by Logan Chance
That’s actually pretty funny, because it’s true. There’s something about the hair process that makes people tell things. “Is there something you’d like to get off your chest? I can always cancel my next appointment,” I tell him, grabbing the clippers to smooth his edges. Ha. The irony.
“What are we doing tonight?”
My hand slips, and I make a gap in his perfect hair. I brush the surrounding hairs with my fingers, trying to cover the blasphemy.
“Don’t panic,” I say. “It’ll be ok.”
“What?” he asks, unaware he’s either going to need a matching gap cut in the other side or his head shaved.
I spin him around to face me. “You know,” I whisper, “this really hasn’t been a good week for me. I didn’t get a cinnamon roll. I’m juggling two jobs. Now I have to add another ball in there with this wedding. And another with you. I’ve got big balls in my hands.” His brows raise. “Not those kinds of balls,” I keep whispering, “Listen, I’m not a juggler.”
“I don’t know what any of that meant,” he grins, and his dimple appears, “but you can always put my balls in your mouth.”
“No,” I whisper shout, “because you’re going to be my stepbrother.”
I cover my eyes with my hands, or else I’m going to cry.
“Hey,” he pulls my hands down, “are you crying?”
“I’ve ruined your hair.” I snatch the hand-held mirror and show him. “See?”
“It’s just hair,” he assures me. “If anyone can rock a gap, I can.”
Very true. The fact he isn’t freaking out helps my freak out, so I pick the clippers back up and, lucky for him, finish without incident. Despite my attempt to not charge him, he insists.
“How did you get here, anyway?” I ask on his way out the door. “Do you need a ride?”
“I bought a Ducati,” he says like he just bought a Coke.
“What is that? I don’t know what that means.”
He laughs a little. “It’s a bike.” I blink at him. “A motorcycle, Nova. I bought a motorcycle.”
God, that’s just so perfect for him, it’s sickening. I watch him straddle the powerful machine like he was born to ride. Shades and a helmet go on next, and as he pulls away, I realize there’s not much worse than desiring something you can never have.
Thirty minutes later, a delivery person from Montana Wheat arrives with five boxes of fresh cinnamon rolls. ‘Since you wouldn’t take a tip, here’s one: these cinnamon rolls are fucking delicious. Enjoy, E.’
And that’s when I realize there’s much more to Ethan than meets the eye.
Chapter 6
Nova
“Stand back, everybody,” I shout.
I narrow in on the red bullseye on the circular trunk attached to a plywood wall in front of me. This axe is heavier than it looks, and I really need to exercise or something, ‘cause my arms are screaming above my head for me to put this thing down. I give it a heave with an unattractive grunt and it flip flops over itself and plunks to the ground about three feet in front of me.
“Getting closer,” Jeremy, lumberjack and axe throwing specialist, encourages me. “Another six feet and you’ll be there.”
Six feet? I might as well be aiming for another continent.
“Hm,” Craig, my camera guy for this not fun at all segment, starts, “maybe you need to just really let go and throw that fucker.”
“I just did,” I tell him.
He looks at the axe in the grass a few feet in front of me and then back. “Oh.”
This is not going well for so many reasons.
First, I shouldn’t have let Charla convince me I needed to wear her cute flannel shirt to fully immerse myself in this experience. My boobs can barely be contained and are threatening to pop out at any moment.
Second, Ethan Hale. He could use some lessons in etiquette. Last night, I went into the kitchen to get a late-night treat only to discover my Madeline’s were gone. The pack of buttery goodness called a cookie was nowhere to be found. Turns out, he fed them to a deer that wandered into the backyard. All of them. Those cookies were the only thing getting me through him being in my house. And I needed one or five after spotting him coming from the bathroom in nothing but a towel that hung low on his trim hips.
Third, Ethan Hale. A few times he’s been nice and made me laugh. Like the other day when I came home from work to find a new gas grill on my patio. Not any gas grill. Metallic red with an aluminum tabletop and a Brazilian cherry hardwood base. He wanted a burger, he said. We ate together at the picnic table, and it was probably the best burger I’ve ever had.
“Ok, Nova, watch me again,” Jeremy tells me. His dark brown eyes connect to mine as he retrieves the axe and points the steel blade at me. “Really focus.”
As if I’m not. We’ve been here two hours already and even a normally laidback Craig is getting antsy. His jet black faux hawk is starting to droop a little. The fun segments we film once a week usually go off without a hitch, but not today. Jeremy, owner of Lumberjack Lessons, feels it’s a reflection on his teaching abilities that I’m not getting it, so he can’t agree to let the segment air if I don’t at least get this axe somewhere in the vicinity of the target. And I can’t not turn in a segment because I have a job to do. So, we are at a fun impasse.
For the twentieth time, I watch him swing back his brawny arms and hit the target. He walks over to remove the axe.
“At this point, he’s just showing off,” Craig says under his breath to me. “Just imagine that paint is Seattle, and nail that fucker, so we can get out of here.”
“That’s brilliant,” I praise him, giving a little excited goosing through his Talk Nerdy To Me t-shirt.
He pushes his black rims up on his nose and gives a little tap to his temple before bringing his camera up again.
That’s the perfect motivation. There’s not a lot I want more than the job I applied for a few weeks ago in Seattle. It will include not only filming things in Seattle but across the US. When Lisa, a former production assistant at KTVM, the station I work for, took a Production Manager job in Seattle, I never expected her to call and say she’d been pitching this idea to her execs with me as the host. It’s my shot to really do something, to experience life outside of Pity Falls.
Jeremy hands me the axe.
“Ok, hundredth time is the charm,” Craig quips with confidence I’m going to succeed. “We’ll splice this all together and no one will ever know how unfun it was.”
He gives me the signal and when I raise my arms, I picture a new life in Seattle on the red paint. A trendy apartment in the heart of downtown. A cute beanie as I walk to coffee shops and poetry slams. I can travel to New York, or Texas, anywhere in the country. No one knows how much I want this. So far, I’ve only told Craig about the offer since I needed his help putting together a submission. And what if I tell everyone and don’t get it?
There’s nothing I want more.
Nothing.
As I swing back, the vision morphs into a blue eyed, dimpled pain in my butt.
I release and hit, dead center.
Chapter 7
Ethan
“Until next time, have fun.” Nova’s face smiles at me from the television.
I give a little smile back. I don’t know what the hell that was, but it was mesmerizing. Apparently, Nova’s ‘news’ job is an entertainment section piece. And I just learned how to throw an axe in under ten minutes.
I’m guessing the wardrobe budget is minimal considering she had on these cut off denim shorts that showcased her ass and a tight-fitting flannel that left me in suspense whether it was going to pop open any minute and turn her segment into porn. I don’t think I’ve ever considered flannel sexy until now, and thanks to that little display, I’m as hard as the trunks she was aiming for. Thank god for dim lit bars.
Hopefully, she doesn’t wear that outfit to our ‘get to know you’ dinner tonight, because I’d rather not be sporting wood for my future step
sister the entire night. Dad had the bright idea that before I fly back to LA tomorrow for the weekend, we needed a sit down. So, here I sit, waiting for the meet and greet.
Since I’m going to need alcohol to get through this, I suggested a local restaurant/bar in the middle of Pity Falls. Which, by the way, is the saddest name for a town full of happy people, unless you know the real meaning behind it. Which I do.
When Dad moved here, I researched the place and found out it was named Pity after William Pitt, same guy Pittsburgh was named after. Not very original; I was kind of hoping it had some folklore attached to it. Very anticlimactic.
My phone vibrates, and I signal the bartender for another beer before answering.
“Go ahead,” I say into the receiver, sliding off the wood stool to step outside for privacy.
“That’s no way to answer the phone,” Declan, my best friend, laughs at me. “You’re so famous you can’t say hello?”
I chuckle. “What’s up, Doc?”
“How’s it going?”
I can hear the sounds of the hospital Declan works at in the background.
“The house is coming along,” I tell him.
“Cool. What’s she like?”
For a second, I wonder if he means Nova, but I realize he’s talking about her mother, Dahlia.
“Not sold on her yet. We’re having dinner tonight.”
“Ah, how about the daughter? Maybe she can help you change their minds.”
“Doubt it.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. After Nova’s meltdown about ball juggling, part of me wanted to fix it for her, so there’s no way I’m enlisting her help.
“You never know,” Declan says.
“How’s LA?” I change the subject.
“Busy saving lives. Hurry up and get back here.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow. I have to go,” I tell him when I recognize Nova’s car pull into the lot and park. “Tell everyone I said hi.”
“Ok, keep me posted.”
I slide my phone in my jeans pocket and watch Nova exit her car wearing an expression that suggests she dreads this as much as I do. But more important is what she’s not wearing… her lumberjack outfit.
I’m a little disappointed, but in its place is something just as dire: a coral slip of a dress the same shade as the evening sky.
Why couldn’t my dad have decided to get married in the winter when she’d be covered head to toe in some yeti looking jacket that hides everything? Seriously, there is no way this girl can become my sibling. Things would be a lot easier if she were strolling across the parking lot in some clunky boots and wool pants instead of on sun kissed legs and strappy wedges.
She spots me, and I guess, if you’re being generous, you could call the tight lift of her glossy lips a smile.
“Hey, fun girl,” I tease when she steps up to me.
Her cheeks do this amazing thing and turn the same shade as her dress she’s barely wearing.
“I guess you saw my show?”
I nod. “Yeah. How’d you end up doing that?”
A weird look passes over her face, one that if I were a storyteller would be described as uncomfortable in some poetic way, but I’m not, I’m an actor, so weird it is.
“Well,” she starts, “don’t judge me, ok?”
Oh dear. Must be something monumental the way she’s fidgeting, like she needs somewhere to put her hands. They’re all over the place—running through her hair, adjusting the slim straps on her dress. Her movements are doing nothing but making me conscious of how sexy she is, and I’m about ready to offer my dick for her to stroke when she finally spills it, “My ex said I was boring.” She shakes her head. “I would’ve rather been called anything but boring. I don’t think because I like it here in Pity Falls that means I’m boring. Anyway, apparently my former best friend was not boring, and now they’re living an exciting life in Billings.”
I listen in awe as she continues. Somehow this all lead her to her fun spot on tv so she could show just how not boring she is. She proceeds to tell me about her epiphany that it was for the best because she loves doing the spots, and how she was more hurt by her friend for her betrayal than losing her dickface of an ex. (My words for him, not hers.)
“Men come and go,” she says, quietly, “maybe she’ll realize that someday.”
Before I can analyze her words, delve into the misnomer that men leave, our parents arrive. Holding hands.
“This should be fun,” I say, more to myself than her.
“More fun than me,” she jokes.
I move closer, near enough to smell the sweet peach of her perfume. “I doubt that.”
After awkward hellos, we enter the restaurant, and I realize I was so wrapped up in Nova, I never got my other beer. After I excuse myself to settle my tab before we eat, and get my head out of the Nova cloud that is encompassing it, the shield goes up, waiting for someone to swarm me or stick a camera in my face as I cross to the bar. A few heads turn in my direction, but no one bothers me. Just like everywhere else I’ve been in this town.
I relax a bit and gain the bartender’s attention.
Her long blonde hair, that’s a shade darker than Nova’s, grazes the bar as she leans over. “It’s on the house, Mr. Hale,” she says, her eyes meeting mine.
“No, that’s ok, really.” I reach for my wallet, but she stops me with a hand on my arm.
“Not a chance.” She gives me a suggestive wink, and I pull out my wallet anyway to tip her. It’s so awkward when people don’t want me to pay. I mean, it’s nice and all, but I’ve got millions. “Name’s Jennifer,” she says with a smile.
“Hey, Jen,” Nova says, appearing out of nowhere. “How’s Darren?”
Jennifer slides her breasts off the bar in a dramatic fashion worthy of an Alister. “Great.”
“He has an appointment tomorrow.”
And the award for most effective shutdown goes to Nova. Jennifer is suddenly consumed with collecting empties along the bar. I slide a fifty on the glossy top and follow Nova to our table.
“Sorry,” she apologizes, “Darren’s a nice guy.”
I kind of bristle at the implication that maybe I’m not a nice guy. Everything aside, I am. Sort of.
We join the ‘rents at the table, and just to prove I’m also a nice guy, I pull out the chair for Nova. Darren’s got nothing on me.
She hugs her mom really quick and then sits. “Thank you,” she says over the curve of her shoulder.
I take my seat across from Dad and pick up the menu, eyeing the selection of everything from buffalo burgers to prime rib. “So, this is unexpected,” I remark. “I mean, my father never had family meetings with all his other wives.”
Ok, maybe I’m not a nice guy.
“Give it a rest for one night,” my father says, with a furrowed brow.
I set the menu down, spreading my hands over it, then interlocking my fingers, ready to make a case.
“I gave Ethan a nice haircut last week,” Nova announces, defusing the situation. “Well, except the small gap in the back.”
I let out a small laugh.
The tension around the table eases as she explains what happened, minus her meltdown. The haircut really was nice, though. It was better than that, actually. It was fucking amazing. When she washed my hair, I was thankful for the smock hiding the erection I was sporting down south.
Her touch was like ten little electrodes gently zapping every nerve ending into a frenzy. She seemed to be really into it, because that’s probably the longest shampoo I’ve ever had. Which makes me wonder if she enjoyed it as much as I did?
Hm. Wonder if she touches every customer like that? Wonder if she touches Beau like that?
“What’s it like to live in LA and be famous?” Dahlia asks.
“Mom,” Nova interjects, clearly a little uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry, Ethan. You can disregard. I just thought it must be fascinating, and hard at the same time.”
I hold up a hand. �
��No, it’s ok.” I stare at her mother. “It’s a blast. I love my life.”
That’s a partial lie, but I’m not going to tell her the hard truth. Should I ‘fess up how there’s certain things I can’t stand about my life? That there’s many times I just want to jog down the street and not get hassled by paparazzi or a mob of fans?
Should I tell them how hard it is to meet genuine people? How I can’t trust anyone? Except for my friends who knew me before I became famous.
No, no one wants to hear things like that. They ask because to them, it’s exciting. To them it’s all glitz and glamor.
“I bet,” she says, sizing me up like she doesn’t quite believe me. “Still, I can’t imagine the pressure you must be under.”
Thankfully, the server interrupts, and we order dinner and some much-needed drinks.
Two glasses of Chardonnay later, and Nova’s a bit tipsy. She isn’t falling over drunk, or anything embarrassing, but she’s a lot more smiles and giggles. And I find I’m smiling more myself, but I figure, when in Rome and all that.
So, I let my guard down and enjoy a perfectly charred ribeye, cooked medium-rare, with a side of creamy mashed potatoes. It’s been so long since I’ve been able to eat a meal outside my home in peace, which is why I mainly order take out. The only time things truly seem normal are when my friends, Jonah, Booker, and Declan, want to hang out.
“So, you’re friends with Chelsea Sincock?” Dahlia asks when we’re waiting for the check.
I nod. Everyone knows the story of how I was dropping off Jonah’s wife, Chelsea, for an audition. It’s been printed a million times. She asked me to wait inside, and I got ‘discovered.’ It was a small role in Chelsea’s second movie, and everything skyrocketed from there. For both of us.
I settle the check, and after Dad and Dahlia are gone, Nova and I stand alone in the dimly lit parking lot. The night air breezes past us, and the sky opens up, all the stars wanting a peek at what we’re up to.
“You ok?” I ask when she wobbles a bit.
