Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77269 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77269 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Out in the backyard if you need me. For anything. -R
Roman was still there to reassure me, even though he wasn’t in bed anymore. Christ, I fucking liked him.
“So if the party is tomorrow, I’d have to fly out tonight or tomorrow morning,” I told Madeline. “For God’s sake, I haven’t seen Garett in… two years?”
“Word is that he’s single,” Madeline said, “and he’s making another movie and considering you as the star.”
My heart felt like it was twisting into an anxious knot just hearing Garett’s name.
My on-again-off-again fling with Garett had finally seemed like it was over in the last couple of years. Garett wasn’t quite as famous as I was, but by every measure, he was brilliant at his craft. Unlike me, he didn’t just act. He was an incredible writer, director, and even had a keen eye for cinematography. Garett was the real deal. I’d wanted to be with him. I’d wanted to be in his movies. After a lifetime of achieving my dreams, he was the only thing I hadn’t been able to have. We’d hooked up a few times in the past after liquor-soaked afterparties, and every time, I’d wanted more.
He had never wanted more, though. Garett McKennaugh was just about the only person who didn’t seem to want me at all. And for years, for some sick reason, it had made me crave him like a drug, wanting what I couldn’t have.
I let out a long sigh. “Okay. Tell him I’m in. Or tell his assistant I’m in, because Garett never does his own scheduling.”
“I’ll let his assistant know,” Madeline said. “Theo, this could be really good for you. Finally showing your face back in Los Angeles. Maybe getting a leading role in a McKennaugh film. It would be huge.”
I got myself up and out of bed, stretching and hitting a little hanging paper lantern that I hadn’t noticed was on the ceiling.
“Well, I’ll try my best.”
“You’re at home right now?” Madeline asked. “I hope the contractors aren’t being too loud.”
“I am not home,” I admitted. I walked over to the window and pushed aside the curtains, looking into the backyard. I saw Roman’s figure, crouched at the side of a little garden, pulling weeds.
“You find somebody hot at the bar last night?”
I snorted. “I mean, there was somebody hot sitting next to me at the bar last night, and it was Roman,” I said. “But no. I didn’t go home with anyone last night. I’m at Roman’s childhood home, actually.”
I told Madeline the story about the broken shower and the ridiculously cozy night we’d had last night. I left out the part where I was a little chicken shit baby about another nightmare, though.
I was ashamed. And no matter how fucking amazing it had felt to have Roman climb into bed with me, I still knew I shouldn’t have been relying on my bodyguard for things like that.
Otherwise, I might get too used to the feeling. I might start wanting Roman beside me in bed every night.
After talking over the details and hammering out a time for a private flight to LA tomorrow morning, I took a quick shower and got dressed, and when I walked into the kitchen, I found another little note in front of the coffee maker, this time in a cursive handwriting.
Coffee is hot and fresh! I hopped out to the grocery store, but have at it. See you boys in a bit. -Donna
A big mug was next to it.
God. I was surrounded by people who were so thoughtful and kind. In Los Angeles, there had been multiple times I’d woken up in people’s mansions and they’d already left, and I’d barely been able to find my way out of the house. Once, I hooked up with a B-list actor with a hefty inheritance, and when I’d tried to leave his house in the morning, his teenage son had been the only one there to say goodbye to me.
This was different. This felt good. Real, small-town hospitality, where moms left hot coffee with a note, and men like Roman left muffins with a note. I didn’t care if the coffee was generic and I was used to imported Italian espresso—whatever the hell it was, it may as well have been the best coffee I’d ever had.
I headed out into the backyard with my warm mug. The sky was still cloudy, but finally, some little spots of blue were starting to peek through.
“You’re up,” Roman said when he saw me. He stood up, tossing a cluster of weeds to the side with his gloved hand.
“Christ, you look like a damn commercial for Home Depot,” I said, looking him up and down. “Tall, rugged, and handsome. Have you ever tried auditioning for small roles in commercials or TV?”
Roman reached up to wipe his brow with his arm, looking at me like I was nuts. “Gotta tell you, I certainly haven’t. You feeling okay this morning, Theo?”