Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“By Hollywood standards—”
“Hollywood standards are ridiculous and impossible to maintain. Seriously, after dating actresses, I can’t be with another person who counts calories and yells at me when they eat a whole chocolate pie to themselves like it was my fault for not stopping them.”
“That was totally that Heather chick, right?”
“You know about her? She and I only broke up …” He looks like he’s trying to remember the last time he saw her. According to the tabloids, right or not, they broke up right before she flew to Atlanta to shoot her next teenage action flick. She’s thirty and still plays a sixteen-year-old.
“It’s been about four months,” I say for him. “I followed that story. She seemed …” I purse my lips, trying to think of the politest way to say it.
“Batshit,” Denver says. “Never trust a Heather.”
“She does seem like the type of erratic actress who lets her crazy flow so she can ‘feel the rainbow of emotions at the drop of a hat.’”
Denver cocks his head. “Did you date her too?”
I laugh. “Nah. Dated one back in the day, though. Remember Beth?”
“Oooh, yeah. She hated me.”
“She hated everyone.”
“Probably because she was constantly dieting and starving. I’d yell a hell of a lot more if I was hangry too.” Denver steps into my space now and lowers his voice. “Which is why you shouldn’t be pushing so hard at this. Exercise is healthy, and that’s great, but please don’t become obsessive over it. I love your body.”
“To be fair, I’m pretty sure you loved it back when I was scrawny like you too.”
He scowls. “Can we stop with the body shaming, please? For both of us?”
An elderly couple pushes past us, and I step closer to him to let them through. It’s a good excuse to press against him. “Just so you know, I’m messing with you, but I’ll stop. I’ll try to stop calling myself names too, but it’s hard when online haters are still claiming I ate the guy who used to be Mason Nash.”
“Fuck them, Mase. They don’t matter. They also need to come up with something more original.”
“What I’m going through is nothing compared to what women get in the industry, but you know what it’s like when something is said about you so many times that you start to believe it. And if Eleven is getting back together—”
Denver throws his hand over my mouth. “Shh, the trees have ears.”
I try to talk, but it comes out all muffled. “We don’t live in Narnia.”
He ignores me. “They’ll tell Harley you’re contemplating coming back, and then he will literally camp on our doorstep until the end of time. Or until we relent and sign to his new label.”
“Okay.” My voice is still muffled, but then he removes his hand. “My point was I will try to stop being so hard on myself.”
“Thank you. Because you deserve better.”
I lean in. “And for the record, I love your body the way it is too.”
There’s the look I wanted. The awe of Mason said something seriously not-straight sounding.
“If we weren’t in public, I’d show you how much,” I mutter. “But we are. So come on. Those sixty-year-olds are beating us.”
“We passed them like two minutes before we stopped for a break. It’s not like they’re going the same speed as us.”
“We’re almost at the turnaround where we’ll start going back downhill.”
Denver whines. “Can’t we turn around now?”
“Nope. One-way track. Sorry.”
He starts stomping his way up the hill. “Note to self. Never ever, ever, ask Mason to work out again.”
“Shower and then meet back in the kitchen for breakfast?” I ask when we get back to the house.
Denver pauses, or maybe it’s a small flinch. “O … okay.”
“Something wrong?”
“Nope.” He tries to make a break for it down the hall, but I follow him. He doesn’t stop, and we end up in his bedroom.
“What is it? What did I say?”
“Nothing. I’m being stupid. Overreacting.”
“This isn’t going to work if you don’t tell me when I fuck up. Which I will. A lot. I’ve never …” I wave my hand between us. “With a guy.”
“Neither have I,” he exclaims. “This isn’t about gender, this is about …”
“About …”
“Showers.”
I frown. “I’m confused.”
“Last night after we … you know—”
“Made each other come?”
Denver’s cheeks pinken. How is it that he’s had years of coming to terms with this, yet I’m the one comfortable saying it out loud?
“Yeah, after that, you disappeared to your room, and now you’re running off again to the guesthouse, and—”
“You wanted to shower with me? Is that what you’re saying?”
It’s subtle, but he nods.
“You know you could ask.”
“I don’t want to push.”
I step toward him and bring him against me, sweaty and all. “The worst I’m ever going to say is ‘Hey, I might not be comfortable with that yet.’ And then you would say …”