Celebrity Playboy: All American Boy Series

by Readnour, Kimberly

  I nod. “I sure did.”

  “What did you wish for?”

  For our time to never end.

  “If I say it out loud, it won’t come true.” Maybe I should have been more frugal and wished for a way to avoid selling the winery, but the first thing to pop in my head was spending more time with him. And that scares me. We haven’t even had sex, and another playboy with a stupid male appendage consumes my thoughts. Although, I’m not sure Westlyn’s the same “bad” playboy I’ve pictured him to be.

  Westlyn closes his eyes for a beat and smiles as he reopens them. “There. I get a wish too.”

  “I’m afraid your window of opportunity closed.”

  “What? There’s no time frame on wishes.”

  “Oh, but there is. Your wish only comes true if you hope for the first thing that pops in your head after seeing it.”

  “If that’s true, then we’d be having sex right now.”

  “You did not think of that after seeing the shooting star.”

  “Baby, I always think of that when you’re around.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Just saying.”

  His chuckle coats my skin, and I need to change the direction of our conversation. “What have you wished for in your acting career?”

  “Receiving an Oscar has always been a dream.”

  “You’re a great actor. I’m surprised you haven’t been nominated. You’ve won a golden globe.”

  “So, you have followed my career.” He nudges my shoulder with his. “Keeping up those childhood fantasies?”

  I laugh. “I told you that crush ended years ago.”

  His lips twitch. “That kiss said differently.”

  That kiss was a mistake.

  He continues when I shoot him a glare. “But yeah, I’ve never been nominated. Maybe I need a more serious role than the ones I’ve been doing.”

  “What’s your dream role?”

  “Starring as a detective in a drama.”

  “But that’s so off brand.”

  “The reason why I haven’t been handed the role, yet.”

  “Maybe that will change soon. You should’ve used that as your wish.”

  “I like my original wish better.”

  My lips part as his stare holds mine captive. I want to know what he wished for, but I don’t dare ask. It may be a wish I want to come true.

  After a beat, he pulls away and looks back up at the stars. “Speaking of rat races, I forgot to ask earlier how the job searching is going.”

  “Not the greatest.” No thanks to my douchebag ex. I still need to call Tate and confront him about slandering my name, but sitting here with Westlyn makes it seem insignificant.

  “No luck on finding that perfect fitting job?”

  “No luck on finding anything. I’m afraid I’m going to have to expand my reach. I was going to search the job market in San Francisco or New York.”

  “New York?”

  “Yeah, the industry is huge there.”

  “What is it you do? I’m not sure you ever said.”

  Because I’ve been averting the conversation. “Copy editing.”

  “You could have a wider market in New York. Have you ever been to the city?”

  “No.”

  “It’s another world. If you love L.A., you’d love New York. But maybe not the weather. You’ll have to get acclimated.”

  “It gets chilly here.”

  “There’s chilly, and then there is balls-freezing-off cold.”

  I laugh. “At least I don’t have that worry.”

  “I love talking with you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. You’re different. You’re the only one I can talk to who hasn’t used me.”

  I draw my eyebrows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “Everyone has an agenda. There’s something about you that makes me feel like I can tell you everything, and you won’t sell me out.”

  A pang of remorse hits my chest. I have sold him out once. I open my mouth to confess, but he interrupts.

  “Even my mom uses me. Like earlier today when she called.”

  “I didn’t know she called.”

  “Yeah, well, she only does when she needs something. Apparently, she needs an installment of cash.”

  “But your dad owned his business. I figured they were well off.” They were according to the tabloids.

  “She has plenty to survive, but she likes to live lavishly. The extra she needs comes from me.”

  “That’s hardly fair.”

  “Nope. I thought this time she was calling to check on me. The headlines in the tabloids won’t die down.” He harrumphs. “I should’ve known better.”

  My heart aches for him. All this fame and fortune, and he has no one. “What did your mom want? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “She wants to take a trip to Europe. She knows my assistant will arrange everything, and I’ll pay for it.”

  “I’m sorry. I can only imagine what your life must be like, but you’re supposed to have close family members to keep you grounded.” To show you love.

  His hands find mine, and he intertwines our fingers.

  “Sometimes, I wonder if the money I’ve made is a curse. Would she still act that way had I not made a fortune?” When I remain quiet, he keeps going, “The fandom gets old. Don’t get me wrong, I love acting, but I need a break. It’s demanding. And, I don’t know, being here gives me time to think about what I really want.”

  “What do you want?” I look up and catch his gaze. His shields lower just enough to expose a vulnerability to the internal demons he struggles with. This small glimpse to his soul steals my breath, and for a moment, I think he’s going to say he wants me. That is, until he exhales and pulls away.

  “I don’t know what I want, but you’ll be the first to know.”

  “Fair enough.”

  After a long beat, he says, “Let’s go out tomorrow night.”

  “What? Like on a date?”

  “Yeah, but if you recall, it won’t be our first.”

  “Hmm, you mean the first date that I cooked?”

  “Okay, so that one wasn’t so great for you.”

  “I was just kidding. That was actually fun.”

  “Well, you deserve a better date than that. Let me make it up to you. Go out with me.”

  “Why, Mr. Hollywood, I may think you’re an actual gentleman if you keep this up.”

  “What can I say? You bring it out in me. Is there a good restaurant in town?”

  “The Wine Cellar is nice. I’m told they have a good steak.”

  His lips twitch. “And kill poor Bessie? Never!”

  “You don’t have to hold back because of me.”

  He tilts his head and softens his voice. “I respect your way of life.”

  “I appreciate that.” I release a steady, slow breath and regroup. I have to. He has me completely mesmerized by his attentiveness. I haven’t been treated with this much respect since…hell, since my daddy died. “If we do this, you may be outed.”

  “I don’t care. Production will begin back soon.”

  And that’s my subtle reminder to keep him at arms distance. This fairytale concocted in my head will end soon with the handsome prince returning to his castle in Hollywood Hills. “I guess we’re going out on a date then.”

  “I like that.”

  He reaches in as if to kiss me, but I slither out of his hold and stand. “It’s late. I think I’m turning in.”

  “Okay.” Confusion coats the two-syllable response. I’m not surprised. My signals have been waffling at best.

  I head to the house but take one last peek at Westlyn’s backside. He shakes his head and runs his hand through his hair, staring at the sky. All the warning bells and whistles to stay away remain silent. Westlyn acts as if he wants me for more than just sex, but that can’t be true. Can it? I look up at the sky and smile. Maybe wishes do come true.

  “This is a nice re
staurant,” Westlyn says, glancing around the dining area.

  “I don’t know if it can compete with some of the five-star restaurants in L.A., but around here, it’s one of the best.”

  “Contrary to what you believe, I prefer a more relaxed atmosphere.”

  “I’m beginning to see that,” I speak the truth. The entire time we’ve been together, Westlyn’s been pretty chill. He’s not at all the diva I thought he was. “You’re just a normal, hot dog-eating kind of guy, huh?”

  “Exactly. It’s as if you know me already.”

  “I like what I’ve learned.” A little too much. Clearing my throat, I change the subject. “At least you haven’t been recognized yet. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  “Doubtful. This is a busy place. Did you used to come here with all of your dates?”

  It’s an innocent question, but the hint of jealousy in his tone causes me to smile. “I haven’t been here since prom.”

  “Now that’s a sight I wouldn’t mind seeing. I bet you looked rather sexy in a low-cut, slim-fitted dress.”

  “My date didn’t complain.”

  “I bet he didn’t.”

  “Are you ready to order?” the waiter asks, saving me from responding.

  “I’ll have the roasted vegetable barley bowl along with the Greek salad.” I hand the menu to the waiter and thank him.

  “And you, sir?”

  Westlyn grins at me. “I’ll take the same. Thank you.”

  There are two things I test when a guy takes me out to dinner. One, I see if they make fun of my lifestyle choice, and two, I see if they thank the servers. Westlyn is the only guy I’ve dated to pass both. Why have I wasted time with Tate when men like Westlyn exist? It’s a shame he’s only temporary.

  “You could’ve ordered the juicy steak. I saw you drooling when we walked by the first couple’s table.”

  He barks out a laugh. “No way. I can try something different. Different is good once in a while.” He says this while staring directly at me. His eyes are so intense they’re almost slate blue.

  Heat coats my cheeks, prompting me to grab my glass of water.

  “What made you become a vegetarian?”

  “You really want to know? It’s kind of a gross story.”

  He quirks an eyebrow. “Oh, you have to tell me now.”

  “Back when I was eight, we visited my mom’s cousin in the Midwest. Dad never took time off, except for this one year when he wanted to go deer hunting with Mom’s family. Why? I have no idea, but we took off. After we were there a few days, my cousin and I came in from playing. The temperature was hot for that time of year. Apparently, too warm for hanging your deer.”

  “They hang them outside?”

  “Some people do, I guess. Anyway, we came inside and headed straight to the refrigerator to get a drink, but when she opened the door, I screamed loud enough to wake the dead.”

  “Don’t tell me the deer was in there.” He chuckles, and I love seeing this carefree side to him.

  “Oh yeah. Coal-black eyes stared back at us, and the blood . . . God, the blood was everywhere.”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “It was a mess.”

  “So, the sight scarred you for life?”

  “After that incident, I couldn’t look an animal in the eye knowing I was going to eat it. I can still picture the poor doe staring at me.” A shudder ripples my body. “I’m traumatized for life.”

  “I can’t get over them stuffing a bleeding deer into the refrigerator. Who does that?”

  “My extended family, apparently. In their defense, they didn’t have another choice. They couldn’t let it rot outside but still. It was gross.”

  “So, no hunting trips in your future?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Duly noted.”

  Westlyn referencing the future makes me all tingly inside, and that’s not a good thing. He isn’t sticking around. That admission hurts more than it should. I said if the real Westlyn showed up and made a move, I wouldn’t be able to hold off. I may not be into one-night stands, but I’d be foolish not to see if our chemistry sparks in bed as it does out in the open. I’m in big trouble as I stare at the man in front of me cause this man is Westlyn and not River.

  “Yolanda Greer. I thought that was you.”

  I cringe at the use of my full name and say a silent prayer that Westlyn doesn’t connect the dots. Yolanda is my alias for the articles I write. So far, he hasn’t figured out Loni is a nickname that everyone uses, except one annoying person who I would’ve loved to skip seeing this trip—Becky Bollinger. With the fakest smile I can pull off, I turn to face her, but my greeting dies on my tongue by her sharp gasp.

  “Oh my God. You’re River Danes.” Her mouth gapes open as she bobs her head from him to me and then back to him. “What are you doing in the little town of Merlot with—” Her fingers splay against her chest as she scrunches her nose at me. With a dismissive shake of her head, she reaches her hand across the table and gives Westlyn a seductive smile. My stomach churns. “Never mind that. Hi, I’m Becky Bollinger.”

  Westlyn glances at me before accepting Becky’s hand and giving a quick shake. I bring my glass up to my mouth to keep from saying something sarcastic as his smooth, teasing voice I’ve come to love says, “Oh, you’re the Miss Sonoma County Fair Queen.”

  I choke on my water. When I catch my breath, I press my lips together to keep from laughing.

  “Why, yes, I am. How did you know that?” She shakes her head as if she’s irritated with herself. “Never mind me. Are you in town scoping out a new location?”

  “No, actually I’m trying to enjoy my time with Loni.” He shoots me a glance, and I can’t read his expression, but I get the distinct feeling he figured out who wrote that article five years ago.

  “Yes.” Becky turns to me with a pageant-winning smile that doesn't match her icy glare. My insides steel for the harsh words that are undoubtedly coming. “Yolanda, I heard about your winery troubles. It’s a pity, but don’t worry, it looks like Daddy will bail you out. If you ever want to visit the grounds after the purchase, I’m sure it can be arranged.”

  I bristle. Becky’s intentionally embarrassing me, but it won’t work. Anger is all I feel at the moment.

  “Yes, it looks like my aunt and uncle wish to retire. But we have other offers, so we shall see.” Let her run home to Daddy with that information. Maybe they’ll increase their bid and pay what the property is worth.

  The waiter brings our food, interrupting whatever comeback she was going to say. Good. I don’t want to hear anything else.

  She places her hand on Westlyn’s shoulder and leans toward him. “If you want to tour the town or see a bigger wine operation, look me up.”

  Her seductive tone causes my breath to still. I’m back in high school all over again, coming in second place as Becky steals my boyfriends. Much to my surprise, Westlyn doesn’t give her the time of day. He casually backs away from her hold and nods.

  “Loni has me covered, but thanks. If you don’t mind, we better get to our meal.”

  “Oh, well”—she straightens back up—“it’s the Bollinger Winery if you change your mind.”

  I press my lips tighter to keep from smiling, but the moment she leaves, all humor evaporates when I take in Westlyn’s stone-faced expression.

  “Yolonda? As in Yolonda Greer from Hot Gossip magazine?”

  The tension inside Westlyn’s Porsche is so thick it’s palpable. We pull into the driveway, and those icy-blue glaciers aim directly at me as he kills the engine. It’s the first time Westlyn has looked at me since Becky bolted from our table. My admission to writing that stupid article made dinner awkward. He couldn’t afford a public scene, so the inevitable argument was postponed. As anger wars with hurt in his eyes, I’m left gutted. I’m such an idiot. I should’ve come clean sooner. The fucked-up thing is, I’m flattered that he remembers the article, but it’s hardly a good thing, considering I didn’
t paint him in a good light. The last thing I wanted was to break his trust, and that’s exactly what I did.

  “Please let me explain.” I hold my breath as I watch the slide of his Adam’s apple. His jaw tics followed by a heavy exhale as he ponders my request.

  “I need to know why you used me.” The words come out low and devoid of emotion, but his meaning rings loud and clear. I open my mouth to protest only to be silenced. “I don’t want a bullshit answer. I want the truth.”

  I hesitate, wondering how to regain his trust. What was it he said? Everyone has an agenda. Well, I don’t. Not now anyway. I may have had one five years ago, but that was before I knew him. The real him. I just need to figure out how to get him to believe that.

  Looking up at the house, I grimace. We need privacy for this conversation. “Let’s walk to the stables for some privacy. My aunt and uncle are home.” And I need to get out of this confined space.

  Westlyn’s pinched expression tells me he’s unhappy and doesn’t want to go anywhere with me, but he concedes with a curt nod. I don’t wait for him to open my door and step out of the car. We’re way past the point of niceties.

  We head in the direction of the stables, the crisp air doing nothing to cool the tension still lingering between us. We get about five feet down the gravel path when the battle between my high heels versus the crushed rock becomes too much. I stumble, reaching out to the darkness and grabbing the closest thing available. Westlyn’s grunt isn’t unexpected, but his next move sure is. He swoops me into his arms and cradles me against him. Musk mixed with a fresh, woodsy scent wafts over me, and I have to fight the urge to burrow deeper. Tension still radiates from him, but no matter how angry he is with me, that electric current between us refuses to fizzle. I cling to that hope.

  “Thank you,” I manage to say. The grunt I receive causes me to smile, but I don’t dare reveal it. His gesture may be kind, but he’s seething beneath his chivalry as evidenced by his shallow breathing.

  When we reach the cement approach by the barn doors, he sidesteps the bench and sets me upright, but he doesn’t back away. My mind jumbles from his closeness. At five-foot-seven, I’m not exactly short, but his six-foot-two-inch frame towers over me. The angry tic to his jaw returns, and I take a couple of steps back, creating a distance while bracing for his verbal onslaught.