I toss the phone on the coffee table and sit back with my arms crossed, trying to keep my head out of the past. I don’t need Jessica in my head anymore. Her or any of my other so-called girlfriends.
“She’s nobody. You’re probably right.” I should forget the whole thing ever happened. Forget meeting her. I suck at relationships, especially over the last few years. No matter how hard I try or how sure I am that I want something, shit comes back up and bites me in the face.
We sit in silence for a while, watching the game, until Devin elbows me in the arm. “What does she teach?”
“Some kind of tech classes. It doesn’t matter. I’m too fucking busy for this shit, anyway.” Pongo comes over and rests his head on my leg. I pet his head without even thinking about it.
“Smart board.”
“What?”
“Look it up, bro. Stop being so fucking old.” He nods down at Pongo before he shifts his attention back to the screen, avoiding eye contact. “I didn’t mean to fuck with you that hard, man.”
“It’s fine. It was me, not you.” What he said about the smart board echoes in my head, so I grab my phone to do a little digging. By the third page, I smack him on the arm.. “You’re a genius.”
“Nah. Some girl at the bar called me a golden retriever, though. I’ll take that.” Devin takes a drink, almost spitting it out as Jacksonville scores another goal. “Fuck—this guy’s good.”
* * *
My absolute favorite place to be during a big Hollywood party? At home. Alone.
I have to attend these social gatherings, but I don’t have to like them. So instead of mingling and getting wasted on cheap champagne, I’m leaning against a wall and playing on my phone to avoid people.
I can bail out once in a while, but if I skip out on too many, I risk becoming irrelevant in the eyes of Hollywood big shots.
I glance around, and as I expected, the whole place teems with boring, pretentious assholes. Just another excuse to throw an obscene, lavish party for a rich old guy who doesn’t give a fuck about anyone but himself. But I’m the nice guy—Hollywood’s sweetheart—so, at the behest of my manager, I make an appearance. It’s amazing how much acting gets done when the cameras aren’t even rolling.
More than once tonight, I’ve let my mind wander back to worrying if the smart board sends the right message. Of course, that implies I have a clue what message I want to send. I’m sorry? I think you’re hot? I pictured you when I was showering this morning and imagined those big, pouty lips around my cock?
I shouldn’t say that last one. Even if it’s true.
“Chase?” I turn toward the voice and force a smile at the woman the agency sent with me, since Cynthia isn’t available. She’s across the room, calling out my name like I’m not six five and easy as fuck to spot. But I remind myself I retreated into an out of the way corner, so I’m actuallynoteasy as fuck to spot. I step out into the crowd and wave when she turns toward me again. Rushing over, she grabs my arm. “Oh, there you are.”
“Yeah, sorry. I needed some air and wanted to check the score on my brother’s game.”
“Great,” she says without an ounce of actual care for me or my brother. I could have told her my house had caught fire and she would have given me the same flat response. “Well. Let’s get you back in there.”
“Sure, yeah.”
Hollywood isn’t easy when you’re like me. I love being on stage; I love acting; I love everything about it, but I’m a bit of an introvert who has to play the role of an extrovert whenever I’m at these events. Sometimes, I need a break to give my internal battery a bit of a recharge, which Cyn knows, but clearly didn’t tell this woman—her name might be Katie. Or Carmen. I suck with names.
Except for Renate.
“They won,” I offer, hoping to at least bring down some barriers and have her talk to me like I’m more than just a thing she’s showing off for the cameras. Show dogs get more respect.
“Hmm?”
“My brother’s team. They…nevermind. It doesn’t matter to you.”
“Oh, there’s that new director everyone wants to work with. Let’s go meet him.” Dragging me across the room like I’m five has me clenching my jaw and ready to bolt. But when she has the audacity to tap my phone? I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. “Don’t forget to update your social media feed, Chase.”
I hold my phone up and snap a quick, stupid selfie of me, making a face that shows how bored and annoyed I am, and post it with the caption: Best night ever!#Fun #Blessed #CanIgohomenow.
She rolls her eyes. I’ll have to do a live video later to make up for that, but whatever. I keep threatening Cyn that I’m leaving social media all together, but she keeps stressing that it’s part of my brand. I shake more hands and flash a few more fake smiles before I hear my name.
“Chase! Chase fucking Cooper?”
“Robbie!” We hug, clap each other on the back twice, and pull away with huge smiles on both our faces. Robbie and I did a movie together a few years ago, and we’ve stayed in touch. “How’d you get suckered into this? I thought you were in Egypt?”
