Reagan sent a text a few minutes ago, asking me if I wanted to go to a party in the Hollywood Hills with him and Rebecca tonight. I have nothing else to do, so I told him I was down for whatever and had him text me the address.
Now I need to find something fast to eat that I can throw together, then get ready. I told Reagan I’d just call a cab and meet them there around ten. I don’t want to get there too early because the parties around here don’t get interesting until about an hour into them; that's when all the rich and self-absorbed socialites get tipsy and entertaining.
After searching through the fridge, I decided on my mother’s baked macaroni and cheese from last night and a slice of chocolate cream pie. I’ll be hitting the gym hard after New Year’s, along with about a million other people whose resolution will be to lose weight or get in shape.
Just as I finish cleaning up the kitchen, I receive a text from my mom letting me know they made it to the hotel safely. I always get nervous with the holidays and my parents traveling because people in L.A. can’t drive as it is. When you add holiday traffic to the mix, it can be catastrophic.
My body is still tingly, and my head is slightly foggy from all the wine. I feel myself walking around with a goofy grin on my face. I have a good buzz going on, and the night is still young.
It’s a challenge to get dressed when alcohol has caused you to be a little less coordinated, but I manage. It’s cool out tonight, and most of the time these parties in the Hollywood Hills are both outdoor and indoor. I don’t feel like freezing my tits off, so I opt for a teal sweater dress with a thick brown belt and knee-high brown leather boots. I lay my outfit out on my bed and dig through my dresser for my new Victoria’s Secret leopard bra and pantie set and the black garter I bought a few days ago to hold up my stockings.
I’m bold on a good day–but get a bottle of wine in me, and I’m ten times bolder! I grab my cell and snap a picture of myself in my full-length mirror. I'm wearing nothing but my bra, panties, garter, and stockings. I curled my hair and still have my hair extensions in, so it stops just above my butt. With it all curled in loose ringlets and my sexy little ensemble, I look pretty freaking hot, if I say so myself.
I need to haul ass, or instead of fashionably late, I’ll just be plain old late to the party–which could be catastrophic to my career because only the who’s who of Hollywood attend these parties. Celebrities love throwing flashy parties with the most expensive Cristal champagne and the hottest DJs in Los Angeles. I pull up my message history, find Dixon, and click on his name. I then quickly type a message to him.
Me:
All dressed up with no one 2 impress
Wish u were here ;)
Oh my God. I can’t believe I just hit send on that! I cover my mouth and muffle a giggle, then resume getting dressed. Within twenty minutes, I’m dressed, makeup done, and out the door to climb into my awaiting cab.
Just as I’m climbing out of the cab at the party, my phone vibrates to alert me of a new text. I pull out my phone and smile as I see it flashing Dixon’s name.
What the hell am I doing?
I keep telling myself to stop texting him. I’m playing with fire here, and I can see myself getting third-degree burns in my very near future if I don’t back off and try to forget about Dixon.
But that’s easier said than done. I can’t get this asshole out of my head. Sure he is a total dickhead most of the time, but he was a totally different person Thursday and Friday. Now the last couple of days, even though we only randomly text back and forth, not really saying much of anything, I find myself looking forward to hearing from him more and more.
Every time I see a message from him, my heart flutters in my stomach. I’m still texting Xander, but now that he’s back on the road again, he’s been really busy. Our conversations are becoming fewer and more far between. Although I get excited when a message comes in from Xander, I don’t get the overwhelming sensation in my belly like I do when a message from Dixon randomly pops up.
I don’t know why this is happening, and it’s confusing the hell out of me. Hopefully, I’ll land a new acting gig soon. The busy schedules help keep me focused, which is exactly what I need to try to break myself free from whatever spell Dixon has me under.
I open the text and read it as I walk up the large stone stairs that lead up to the all-glass French doors. Most of the newer houses in this area are sleeker and have a contemporary style. It’s strange being back here. It doesn’t feel like it has just been a month since Savannah and I moved out of our house here in the Hills.
Dixon:
Dayum, baby! Now that’s hot…why couldn’t I have gotten
u in THAT under my Christmas tree instead
of clothes and a new rifle!?!?
I have the hardest woody right now. U R EVIL
“Ohh my gosh…haaaa!” I blurt out as someone opens the door, startling me. “Oh! Hey!” I say, waving hello to a barely dressed and overly tanned Malibu Barbie and a far-too-skinny boy band wannabe.
“Glad you could make it, come on in! The party is through those doors,” the girl says in a high-pitched valley voice as she points towards the doors behind her, which have strobe lights dancing around them and are reflecting in the glass.
I step into the house and give them both a big, genuine smile, then tell them, “Thanks,” before making my way outside.
The backyard is jam-packed with people. The pool has roughly thirty practically naked bodies in it, and a DJ is set up above the pool, pumping out the newest techno music.
I immediately spot a bar that is set up in the grilling area. The bartender is dressed in jeans, a crisp white T-shirt, and black vest with a bowtie. I maneuver through the crowd, saying hello to friends I spot on my way. Finally, after what feels like an hour–but was really only fifteen minutes–I make it to the bar.
“Can I have a Malibu Rum Punch, please?” I ask before turning to glance around the party. I’ve yet to see Rebecca or Reagan.
While the bartender gets to work mixing my drink, I send both Reagan and Rebecca a text asking where the hell they are. I’ve given up trying to find them on my own. Thank goodness for cell phones.
I’ve been contemplating texting Dixon back. One part of me is telling me, YES, text him back! The other is saying, NO, make him sweat it out. Have him be the one hanging, just waiting for your reply. Don’t give him that instant gratification; make him wait just a little longer.
I finally decide I will text him back after I finish my drink and find my friends. I spot a group of people I know on the far corner of the pool area. They are sitting around a table, drinking and talking amongst themselves, so I make my way over. Rebecca and Reagan can find me; I am here to party, not hunt their ass down.
“Hey! It’s Brooklyn! We didn’t know you were back in town. The last we heard, you had packed up and moved to Texas.” Kelli is one of my friends, and we share the same agent. She’s an aspiring model, and like me, she is hoping to finally get her big break. She jumps to her feet and pulls me in for a hug.
I hug her back before we both sit down at the table. I then take a long sip from the straw in my glass before speaking. “Yeah, I’m a resident of Galveston, Texas, now. But I flew in a few days ago to spend Christmas at my parents’. I’m here until New Year’s, then I’ll be flying back to Texas.”
“Well, I’m glad you showed up tonight. This place is insane. I think everyone texted every single person in their contacts and invited them tonight. This party will definitely be talked about tomorrow morning on the Tinsel Town Blog. I’ve already seen that squeaky clean child star…ummm…Mallory! Sorry, one too many Vodka Tonics. She was doing blow in the bathroom with two guys from that new rock band, Splintered. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone got a picture of that,” Rylee says as she leans in close to me and Kelli. She's trying to be discreet, which is not necessary because we’re so close to the DJ, it’s almost impossible to hear anything.
I feel hands on my shoulders that give
me a light squeeze. As I snap my head around, I beam up at the mega-hot rock star and lead singer of the hottest rock band in the world right now, Deklan Thomas. We met at a party a few years back, after the Billboard Music Awards. Savannah’s parents, along with their band, Rolling Bridges, were up for awards that night. They both left with an arm full of awards that evening. I’m a huge fan of their music. They are right up there next to 30 Seconds To Mars as one of my favorite bands. Deklan is smoking hot, and I sure as hell wouldn’t kick him out of my bed. Sadly, things between us have always been platonic.
“Deklan! Oh my God!” I scream, jumping to my feet and hooking my arms around his neck. I inhale deeply, taking in his delicious scent. This man smells like hot, steamy, rock star sex. I love it. Releasing him, I rest my hands on my hips. “How have you been, stranger?”
He slides his fingers through his hair and flashes his panty-droppin’ rock star grin down at me. “Busy, but that’s how I like it. Rolling Bridges has a busy schedule coming up for 2013. You’ll be excited to hear the new tracks we’re cutting right now.”
“Well, I for one cannot wait for that. You guys are amazing, and I’m excited to hear your new music. My iPod is in need of some new Rolling Bridges music!”
I spent almost an hour visiting with Deklan and a few more friends. After we finished our drinks, we hit the dance floor. Deklan, of course, was unable to resist our pleas to join us. He danced along with us for a while before excusing himself; he said he was beginning to feel too sober and needed to fix that situation STAT.
While we were dancing, we ended up bumping into Rebecca. I was so happy I finally found her, but still no luck with Reagan. It was impossible to have a conversation while on the dance floor without shouting into each other’s ears, so we threw conversations aside and just danced our hot little asses off until our feet screamed at us to stop.
I slip my boots off and walk in my stockings over to the bar with everyone to get a refill on my drink. I grab Rebecca’s arm and lean against her slightly. “Do you know where Reagan is? I haven’t seen him since I got here.”
Rebecca grabs her Dirty Martini, takes a gulp and pulls an olive off with her lips before answering me. “Sorry, my mouth is so dry. Man, I am exhausted. I think I burned off my Christmas feast dancing tonight,” she says, giggling.
“Rebecca, focus!” I yell at her, with laughter in my voice. It’s so hard to keep a straight face when you’re drunk and you have your drunk friend batting her eyelashes up at you, looking like an adorable anime cartoon with her big, heavy eye makeup on. “Where’s Reagan?” I say very slowly, or at least I think I do.
“Ahhh. Yes. Reagan left about an hour or so ago with some chick. I didn’t catch her name, but he said to tell you he’d see you tomorrow night at Vertigo for the annual New Year’s Eve bash.”
That dipshit. He asks me to come out tonight and party, then bails on me!
“Well, I’m exhausted and my feet hurt,” I say as I drop my eyes down to my stocking-covered feet. “I’m going to call a cab and head home. I don’t want to over party tonight, then be too exhausted to ring in 2013 tomorrow night.”
Rebecca purses her lips and bats her long, fake eyelashes, which have tiny rhinestones on them, up at me. “Aww. I hate that you’re bailing already. But I understand.”
I give everyone a hug goodbye and head out front to wait for my cab. As I’m waiting, I decide to slip my boots back on because my toes are starting to get cold. As I pull my last boot on, I can feel my phone vibrate in my clutch, which is resting on my lap. I can still hear the music blasting from the back of the house, and I find myself swaying to the techno beat as I hum to myself and open the text.
Dixon:
Well nothing like leavin’ a guy hanging B. If u purposely left me waitin’ for a response just to drive me crazy u succeeded.
I never text chicks…they text me
but yet here I am...
I think I read the message a hundred times before my cab pulls up. As I slide into the back seat, I give the cab driver my address, then continue to stare at Dixon’s text, contemplating what to do. The words are blurry from all the alcohol I’ve had tonight, but still I attempt to text him back.
Brooklyn:
Aggg…I’m dorry. I meant 2 rext u back…4got.
B
I’ll call that close enough. My fingers feel like sausages on this freaking phone right now, and it doesn’t help that all the damn letters are blending together. Hopefully, he gets what the hell I’m trying to say.
I laugh out loud at his cheesy line when I open his reply.
Dixon:
GO HOME BROOKLYN…YOU’RE DRUNK ;)
Now all I can picture is the Facebook post of a cow with his head stuck in a toddler toy car, the caption reading ‘Go Home Cow You’re Drunk’, and suddenly burst into a fit of giggles. I fall down onto my side laughing…I’m too drunk to try and sit up, so I continue to lie down and laugh to myself as I wait for the cab to finally arrive at my house.
I suddenly feel gross as I start to freak myself out and think about all the people who’ve ridden in this cab today. What if they farted on this seat, and now I’m laying my head in their fart residue?
Do farts leave residue?
Eww. I don’t even want to know what that is, I think to myself as I start to sit up and spot a white hard spot on the seat. If that is someone’s bodily fluids, I may barf!
I suddenly don’t feel like lying down and quickly sit back up to rest against the door. Twenty minutes later, we’re finally pulling up to my house. I slide my debit card through the card machine in the back seat to pay my cab fare before I climb out into the fresh, crisp air.
The cold air hitting my lungs sobers me slightly, and I shiver as my exposed arms produce goosebumps. I cannot wait for summer. I’m so not the ‘I love winter’ type of girl; I prefer lying by the pool with a cold drink in my hand while working on my tan.
As soon as I spin around and begin walking towards my front door, my feet falter. I have to do a double take and rub my eyes to make sure I’m not so drunk that I’m hallucinating.
“Well, that was fast.”
I can’t take my eyes off Dixon. I cannot believe he is actually standing in my doorway. I glance around and spot a sleek black Mercedes parked in front of my parents’ garage. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it when the cab pulled up.
“When…how?” I ask, tilting my head and stammering out my questions. I can’t even form a single sentence.
“I was actually in L.A. for the party at Vertigo tomorrow night. I’m staying at the Knox Hotel, in downtown Los Angeles.”
Oh. Well, that makes sense, but I can’t help but feel a little disappointed that he didn’t fly all the way to L.A. just to see me. He’s here for work, and of course to party. But he’s here now.
“How did you know where I live?” I ask as I rub my temples. My head is spinning, and I try to absorb the fact that Dixon is really standing here in front of me.
My parents’ Mediterranean villa style home is in The Summit, a gated community with guards, in Beverly Hills. Celebrities like Britney Spears live just down the street! It’s impossible to get past security without first getting permission from one of the residents to enter.
“You doubt my abilities. You seem to forget I’m a billionaire, Brooklyn. I always get what I want. Right now I want you, and so I used my money to make this happen,” he says matter-of-factly as he props his body against my door and folds his arms. His eyes are boring into me, even in the dark. I can see the heat in his gaze and feel it warming me from the inside out.
“It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out you used your money to get into my highly secure gated community…but more importantly, why are you here? Why did you go to all that trouble to come to my house tonight?” With each word I speak, I take another step closer to him.
I don’t know why, but I’m shaking; my nerves are getting to me. This man has me wound so tight, and he’s only been in
my presence for five seconds.
“When you sent me that text earlier…of you in…mhmm…that very nice lingerie set and you told me you wished I were here, I knew then that I couldn’t stay away. I’ve been sitting in my hotel, contemplating texting you for the last two days. I wanted to see you, but more importantly, I wanted to feel this pussy around my dick,” he says, slowly sliding his hand along my inner thigh and sending shivers down my spine as his fingers work their way to my core, which is dripping wet and aching to be touched.
I try to speak, but the only sound that comes out is a high-pitched squeak. I dart my tongue out of my mouth, then lick my lips and try to swallow to coat my now parched throat. After a few moments, I find my voice. “I, for one, am glad you decided to surprise me because I haven’t had sex since our morning at your suite. I’m desperate for an orgasm that isn’t self-induced.”
“Fuck. Just the thought of you fingering yourself has my dick ready to cum in my goddamn jeans,” he whispers against my throat as he hooks his left arm around my waist and pulls me against his body. He slides the fingers of his other hand over my lips to feel them through my satin leopard panties.
“How about we get inside before we end up spending New Year’s Eve in jail for having sex in public? Security patrols the streets all night. I don’t think they would find us fucking against my front door acceptable behavior–and then my parents would murder us,” I giggle into Dixon’s chest.
He slides his fingers out of my sweater dress and spins me around, all at the same time. “Then what are you waiting for? Hurry up and get us into the house because I will not be held accountable for my actions in five, four , three…”
As he’s counting, I’m pounding in my security code as fast as physically possible. My heart is racing, and I have the biggest grin on my face, which is making my cheeks ache. I breathe a sigh of relief when the keypad beeps to alert me that the doors have unlocked just as Dixon is saying, “One”–which is followed by him cupping my ass in the palm of his hand.
“Heyyy!” I scream and jump out of Dixon’s grasp as I swing the door open. “Get inside, you horny bastard!” I shout as I stand in the doorway, panting.
Wasted Love Page 22
