The Scene Stealer: A Hollywood Romance

by Renee Harless

  Freshly showered, I glance at the clock on the end table, 4:00 p.m. My desire to see her is overwhelming, but I need to remember she can’t be a distraction. I’ve had enough of those in my life.

  I last only another half hour before I find myself standing in front of the doors to the diner, watching as Larsen fills a glass behind the counter. A man about my age stares at her in reverence, but she either doesn’t notice or pays him no mind. He’s a good-looking guy, I can’t deny that, and probably a far better suitor for her than me.

  “You just going to stand there, young man, or do you plan on heading inside?”a voice says from behind me. I turn to find an older man, probably in his eighties, with an arm extended around a woman of the same age. They’re both eyeing me patiently.

  “Yes, sorry.” I hold the door open for the couple and then follow them inside.

  I stand at the host station but from the corner of my eye, I spy Jeff sitting in a booth by himself and make my way over in that direction.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  Jeff startles from his reading of a local newspaper but smiles when he sees me standing there.

  “Good to see you, son. I’d love to have you.” As I slide onto the bench across from him, he shouts out to Larsen to grab me a drink.

  “A water is fine,” I add on, noticing how a bearded man at the counter sips from a bottle of Budweiser. The pull to grab it and down a gulp is strong, but I fight against the urge with everything that I am.

  As Larsen sets the glass on the table, I offer her thanks. “You know, I still have another thirty minutes to my shift.”

  “I know, but I was getting antsy.”

  “Suit yourself.” As she ambles off to grab a few dinner plates, I turn back to find Jeff looking between the two of us, his head swishing back and forth.

  “You and Larsen?”

  “Oh. . .yeah. We’re going bowling.” In my peripheral, I notice the handsome man from earlier quickly turn his head toward me in surprise. Not wanting to ruin Larsen’s chances in the future, I make sure to tack on, “Seems like we both could use a friend,” though it burns in my throat like liquid fire.

  Jeff nods as he takes a taste of his drink and I occupy myself by looking over their menu.

  “By the way, I took a look at your car. It appears to be the pick up coil in the distributor. It’s a common problem for those cars, but unfortunately, I need to order the replacement. Should be here and fixed by the end of the week. Maybe sooner if I can get a rush on the part.”

  We spend the next thirty minutes talking about baseball and a bit about my career. I try not to go into too much detail because fame isn’t as glamorous once the spotlight begins to dim.

  Our conversation is broken up as Larsen sidles up to the table, her hair dropping a little to the side from its perch on the top of her head. I can tell she’s had a rough day and after her emotional evening the night before I’m surprised that she isn’t a walking corpse. I look up at her expecting for her to back out of our friendly date, blaming her exhaustion or simply calling it a mistake, but I’m surprised to see a glimmer of excitement shining beneath the surface, just above the hint of purple under her eyes.

  There was a time not too long ago in my life that just the thought of her excitement to be with me would have gotten me off, it would have fed my desire to be someone’s center of attention. But not with Larsen. Instead, all I want to do is cancel our date and send her to bed for some rest.

  “Hey, Larsen,” I begin, in the hopes of ending things gently.

  “Hey, thanks for waiting. I just need to take a quick shower and change. I smell like grease and fried food. Do you want me to just meet you down here?”

  The course of my thought process is broken and cauterized as my mind floods with scenes of Larsen in the shower. I imagine the water cascading down her hair and shoulders, flowing over her pale skin as it cleanses her body. Water droplets clinging to her limbs like the tiny freckles across the bridge of her nose. Just imagining Larsen’s beautiful figure standing naked in the shower has my cock rising in attention. Tucked away in the booth it’s a bit easier to hide, but I have to adjust myself in the seat to keep the sensitive skin of my cock from pressing against the zipper of my shorts, even with the cotton of my boxers adding an extra layer of protection.

  “Devyn?” she repeats and I attempt to mask the erotic thoughts speeding through my mind by offering her a smile.

  “I’d be happy to wait for you.”

  “Great. I’ll be right back.”

  Jeff turns in his chair to join me in watching her lithe body maneuver through the tables and head toward the front door, but I can feel the protective instinct in him pulsating in waves. She makes it two steps from the door and the man from earlier, the man that had been watching her with an interested look in his eye, slips passed the threshold as well. I’m so focused on watching Larsen’s body that I didn’t even notice him sliding from his seat at the counter and following her out.

  “Who’s that guy?” I ask Jeff, my gaze never wavering, as if held in a trance.

  “That’s Cole. He’s a middle school teacher. Math, I think. He’s from Northern California.”

  Steady. Safe. Everything Larsen needs.

  “How long has he been sniffing around?”

  Jeff turns in his seat and looks me over, his protective sense even stronger now than before.

  “That is a pretty new development. My guess is since you’ve come to town. But Larsen has had a crush on him since he moved to town a couple of years ago. We don’t have many residents her age. Mostly travelers stop through for a few days before continuing their journey. Fish. That’s what we call them.”

  Makes sense that he would be the man Larsen is interested in. It won’t be hard to get him to ask her out on a date, especially if I’m in town. Jealousy plays a heavy hand. But getting Larsen confident enough to accept the date will be tough. Even as new friends I had to practically twist her arm to go out with me tonight.

  Jeff allows me to ponder that development a while longer, the silence between us working as a blank canvas for my thoughts. Thoughts of Cole getting to walk with Larsen, take her on dates, kiss her, make love to her. To my Larsen.

  My Larsen? I think to myself as if the concept writes itself in bold bright lettering deep inside my mind and I can’t ignore it.

  Obviously, I’m attracted to her, even though I shouldn’t be. It would be hard not to be. She’s not only stunning on the outside, but she is on the inside as well. A true diamond in the rough that hides behind the jagged scars that she feels hold her back. They do little to detract from her exquisiteness.

  “Hey, son?” Jeff’s voice pulls me back from my mental examination. “Did you forget your wallet?”

  I stare at him in confusion, definitely feeling the press of my wallet against my backside.

  Shaking my head slowly, my eyes narrow as I wonder what Jeff is alluding to. “No. . .?”

  “Are you sure? I’m pretty certain that you’ve forgotten it in. Your. Apartment.” He punctuates each word until his meaning finally sinks in. He wants me to go to Larsen, pull her away from Cole, keep her mind on me.

  Without dawdling, I rise from the table and place a friendly slap on Jeff’s shoulder. Alarmingly he reaches up and grips my hand that had just whacked his body. My attention pulled away from the woman of the hour, now completely focused on her uncle.

  “I like you. I believe that you’re here for a reason, that your car broke down in the spot that destiny assigned to you. But make no mistake, if you hurt that precious girl in any way, shape or form, you won’t have just me to worry about. There is an entire town of people that will come after you.”

  His speech is made to scare me. Your typical fatherly proclamation of, “Hurt my daughter and I know a thousand ways to kill you and bury your body so that you’re never found.” But instead of cowering like most men, because I am most certainly not most men, I return his grip by squeezing his shoulder. I am Dev
yn Dane after all.

  “I can appreciate the way you all look out for her. You don’t have to worry about me hurting her, I’m offering her my friendship and nothing more. Like I told her yesterday, everyone can use a friend.”

  His grip loosens and the corners of his mouth and eyes droop. They remind me of that painting that looks like everything is melting. Jeff’s face looks like it’s been hit by a heat wave.

  “Larsen does need friends. Ones her own age. She spends all of her time working, or helping me, healing me. Since my wife died she doesn’t make any time for herself. She is completely focused on making sure everyone else is taken care of. But rarely does she take time for herself. I’m not even sure she’s had a day off since Susan’s death.

  “So, I appreciate your offer of friendship. We all want to see her happy.”

  I have no words in response. I’m not sure I could muster up the thanks he deserves for having confidence in me. The only other person that has placed their trust in my hands has been Quinn. And just like I won’t let her down with this new film, I won’t let Jeff down either.

  Squeezing his shoulder, I quickly make my escape and duck out of the diner just as a group of tourists pull up in their huge RV. I watch pedestrians along the sidewalk whip out their phones, most likely taking video or pictures of me that will end up on their social media pages. They’ll be too grainy for any of the gossip papers to publish without confirmation, and by that time I’ll be long gone.

  I keep my head down as I walk briskly back to the apartment, my mind totally set on helping Larsen realize how amazing she is. I want to help plant and bloom her confidence.

  Once I leave the main strip of businesses, about two full and long blocks, the crowd thins out until I’m alone as I make my trek back to the apartment. My palms are actually sweating as my nerves grow the closer I get to our floor. I just step onto the landing as Larsen’s door swings open.

  At first I think it’s Cole stepping through, but I’m stunned to see Larsen back out of the opening as she shuts the door behind her.

  “Oh,” she gasps, turning around to find me hovering close by.

  If I were a cartoon character like the ones I would watch on television growing up, I’m certain that my tongue would be hanging loosely from my mouth with my eyes bugged out from their sockets. Larsen is clad in a simple pair of jeans and a loose T-shirt baring the skin of one of her shoulders. Nothing too extravagant or attention-seeking, not like the women I’ve dated or bedded in the past. Her wet hair is braided and draped over her shoulder, masking the scar that runs down her jaw. Scars that I don’t even notice any longer, though I’m curious of their origin. She’s even put on a little makeup from what I can tell. Her brown eyes are lined with brown smudges.

  Damn, she’s beautiful, and if she were anyone else, I’d be dragging her back inside her apartment and having my way with her.

  But she deserves more, she deserves better.

  Shaking my head, I step closer to her and offer her my hand. She seems surprised at the gesture knowing that her scarred limb will be within my grasp. I wait patiently for her to accept my invitation and as she slowly slips her hand in mine the feeling of rightness swirls within the confines of the stairwell landing.

  “Sorry, I was eager. Ready to go?”

  “Yeah,” she whispers, her stare never leaving our clasped hands. I wonder what she’s riveted by. The difference in size? The variation in the color, her ivory pallor to my tanned one? Or is it that instead of pulling away I’m gripping her tighter?

  “You know, I’ve never bowled before.”

  At my confession, her head pops up like one of those carnival games where you whack the creature with a soft mallet.

  “Never?”

  “Nope. My parents never made time for me to be a kid.”

  “Well, this is going to be fun,” she says with far more excitement than I would have if I was going to have to teach someone how to bowl. “Let’s go!”

  But, hell, if all it takes to put that look of excitement in Larsen’s eyes is telling her things I missed out on as a kid, then I might just tell her that I never learned how to ride a bike.

  Damn, I’d tell her just about anything if it makes her look at me the way she just did.

  “Come on, slowpoke,” she adds on as she drags me down the stairs and out the apartment’s exit.

  “This is going to be torture, isn’t it?” I jokingly ask her.

  Tugging on my hand once more she urges me to keep up pace. For such a petite woman she sure does have one hell of a stride.

  “You betcha,” she giggles.

  And that’s when I realize she’s open and carefree, not hiding into herself. That butterfly I knew was cocooned beneath the surface is about to spread her wings and I’m going to be the one to show her how.

  CHAPTER SIX – LARSEN

  I try not to focus on the fact that Devyn is casually holding my hand as we stroll down the pathway from the apartment building toward the bowling alley. He didn’t even shudder as he clasped my palm or as his thumb gently rubs back and forth against my knuckles. I almost forget about the ridges and indentations protruding out of my skin.

  We don’t speak much as we stroll along, making small talk until we approach the bowling alley. Devyn holds the door wide for me, allowing me to pass over the threshold. I catch a whiff of his cologne and I can’t control the need to close my eyes and savor its masculine scent.

  My eyes pop open when I feel his hand slip onto the small of my back. “Come on, we’re over on lane two.”

  “What?” I whisper in shock, craning my head to look at him. He offers me a proud grin and I can’t help but think that he should smile more. He looks much younger, less serious. Like the world isn’t weighing on his shoulders.

  “I called and reserved a lane for us ahead of time. They should have our shoes set aside too.”

  “How did you know my size?”

  He shrugs his shoulder as we pass a few lanes filled with the bowling leagues that will be practicing tonight. “I just mentioned your name and he said he’d take care of it.”

  “Oh.” Yeah, I come here a lot. There isn’t much else to do in this town, especially when the winter season approaches.

  “Here we are.”

  I follow him toward the seats positioned in front of the lane and, just as he mentioned, they have everything set up for us. Two balls, one with the weight I prefer, two pairs of shoes, and our names already entered into the system.

  “So, how do we do this?” he asks.

  “You didn’t study ahead of time? Isn’t that what actors are good at? Studying up for a role to fully translate a character?” I joke as I slip off my sneakers and tie the blue, red, and white bowling shoes to my feet.

  He remains silent and I can see that I’ve said something to bother him, though I’m unsure what.

  “Hey, I was just joking. I’m happy to teach you what to do, though to be honest, it’s really not that difficult.”

  “Yeah? Okay.” I can tell that he’s ignoring whatever it is that I’ve said so I let it go as well.

  Trying to lighten the mood, I add, “You’re probably going to be a natural anyway. Seems to me that you’re one of those people good at everything that you do.”

  I can’t be sure, but I think I hear him mutter, “Not at everything,” as he ties his own bowling shoes.

  Holding my bowling ball of choice in my lap, I give him the lowdown of scoring and how to address himself at the line using the arrows on the lane to mark where he wants to position his swing.

  The first round is a disaster filled with a lot of laughing. The most laughter I’ve experienced in a long time. Devyn underestimated his strength for most of his turns and either popped the ball into the gutter or the other lanes. He caused a few sneers from the league players in the lane beside us when his ball knocked down their pins.

  But by the end, he starts to get the hang of it.

  “Hey, you want some nachos while we
play? Best cheese in the county,” I ask, my enthusiasm from enjoying the game evident in the cheerful tone of my voice. I’m practically bouncing in place.

  “Nachos sound good. You sit here; I’ll get them for us.”

  “I’d be happy to-” I begin before he interrupts me with a harsh command.

  “Sit.”

  Devyn retreats up the two steps toward the concession stand and I’m locked in a trance watching his back muscles work beneath his shirt, especially as he leans against the counter. I barely notice how the young worker is staring at him as if he’s hung the moon. I can’t say that I blame her. I bet he’s unleashing that devilishly handsome smile he’s worked on half the town. The smile that makes women weak in the knees and men drop their guard.

  I don’t notice as he turns around and leans against the counter facing me. It’s not until he winks in my direction that I break free from my hypnotic stare. Turning back to face the lane I look down at the bowling ball in my lap, using my finger to trace the white marbled pattern on the black ball. Each line reminds me of my markings, a constant clash between the broken skin. But instead of feeling obtrusive and out of place, these lines work to create a beautiful design.

  “Hey, I brought us some waters too,” Devyn announces from the table behind my seat.

  I ease the ball back on the return and join him.

  “You know, most people here order a pitcher of beer with their nachos,” I joke as we simultaneously scoop out a chip covered in plastic-like cheese from the bowl.

  Quietly he looks up from beneath his lashes. “I can get you a beer if you’d like, but I. . . uh. . .stopped drinking.”

  In surprise, I almost drop the chip in my hand. After Devyn arrived in our town, I used my good friend the internet browser to do a search. They called him a fallen star, a has-been, and other terrible things I can’t imagine ever wanting to be said about me. The articles also mentioned his stint in rehab for drug abuse and his current penchant for alcohol and women.