“Earth to Anna?”
I shook myself and turned to Jeremy. “Hmm?”
Watching me from across my kitchen table, he chuckled. “You got a hot date or something?”
“What?” I folded my arms behind my coffee cup. “Why?”
“You keep looking out the front window, but you’re not pissed off, so I’m assuming you’re not waiting for Leigh.”
Not tonight, no. She and I had exchanged a couple of texts on the way home, and I bit back a groan just thinking about her coming by tomorrow morning. “I do not have a date.” Unfortunately. “For your information, Natalya’s coming by for a couple of drinks.”
Jeremy’s eyebrows climbed his forehead. “Oh is she?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“A couple of drinks?”
“Hey!” I straightened, the kitchen chair creaking beneath me. “What exactly are you implying?”
He shrugged. “Just making conversation.”
“Riiight.”
“Just saying.” There was a faint undercurrent of seriousness in his tone. Genuine concern. I hadn’t been drinking that hard lately, had I? Before I could say anything, though, he changed the subject. “Well, before she gets here, what’s the plan for tomorrow? I assume you won’t be leaving the house at the crack of dawn for once?”
“Thank God, no.” I drummed my nails on the table. “I don’t really have any plans yet. I thought about bugging out when Leigh comes to get her stuff in the morning, but . . . I don’t know. Kinda feels like I should stick around.”
Jeremy’s forehead creased with concern. “You want me to be here too?”
“Only if you want to bask in some uncomfortable silence and carry a box or two.”
“Hmm.” He tapped his fingers on his coffee cup. “Maybe not.”
“That’s what I figured. I can send you a text after she’s gone. And when I figure out if I’m even leaving the house. It might be nice to stick around here for a day.” I paused. “And I’m sure you and Scott can find ways to occupy an afternoon?”
He laughed as some color bloomed in his cheeks. “Well, he does have to work.”
“Right. Like that’s ever stopped the two of you from hooking up.”
“Fair point.”
“I’ll let you know, but I don’t see myself doing a whole lot tomorrow.” I got up to rinse out my empty coffee cup, adding over my shoulder. “I’m usually exhausted once Leigh’s gone.”
“I don’t blame you. I’m serious, though—if you want me to come by while she’s here, say the word.” His tone was gentle and sincere. “I can help her move stuff out, and then the two of you don’t have to interact much.”
It was tempting. So, so tempting. But working as my bodyguard already cost him plenty of time and energy. Using him to keep the tensions down between me and my ex-girlfriend seemed a bit . . . excessive. Even though I really would’ve liked to have him here. He was a good friend. He knew how to keep me sane and distracted, and for that alone he was worth his weight in gold.
But he also deserved to spend some time with Scott.
“I’ll be all right.” Facing him, I forced a smile. “Levi and Carter are off tomorrow too, so I may see if they want to spend the day watching movies.” I paused and in a conspiratorial whisper, added, “You think I can get away with driving myself over there without a bodyguard?”
“Anna.” He shot me a pointed look. “Just call me if you need me.” A grin played at his lips as he got up and took his mug to the sink. “Especially since we both know you’d take the Ferrari instead of the piece of shit, and the minute you and your lead foot go out there in that car, half the town’s going to notice you, which means it’s going to get back to someone important that I wasn’t there.”
“Hmm, true. Fine. I’ll call you.”
“Good.”
We both laughed, but I had to admit, the whole thing annoyed the hell out of me. My more persistent stalkers had been arrested, and the others seemed to have lost interest. I thought it was stupid that I still couldn’t leave my own property without a bodyguard, but the studio and their insurance company had spoken.
Good thing Jeremy and I liked each other. How Alfonse put up with Levi—and vice versa—was a mystery. They didn’t hate each other, per se, but Levi resented the shit out of Carter needing a bodyguard, and he wasn’t exactly subtle about it.
Jeremy’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket, took one look at the screen, and a silly grin immediately materialized on his face. “Scott’s last patient just left.”
“Go. Get out of here.” I shooed him toward the door. “You kids have fun tonight.”
He chuckled, then paused and glanced out the window. “You too, since it looks like your date just got here.”
My stomach was suddenly full of butterflies.
“She is not my date,” I hissed even though the headlights in the driveway were making my body temperature soar. “She’s just—”
He shot me a pointed look.
I squared my shoulders. “She just broke up with her boyfriend, and she’s coming over to have a few drinks and commiserate over exes. Nothing more.”
“I’m sure she’s—”
I didn’t hear anything else he said, because the instant Natalya stepped out of her car, my heart went haywire. She’d changed into a pair of snug jeans and a blouse that hugged her slim, powerful figure. And of course, she’d left the top two buttons open, depending on the one just above her bra to keep things PG-13—because God knew I wasn’t already wondering how I’d form coherent sentences around her tonight.
Beside me, Jeremy chuckled.
“Shut up,” I muttered. Our eyes met, and we laughed. “Okay, get out of here. Your man is waiting.”
We headed for the front door, and when I opened it, Natalya was just reaching for the doorbell.
“Oh. Hi.” She glanced at Jeremy, then at me, and her thin lips curled into a smile that didn’t help my pulse in the slightest.
“Um.” I gestured at him. “This is Jeremy, my bodyguard. Jeremy, Natalya.”
She extended her hand. “I’ve seen you on the set. Never did catch your name before now.”
“Well.” He smiled, shaking her hand. “Now you know.”
She gave a quiet laugh.
“It was nice to actually meet you,” he said. Then to me, he added, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Maybe?”
“Maybe. Good night, Jeremy.”
“Good night.” He glanced at Natalya. “Good night, Natalya.”
She gave him a slight nod and a hint of a smile. “Good night.”
He headed down the steps. Without being the least bit subtle, she watched his ass as he walked toward his car. Then she turned to me and flashed a toothy grin. “He’s cute.”
“Jeremy?” I shrugged as I gestured for her to come in. “I guess he is. Boys aren’t really my thing.”
“And they are his thing, aren’t they?”
I closed the door behind us. “I didn’t think most people knew.”
Natalya laughed. “Anyone who’s paid attention for more than three seconds knows that man is gay. He didn’t even blink when Charley West was on set. And she is hot.”
Yes, she is. You noticed?
I pushed that thought out of my head—no point in getting my hopes up. “Well, gay or not, he’s gone now.” I grinned. “So that means no adult supervision.”
She flashed a sharky grin. “Perfect.”
I started toward the kitchen, motioning for her to follow. “I’ve got a fully stocked liquor cabinet. Any preference?”
“You have tequila?”
“Tequila?” I glanced over my shoulder. “Really? I thought you’d—”
“Not all Russians drink vodka.”
“Oh. Fair point. Tequila it is. This way.” I stopped at the liquor cabinet and pulled open the glass doors. “We’re both going to feel like shit tomorrow. You know that, right?”
“I feel like shit tonight. A hangover sounds much better.
”
“Can’t argue with that. Do you want anything to eat?”
“Limes are enough, I think.”
I pulled a bottle of Cuervo from the liquor cabinet. A few shots were missing—Leigh and I had both self-medicated a time or two since we’d bought this bottle—but there was more than enough left for tonight.
“Sorry for the mess.” I gestured with the bottle at the boxes stacked in the kitchen and dining room. “My ex is still moving out.”
“I guess I’m lucky.” She smirked. “Tommy left plenty of crap at my place, but never moved in. If he knows what’s good for him, it’ll all be gone by tomorrow.”
I pulled some glasses from a cabinet—two apiece because hey, go big or go home—and fished around in the fridge for a lime. I found two and paused.
I’m keeping limes in the fridge now? Okay, maybe Jeremy’s right. Maybe I have been drinking a lot lately.
Vowing to go easy on the sauce after tonight, I put one of the limes on the counter.
As I started cutting them, Natalya picked up a slice and slipped it between her lips. Her cheeks hollowed and her lips puckered around the rind, and I just about chopped off my finger.
She grimaced and pulled the lime free. “Wow. These are . . . sour.”
I laughed. “What did you expect?”
“They’re usually a little bit sweeter.” She shrugged and sucked on it again. This time, the rind came back completely bare. “Sour, but good.”
“They taste better with condiments.” I nodded toward the Cuervo.
She laughed. “They always do.” Then she licked her thumb, probably to catch some lingering lime juice, and winked, and I had no idea what to read into that.
“Well.” I cleared my throat. “Shall we go in the living room and get comfortable?”
“Yes, please.” She picked up the bottle and the plate of limes. I grabbed an empty plate for rinds, plus the shaker of salt off the kitchen table, and we moved into the living room.
I grimaced as I eased myself onto the couch.
“You all right?” she asked.
“Mm-hmm. Leg day.”
“Oh.” She laughed. “I know the feeling.” She patted her hip. “Squats for me today. Won’t be able to move tomorrow.”
Oh honey. I know you did squats today. Believe me, I know . . .
And because my pulse wasn’t already going crazy, she picked just that moment to lick the back of her finger. At least I hadn’t been pouring the tequila right then, or she might’ve thought I was already drunk.
She put some salt on her finger, and after I filled the glasses, I licked my own finger and put some salt on it.
Then I cleared my throat and raised one of the shot glasses. “To killing ourselves at the gym.”
Natalya laughed again. We clinked the glasses together.
We licked off the salt, threw back the shots, and sucked on the limes. She was right—the limes were a little more sour than usual, but with the salt and Cuervo, they tasted pretty damn good. We went straight into the second round. Salt. Shot. Lime. The tequila burned its way down my throat. I was pretty sure I’d pay for this in the morning, but tonight? Fuck it.
“Ah, that shit is good,” Natalya said. “A few more shots of that, and I won’t give two shits about that idiot.” She dropped a bare rind on the empty plate. “Good riddance.”
“Amen to that.” I licked my lips, my tongue tingling from the mix of salt and sour. “Just don’t hold it against me if I say anything stupid when I’m drunk.”
“Isn’t that the point of getting drunk?” She giggled. Natalya . . . giggled. And it was adorable.
And if I kept staring, she was going to get suspicious.
I cleared my throat, shifting my gaze to all of our tequila paraphernalia on the coffee table for a second. “So. Um. You’re from Russia originally, right? I wasn’t just making a stupid assumption because of your accent?” Or because I’ve read your bio on the Wolf’s Landing site like seven hundred times.
“I am, yes. I came over here . . .” Her eyes lost focus for a moment. “Almost twenty years ago, now. After I retired as a gymnast.” She quirked her lips. “Not enough to get rid of my accent, I guess.”
“No need to get rid of it, is there?”
She shrugged, lounging on the sofa and slinging her arm across the back of it. “Only if I want to blend in.” With a wicked grin, she added, “Which I usually don’t.”
Oh, you definitely stand out. And I stopped myself just before I would’ve added that her accent was hot. Because what kind of stupid comment was that? One I’d blame on the tequila. And she probably wouldn’t believe me. Because her accent was kind of hot.
Was I always this much of a lightweight? I’d only had two shots. Where the hell was my brain?
Probably in the locker room where I’d left it the moment I’d invited Natalya over to my place for drinks.
“What about you?” she asked. “Where are you from?”
“Eastern Pennsylvania. Nothing terribly exciting. I’ve been in LA since I was twenty.” I paused. “Well, up until I moved to Bluewater Bay. But I’ve been in Hollywood since . . .” Yep, brain is still in the locker room. I muffled a cough. “You know what I mean.”
“You must’ve always known you wanted to make movies.”
I nodded. “Kinda thought for a while I wanted to be an actress, but then I directed a little indie short, and I was hooked.”
“Yeah?” She made a face. “Directing never seemed that fun to me.”
“That’s because your job entails dangling people from cables and crashing vehicles into things. Kind of hard for any job to compete with that.”
“True. But production . . . how do you handle all that bullshit?” She pushed herself off the back of the couch, gingerly rubbing her lower back, and wrinkled her nose as she said, “All Finn Larson has to do is show up and I get hives.”
“Yeah, he’s a tough one to deal with.” I groaned. “Good thing Simon’s involved with production work now, so he gets to deal with some of Finn’s crap.” I paused. “But putting up with that asshole is worth it sometimes. Just seeing that defeated little look on his face when he backs down—”
Natalya burst out laughing. “You’re evil! I like it.”
I laughed too, and shrugged. “It’s the only way to stay sane in production.”
“Well, and . . .” She gestured at the Cuervo.
“That too. And now that you mention it . . .” I grabbed the bottle and poured us two more shots apiece. So much for going easy on the sauce. Four shots in rapid succession? Yeah, this night was going to get interesting. But whatever. I had Natalya Izmaylova on my couch. Bottoms up.
We pounded the next two shots, and as I pushed the empty glasses away, the room whirled around me. Okay, maybe I did need to slow down a little. I at least wanted to remember anything stupid I said tonight.
Natalya sucked on another piece of lime, completely unaware of what that did to my ability to concentrate. “So . . .” She dropped the rind on the plate with the others and licked her lips. “Enough work talk. What happened with you and your ex?”
Well wasn’t that a bucket of cold water?
“Jesus.” I scowled, my buzz lightening a bit at the mention of Leigh. “What didn’t happen?”
Natalya laughed even as her forehead creased. “Bad?”
“Mm-hmm. I mean, there was no cheating or anything like that, but . . .” I stared at the glasses and limes in front of us for a moment, then sighed. “I’m not even sure where we went wrong. We had a really good thing going for a long time. Somewhere along the line, we started fighting, and I guess . . . I guess we just didn’t stop.”
“Fighting about what?”
How was she not slurring even a little bit? Then again, I still sounded more coherent than I felt, so maybe I just didn’t hear how drunk she was. Or maybe her tolerance was higher than mine. Whatever. Didn’t she just ask me a question?
Natalya’s eyebrows rose. As she spoke ag
ain, she touched my arm, and I didn’t hear a word she said.
We’d shaken hands plenty of times, but everything had always been professional and detached. Here, now, semidrunk on my couch with no pretense of anything but drinking and commiserating, I could barely get my head around the fact that she was touching me.
She withdrew her hand, and my other senses snapped back into focus.
“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” she said. “I—”
“No. No. It’s okay.” I laughed, shaking my head and trying to ignore the cool invisible handprint she’d left on my arm. “I think the tequila’s going to my brain faster than I thought it would. What did you ask me a second ago?”
“I asked what you and your ex were fighting about.”
“Right.” The question seemed to suck half the booze right out of my blood. I was still light-headed, still not completely clear in the brain, but the thought of Leigh and the last couple of years jolted me hard enough to bring me partway back to earth. “Oh, we fought about everything. I think it started after we moved in together. Bills, chores.” I waved a hand. “Then the next thing you know, we’re arguing over where to spend Christmas, and . . . it just kind of escalated from there.”
“Sounds miserable.”
“It was. And it’s over. Thank God.”
“Always a relief when it’s over, isn’t it?”
“Well, sometimes. I assume it is with your boyf—ex-boyfriend?”
She muttered something in Russian and leaned back against the couch again. “Tommy . . .” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why I wasted my time. The sex wasn’t even that good.”
An image of her naked and in bed with someone—male, female, both—flashed through my mind, and heat rushed into my cheeks. Among other places.
I forced my brain to cooperate. “How long were you two together?”
“Too long.” She played with the seam on one of the couch cushions. “Almost a year.”
“Was it always bad?”
“It . . .” She hesitated, then met my gaze. “Well, not always. He’s not a bad guy most of the time. Just doesn’t understand that women do have thoughts and opinions about things, and those thoughts and opinions don’t vanish upon contact with his penis.”
Stuck Landing Page 2
