Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
There was a sound on the line that told me a text came through, but I ignored it.
“Sebastian…this industry is fickle. The jobs are there now. That doesn’t mean they always will be.”
No, no they wouldn’t, but I still couldn’t make myself do it. Not right now. “No. I need time. I’m not asking for a lot. I basically haven’t stopped working in ten years. I deserve this.”
Cliff sighed, but I could tell he knew he wouldn’t change my mind. “So what do we do about Neil? Is there a chance you could get back together?”
“He fucked my friend in our bed!”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
I groaned. “No, there’s not. And I’m not making an announcement if that’s what you’re going to say next. This is my life. I shouldn’t have to tell people everything that goes on in it.”
“What if Neil says something first?”
“He won’t.” He wouldn’t want to look bad. He would want to keep this under wraps as long as we could. Plus, he was still texting me, telling me he missed me and wanted me back. I could always block him, but for some reason I had yet to figure out, I didn’t. Maybe because I wanted to hope he could turn out to be a better person than he was?
“Okay, Sebastian. I hope you’re right. I gotta run. Talk soon.” Cliff hung up without another word.
My stomach felt like someone had dropped a hundred-pound weight in it. My career was a mess. My personal life was a mess. I just wanted to forget it all existed.
My phone beeped, and I remembered I’d gotten a message. When I saw Declan’s name, my pulse sped up.
Declan: Do you have plans tomorrow night? We’re all getting together at Marcus’s for dinner if you want to come.
I grinned, just as another text came through.
Declan: I’d like you to come, I mean.
I was now sporting a huge, make-your-face-split-open smile. The weight in my gut was gone, replaced with a light, fluttering feeling.
Me: I’d like that…a lot.
Was that too much? Should I not have added a lot? Or just said yes? Gah, why was this so hard?
Declan: Sounds good. I’ll pick you up at six.
Me: I can’t wait.
And then I jumped in the air, fist pumping like an idiot. Hell, for all I knew this was just a friend thing, but still, Declan had asked me to meet his people, his friends. I wasn’t sure anything had ever felt better.
* * *
Oh my God. I was going to meet Declan’s friends, the most important people in his world, and I had no idea what it even meant. Was this a friend thing? Had he felt the change in us? Was this more? Would I say something dumb and fuck it all up?
Vomit threatened to climb up my esophagus. I was classy like that. I’d spent years on stage pretending to be someone else. Now I’ve spent the last decade doing the same thing on the big screen, but meeting the friends of my…friend was going to be the thing that pushed me over the edge? I was a mess when it came to this man. Did it make me a dickhead that I sort of wished he was a mess when it came to me too? Probably.
I went for a long run on the beach that morning, then showered and watched Goodfellas, one of my favorite films. Movies always calmed me down. They transported me to another world, another life, a reminder of how much I really did love them still. It was the other stuff in the industry that was breaking my spirit.
After the movie I had a second shower, played around online, and now I was pacing my living room, waiting for Declan to pick me up. Where had the day gone?
I felt like a dog, my ears perking up when I heard a car out front. I went to the door just as Declan was getting out. He looked comfortable in a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a T-shirt. The familiar black necklace, ring, and bracelets he often wore were in place. His hair was as messy as always—sexily mussed was a better description. I wanted it to look that way because my hands had been fisted in it, but we were just friends…well, he was a friend I was crushing on, which I would keep to myself.
“Hey,” he said, stopping in front of his Jeep Wrangler.
“Hey. You look good. Am I dressed okay?” I was wearing jeans with a light-blue polo. The last thing I wanted was to stick out.
“Yeah…perfect. You look like you.”
I waggled my brows. “I’m perfect, huh?” I swapped the bottle of wine I carried to my other hand and locked up. I was hoping things wouldn’t be awkward between us, so I did my best to act normal.