Celebrity Playboy: All American Boy Series

by Readnour, Kimberly

  “Looks like our bucket’s full again.” He grabs both of our pails. “I’ll be right back.”

  When he returns with the empty pails and shifts his focus back to the vines, I say, “Hey, Hollywood.”

  He snaps his head to me, and I wing a grape at him. He flinches from the smack on the forehead.

  “Oh, you want to throw things?” He grabs a few grapes and throws them at me. Since I know it’s coming, I have time to duck. I snatch a handful from the vine, but he closes in on me. My retaliation lands on his chest. His arm wraps around my waist, and then I’m sputtering as he smashes a cluster in my face. Grape juice coats my mouth as the sweetness settles on my tongue. My laughter gets cut off by his lips. I no longer care about plotting revenge.

  When he breaks, his eyes gleam. “I think we scared away the help.”

  I glance around us taking note the crew has moved on down the vine. A few of them shoot us some knowing smiles, but most of them keep working.

  “I had to do something to get you to quit working.”

  “Oh, so it’s you wanting to cop out first. I see how it is.”

  “Not fair. Uncle Denny didn’t expect you to actually work.” I grab his hand and take off in the direction of the four-wheeler.

  “But it was fun. I feel like I’ve contributed.”

  “Glad I can domesticate you.”

  He pretends to ponder those words. “Hmm, I don’t know. I still want my soy caramel latte with a sprinkle of cinnamon.”

  “Oh my gosh. I can’t believe you remember that.” Of everything I wrote in that article, that was the only thing I couldn’t verify. “I guess I was wrong about that since all I’ve seen you drink is regular coffee.”

  “I may have been a bit pickier five years ago.”

  “Oh, so I was right.”

  “Yes, Miss Smartypants, you were right.” He leans down and kisses the top of my head. “Have you heard back from any magazines yet?”

  “I did. I have an interview tomorrow for one in New York.”

  “Wow. Congratulations. I know you’ll slay the interview.”

  “Thanks.”

  “So, I take it you’d be okay with moving to New York?”

  “Yes, of course. I love chasing glamour.” I lie. The truth? I don’t want to move anywhere but here. I want to stay and harvest grapes. I left once already and did the glamour thing. It was nice to explore and spread my wings, but spending time at the winery reminds me how much I love it here. Life is worth more than designer shoes and clothes.

  “Then, I hope everything works out, but I know they will.” Westlyn grows quiet after that. I’d love to know what he’s thinking. Does he want me to leave or stay? Or is this chemistry between us all in my head and he’s indifferent to my plans. My insecurities rear their ugly head. I should ask him directly, but I won’t. That’s one confrontation I’ll avoid like the plague. I may not like the truth. Why disturb what we have going on? Us being together was never a permanent situation. I knew that going in. Isn’t this all too fast, anyway? Who falls in love this quickly?

  Me, apparently, because my feelings for him go beyond any lust I’ve experienced. Yes, I’ve fantasized about this man ever since I was a tween, but he is so much more than a hot celebrity. He’s…everything. And if I’m honest with myself, I don’t want us to end. But that’s precisely what will happen.

  And I don’t know how to stop it.

  “Loni, I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  My uncle’s voice fills the stables as I make one last swipe of the brush against the shiny black coat. I step away from my horse and out of the stall before facing my uncle. His usual tired eyes shine bright and are full of vigor, sending my senses on high alert.

  “Hey, Uncle Denny. I was just grooming Oakley before taking her for a ride.” And escape to my sanctuary. I need to be alone and think over my next move. The magazine in New York called and offered me the job right after Westlyn left to work out. They need an answer soon. “What’s going on?”

  “Sorry to interrupt, but I couldn’t wait to share the news. Another offer came in, and it blows the Bollingers’ proposal clear off the table. Isn’t that great?”

  “Um, yeah.” I try to sound enthusiastic, considering this is what the winery needs to survive, but I’m far from feeling it. That sickening feelings stirs in my stomach instead. “What’s the offer?”

  “You’re going to be floored.” He rubs his hands together with the same eagerness as a child on Christmas morning and then tells me the offer. As he continues, I try to digest the information. “Isn’t that great? And the best part is, we don’t have to sell to those stuck up snobs.”

  The offer is good. At ten percent more than what we need to turn a decent profit, it’s rather lucrative, but I feel as if I’m in a downward tailspin. Having a new buyer makes it too real. I’m really losing the winery. “Who’s the new buyer?”

  “I don’t know. The buyer wants to remain anonymous for now, but don’t worry. I checked the firm representing them, and they’re legit.”

  I narrow my eyes. “That seems strange. Why the need for secrecy? Do you think they have something to hide?”

  “Who knows what their reasoning is, but they’re legit. Believe me. And here’s the best part. They want to keep the name of the winery. They’re willing to pay a premium for it, too.”

  “It sounds too good to be true.”

  “Come and look over the proposal. I’m sure you’ll be less skeptical once you go over the logistics.”

  I nod and follow my uncle to the offices with so many questions swirling inside my head. It’s not that I don’t trust my uncle—because I do—but it seems strange the buyer doesn’t want their name known. I’m not comfortable selling my family’s legacy to an unknown person. If it is legit as my uncle says, it poses a significant problem about where I’m going to live.

  I fight back the sudden urge to cry, but I need to face reality. My only choice is to accept the job offer and move to New York City. But if I do that, then I sever the last thread of hope for continuing a relationship with Westlyn. It’s not as if he mentioned anything about us going forward, but I still wished for it. I still hoped. Jesus, how will I find the strength to say goodbye?

  * * *

  “Why do I get the feeling you wanted to come here by yourself?”

  Westlyn’s deep voice draws my attention away from the view that has captivated me for years. Although, Westlyn dressed in athletic pants and a T-shirt stretched across his defined pecs isn’t a bad substitute.

  “It’s not that. I’m fine.”

  “Hey,” he says, nudging my knee with his. “What’s eating at you? I can tell you’re off. I know it’s not the interview because you pulled that off without a hitch.”

  I huff out a sigh and turn to take in the winery below. If I was hoping for any sense of clarity, I’m not finding it. I’m more confused than ever. “We have another buyer for the winery. A decent offer this time.”

  “Isn’t that a good thing?”

  “Yeah, of course. It’s a fair deal.”

  “Do you think you’ll accept it?”

  “I don’t know. It’s the best offer we’re going to get. I don’t have much choice. If we don’t sell now, who knows how we’ll end up. Bankruptcy doesn’t sound like fun.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  Stay.

  Whoa, where did that thought come from? He’s talking about the winery, not us. That ache in my chest comes roaring back. I don’t want to say goodbye to him, but I very well can’t wish for him to stay.

  But I already did once.

  I shake that thought away. Shooting star wishes don’t come true. Not really.

  “No, there isn’t much to do. It’s far too late to recoup our losses.” And I can’t save it myself. I looked into it. My trust fund isn’t enough for a down payment since I don’t have any collateral. The upside to this mess is my uncle releasing half of my trust fund early. I’ll get to keep my
car, at least.

  Westlyn draws me into a hug and strums his fingers along my upper arm. I push down the emotions threatening to bubble over.

  “I’m sorry this is happening to you. When will you hear back from the magazine in New York?”

  “They’ve already contacted me.”

  “Yeah?”

  “They offered me the position.”

  His hand stills. “That’s…great.”

  “Yeah.” My mind races, wondering if my leaving affects him any. Is he the least bit sad? I shove back these thoughts. I’ll drive myself crazy with speculation. But I can’t help it. I seem to be losing everything I love.

  This land.

  My home.

  Him.

  “Are you going to take it?” His voice is thick with emotion.

  “Just like the winery, I don’t think I have a choice.”

  “Is that what you really want? Is it your dream?”

  I turn to face him. Those blue eyes stare back at me with as much intensity as I feel. I want to spill the truth. I want to tell him that it’s him I want, not some stupid job clear across the country in a state I’ve never seen. But my pride, or maybe it’s the fear of being rejected, holds me back. I say the next honest thing, “I’m not sure anymore.”

  “Finding a place to stay won’t be easy. I have a small apartment near Manhattan you can stay at until something comes available.”

  And that simple reminder is all I need to put in perspective how we come from two separate worlds. “That’s really generous. I may have to take you up on that offer.”

  His phone rings and draws his attention. “Shit, it’s my agent. I have to take this.” He swipes to answer, not bothering to turn away.

  “Hey, Carissa.” There’s a pause, and then his face turns stoic. “That’s great.” Pause. “No. It’s fine.” Another pause. “I’ll be there.”

  I gnaw my bottom lip while he finishes the conversation. When he hangs up, I force a smile and ask, “Good news?”

  “Yeah,” he answers with as much fake enthusiasm as I feel. At least, I think it’s forced. “They need me back on set.”

  “When?”

  Pain flits across his features, and my heart sinks. “Tomorrow morning.”

  We knew this day would come, but I had hoped it wouldn’t be for another week or so. “That means you’d have to leave—”

  “Now.”

  Have you ever had a ball hit you in the stomach, and the air pushes out of your lungs in a mad rush? Yeah, that’s how I feel right now.

  “You need to leave now?” I hate the panicked tone my question draws, but I can’t fight the crushing feeling.

  “Yeah.” His jaw tics. His eyes hold a sense of regret, and I get the impression he’s every bit as devastated as me. “Loni, you have no clue how much you mean to me.”

  If it’s only a fraction of how I feel, I do. “You mean a lot to me, too.”

  “If I weren’t contractually bound and hadn’t fucked up once already, I’d stay. I don’t want to leave you right now.”

  I blink, staving off the tears threatening to surface. “I’ll be okay. I’m tough. Resilient. You have to fulfill those duties.”

  “I’d rather be filling you.”

  I laugh as the tension breaks. “Jesus. You can’t ever be serious.”

  “No, but it’s worth it seeing that smile on your face. I’m going to fucking miss it.”

  “I’m going to fucking miss you.”

  My breathing ticks up a beat as desire courses through my veins. Maybe it’s wrong, but I can’t think of a better sendoff than being together for one last time.

  Westlyn must feel the same way because he draws me into a kiss. It’s slow and sensual as he takes his time exploring every facet of my mouth. It’s as if he’s committing me to memory. And maybe he is. This will be the last time I feel those lips on mine.

  He doesn’t speak as he unbuttons my shirt and pushes it open. I’m lost to his motions and consumed by the need to have him one last time.

  This time, when we make love, he goes slow, taking his time. He keeps up the teasing pace until my body throbs with need for him to move faster. He obliges, holding my gaze until my vision blurs, and all I feel is pure bliss. Westlyn chases my orgasm with his, never breaking eye contact. There’s a shift in the air between us. A higher meaning than we can imagine, but it hardly matters.

  He won’t be holding me until morning.

  He won’t be shooting me those knowing looks when he thinks no one is watching.

  He won’t be there at all.

  Catching his breath, Westlyn falls on his back, his fingers looping around mine. We stay that way, looking at the sky that’s bright and shiny, conflicting with my mood. We remain that way for a while until the dreadful truth descends upon us. We can’t procrastinate any longer. The time has arrived for him to go.

  * * *

  Once his car is packed, Westlyn turns to me with the same somber expression. He tips my chin for me to meet his eyes. “This isn’t goodbye. We’re bound together.”

  “I know. I have to get a hold of you since I’m squatting in your apartment.”

  He smiles briefly. “You’re going to accept the job then?”

  “It’s for the best, I think.”

  Pain flickers across his face before giving me a soft smile. “Life is full of knockouts. It’s at the lowest point when we grow and find out what we’re made of. You’ll do great wherever you end up.”

  God, I love this man.

  “Thank you.”

  “Thanks for hiding me out. Once I get settled, I’ll call and get you the information about the apartment.”

  “That sounds great.”

  He pulls me against him and tightens his hug, refusing to let go until his phone pings a message. He moans. “My agent is persistent.” He kisses my forehead and backs away. “I had a great time.”

  “Me too.”

  “This isn’t goodbye,” he repeats matter of factly, but I don’t know if he’s trying to convince himself or me. We both know it will be hard to maintain a friendship. Our worlds are way different. He’ll go back into the limelight and shine bright again. “Fuck, I…I’m going to miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you so much,” I manage to say past the lump in my throat.

  That pained look crosses his face again as he slips inside the driver’s side. With one last wave, he backs out of the drive. I stand there holding back my tears until the taillights fade away. I keep hold of my emotions long enough to place a call.

  “Draw up the contract. I’ll sign it.” After hanging up, I slip the phone back into my pocket, and the tears flow. There isn’t a dry spot to be found.

  Five Weeks Later

  “It’s good to have you back home.”

  The edges of my lips push to a smile as I walk into the main house and greet my aunt and uncle with a hug, but I’m anything but happy. This will be the last time I stay in the only place I’ve ever considered home.

  “It’s only been five weeks, Aunt Lynette.”

  “It seems like a lifetime.”

  I shake my head.

  “Is that all you brought?” My uncle points to the small carry-on bag.

  “I was only planning to stay one night and then fly back tomorrow. I have to report to work on Monday.” Before leaving for New York, I arranged for a company to pack my belongings and move them to a storage unit. I had started, but after filling the first couple of boxes, it was too depressing to tackle on my own.

  My phone buzzes with a text. My hopes dash when I see Amanda’s name, and I immediately feel awful. My best friend texting me shouldn’t make me sad. It’s just… I was hoping it was Westlyn. She sends luck along with a few broken hearts and care emojis. I appreciate her efforts to cheer me up, but I don’t think anything can raise my spirits.

  I haven’t heard from Westlyn in a couple of weeks. He’s been busy wrapping up filming, but I would’ve thought he’d at least find time to shoot a text s
ince we’re signing the winery over today.

  “How’s the city treating you?” Uncle Denny asks.

  “Good, but it’s different than L.A.” I force another smile. There isn’t anything wrong with the city—it’s great, along with Westlyn’s apartment, but it’s not home. To make things worse, there isn’t much of his personality there. He called it a place to crash, keeping it for when he films on the east coast. After a few weeks of staying there, I get why it’s not his home. The apartment is sterile and cold as the weather.

  I’ve spent these past few weeks apartment hunting and have it narrowed down to two places. I found one perfect spot, but they had rented to a newlywed couple by the time I replied. These options may not be available when I return since apartments go fast, but I couldn’t pull the trigger on signing a yearly contract. I don’t want to rush. I owe Westlyn a huge favor for allowing me to stay in his apartment.

  “I’m sure it’s an adjustment,” my aunt says. She gives my uncle an expectant look, which he returns with a smirk. Now, what is that about?

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “The buyer added a provision to the purchase clause,” Uncle Denny says.

  My stomach roils. “I knew the offer was too good to be true. Did they lower the purchase price?”

  “No, just the opposite.”

  “Wait, what do you mean? They wouldn’t increase their offer. No one in their right mind would do that.”

  “Not exactly, but—”

  My aunt smacks my uncle’s arm. “Hurry up and tell her, Denny. Mold grows faster than your storytelling.”

  “If you let me speak, I would’ve told it to her by now.”

  “Tell me what?”

  My uncle turns back to me. “They want you to stay on as the controller and be responsible for the accounting records and such.”

  “Me?” How would they even know about my experience with that?

  “Yes, you, but that’s not all. They specifically asked for you to stay on and to take care of the house.”