“Here… I grew up here. My, uhm, my dad raised me after he and my m…m…” I can’t say it.
“It’s alright, you don’t have to say anything, I promise.”
Thirty fucking years later and I still can’t say it. I can’t talk about her without shutting down, but Lexi doesn’t push me. I’ve talked about my father around her before, told her how he took me to our breakfast spot and took care of me. She knows I can talk about him. Just like at the beach when she didn’t ask what made me non-verbal for so long. She’s leading me down paths I can open up about, the same way I did for her. She’s better at it, though.
I kiss her forehead, holding my lips there for an eternity before I pull away just enough to whisper, “Thank you.”
“We should get out of here before we run out of hot water.”
We spend the next few hours talking and getting a little work done in between short make out sessions and long gazes into her eyes. I tell her about my dad and his art, but I keep it all surface level stuff, nothing deep. It feels good to talk about it, and by the way she listens and the questions she asks, I can tell she cares.
By the time she needs to start getting ready, we have half of the presentation ready to go. She’s mocked it up on the computer and has placeholders for the remaining images on the physical board. I didn’t even realize how much she’d done. I just took pictures, but she’s turned them into fucking art. There are samples of brochures, trade show displays, and even packaging options.
I stare at her screen and my heart sinks. I’ve been distracting her and getting nothing done, while she’s been busting her ass.
“Call me tomorrow? We can go over everything else we need and make a plan of attack.” she says as she stands between my legs while I sit on the edge of her bed.
“I’m sorry, Angel.”
“For what?”
“You did all this work, and I didn’t do a fucking thing. I feel like shit about that.”
“This? Oh, this was all easy. Besides, you took the pictures, you ordered the prints, you’re going to develop the film. Don’t worry, when this is done, the work will be pretty even. Promise.”
She kisses the end of my nose before she pulls a band t-shirt over her head, trying to get dressed. I’m not making it easy, kissing her neck and running my fingers over her body.
“I’ll make it up to you, sweetheart. Anything you need.” I cup her breasts and play with her nipples through her bra.
“I can’t, pretty boy. I need to do this so Ronnie and my mom fuck off for a little while.”
“Or we could just stay here all day and ignore them. I’d even let you work on your other stuff for a few minutes just so I could interrupt you.”
“As much as I would love to, I think I need a break.” Her hair falls over her shoulders like a pink waterfall as she flashes the cutest smile. “Besides, didn’t you say you had to go somewhere today?”
Shit. I almost forgot Coop was coming home today. He’ll ride my ass hard if I don’t show up for a standard pizza and beer decompression day. Last time I missed out on it, he didn’t get a call back from an audition and he blamed me for it—I’m pretty sure he still does. I also promised him I’d help get the place ready for his brother to move in with him.
“Yeah, I kind of do. I can pick up the prints tomorrow morning and bring them over. I’ll get the other shots developed, too.” Letting go of her is hard and I think it’s harder knowing that she’s headed straight into the lion’s den. I wish she’d let me go with her and be by her side, but she’s right to tell me to stand down. Her parents are evil and I can already tell they’d do anything to keep their hooks in her. We have to tread lightly until we figure out what to do next.
At our cars, it takes twenty minutes to stop kissing and trying to start new conversations, holding back the inevitable goodbye that’s coming. When we run out of time, I close her door, telling her I’ll miss her and reminding her to call me when she’s home. My stomach twists as I climb into my Jeep and watch her drive away.
CHAPTER24
BEVERLY HILLS
WEEZER
He’s watchingme like a hawk, waiting for me to break.We’ve played this game for years and still he thinks he’ll get the better of me. I’m the guy that didn’t talk for nine years. I’m not giving him even the smallest satisfaction of acknowledging his game.
“Come on, man!” he finally yells. “You’re not seriously planning on sitting here inmyhome, smokingmyfucking weed, and eatingmyfood while you pretend there’s nothing going on, are you? Really?”
I take another slice of pizza and lean back in the giant chair. There’s a hockey game on and the Cooper family is the only reason I watch any sports at all, other than Steve dragging me to the bars on Sundays during football season. These guys are my friends—my family—but they’re also bigger than that. Coop is everywhere, from talk shows to red carpet events, and now little Devin Cooper is on national TV. Steve is on billboards, social media, and podcasts. These can’t be the same assholes I roughhoused with as teenagers. Yet, here we are. In a fucking mansion in Hollywood Hills, eating greasy pizza in front of a TV that cost more than I make in three months.
“When does Dev get here?”
“Don’t fucking change the damn subject! Who is she? I want names! I want addresses! What does she look like?”
“Also, I paid for the pizza. So, technically, it’s not your food.” I continue to deflect, hearing the annoyance in his voice. It’s rare that Chase doesn’t get his way, but he says that’s why we’re brothers. I keep him grounded. Thankfully, he’s not a rich brat, he’s just very convincing and puts in the work to get what he wants. “We could rework the second guest bedroom to have a private entrance so he can bring his…what do they call them?”
