went out with last week. He texted me, and I quote: ‘Please delete my number. No interest in repeating last week. Not my type.’ I mean, wow.”

  “Summer, it’s his loss. It’s not a reflection on you.”

  “Actually, it might be. Not the first time this happened. At some point, I have to admit, it’s not everyone else... it’s me. I’m a lousy date, and I don’t even know why.”

  “You’re not a lousy date.”

  She chuckles. “You wouldn’t know. You didn’t actually go on a date with me.”

  “No, but I had a lot of fun yesterday. You’re a fun person. A sweet woman.”

  “You sound like my brothers right now.”

  Except I’m not thinking about her in a brotherly way at all, damn it. I feel protective of her in an almost possessive manner, which is insane.

  “But talking to you just gave me an idea. I’ll watch Casablanca tonight. It’ll be a good distraction,” she says.

  “I have a better offer. Let’s go out. It’s Friday evening, a goddamn shame for both of us to stay cooped in.”

  Sophie is right. This isn’t LA. I have to be careful, but the chances of a pap showing up are slim, especially since my move here isn’t common knowledge. Yet.

  “I—okay. Where do you want to go?”

  “Don’t know the city too well. You pick a location. Just someplace that doesn’t attract too much attention. Dim lighting is a plus.”

  “Uh-huh, I’ll see what I can do, Jack the Ripper.”

  “I’d rather not be recognized.”

  “I know. Wait, I just had an idea. Did you ever take a tour of San Francisco at night?”

  “I never took any tour of San Francisco, except checking out houses with my sister.”

  “What? That’s such a shame. I’ll give you a tour. Just let me think up an itinerary. Hmm... it’s dark already, which rules out a couple of sights. Let’s keep to the waterfront. Can you meet me at the Ferry Building? Then we can pass by the Embarcadero, end up at Pier 39. How does that sound?”

  I’d say yes to any suggestion. Anything to spend some time with her tonight. I have no idea where the need to see her is coming from, but I don’t want to stop and analyze it. I want to run with it.

  “Meet you in an hour at the Ferry Building?” I suggest.

  “One hour? Geez, some of us need more time to get ready. We don’t all wake up pretty, like you.”

  “You’re beautiful just the way you are, Summer. But if you need more time...,” I offer.

  “See you at the Ferry Building in ninety minutes?”

  “Done.”

  Chapter Five

  Alex

  Ninety minutes later, I pull my baseball cap lower in the front as I pay the cabbie, who doesn’t recognize me. Maybe I should kick the paranoia to the curb. As I step out of the car, I see Summer in front of the Ferry Building, wearing jeans and a red jacket, waving at me excitedly.

  “I’m sorry about all the fog. It’s inescapable near the water in the evening,” she says.

  “I’ll take it over the smog in LA every day.”

  “Hmm... you don’t like LA much, do you?”

  “It’s suffocating if you’re in the movie business. How about you?”

  “I like it. I have cousins there. I love visiting them.” She points at my cap. “Lose that. I know it’s the universal star trick, but it’ll just attract attention. The sun has set, what’s the cap protecting you from, moonlight?”

  She has a point, but wearing a cap whenever I’m in public has become a habit. I feel exposed as I take it off.

  “I’ll keep it for you,” she offers, opening her purse. I drop the cap inside. “Besides, I have an idea. If someone recognizes you, just say you’re your own stunt double.”

  “What?”

  She tugs at her lower lip with her thumb and forefinger. I barely swallow the urge to lick that lip, taste it for myself.

  “Well, you do a lot of stunts. And I know you said you do many on your own, but people don’t know that. They’ll assume you have a stunt double, and those always have to resemble the actors, right?”

  “That’s never occurred to me,” I say, surprised not only by her creativity but by the simple fact that she worried enough on my behalf to think up a story.

  She draws her eyebrows together in concentration. “Or we could say you’ve applied to be your own double. No idea if it’ll work, but it’s worth giving it a shot.”

  “Definitely.”

  “Ready for the tour?” she asks in a serious voice. “You’ve got your own personal guide too, Mr. Superhero.”

  I’m used to people seeing my on-screen persona in real life, and it doesn’t bother me... usually.

  “I’d rather be just Alex tonight. With you.”

  Her eyes widen a little, but she nods, and I know she understands what I need. The night air is cool and misty, perfect for a walk. Five minutes into this, I realize it will take us the entire night to pass the three objectives on our list. Summer walks at a snail’s pace.

  “Hey, slow down. Where are you hurrying to?” she asks.

  “Nowhere. This is... my pace.”

  She scrunches her nose, narrowing her eyes as if she’s making a plan.

  “Right. When’s the last time you went out and about for no reason at all?”

  I search my memory. “I went fishing with my nephew today. Before that... I don’t remember. Maybe three years ago?”

  She claps her hands. “You’re out of practice. Step one to enjoying a walk: move sloooow.”

  “What’s step two?”

  “I haven’t thought so far in advance. We’ll see. Just enjoy the city. It’s your city now too. Feel it a bit.” She spreads her arms around her, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. The
urge to kiss her hits me squarely in the chest.

  She slips into guide mode next, and she’s excellent at it. I admit, I’m only half listening. I’m consumed by her. It’s been a while since I’ve seen someone lose themselves in an activity so completely, live it so fully. She peeks at me from time to time, once even pointing her finger sternly.

  “I can tell you’re not listening. Don’t be an ass. I’ll quiz you at the end.”

  “What’s my punishment if I fail the quiz? You’ll make me write lines, sit in a corner?”

  “You wish. I’m much more inventive,” she retorts with cheek. “And cruel.”

  Even though the air is crisp for mid-June, as we walk along the shore, I start feeling warm. So does Summer, because we push down the zipper of our jackets at the same time. She’s wearing a dark blue sweater under it, with a diamond cutout over her chest. Only the top of her cleavage shows, but it’s enough to spark my imagination, to make me wonder how she tastes there, how she’d react if I licked between her breasts, teased her nipples.

  “Tell me about your job,” I say. “How did you get into the art world?”

  “I’ve always had an artistic streak. In my first years of college, I tried my hand at acting, but it wasn’t really my thing. Then I started painting.”

  “You still paint?”

  “Just as a hobby, for my friends and family. I wanted to do it full-time when I started out, but it’s a bit of a lonely job, and as you can see, I talk. A lot. I’m a sociable person. I need to meet new people. Then I worked at a museum in Rome for a few years. They had a program for young artists, and I also had to do guide groups on the side. I liked it a lot, so now it’s part of my job at the gallery.”

  Enthusiasm pours off her in waves, and I can definitely not imagine her cooped up alone, painting all day.

  “We’re almost at PIER 39, that’s why it’s getting so crowded,” she informs me. “It’s even worse during the day.”

  “I’m sorry,” says a redhead with a southern twang, coming to a stop in front of us. “I have to ask. You’re Alex Westbrook, aren’t you?”

  A few heads turn in our direction.