Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“What’s all this?” I asked as he pulled two blankets and a thermos from his backpack.
“I brought hot chocolate,” Pierce replied, his gaze fixed on the inky horizon. He patted the space next to him. “Come sit.”
I sat. But I couldn’t let it go. I mean, this felt like a real date. “Why do you have hot chocolate?”
“To keep us warm.”
“You planned this?”
“Yeah.”
I grinned, inordinately pleased by the romantic gesture. “You know, there are closer beaches, and none of them are crowded at this hour in March.”
Pierce rolled his eyes as he looped his arm over my shoulder. “I like this one. I didn’t know my way around Southern California at first and this was the first beach I was introduced to. I lived in the Valley on Devonshire in a crappy old apartment with two roommates. I lucked out. They were nice guys—waiters and wannabe actors who spent their free time surfing and getting stoned. We’d ride motorcycles through the canyon and hang out here. I loved it. There’s nothing like this where I’m from. If the weather’s nicer, it’s always crowded. You can smell coconut sunscreen, hear five types of music, and the sun is…scorching hot.”
“How old were you when you moved to California?”
“Eighteen. I’d never felt more free in my life. I’d escaped and I was never going back. No fucking way. Look at this place. It’s amazing.” He swept his left arm open wide.
I thanked him for the thermos and took a small sip of hot chocolate. “I’m from the Valley. Reseda. My family would come here or to Leo Carrillo and stay for the day. We’d bring huge coolers, umbrellas, a tent for my grandmother, and a boombox. I’m pretty sure it was the one my dad had in high school.”
“What kind of music did he play?”
“Music from his youth. Run-DMC, Public Enemy, Prince…good tunes, and they were always loud.” I laughed. “We were that family—the one everyone glared at.”
“Those people,” he mock groaned.
“Yep. The beach wasn’t my favorite destination. I have an aversion to sand, crawly critters, salt water, and sunscreen. But I loved being with them back then. I could sit with my grandmother in the shade, lay on my stomach and color, and just…listen. Life was so simple. It got harder when it became obvious that I didn’t fit in. I went from being a precocious kid to being my father’s worst nightmare.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“All the reasons we’ve talked about. I wasn’t athletic, I liked fashion and dance, and my best friends were girls. I was the token gay pal and a nonthreatening plus one to proms and weddings. It took me a couple of years to realize I was playing to a stereotype. It was a safety thing. I didn’t want to be alone and…I would’ve been very much alone.”
“Do you feel alone now?” he asked.
“Sometimes.”
“What about your family? Do you see them at all?”
I sighed heavily. “Yes, I swing by for mass on Christmas Eve and grit my teeth through tamales on Christmas day. I’ll probably stop by on Easter too. The Catholic guilt is strong. And holidays are safe. Everyone is on their best behavior and less likely to give me those ‘Why are you this way?’ looks or ask after Tony.”
“They liked him, huh?”
“Oh, yeah. He was butch and Latino enough that my folks could overlook the homo part.”
Pierce snort-laughed. “You think they pretended you were friends?”
“Who knows?” I scoffed. “Now my father’s gone back to ignoring me, my mom says the rosary, and my sisters give me condescending ‘Better luck next time’ pats on the back. It’s all very…awkward. I don’t enjoy those visits, but I feel like my grandmother would be disappointed in me if I didn’t show.”
“Even though she’s gone?”
“Yep. I told you…Catholic.”
“Sounds like you have nice friends now.”
“I do, for sure. We don’t see each other as much as we used to, though. A lot of my friends are married or have significant others. The ones who don’t are younger than me and want to party like rock stars. I’m not interested in that anymore. I like quiet nights now. Like this.” I smiled as I leaned into his side.
Pierce kissed the top of my head. “Me too.”
I chuckled. “You look like you enjoy the red-carpet life too. Those photos of you and Daphne at the SAG Awards were sooooo sweet.”
“Fuck off,” he huffed with a laugh. “That was work.”
I waggled my brows and snorted, but he seemed more agitated than amused. “I know. I’m only teasing you.”
Pierce had told me about the awards season date deal he’d made with Seb a month ago. It was all about strategizing and managing image. According to the studio, the public appreciated continuity. Attending major functions with a different date would generate discussion about all the wrong topics. The studio’s current mission was to avoid any negative press. That meant no drunken exploits or rumored affairs with male escorts.