“You don’t have to worry about that.” I use my hand to form a zipping gesture across my mouth. “These lips are sealed.”
Nine
Stella
I slam the door and dramatically collapse on my bed, pouting like a three-year-old whose blankie is in the dryer.
I’m drunk and overreacting but hearing the truth from Hudson hurt. He only confirmed what I’ve been afraid of from the start of signing off on this deal. I’m pimping myself out for the sake of my career and money.
I’ve tried telling myself it’s not bad because I’m not screwing Eli.
Isn’t it only hooking if you’re fucking and sucking someone?
So, I’m in the clear, right?
Now, I need to convince my Hudson-altered conscience that.
Men are a pain in the ass.
Which is exactly why I’ve sworn them off.
They might come with a good penis, but there’s always a side dish of problems.
A situation like this would usually warrant a call to Willow where I’d rant about how big of an asshole Hudson is. She’d tell me to kick him in the nuts or let it go depending on her mood.
I can’t do that tonight. She’s going through too much, and it would be selfish of me to bother her with something this petty. Unlocking my phone, I scroll down to Dallas’s name. Maybe he can talk some manners into his jerk of a brother.
For a brief moment, I thought Hudson and I were moving in the right direction, maybe even starting to like each other. We had the whole late-night kitchen conversation, we flirted, and he stuck up for me with Tillie.
Apparently, I was wrong.
My finger hovers over Dallas’s name, but I stop myself.
It’d be selfish calling him.
Well, damn.
Who can I call and complain to?
Who can I ask for advice?
I hit my sister, Antonia’s, name. It rings several times before going to voicemail. She’s probably busy. She signed a modeling contract six months ago and has been touring the globe for fashion shows.
I slap my forehead and know I’ve hit rock bottom when I call my mother.
Don’t get me wrong. I love her.
Problem is I’m not sure if she loves me or only sees me as her meal ticket. We talked regularly, and she was my biggest fan until Knox and I broke up. She begged me to get back with him for the sake of my career and was furious when I refused.
My call goes straight to voicemail.
No shocker.
I contemplate calling an old friend but decide against it. I’m so out of touch with that circle. Most of them took Knox’s side in the break-up. He’s richer and has more connections than I do.
All invites and calls stopped coming my way after he told our friends he didn’t want me around because he had a new girlfriend. Hollywood friends see you as disposable.
I toss my phone down and sigh. This is supposed to be the peak of my career, but I feel so alone.
Tears fall down my cheek, and desperation leads me to grab my phone and hit the last name I should.
Me: YOU ARE AN ASSHOLE AND NEED TO WORK ON YOUR PEOPLE SKILLS AND MANNERS!
There.
I said what I needed to.
I put my phone down and pick up a magazine sitting on the nightstand. My phone beeps before I make it past the first article. I drop the magazine and take a deep breath before looking at the screen.
Hudson: Are you text-sulting me from the next room? Put on your big girl panties and stomp your spoiled ass out here if you want to scream at me. All caps aren’t necessary. They don’t do your entitled temper justice.
Ugh, the nerve of this jackass.
Text-sulting? Who even says that?
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, jump off, and stomp my unspoiled ass back into the living room. Hudson is situated comfortably on the couch with not a care in the world.
Did our argument not even faze him?
“Temper?” I scream. “You want to see a temper?”
His arms are crossed, and a smile dances over his lips. “Go ahead, Hollywood. Temper away. Stomp your feet. Do whatever you feel is necessary to prove you’re different than what the headlines say.”
Why does he have a good comeback for everything?
I want to shock him, make him at a loss for words, and show him I’m a force to be reckoned with.
I point to him. “You need to start being nice, or I’ll tell Dallas to inform your girlfriend how big of a dick you’re being.”
Yes, I suck at comebacks. I sound like a tattletale on the playground.
Hudson laughs while looking more entertained. “Let me know how that goes, will you? I have a feeling she’ll be too busy fucking my best friend than worry about who I’m supposedly insulting.”
My mouth slams shut.
His grin grows. “Not the response you were expecting?”
I was right about him no longer being in a relationship.
Embarrassment sweeps up my cheeks. “I thought you were engaged?”
Should this new information excite me?
It does.
“I was. Not anymore. Cameron decided she liked to screw my best friend, and I’m not one to share pussy. When I make someone mine, they’re mine. Sharing is not always caring.”
His answer sends shivers down my spine. My heart races over the way he talks about ownership.
“That sucks. I’m sorry,” is the only response I can muster out after throwing a failed relationship in his face.
He shrugs. “Shit happens and you move on.”
I walk further into the room and sit down in a chair, wanting him to go on. Give me more! Unleash your secrets!
“How long were you two engaged?”
“We dated twelve years. Engaged three.”
“Wow. That’s a long time.”
My final breakup with Knox crushed me. We dated on and off for almost a decade. I can’t imagine how I’d feel if I found out he was sleeping with my best friend.
Friendship code 101: Don’t fuck each other’s exes.
Male or female.
Not even if the dude is young Fight Club era Brad Pitt.
They’re off limits.
If you do, you were never a true friend to begin with.
There are millions of cocks and vaginas in the world. It’s not hard to find one that hasn’t been with your best friend.
I take a deep breath and shove my hand out his way. “Can we call a truce?”
He looks at me skeptically. “You mean you’re done calling me an asshole?”
“As long as you quit referring to me as a hooker.”
“Fine, truce.” He shakes my hand, and I’m disappointed at the loss of his touch when he releases me. “All hooker comments will be kept to myself.”
“And stop thinking of me as a hooker, too. I’m not sleeping with Eli.”
He taps his chin. “Do you know the definition of hooker?”
“Can’t say it’s something I’ve looked up before.” I raise a brow. “Do you?”
I wait for him to spit out some Webster’s Dictionary definition that confirms you don’t have to sleep with someone to be defined as a hooker.
He laughs. It’s deep and manly. “I’m only fucking with you, Hollywood. Consider all hooker-talk done. I promise.”
I tip my head down. “Thank you.”
“My hooker-ending talking pleasure.”
I give him a hard look.
He laughs again while holding up his hands. “Last one, I swear.”
I stand but stagger for a moment to gain my balance. “I need another drink.”
The slight-buzz I have from the after-party is still drumming through me. That must be why I’m so emotional. Alcohol is like a therapist. It puts you in your feelings until eventually, you blurt out everything that’s bothering you.
“You sure that’s a good idea?” He sits up and scoots to the end of the couch like he knows he’ll have to save me from busting my ass.
“Positive.” I snag a pint of vodka when I make it to the mini-bar and mix it with a Coke before turning around and looking at him. I hold out my tongue and cough after swallowing down the first drink. This stuff is not for the weak. I hold up my drink. “What’s your cocktail of choice?”
Alcohol drops my inhibitions. Maybe it will do the same for him.
He shakes his head. “I don’t drink on the job.”
“Then prepare to never drink while working for me since you’ll pretty much always be on the job.” I hold the bottle in front of me. “What if I said you’re off the clock?”
His brows squeeze together. “I’m still good. It’s three in the morning, and I’m exhausted.”
“You’re going to make me drink alone?”
My heart races when he stands up and advances my way. “Tell you what, Princess Peer Pressure, I’ll have one beer if that makes you feel better. That’s it.”
It’s no surprise he’s a beer drinker.
I catch my breath when he walks around me to open the fridge and take him in while he’s not looking at me. His hair smells like fake ocean breeze shampoo, and oddly, I find that attractive. I’ve been around so many men who pour on expensive cologne and use shampoo products so strong they give you a headache. It’s nice for a man to smell like a man.
I jump and look at him in embarrassment when he pops off the cap of the bottle. He smirks, fully aware I’d been checking him out, and takes long strides to the couch like he’s trying to get as far away from me as possible.
“What do we do now?” he asks, sitting down. “Drink and stare at each other?”
I collapse into the chair again. “I didn’t think that far ahead. I can’t sleep and need something to take my mind off my life.”
“Your life that bad, huh?” His hand wraps around the neck of the bottle while gently tipping it against his lips.
“Don’t patronize me. I’m not saying I’m impoverished.”
“What will help take your mind off your very serious problems?”
I hold up my drink. “More alcohol. Mindless chatter.” I angle my body toward him. “An orgasm.” I shrug. “Maybe two.”
I don’t know who’s more shocked at my response—him or me. I try to appear calm, but my heart is beating like crazy.
He points to me with his beer. “I’ll take mindless chatter for four hundred.”
That sucks. I was hoping for option three.
I throw my arms out. “Then, let’s chat away.”
“Why don’t we get to know each other since we’ll be spending a lot of time together? It’d be nice to know I’m not hanging out with a serial killer.”
I perk up in my seat and keep sipping on my drink. “How exactly do you suggest we get to know each other?”
He smirks. “Not like that, you little perv.”
I put my hand over my heart, feigning offense. “Me? A perv?”
He chuckles. “Alcohol makes you more open. I like it.”
“Hopefully, it’s the same with you. You’re like a sealed up, boring box.”
“I’m not an emotional guy who expresses his feelings. Maybe that’s why Cameron decided to cheat on me. She wanted some sappy dude who sang love ballads and shit. I’m not that guy.”
I snort. “A man who sings love ballads doesn’t mean they’re sappy or even a good boyfriend. My ex is a master in song writing and belting out love songs, and it didn’t make our relationship stronger. It only made the fan girls want to suck his cock more and gave me insecurities. They don’t tell you that love songs aren’t made for love. They’re made for money.”
“The child star has quite the potty mouth.”
“Profanity is my dominant language when I’m drunk. Don’t judge me.”
“No judging here. I like a girl who talks dirty.”
My eyes widen, and he shakes his head when he realizes what he said.
Looks like we’re both saying the wrong things to each other.
“Shit, I didn’t mean it like that. I’ve never had a job like this, but I’m working on keeping it as professional as I can.”
“Professionalism is dull.” Yep, I’m officially getting drunker and braver with every sip.
“Consider our relationship dull then.”
“You suck,” I slur. The alcohol is making me dizzy, and I move back and forth in my chair.
He stands. “I think it’s time for you to go to bed, drunkie.”
“Oh come, on,” I whine. “Your job is not to be a party pooper.”
“My job is to take care of you.”
“Oh, I know plenty of ways you can take care of me.” I can’t help but stare at his crotch when he stops in front of me. I lick my lips. “Plenty of fun ways.”
I’m single. He’s single.
The perfect situation for my abandoned vagina.
Maybe Willow was right.
I know I said all men are off limits, but the appeal of Hudson getting me off tonight is changing my mind. My heart goes crazy when he helps me to my feet to stand on my own.
Okay, stumble on my own.
He grunts when I fall against his hard chest and circles his arm around my waist to stop me from busting my ass. For some idiotic reason, I take it as an invite to kiss him. I stand on my tiptoes and smack my lips into his briefly before he snags my wrists and nudges me away.
Big mistake.
Big freaking mistake.
He rests his hands on my shoulders, making sure I’m balanced but keeping distance between us, and stares at me with what looks like pity. I curl my arms around my stomach and dip my chin down to the floor pathetically.
He clears his throat before speaking. “It’s time to call it a night.” He forces a laugh in an attempt to make me feel less humiliated, but it doesn’t work.
I run my hands down my dress. My embarrassment is erasing my intoxication.
“Can we act like this never happened?” I whisper, my voice cracking. I’m ready to go to my room and suffocate myself out of shame.
“We can definitely do that.” Just like the first time we met, he looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here.
I want to stop the next words from flying from my mouth, but I can’t. “I know it’d be so embarrassing for you to hook up with someone like me.”
His jaw ticks, and his face shifts from apologetic to agitation. “The fuck you mean someone like you?”
“Someone like me,” I repeat. “Don’t think I don’t see the way you look at me. You don’t see me.” I tap my hand against my chest while fighting back fresh tears. “You only see the headlines, the stories, what you think you know, and feel as if it’s beneath you to be attracted to someone so shallow.”
His voice drops. “There’s no way you can think I feel like I’m too good for you. I didn’t stop you because of that. We can’t cross that line. You’re drunk. I work for you. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea.”
“It’s fine. I’m sorry, and you’re right.” I finally gain the courage to look at him. “Can I ask you a question?”
He shoots me a guarded smile. “Go for it.”
“Do you think what I’m doing is wrong?”
I know what his response will be. He expressed his disgust for it earlier, but maybe I changed his mind … even if just a little.
“Please be honest with me.”
“I think fake dating someone sounds absurd, but we live in two different worlds. I know nothing about the Hollywood life. If you feel like that’s what you have to do for your career, that’s all that matters. I won’t lie and say it doesn’t sound desperate, but again, it’s your life. That’s me being honest with you. Now come on, let’s get you to bed.”
I nod, and he takes my hand to lead me down the hallway. I stay quiet while he lifts back the blankets on my bed and waits for me to get in before turning off the light and leaving.
I don’t know what storm is suddenly brewing inside me, but I have a feeling Hudson is the force behind it.
> Ten
Hudson
I lean back against the door to my bedroom and go over what just happened with Stella.
I walk to the side of the bed and hold my hands out in front of me, studying them and remembering how soft her skin felt against my calloused palms. It almost feels wrong for something so rough to touch something so delicate.
I close my eyes and remember her reaction to me touching her. I haven’t been laid in so long. Two hundred and seventy days to be exact, but hey, who’s counting? It killed me to walk away from something so damn tempting.
Most guys would call me a fucking idiot.
Hell, I’m calling myself a fucking idiot.
I drag my shirt over my head, throw it across the room, and peek down at the tent in my pants. I wanted nothing more than to push her onto the couch and give us what we both ached for. The attraction is there. There’s no denying that, but I can’t cross that line. I have a job to do, and I won’t be able to concentrate on protecting her if all I can think about is how sweet her pussy tastes.
No drinking with Stella.
No hanging out with a drunk Stella.
No personal stories and opening up to each other.
We want different things.
There’s no way I can sleep with her and then watch Eli touch her after. I can’t sit to the side while they act like they’re screwing if I’m screwing her. What confuses me the most is why I’m crushing on a liar who’s fake dating someone to further her career.
I fucking hate liars.
I grab my laptop and mute the sound. Even though I want to listen, she can’t know what I’m doing. Wearing headphones isn’t an option either. What if someone breaks in? If something happens to her, it wouldn’t be cool for people to find out I was jerking my dick to porn instead of doing my job.
I pull my cock from my shorts and slowly stroke myself.
Fuck. This feels so good.
Just a Fling Page 5
