by Logan Chance
When I arrive, the house—a fortress of glass, standing tall, with all its guts and glory shining through— is already bustling with a clan of movie stars, producers, a few DJ’s, and anyone and everyone who’s anything in this industry.
Inside, there’s white everywhere. Like a cloud threw up in here. White couches, chairs, walls, even the paintings are of white waves crashing against pale blue skies. I step outside and find Pablo leaned against the metal railing of his patio with the city lights behind him.
“Great party,” I say, shaking his hand.
“Thank you for coming.”
After a few minutes of chit chat, I excuse myself and make the rounds, being social, until Olivia Peterson wants to be social with me. She co-starred in some horror flick that was a huge smash. Honestly, she’s not my type. Too skinny, as if she hasn’t eaten in years, and she probably hasn’t.
She leans in and whispers something about sticking her tongue down my throat, and I find myself wanting to shove a cheeseburger down hers to shut her up. So, I find my exit and slip away.
I pull out my phone at the same time I find a quiet spot at the bar and order myself a bourbon.
I send a text to Nova, because she hasn’t mentioned Brody, and as much as I’d like to fool myself, I can’t stop thinking about it.
I saw the way he suggestively asked her if she wanted to ride, and I’m about a hundred percent positive he wasn’t talking about horses.
Me: You never answered me.
She replies instantly.
Nova: Yes, I did.
Me: Not about the gift, about the ride.
Nova: Oh, it was fun.
Me: Not as much fun as me. Why don’t you do an interview segment on me?
Nova: Really? That might help make me look good with Seattle.
I laugh. And text back.
Me: Yes, you should totally do me.
Nova: Ok, I’ll ask my producer.
I notice how she doesn’t catch on to my innuendo, or maybe she’s ignoring it on purpose. So, I try again.
Me: So, did you two ride fast and hard?
Nova: Yeah, pretty hard.
Me: I’m glad you had fun riding hard.
I slam my phone back into my pocket. Even though I’m here at this party in LA, my mind is back in Montana. On a certain someone with honey-colored eyes and blonde hair. And even now, I can’t stop my mind from remembering how soft her skin feels and how I’d love to run my tongue up the column of her throat, past her chin to those luscious lips of hers.
“Ethan Hale,” a male voice says, scoring my attention.
I look over to see a lanky, towheaded man holding a whisky sour. Samuel Davis.
“Mr. Davis, it’s so nice to actually meet you.”
I’ve heard all about him, know his every movie, and if there was ever a part I wanted, his movie would be it.
“I’ve heard great things about you, kid.”
I shake his hand. “That so?”
“Yes.” He nods. “Where’s Harley?” He glances around as if she’ll magically appear.
I shrug, taking a sip of my drink. “Not sure.”
“I’ve always liked her,” he says.
“Yeah, she’s ok.” I don’t tell him how I really feel.
“I’d love to have you read for a part in my upcoming film. I’ll send the script over to your agent in the morning.”
“Thanks, I’d be honored.”
He clasps a hand on my shoulder. “You’re just the kind of thing this movie needs. A genuinely good guy with no major hiccups in the media.”
I feel my phone vibrate with just the type of hiccup he means. I don’t dare check it though, not in the presence of greatness here. “Well, I hope I can live up to the dream.”
He smiles wide, dropping his hand from me. “To the future.” He lifts his drink to mine, and our glasses clank together.
“To the future.”
Is it bad that my phone is burning a hole in my pocket? I don’t want to seem too antsy, but I’m dying to see if Nova answered about Brody.
I nod my goodbye to Davis, and then dig into my pocket, like I’m digging for gold.
Nova: What do you mean by that?
I stare at the previous text I’d sent her, about riding hard, and the tension builds back between my shoulder blades. I have no right to be angry. I’m going all alpha male on her, wanting to know what happened with Brody, and I need to pull it together. Quick. Because I need to text Nova like I need oxygen to breathe. And breathing reminds me of lips. Her lips.
And now the thought of kissing her is back—full throttle.
As I stare at the screen, my mind conjures up all the dirty things I want to say to her. But, I play it safe, and remember I can’t just pull my cock out and get off with her like I want.
Me: What I mean is do you like riding hard?
Nova: Are we still talking about horses?
I laugh, totally entranced by the phone in my hand. Yeah, I’m that guy at the party. But, I don’t want to drive home just yet and lose this connection. Maybe I don’t want to spend thirty minutes driving when I could be here, texting.
My hands fly over the phone keyboard.
Me: Are we?
Nova: You’re so…frustrating.
No, she’s more frustrating. What’s really frustrating is she’s not here right now. My dick grows rigid at the thought of Nova being here. Her riding me hard and dirty. Her long, toned legs wrapped around me. Fuck me.
There’s plenty of women here I could take home, but I don’t. Instead, I stay glued to the phone with her, not wanting to break this link, this borderline sexy banter I’m sharing with the girl I shouldn’t want.
I know if I continue down this path with her, I’ll set it on fire. But then I grasp the figurative match, and strike.
Me: You still haven’t answered me about your ride.
Nova: It was short and uneventful.
Me: Guess you didn’t have the right partner.
I breathe a sigh of relief at her answer. I shouldn’t be all caveman jealous about her doing a segment with Brody, but I am.
Oh fuck, I kind of like this girl.
The next morning, I shower in a rush, so I can meet Jonah and Chelsea for lunch before they fly out to Scotland for filming of Chelsea’s next movie. I leave, I go over my schedule with Jared and what everyone wants. That’s the thing I hate most about this town. About this life. It’s run by what ‘they’ want. And who are they? The producers? The press? The ticket buyers?
Who fucking knows.
All I know is, every day I’m being pulled in a million different directions, all in the hopes of making ‘them’ happy.
Don’t work out too much Ethan. We want to keep you lean and muscular, not big and bulky.
Don’t say you eat pizza on the weekends alone. We need to make sure you look like you’re leading the perfect Hollywood lifestyle.
I can’t post anything without running it through my agent or PR rep.
I’m basically an object for them to mold and control, and just keep making ‘them’ happy.
But, the biggest complaint I have is when they come to me for my opinion.
‘What do you think, Ethan? Do you like this? Would you want to do that?’
Then, when I give my answer, they tell me it’s wrong.
But, this industry isn’t all bad; there’s a ton of perks, and the money is astronomical.
Last night, texting Nova, I had a weird sense of freedom with her. Like it didn’t matter about deadlines, or what ifs, or press statements.
Nothing mattered but me and her.
There was no hidden agenda.
She didn’t want anything from me. She wasn’t after an autograph, or a chance to tell the world Ethan Hale texted her.
She wasn’t looking for a leg up.
And with the thought of Nova’s legs my mind spirals out of control, back down memory lane of last night. I left the party in a rush, got home and jerked off, hard, to i
mages of Nova riding me.
And now I sit here, waiting for my friends, trying my hardest not to text Nova to see what she’s up to. This constant need to tell her everything about my day, and hear everything about hers, is troubling me. I should be hashing it out with anyone else but her, but she’s easy to talk to.
Sure, I have my friends, but everything moves at supersonic speeds here in LA. Everyone’s so busy.
Like Chelsea and Jonah. I asked them to meet me at this hole-in-the-wall diner, and when they arrive, Chelsea sits down in yoga pants, with oversized sunglasses shrouding her face, and says, “I didn’t have time to get ready today, so I said, ‘fuck it.’ This is what you get.”
I laugh, and we catch up over burgers and fries. During pumpkin pie, I tell them about Montana when Chelsea asks me about Nova. Yeah, they saw the middle finger too.
When we’re outside ready to leave, and Chelsea is in their Jeep, Jonah walks over to my car.
“Did you want another hug?” I tease him.
“Fuck you,” he says, grinning. Then he gets all serious. “I’m a photographer, so I see things others don’t.”
“Dead people?” I joke.
“Montana didn’t make you funny,” he retorts. His dark eyes narrow a bit with concern. “I saw the look on your face when you talked about Nova. Before I go to Scotland, I just want to make sure you trust her.”
I realize, somewhere along the way, I’ve stopped testing whether she’s trustworthy. Kind of forgot about it.
“Maybe,” I answer.
He nods. And when they leave, I realize I don’t have any desire to keep testing. I do trust her. She hasn’t leaked anything. She passed.
Chapter 12
Nova
With Ethan back in LA, you’d think my life would return to normal. Nope. It’s far from normal. It’s abnormal.
Not only is the wedding a few weeks away, there is this new development… nice Ethan as opposed to his usual not so nice counterpart. He seemed like a regular guy when we were texting. I don’t even know what’s going on anymore. I’ve morphed into a walking hormone.
In hindsight, I shouldn’t have had the wine. But I was celebrating.
After the ranch, shooting my fun girl segment with Brody, I returned home and got the call of a lifetime. And guess what? I got the job. Me, Nova Sparks, official fun girl of Seattle. Although, I don’t think the segment will be called that.
And the icing on the cake? Buttercream. ‘Cause that’s what I’m doing: tasting wedding cakes on a day I should be researching Seattle.
Obviously, I couldn’t say no to Mom’s request to come along, because the impending nuptials have my mother in a nervous tailspin. She’s all over the place, lately. Just like me, so I have no room to talk.
My mind isn’t on all the fondant wrapped beauties surrounding me, no, it’s on the thought of Ethan’s lips on mine. Smearing cake on his etched abs and licking it off. I don’t even want to admit I’m thinking that. It’s the wrong thing to be thinking about as I sit here sampling mini slices of bliss my mother will serve at her wedding to his father.
A smile spreads thinking of our conversation.
“What are you so cheery about?” Mom asks as we wait for Arlene to bring us more samples.
I drop the smile. “Nothing.”
“Mhm, she’s got guilt written all over her face,” Kim adds.
“No, I don’t. I just love cake.” I smile wider, unable to contain my excitement. “I got it.”
“Got what, honey?” Mom asks.
“The job in Seattle.” I hold my arms above my head in pure elation.
“What job?” they ask in unison.
I explain everything that led to this moment, and why I kept it to myself.
My mother and Kim both give me a hug, congratulating me on such a huge accomplishment.
Arlene places a silver tray of twelve bite-sized cakes in front of us, and we focus our attention back to the reason we’re here.
“This is blueberry and raspberry creme cake,” she points out, “and this is just a regular buttercream with a vanilla frosting.” My mother and Kim try the two cakes. “And this one is a triple chocolate layered cake, and this beauty is my favorite,” Arlene says. She reminds me a bit of Martha Stewart, except she’s never been in jail. “It’s a strawberry infused cake with a hint of truffle oil. I can put peonies around it, since they’re edible.”
We sample the cake, and I have to agree with Arlene, the strawberry is my favorite.
“Someday, you can have that one at your wedding,” my mother says.
I nearly choke on the confection. “Ah, probably never going to happen.”
As cynical as it sounds, I’m pretty adamant about that one. It’s just not written in the stars for me.
Just once, I wish I could feel what everyone claims is love. I have the hope, but it never seems to work out. So, I don’t let the ideas of happily ever after consume my every waking minute like Kim and my mother. They live their lives chasing a fantasy. An illusion they’re no closer to catching.
But, who am I to crush dreams? Let the women have their cake and eat it too. Maybe it’ll all work out. Who am I to judge?
Mom ends up selecting the triple chocolate cake, and after, I head home.
Later in the afternoon, I sit on my front porch bench soaking in the rest of the sun and listening to music. Because that’s what you do in Montana, you listen to tunes and think about a different life. I doubt Seattle will have sunsets that look like they were painted on the sky, but I’ll have more money and a fresh start. I just won’t have this sunset.
As the sun dips below the mountains, Charla’s Jeep pulls into the drive.
“Hey, I was passing by and figured I’d stop,” she says.
That’s another thing I won’t have: Charla.
Sure, we can text, or talk on the phone, but I won’t see the humor in her brown eyes or the ever-changing streaks of color in her hair. I’ll be reduced to scrolling her Instagram, favoriting her pictures.
“What’s up?” I ask, a little wary, when I see the hesitant look on her face as she steps up on the porch, holding a Lou’s Pizzeria box.
“Don’t freak out, ok?” she tells me.
I drop my feet from the porch rail and sit up. “You know I’m going to. Anything that starts with ‘Don’t freak out’ means it’s time to freak out. Plus, you’ve got pizza.”
She toys with the end of her long dark braid, chewing the corner of her lip. Then, she reaches in her tote bag and pulls out what might as well be a cobra.
I gasp, staring at the cover of the magazine she holds facing me in her hand.
“Positive—you look really cute.”
“Ethan Hale Keeping It In The Family?” I read, gawking at the intimate photo of Ethan and myself after I dismounted Belle. We are clinging to each other like plastic wrap.
“You need to just blow this stuff off,” she advises. “People know these stories are lies.” She tilts her head at me. “Unless, it’s not a lie?”
“Nothing has happened between us,” I tell her. And that’s technically the truth. All this paparazzi madness can’t be good for my new job venture. I wish they’d just leave.
“After this wedding, when he leaves, they’ll follow him, and you’ll be left alone.”
Yes, exactly. This is temporary. He’ll be done here soon, and I’ll be in Seattle, so there is no need for the look on my face in that picture. I just need to remember reality. Except, there will be awkward holiday get-togethers as a family.
“Let’s have a girl’s night,” she suggests. “Pizza fixes everything.
I sigh, because yes, it does. She follows me inside, kicking off her shoes.
I toss the cardboard box on the kitchen island and take out two plates and the Star Wars pizza cutter Ethan found on his Walmart excursion.
“How was work?” I ask. “Can you grab napkins?”
“Same ol.’ How’s life with Ethan?”
“Same ol.’
He’ll be back and forth from LA until they get married, so I’m just going to have to get used to it.”
“Um,” she says, opening the pantry door, “are you expecting an Apocalypse?”
I laugh as she stares at the jam packed, but neatly organized shelves. “No, Ethan went on a little shopping trip. Said my cupboard was bare and since no one was bothering him, he could shop in peace.”
“That’s actually cute and a little bit sad.” She pulls out napkins and closes the door. “Well, if I ever need Cheetos, I know where to come.”
If I’m being honest, Ethan’s reasoning they were bargain priced and he needed each flavor to see which was best was pretty cute.
We slide onto the stools at the counter and dig into the deliciousness of Lou’s pizza. We may not have endless chain restaurants in Pity Falls, but what we do have is damn good. Quality over quantity.
“I applied for a job in Seattle,” I confess. “and got it.”
“What?” She drops her pizza back onto the plate. “And you’re just now telling me?”
“Well, I just found out earlier, and I wanted to talk to you about it, but I was afraid I wouldn’t get it.”
“Ok, so talk. You don’t really plan on leaving me, do you?” she asks.
“Well…” I start.
“Oh my god, you are.”
Charla and I have been friends since our senior year when she moved here from Colorado with her family. At senior prom, when my friend, Daphne McCord, decided my date was better than hers, and Charla stood up for me, I knew she was a keeper. We’ve been best friends ever since.
After I tell her about the job, she slumps a little. “I’ll miss you, but that sounds like a great opportunity.”
She pulls out her phone and Googles all the cool things in Seattle while we eat. She’s as excited as me.
After the pizza is gone and we’ve watched Dancing With The Stars, Charla turns to my news segment before we watch the late night show, which has none other than Ethan as the guest.
“Nova, you’re so funny,” she laughs, watching me try to navigate through a mountain to find the finest huckleberries.
“Oh, that reminds me, I have a whole bag of huckleberries for you.”
