Hollywood Holden: Los Angeles Bad Boys (2 page)

B
eing
a student teacher should be the pinnacle of my college career—and it was going to be, especially since I landed a student teacher gig as the drama teacher at my old high school. It’s basically everything I've worked towards the past four years.

I'm back home, at the same school my parents teach at, and totally nervous. The issue isn’t the student teaching—I'm already more than halfway through with that gig, and it’s going great.

The issue is Holden.

But, to be fair ... when has it not been?

Still, I didn't think coming to my hometown would mean seeing Holden again so soon. I knew through the grapevine that he only comes back here for the major holidays when his mom requires his presence ... but this is
May
. Easter is over. Nothing is happening until the Fourth of July. I mean, possibly Memorial Day weekend, but as far as holiday appearances go, no one is gonna be mad if their kid doesn't show up for a BBQ.

I figured I was safe.

I don't trust myself around Holden. I never have.

And according to the Google Alerts I receive on him (because no, I can't let him go, no matter how hard I try), nothing has changed with him in all this time. In fact, it seems like he's only gotten worse—more reckless, more dangerous.

More ridiculously hot.

And today he's coming back here to cut the ribbon on the new theater he built.

I hope like hell he doesn't show up with a supermodel on his arm … though I'm sure he will. That would be so Holden. So typical.

Charming, sexy, never-lifted-a-finger Holden.

I turn on all the lights in the school theater as my first-period students file in. It's gonna be a long day, and I know the butterflies will never fly away. The new theater dedication happens tonight at six p.m.

I'm finally getting the hang of teaching, and I’m now flying solo from first period to third period every day. But today, as I take attendance, I can't focus. Because I'm doing that obnoxious thing where I'm constantly second-guessing every life decision I've made in my twenty-two years.

Holden is seriously messing with my head.

But hasn't he always?

"Okay, everyone, let's start by doing vocal warm-ups." I lead the class of twenty-three students in a series of rhymes and facial stretches to get them ready for an improv lesson.

While one part of me is telling the kids to repeat
Guh
ten times, I'm thinking that it's dumb to look over my shoulder, at the past. But it's also pretty impossible not to, when I'm standing in my old high school, confronted with my past every single day.

Even these vocal warm-ups are a vortex to my past. Memories flash through my mind of Holden and I here, every day, doing this exact same thing.

Him smiling at me as we face one another in a circle, getting ready for class. Him telling me I’m so cute when I contort my face in these stretches. Me shaking my head, embarrassed by the heat rising in my cheeks when he compliments me.

Wanting him to compliment me more. Longer.

Forever.

But also knowing that I was firmly known as the goody two-shoes, a kid with two parents employed as teachers at this very building, and he was firmly known as the man-whore who didn't take anyone or anything seriously.

Definitely not the person I should have been so completely in love with.

But back then, I thought I was. Shameful as it felt, Holden had my heart—but neither of us knew what to do with information.

Today I'll be confronted with the person who made high school both bearable and unbearable.

I know saying that could come off as dramatic, but I
am
a drama teacher, so it's pretty much in my DNA.

Holden is coming back.

I let out a groan, then blink rapidly, shaking out my hands and feet, pretending it's all a part of my warm-up. As I karate chop the air for no reason other than it feels good, I remind myself that I can do this.

Of course I can. I'm Bex. I can handle seeing the one guy who pretty much ruined all men for me. I can handle coming face-to-face with the one man I've always regretted not getting skin-on-skin with.

I can handle confronting the one person I wish I could have a do-over with. At least, or at least most importantly, a do-over good-bye with.

I can handle Holden.

I tell the class to sit in a row, then ask for two volunteers for a round of improv.

Trina's hand shoots in the air. Of course it does. Trina is short, curvy, and the opposite of my high-school self. She's all confidence and conviction.

"Okay, Trina," I tell her. "Thanks for volunteering. Anyone else want to start?"

Luke, the smoldering dark-haired junior, raises a hand. I smile warmly, grateful that I didn't have to pick someone on my own.

Luke and Trina take center stage, and I tell them to pretend they're making lasagna until someone in class wants to take one of their places. It's going well until Kady taps out Trina and immediately blurts out that, in this scene, she and Luke are on a first date.

And then she goes in for a kiss.

"Kady, not cool," I tell her, trying not to roll my eyes at her over-the-top appeal for Luke's attention.

Of course, a classic drama class move: go for the kill shot. And I feel bad for Luke, who pulls away awkwardly to avoid the kiss. I help him out by calling for Jill to take his spot.

I mean, Kady didn't invent that move. I remember plenty of people using it on Holden back in high school. They’d sign up for drama just so they could get close to him, so they could look for a chance to kiss him in the name of
acting
.

But the thing is, those girls could never get Holden to make a move on stage, because the theater was the space that he and I shared.

Even if I wasn't giving him kisses, the unspoken agreement between us was that the cheerleaders who went down on him in the locker room, or the girls who gave him hand-jobs under the desk as they tutored him in library, would never be my competition.

Not when we were in the theater.

And Holden made good on that unspoken agreement, even though I never once followed through on the other spoken and unspoken things between us.

Spoken: move to LA after high school, together.

Unspoken: give him my virginity.

Spoken: take over Hollywood, one movie at a time.

Unspoken: be a couple, a
real
couple, once we left Tolling.

And while some things never change—girls like Kady will always be looking for a way to hook up with the drama-class hottie—I’m not the Bex of four years ago.

I'm no longer just the girl who denied Holden everything he wanted. The girl who denied
herself
everything
she
wanted.

That insecure, scaredy-cat girl is gone, because I am a grown up. I have my life totally figured out. And sure, maybe I'm still a virgin, but I'm certainly glad I went to college instead of trying to do something as ridiculous as be an actress.

The world only has space for one Hollywood Holden.

And tonight? It's going to be fine. Holden probably won't even notice me, now that he has a different Victoria’s Secret model every night of the week.

Even though I do want him to see me.

If he did, I'd ask him to take what I chickened out of giving him so long ago. And I'd like to offer him an apology, hoping like hell that he would accept it even though I'm the one who ruined every good thing between us.

For four years I've imagined what our good-bye should have been, what he deserved. He and I saying farewell, but not with a screaming match, which is what actually happened. We
should
have said good-bye in one another's arms, with me giving him my virginity, and with him understanding why I had to back out of our other plans.

I've just got to get through this day at school, then walk over to the new theater and be, like, totally chill. Totally cool and calm Bex.

"Ms. Maddon?" Luke asks. "Are you okay? You stopped talking ... err, teaching?"

"Right." I laugh, and lie through my teeth. "I'm totally okay. In fact, I was just thinking how excited I am to be opening the doors of the new theater tonight." I smile brightly.

Who am I kidding?

I'm the Bex I've basically always been. Denying myself my true emotions. Pretending because that's a hell of a lot easier than admitting the truth: that I'm still in love with a man who scares me. A man who’s bigger than me, bigger than life. A man who saw me in a way I couldn't see myself.

A man I really, really disappointed. A man who can never forgive me.

A man I owe an apology ... even if it is four years too late.

W
e stop
and pick up my mom on our way through town, and I'm immediately reminded why I stay away from this place.

"Looks like you had a fun party last week," Mom says, pursing her lips, looking at me the way only a mother can. "You know, Holden … when you throw these crazy, extravagant parties, you could invite me."

I raise an eyebrow. My assistant Lindy smiles, though she tries to hide it as she taps on her phone.

"What?" Mom exclaims. In heels, with her blond hair done and her nails polished, she really is out of place here in this podunk town. "It's boring here in Tolling. I need a man. Lindy, can you set me up with a nice man? Surely you know someone, I bet you know all the bachelors in LA."

"I'll look into it, Ms. Hatfield," Lindy says, looking up at my mother.

"It's Trisha. Not
Ms
. I am only forty-five years old. Not old enough to be a
Ms
."

"You'd really move to LA?" I ask. She's been in Tolling her entire life. A single mom and a fighter—at least, she fought for me. Always had my back, stuck up for me even though I gave her plenty of reason to doubt me. She worked her ass off to give me a childhood that was charmed.

And now, I'll give her anything she wants.

"I think so, actually. With Catalina at college, it's lonely. Berkeley is far away. You, though—you're not so far away."

"I leave for months at a time for filming."

"Well, let's talk later. First you have your big night." Mom's shoulders raise in excitement, and she claps. "Oh, Holdie, everyone has been talking about it."

"Oh, yeah?" I pull put my phone, looking at the speech Trenton wrote for me. It's pretty canned, but I don't know how many good things I can say about a place I spent my life wanting to leave.

I look out the window as the limo pulls through the main drag, passing a Wal-Mart and a Sherrie's Diner. "I fucking hate this town."

"I know, it never changes. But there are some good things here, too. Honestly, I'd think you would be in a better mood, considering you get to see Bexley after all these years."

"Bexley? Here? What are you talking about?" My reaction must be ... less than concealed, because both Lindy and Mom exchange a look that says
WTF
.

"She's student-teaching at the high school." Mom's forehead creases. "Honestly, don't you ever look at Facebook?"

"No, Mom, I don't." I run my hand through my hair. "She's seriously here?"

Mom nods, lips pursed.

"What aren't you saying?" I ask.

"I just assumed that was part of the reason you were going to the trouble of coming out here at all."

"I came out here for the theater."

Mom shrugs, turns to look out the window. "I know for a fact that she's single," she says, never one to tiptoe. "But you know how Bexley's always been. I don't think she’s ever dated a man in her life, since whatever … sexually wrought
thing
the two of you shared went sideways. She's always been a little repressed—which is why I, for one, always thought you were good for her."

"Mom," I snort. "I was never a good idea for Bexley. I spent high school smoking pot, sleeping around, and cutting class. Bex was straight-A—"

"And straight-laced," Mom laughs cutting in. When I give her a scowl, she pats my knee. "I'm teasing, Holden. Gosh. I just know you two have unfinished business. And the timing is perfect, with her back in town. Which is why I assumed...."

"You assumed wrong. My agent wanted me to do something nice for my hometown. This seemed like a good fit. But it doesn't have anything to do with Bex."

I don't tell Mom that of course it has to do with Bexley. Even though I had no idea she'd be here ... for me, the theater is completely tied up with Bex. The only reason I had the balls to move to LA in the first place was because Bex spent four years telling me I could do anything.

And it all began on the high school stage.

"Look," I say, exhaling. "Can we focus on something besides Bex?"

"I know she broke your heart, Holden—"

"Please." I raise my hands, ending the conversation.

Mom and Lindy accept my request, and begin discussing the single men that Lindy could possible hook Mom up with.

I look back at my phone, at the words Trenton wrote for me, wondering how I’m supposed to give a speech to all these people when I know Bex is in the crowd.

The girl who wrote the initials for
Hollywood Holden
on my chest, prompting me to tattoo them on my heart. Giving me the courage to chase my dreams.

The girl who walked away—but the girl I never wanted to lose.

I
'm pretty much a mess
.

After work, I go back to my parents’ house, where I'm living this semester. I take a shower, and change my clothes three times. Then I FaceTime my best friend Sami and beg her to tell me what looks best.

She's sitting on her bed in a tiny apartment, walking distance to Northern California University, where she and I both attended college. She’s wearing acid-washed jeans and bangle bracelets, and she’s rocking blue eyeliner as if this is a cheesy 80's movie. Our fashion sense is about as far apart as you could possibly get.

Still, Sami is also undeniably honest, and I need that right now.

"They all look the same," she tells me, before snapping her gum. "I think you need to go bold. This is
Holden
we're talking about."

"Exactly. It's
Holden
. Holden who probably hates me. Holden who deserves my very best."

I frown, assessing my options. I call my style
classic
. Black cigarette pants, white blouses knotted at the waist, black flats. My thick brown hair in a high bun, and red lipstick. Yes, my style icon is Audrey Hepburn, but it honestly never fails me.

"I have that dress,” I say. “With the patent leather belt?"

"No. It's too sweet."

"I
am
sweet."

Sami laughs. "You're not sweet; you're just repressed."

"Haha."

"Seriously though, if you think you owe this guy an apology, go big with it. Give him what you denied him all those years ago. It's your one shot."

Sami knows everything about Holden. As my freshman roommate, she heard all the details as I hashed out my history with the rising star.

"I'm not going to sleep with him. I'm going to apologize."

"Well," she says, propping her phone up on her desk as she reapplies lip-gloss. "You're never gonna move on until you fuck that boy’s brains out. You've never moved on, and you won't until you offer him what you were too scared to give him four years ago."

"Sami, don't. I can't sleep with Holden. That's beyond insane." I blow air out of my cheeks, still looking at my wardrobe. It's full of the exact same things I've worn forever. With a pang, I realize I've been using the same lines forever, too.

I can't
.

"Maybe you're right," I admit.

Sami's eyes bug out and she pulls her phone to her face. "I know I'm right. Oh my god. Would you really do this? Do
him
?"

I laugh-
slash
-groan. "I don't know. I mean, four years later and I'm still saving my virginity for a relationship that ended a long time ago. I've been thinking about it a lot lately ... and I think I need to do this if I want a chance to move on. I've always said I wanted a do-over good-bye with him, and an opportunity to apologize for the way I treated him back then. Maybe this is my chance."

"This is so hot. Back at the old school, in a theater. You should fuck him on stage. That would be so sexy."

"Sami, he might not be interested. I mean, I really hurt him. And he sleeps with someone new every week. Or more. He's a certified man-whore, just like he's always been. The odds aren't in my favor. I'm guessing he'll be fielding plenty of other offers tonight.”

"That didn't stop you from falling for him once before."

"No, no, no. I said
sleep
with him, not
fall
for him. I may be considering the most reckless thing of my life, but I am not an idiot."

"Whatever. You need to hurry and get ready. I bet you're a mess down
there
."

"Sami," I scowl. "For your information, virgins still know how to groom themselves." I look at my clothes. "You know, I think I'm going to stick to a classic Bex outfit. One new thing is plenty. And this is pretty big thing."

"Well, you certainly don't need a push-up bra with your knockers," Sami says, laughing. "But do you at least have a thong?"

"I may never have seen an actual dick in my life, but I can handle covering my lady parts."

"Geesh, okay, woman." She laughs, shaking her head. "And listen, Bex," she says, her tone sincere, "don't overthink it. If the timing is right, you'll know it."

"I love you."

"Love you more." She grins. "Hey, next time we talk you might have had your cherry popped. By the sexiest man in America."

"Oh my god, I'm hanging up now."

"Love you, Sexy-Bexy!"

I give her an air kiss and hang up, smiling despite myself.

This might be the most insane thing I have ever attempted, but it’s actually the only way I can apologize to Holden and make him believe that I mean it.

He deserves the best, and God knows I gave him the worst.

I slip on a pair of bright white panties and a lacy bra. Looking at my body, I run my hands over my skin as I rub lotion on my legs and arms. I watch myself in the mirror, taking inventory of my dark eyes and dark hair, my defined cheekbones and slender neck. My body hasn't changed much since I last saw Holden, but goodness knows I've spent more time exploring my pussy than I ever did in high school.

I may be a virgin, but I bought myself a vibrator the moment I graduated high school.

And right now, remembering Holden ... I think about pulling it out.

One more look at myself in the mirror. I see my nipples hardening through my lacy bra. I run a hand over them, turning myself on at the idea of Holden's fingers grazing them later tonight.

Impulsively, I stand, lock my bedroom door, and turn on some music. Loudly. Then I open my underwear drawer, pulling out my trusty pink vibrator.

I slip off my panties and slide under my duvet cover on my bed. It doesn't take much for my body to warm up to the idea of a quick orgasm. Getting myself off is the only way I’ve ever experienced release.

But maybe tonight that will change.

As I turn my vibrator on, parting my legs, I think about Holden's body over mine, his mouth on my breasts, sucking them softly. His fingers grazing my pussy, circling my clit, the same way I roll the head of my vibrator over myself now, in slow circles, hovering over my hood, grinding deeper into my folds. Without any prodding, I think about the man I've wanted for so long. Forever.

My body loves this fantasy, and with my eyes closed, I let my knees fall apart, and let my mechanical cock pulse deeper inside me. I move it in and out of my pussy, over my g-spot, as it purrs in delight.

I'm purring, too. With my other hand, I finger myself, letting the simultaneous sensations—circling fingers and the pulsing vibrator—inch me toward ecstasy.

I remember the times Holden and I stood so close that our breath mingled, our mouths parted, our lips nearing one another. In real life, every time we would get this close, this intimate, I would pull away ... but not in my fantasy.

In the fantasy I give in. I let his clothes fall away and his hands force my legs to spread. He pushes his pulsing cock in my untainted entrance, pumping me over and over again as I come all over him.

My thighs shake now, trembling as I move the speed higher on my vibrator, my come drenching my pussy and my hand as I circle myself. I muffle my moans with a pillow, and my body goes slack as I orgasm.

I moan, imagining—for the millionth time in my life—Holden taking over my body. Lying in the bed, with damp sheets and slick thighs, I tell myself that the next time I orgasm it will be with Holden. Maybe if I focus on this fantasy, it will come to life.

After, I shower again and dress quickly, knowing that my self-indulgence means I'm cutting it awfully close to being late. I expertly pin my hair up and head to the kitchen to say good-bye to my parents.

"I might be out late. There will probably be a lot of old classmates at the unveiling of the theater."

"Okay, sweetie. I feel a little guilty that we aren't going," Mom says, setting two steaming green bean casseroles on the kitchen counter.

As always she makes double of everything. Dad will drop off the extras off at the homeless shelter tomorrow on his way to school, where he's a shop teacher. Mom teaches Home-Ec. They both say teaching practical skills to young people is the best job in the world—rewarding, too. When they aren’t teaching, they volunteer.

My parents are the most selfless people I know. Always have been.

"Don't feel bad. It’s going to be a mad house anyway," I tell her, not wanting her there anyway, when I see Holden for the first time in four years.

"I'm sure you're right, as always," she says. "Be safe," she adds, giving me a side hug.

"Of course." Then I lean over and give Dad a kiss on the cheek. He's reading the paper at the kitchen table.

"I see your old friend Holden will be there, with all his fanfare," Dad says, pointing to an article on the front page of our local paper. He's always hated Holden—he and Mom both. It didn't help that they worked at the school in which he displayed plenty of attention-seeking antics. "Did you see that the theater is going to be named after him? For heaven's sake."

"Well." I shrug. "It
is
his theater."

"Humph. Doesn't seem like he's changed at all."

"I didn't think they even announced the name? I thought that was saved for tonight?"

"You're right," Dad says. "But this reporter claims to have the inside scoop. Not to mention half the faculty have been asking about it."

I try not to roll my eyes. "Dad, I know you've always hated Holden. You and Mom have made that blatantly clear, since … well, since forever. But I seriously haven't spoken to him in four years. So."

I have no idea who or what I'm defending.

"Nobody hates anyone, sweetie," Mom says, trying to smooth things over. "We trust your judgment implicitly. Always have."

I leave the house confident, but once I’m in my car alone my face drops to a frown. I've spent forever making my parents proud.

Maybe my hastily hatched planned to sleep with Holden is ridiculous.

Maybe it's a shitty thing to do, to try and make things right by offering someone my body.

But it isn't just anyone.

It's
Holden
.

I turn on the car, and drive back to the school, not knowing if we’ll be able to pick up where we left off. Or even if he'll want to.

But I know what
I
want.