I silenced her call.
“Who was that?” Jamie said, squinting his eyes open.
“Oh, nobody important,” I said, sighing and setting it back on the table. “Just the one person who could potentially still help my career. Or, I guess, the one person besides you.”
Jamie puffed out a long sigh, hitching himself up onto one elbow. He stared at me with one eye open and the other shut, his hair completely bedraggled. He was too enticing. Even like this—especially like this.
“Jeez, Leo, no pressure, huh?” One side of his mouth ticked up into a smile.
“Yeah. No pressure. Y’know, just save my career and… while you’re at it, never leave this bed. And for God’s sake, please never stop looking at me like that.”
Jamie laughed and it was a relief, because I was sure after a spiel like that he’d have been running fast down the street, naked as he was.
“I admit, right now I’d like to stay in bed more than anything really, but I do actually have a roommate who is probably wondering if I’ve been abducted. I should probably go back to my place,” he said.
I nodded, and shifted my body until I was sitting over the side of the bed, head in my hands, pressing against my skull.
“I’m gonna call Ella back, okay?” I said, grabbing my phone and walking over to my dresser. I looked back over my shoulder and saw Jamie getting out of bed and straightening out the sheets.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Making the bed,” he said, looking at me like I’d asked a completely stupid question. “Didn’t you read that book about tidying up? You’re supposed to make your bed every morning. Helps with like, mindfulness or decluttering or something.”
“Pretty sure a messy bed isn’t the source of my issues, but, thanks, Jamie. You are… endlessly helpful.”
I tugged on a pair of sweatpants and made my way to the living room, then stepped outside through the back doors and stood by the pool. I needed some semblance of serenity before I called Ella—before I broke myself from the trance I’d let myself stay in with Jamie for the past day.
But the sun was blinding, the air was dry, and Los Angeles was Los Angeles again. I couldn’t stay wrapped forever in the rainy haze of intimacy and sex that I’d somehow fallen into with Jamie yesterday, and the realization was like ripping a band-aid from an unhealed wound.
So I stood outside in the sun, with my eyes squinted and my foot dipped into the pool, and called my manager. She picked up after the first ring, as always.
“Leo.”
“Ella. You’ve perfected sounding angry and cheerful at the same time,” I said, dryly.
“Why haven’t you responded to my texts and emails from the past two days? We have a lot to talk about. You need to come to the office today.”
“I’ve been… occupied,” I said.
“Occupied with…?” she asked, sounding doubtful. “I saw the very charming appearance you made on the August Freeland show the other night—can you tell me why exactly you didn’t talk about what we’d planned?”
I pulled in a deep breath, trying to figure out what to tell her. A hummingbird darted down near my face, decide I wasn’t worth the effort, and whizzed back into the blue sky.
“I couldn’t announce the biography on that fucking show, Ella. It was a dumpster fire. You saw it, so why do you even have to ask?”
“I mean, yeah, I know, those kids sucked. Wimby and Agatha. Who even are they? But we’re going to have to figure something else out. Oh, and Leo—I need to talk to you about a potential commercial offer we’ve gotten for you.”
My stomach lurched. “Commercial offer? Like, you actually want me to be in more commercials?”
“The offer is very good, Leo, and—”
“Ella, I thought that’s what this whole thing with Jamie was about—I begin a slow course toward redeeming my career and maybe I won’t have to do fucking commercials anymore.”
“Yes, that is the general idea, but I think you might change your mind when you hear about the offer. We’ll talk about it, Leo. It’s for Tiako, have you heard of it?”
“Tiako? The face lotion company? Seriously?”
“Yep.”
“Yeah, I see their commercials every time I watch The Lakeside. It’s always gorgeous young women in them, why the hell would they want me?”
“Well… they’re widening their market to… men, to… older men.”
I paused, briefly considering chucking my phone into the pool in front of me. The water glimmered in the sunshine, and despite the blinding reflections on its surface, I stared right at it until my eyes watered.
“I’ve gotta go, Ella. I’ll let you know when I can stop by.”
I hung up before she could protest, and swallowed. When I stepped back into the living room my eyes took a few seconds to adjust from the bright sun, the inside looking so dim in comparison. My eyes focused and Jamie was standing there, near the front door, all dressed in his own clothes and his backpack slung onto his shoulder.
A kind of heartbreak. The one good thing in my life right now, all set and ready to leave.
I was being maudlin, but I couldn’t help it; the past day had been magic and everything else just wasn’t. I knew I’d see Jamie more, for interviews, but I had no idea where we could go next, after what had happened. It was too confusing and overwhelming to think about. I couldn’t be with him—his career depended on the biography being legitimate, and no one would think it was legitimate if it was written by my—my what? My lover? I could see the headlines already: Leo Stone’s Boy Toy, 14 Years Younger Than Him, Writes Tell-All Biography. Jamie’s career would be forever ruined, just by being associated with me.
But the thought of not being with him again was maybe even worse. I tried my best to stuff my feelings in the deepest recesses of my head, to push them down and just get through saying goodbye to Jamie without it feeling like some grand loss.
It was always too hard to tell him goodbye.
I paced over to him. “Do you need any food before you go?” I said.
He shook his head. “Nah. I’ll grab something on the way back.” He smiled at me, but his eyes seemed sad. I felt like I was grasping at something that was slipping out of my reach. I was frantic.
So I said something that, as usual, I probably shouldn’t have but seemed like the only thing I could do to stop myself from coming apart at the seams.
“Do you want to go to a party with me next week?”
His eyes glinted, the sadness replaced for a moment with curiosity. “What… kind of party?”
“Chandler’s summer party. He has this thing at his house by the beach—”
“Oh wow. I’ve… definitely heard about those parties. Like, a lot, actually. He’s kind of known for them, isn’t he? Tons of people, huge ordeal….”
I nodded.
“Of course I’ll come, holy shit. What, uh, do I need to wear?”
God, it was a bad idea to be inviting him. Of course, I wanted nothing more than for him to come—but he was right, the party was an ordeal, and we would have to make sure that we weren’t seen together as a pair. I had to protect him from that.
“I think Chandler said he’s doing a 1920s theme this year? But it doesn’t matter anyway because most people end up in their underwear or swimsuits in the pool. Don’t think too hard about it.”
His eyes widened, and finally he looked excited instead of cheerless.
It had been a bit too much at that point so I dropped my face to his and kissed him, softly, just needing to remember that everything yesterday had indeed happened. The kiss was short and sweet, and Jamie made his way to the front door afterwards.
“I’ll see you soon,” he said, stepping out.
“See you, Jamie.”
I walked back in and paced around the house, not quite sure what to do. I went in the bedroom and saw the bed, perfectly made, looking so different from its usual state of chaos.
Jamie had folded the clothes I
’d loaned him into a neat stack at the foot of the bed. I walked over and ran my hand over the shirt, then picked it up and threw it on. It smelled like him, and me, and yesterday.
Sixteen
Jamie
Weird.
Everything felt weird. L.A. looked different as I drove home from Leo’s house that bright morning.
I mean, really, it looked the same—like a sea of traffic lights, endless palm trees, and an inexplicable amount of liquor stores and dive restaurants. But in my mind, it felt different; it was no longer a city unknown to me, wide open with possibilities, but instead one that had taken on definition. This was where I lived. It was where I worked. And where I’d now met someone I had never in a million years expected to meet, and fallen for him harder and faster than I knew was possible.
But it probably would end up going nowhere.
I knew it couldn’t have been real. I’d felt it, from Leo, this morning—he’d thought the same thing. It had been a momentary lapse of his rules, of his boundaries, and I could feel him pushing me away this morning.
It was as if suddenly the real world had come screaming back into focus, and he’d remembered that I was just his young biographer, a kid who he’d had fun with for a day and now needed to get back to his regular life. I’d drawn back into myself, instinctively, knowing that he’d likely do the same.
But I was incredibly fucking excited that I’d be going to one of Chandler Price’s infamous parties. I thought for sure that Leo wouldn’t invite me, but the fact that he had sent a buzz of anticipation through me.
I got back to my apartment and closed the door quietly. Chelsea’s schedule was as erratic as… well, as my own, and it was entirely possible that she was in the middle of a deep sleep even though it was nearly 11 in the morning.
But when I got in, she was sitting at the breakfast table, munching on some cereal, the Economist at her side.
“Jamie,” she said, looking up to me. “Where have you been?”
I shrugged off my backpack and sank into the chair across from her. I didn’t know where to begin.
“Jesus, Jamie, did something bad happen?”
“No, no—God no,” I said, staring into a dark spot on the wooden table.
“You look, kinda… I don’t know, shellshocked?”
I met her gaze and nodded. “Yeah. Um… I was with Leo, for the past… 36 hours.”
Her eyes widened and a smile spread over her face. “Like, with him with him?”
I paused for a moment, then felt a hot blush rising to my face.
“Wow, Jamie,” she said, grinning wide. “Hate to say it, but… I told you so.”
I sighed heavily, smiling at her. “Yeah. Chels, I literally can’t even tell you how good yesterday was. It was like he totally forgot that we were doing the biography together, totally forgot that he shouldn’t hook up with me….”
“Dang. Sounds like he was a completely different person.”
“No, actually, it felt like he was finally being himself. Like, scarily vulnerable. Did you know he fucking plays piano? Like, really well?”
She shook her head, crunching on a spoonful of cereal.
I remembered the look in Leo’s eyes as he played his song, the one that he wrote, and the way he’d looked at me after he finished. I remembered how he’d taken me to bed the night before, and lulled me to sleep by running his hands over my back, soft but firm, until I’d slipped into deep and peaceful sleep with his hands moving over me. How long had he kept his hands on me after I’d fallen asleep?
The gesture had gone beyond sex—we’d done that twice, and in bed last night it was just a closeness that I’d probably never felt before in my life. It had almost felt loving, the way he’d been touching me as I dozed off.
Loving. The word passed through my head and I almost felt taken aback by it—how could I possibly think something like that could describe someone I’d met so recently? It felt like it should be wrong, even though it rang through me, plainly and clearly. It was terrifying, and I also kind of wanted to dive headfirst into it.
And I really fucking wanted him to fuck me again.
“Earth to Jamie,” Chelsea said, waving her hand in front of my face. “Jeez, dude, do you need a coffee or something? You’re like on another planet. More than usual.”
I laughed and got up. “Yes. Yes, I do need coffee. And food, and a shower, and to stop thinking impossible things about a man I just met and am supposed to be working for.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Jamie. Really. It’s okay to have a crush on someone. People get work crushes all the time. Especially in one-on-one situations like you’re in.”
Crush. It was a silly word. It really felt like more than that to me.
But I hoped Chelsea was right.
There was no use trying to think about anything other than Leo—so I decided to put that inconvenient fact to good use.
I’d done a fair amount of interviewing, and it was time to start outlining and structuring what my book, his book, would actually be.
I opened up the document I’d started with rough notes about the book. The cursor blinked back at me, its steady beat somehow soothing, and finally, I started to type.
And type, and type, and type. I’d meant to sit down and formally outline the book—decide which chapters would contain what, and set myself up for success with a clear, delineated form for the book.
But instead I let the words start to spill out, unfiltered. I didn’t pay attention to how the sentences sounded, I didn’t care if what I wrote looked awkward. It didn’t matter if what I wrote would be wildly inappropriate for the final book—I’d go back and edit it later.
At that moment all I could do was pour my heart out onto the page everything I’d learned so far about Leo. His temperament, his hobbies, his eyes, his kisses. How he looked when he discovered something that piqued his interest. How good of a tipper he was. How he propped his pillow up behind him in bed, taking great care to perfectly get the right position, only to eventually cast it aside as he took me in his arms instead.
None of these things would make it into the final book. Of course not. It was a biography, not a tell-all called How Leo Stone Somehow Got to My Fucking Heart So Damn Quickly.
And after probably two hours of this, nonstop pouring out every thought that crossed my brain, I started a new document. Fresh, clean, unencumbered by every stray feeling I had inexplicably developed for the man. And I finally started to write the real biography.
I wrote for the rest of the day, taking breaks intermittently to stand over the sink eating cold leftover pizza that Chelsea must have ordered the night before. The rest of the time, my eyes were glued to the computer screen, and my fingers at the keys. I managed to form a structure for the first few chapters of the book and then start writing them. I could see how the book would shape itself in the end; all it would take was a lot of typing and more interviewing to get there. It helped to fill in for me the things I knew I still needed to speak to Leo about, and I made notes in my book every time I hit upon something I needed to dive further into with him.
It felt refreshing, and renewing, to write all day about the man I couldn’t get off my mind. It didn’t matter if in the end, he wouldn’t want to be with me—I threw myself into the manuscript instead, this book that would become something that was half his and half mine, a strange fusion of his life and my writing.
I went to sleep early, strangely lulled by the knowledge that the book was going somewhere. I pushed the inevitable confusion about what yesterday had meant, and let myself fall asleep.
Waking up wasn’t as easy the next day, or the day after that, or any time the entire week. A week after my magical day with Leo I was convinced it must have been a dream—nothing felt the same anymore, and I spent every day at home or in the coffee shop or library trying to work on the manuscript.
After years of college, and school before that, there was always some purpose to my days, even on the weekends.
There was always a deadline or an exam looming, always some class or event to attend. Hell, usually I didn’t even have a choice about when I woke up—I’d be rudely awakened by raucous dormmates or blaring music at any hour of the day.
But now, the newness of post-college life had seemed to wane, and as I woke I knew I had no structure to the day ahead of me. I could work on the biography, sure, but I’d done so much yesterday and I was honestly a little burnt out. People with real jobs would probably envy me, but the lack of any idea how my days would turn out was starting to feel… odd. Like I wasn’t a productive member of society, even though I was technically employed.
The sun, as ever, was shining in my window and when I looked out onto the street below, all I could gather was that it was trash day. My oatmeal was bland because Chelsea had used the last of the bananas and unfortunately there’d been no more cold pizza to attack. The apartment was empty and looked dingier than I’d remembered it—I didn’t know if it was because I’d gotten used to it or because I’d somehow come to prefer Leo’s house.
Or maybe everything just seemed a paler version of what it used to be because I missed Leo. I was finally supposed to see him again at night for Chandler’s party, and I felt like half a human and so not ready for a party with reams of celebrities.
I was going to have to do my best.
I hauled myself back into my room and sank down into my office chair, opening up my laptop. I thought maybe I just needed to flood my mind with videos of cute cats and sloths online, to get me out of the strange funk I’d fallen into.
But I opened up my email to check it first. Usually a bad idea, but it was habit.
And sitting there at the top was a message from something I didn’t recognize.
It was from Diamond Pictures. Probably another rejection email.
Nevertheless there was a slight shake in my hand as I opened and read the email, my eyes scanning so quickly over the words that I could barely make out full scentences.
Your Fallen Star: Under the Stars Book 1 Page 14
