Hollywood Holden: Los Angeles Bad Boys (3 page)

O
f course
I see her the moment I step onto the platform outside the theater.

You couldn't
not
see someone like Bexley.

She's always been poised, definitive. Set apart. It's no different now. Her back is straight, shoulders square; her hair is in a high bun and her lips are ruby red. She's a classic beauty, though I don't think she's ever thought of herself that way.

She was raised by parents who valued selflessness above all else. And to that end ... well, Bex never wanted to be an actress as a way to be famous. Her motives were pure. She loved the idea of bringing something to life, loved the craft.

Bexley was always better than me.

And that made me love her in ways I was never old enough to understand. It wasn’t until she was gone that I realized how special our connection was.

But the whole time we were best friends, I also had my fair share of high school one-night stands and flings. And I know every sexual encounter I had pushed Bexley further from my grasp.

I was just way too fucking immature to realize it at the time.

But damn—seeing her now, I realize what a fucking fool I was to never tell her how I felt.

She's only gotten hotter in the four years we've been apart. Her tits have always been perfect, but now I see them strain against the buttons of her white button-up blouse, teasing me with the idea of ripping it off her, seeing for the first time what I've always wanted. Her red lips are pouty, and she isn't smiling ... but damn, I can imagine those lips on mine.

Something that has never happened. Not even once.

Fuck, now is not the time to get a hard-on, not when I'm front and center at my old high school with a thousand people here for the photo-op and the press all around. And damn, there are a lot of women here hoping to get my attention.

In fact, I recognize a hell of a lot of the people I grew up with. All of the girls, those cheerleaders I fucked in the locker room, the girls who pretended to be strippers at Friday night parties so I would tuck dollar bills in their g-strings, the girls who gave me blow jobs while I watched porn on the laptop.

I was a fucking asshole to most of these girls.

I look away. Shit, I don't really wanna face the part of my past.

Right now, I only want to see Bexley. But my desire for her makes me feel like a weak-ass motherfucker. She's the one who walked away, rejected what I offered. I shouldn't want her, not after all this time.

But hell, not seeing her for so long allowed me to pretend that she never had a hold of my fucking heart.

And with one look, I know the truth: I need her as badly right now as I always have.

She isn't smiling back at me. Instead, she's clapping politely along with the rest of the crowd. They’re all standing and watching me as the principal of Tolling High shakes my hand in front of the entrance to the new theater.

"We're so pleased to be welcoming back our own hometown star, Holden Hatfield. This beautiful theater is a gift from him. And, to that end, let's thank him with another round of applause."

As I adjust the mic, I grin, flashing the cameras my most stunning smile, deciding that Bexley may not have wanted me before, but damn if I'm not going after her now. Fuck letting her go. One look at her, and the wave of memories crashes down.

This theater is for her, and I'm fucking lying to myself if I pretend it isn't. I don't need Trenton's canned speech. I've always killed it at improv; I can wing it now.

"Thank you, everyone, for coming out tonight," I address the audience. "I know that I wasn't exactly a star student back in the day. I remember spending half of my time here in in-school suspension." I smile, shake my head in a self-deprecating way as a small laugh rolls over the crowd. "But the other half was spent on stage. The drama department at Tolling High gave me a place to shine. And I want every student at Tolling to find their place, too."

The audience claps and I smile. I dreaded coming here tonight, facing my past, but shit, it’s actually pretty damn nice to be received so well by the people who thought I was a joke before I left town.

But as I look around, I'm once again reminded that not everyone thought I was a joke.

Bexley sure as hell never did.

"I'd like to dedicate this new theater to every aspiring actor in Tolling. I hope this theater can give you a place to stretch your wings and soar." I pause, wanting Bexley's attention as I finish my speech. "And I'd also like to dedicate it to our own Bexley Maddon. She’s the reason I’m where I am today. She was my biggest fan, and believed in me when I didn't believe in myself. So, without further ado, Principal Pratt, will you do the honors?"

Principal Pratt tugs on the cord concealing the signage to the theater. After the unveiling, the audience will be invited inside for a talent show put on by students, but I won't need to stay for that.

This is the moment I came all this way for.

The canvas falls, revealing the name:
Belden Theater at Tolling High School
.

No one else is going to understand the name—they might think it's a blatant typo—but I don't care.

It's my theater, and I can name it anything I want.

I watch for Bexley's reaction. She knows, remembers. She understands. She bites her lip, containing a smile.

But not me. I beam, and clap as Principal Pratt returns to the stage to thank me again and welcome everyone to the Talent Show and reception.

I stand, wave, and then allow Lindy to whisk me to the sidelines as the crowd moves toward the entrance. It takes about thirty minutes to get through the throng of former classmates who are apparently dying to see me again. A cluster of Lisas-Kaylees-Jens try to get my attention, but I wave them off, trying to keep these interactions brief so that my focus is reserved for the only person I actually want to see.

The person I'm shocked is here at all.

She made it pretty damn clear what I meant to her four years ago.

Eventually, Lindy takes my arm and leads me from the crowd toward the limo.

"That went well," Lindy laughs, looking back at the women who came tonight with a single motivation: getting the famous Hollywood Holden in bed, knowing my reputation. "Now," she presses. "Are you gonna tell me what the name is about? For the theater? You kept it on the down-low for months."

I shake my head. Some inside jokes are best kept under wraps.

"Okay, your call," Lindy says, knowing I'm not one to be easily swayed. "I think this went really well. A perfect Op-Ed piece for the reporters who came out. Everyone loved you. I mean, the ladies at least."

I press my hand on her back, guiding her toward the limo now that the crowd has dissipated.

"Listen, Lindy, I'm gonna stay here for a bit, you mind getting my mom home?"

"Uh, no problem—she's already in the limo, anyway—but are you sure? This crowd could get rowdy."

"I'm cool. I just want to check out the old stomping grounds is all.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bexley watching me from the distance. I instinctively remove my hand from Lindy's back, and hate the swift way I did so. By the time I look back toward Bex, I see she's already headed toward the parking lot.

She isn't even staying to talk to me.

Still doesn't want to walk back, look me in the eye. Explain.

"All right," Lindy says. "I promised your mom drinks anyhow."

"You're going out on the town with my mom? You know you're only, like, thirty and don't need to hang out with her, right?"

"Your mom is more fun than mine. And I never get to go out. I'm always babysitting your ass." She laughs and keeps talking. "Text me if you need anything. Otherwise, I'll see you later. A car will be here at noon tomorrow to get you."

"Fantastic. Thanks again for everything. Let Trenton know it went well, will you?" I can't end this dialogue fast enough. Lindy is a great assistant, but she’s no Bexley.

She nods, then walks away. I turn back to where I last saw the tall brunette with the narrow waist and round ass.

I sprint over to her. Call out her name.

"Bex, wait up."

It's not beneath me to chase her.

In fact, looking at her now, I'm reminded that I should have started sprinting a long-ass time go.

H
e touches
her in a way that screams intimacy. And yeah, all it took was that quick flash of hand-on-back to be reminded of why I could never compete with girls like her.

I mean, there were like twenty women up in Holden’s grill the moment he got off stage, practically begging him to take them home and fuck them.

I remember him telling me that he lost his virginity at fourteen, to the next-door neighbor. She was a seventeen-year-old senior who straddled him on her mother's couch.

I remember feeling so jealous at the time—of all of it.

Of the girl who was able to take what she wanted.

Of Holden, who recounted the story with a boyish grin.

Of the sex in general, because even then I knew that all I wanted was to lose my virginity to him, but I was terrified of what that said about me.

Holden was the guy who never outgrew blow jobs in the school parking lot, never outgrew getting high before math class. Never outgrew detention for cutting class.

And the fact that he was the one I wanted? I could never make sense of it.

So I drew a line in the sand, and decided he was off limits.

But looking at those women tonight who fawned all over him, I'm reminded of those pangs I felt when we were at school together. How I wished I were braver, more reckless. Less Bex, more sex.

Cheesy, but freaking true.

And I can't help but feel a surge of jealousy at the woman who’s standing with him now, after everyone else has left, the woman who’s laughing with Holden as they linger at the limo.

Probably his new girlfriend. New fuck buddy. New lover.

New
whatever
.

I can't believe I thought I could actually hook up with him tonight. Who am I kidding?

Moving toward the parking lot, I'm shocked at the tears in my eyes, blinding me.

Why am I crying over a boy I pushed away?

Only because deep down, I want him so badly.

I always have.

"Bex, wait up," he calls.

Holden is here. His hand on my shoulder. Pulling me around.

"Bex," he says again. He's out of breath. He ran after me. "We're in the parking lot."

I look around, at the cars, the football field in the distance, the ground. Anywhere but Holden's face. Because I can't.

"Kinda funny, right?" he asks. "To meet back at the very place we said good-bye."

I can't help it. I lift my chin, raise an eyebrow and smirk. "Said good-bye?" I ask, my heart catching—because one look at him and it's like no time has passed. Like we didn't just spend four years apart. Like I never cut him off.

He laughs, that effortless Holden laugh. The laugh that causes shivers to cover my skin and my breath to catch. The laugh that reminds me of everything we shared. The laugh that makes my longing for what we almost had palpable.

His bright eyes squint, remembering me at my worst. "It was more of a yelling, screaming, all-out brawl, wasn't it?" He presses his lips together before adding more softly, "And, to be fair, it was more of a curtain call, wasn't it, Bex?"

I nod, blinking fast, knowing the tears are going to spill no matter what. And they do; running in rivers down my cheeks.

In a flood, just like my tears, my words rush out. "I'm sorry for never calling. For never ... for never explaining ... for never giving you—"

Before I can finish—and who am I kidding, I clearly am not going to be able to finish that sentence—Holden folds his arms around me.

I breathe him in. His arms wrapped around me feel the same, like a night sky full of stars. Majestic and luminous and so very far from my grasp. It's like … he's right here, I'm literally in his arms, but there has always, always been something between us as thick as the atmosphere.

My fear. His recklessness. Our spoken and unspoken desires.

But four years is a long time. Stars don't burn that long, do they?

"I can't believe you named the theater Belden," I tell him, my face against his shirt, inhaling him. I know in an instant that my deepest fantasy could come to life tonight. I know, with his arms wrapped tight around me, that it will.

"You remembered," he says.

"When it comes to you, there isn't much I've forgotten," I admit.

"I personally always thought our take on Brangelina was remarkable."

I look up at him and step away, knowing that I owe him more than brushing all of this under the carpet. Laughing at the past and skirting our "curtain call" isn't fair. Not to him.

"I was a crappy friend," I tell him.

Holden laughs uneasily. "Friends? That's what we were?"

"I was scared."

"And now?" He tilts his head, watching me closely.

"Oh, I'm pretty much terrified."

"Of what?"

"I'm scared you won't accept my apology, Holden. And I'd deserve that. Four years is a long time."

"Done," he says quickly. "Apology accepted."

"Don't." I shake my head. "Don't just say
done
. I haven't even properly told you what I'm sorry for."

"Then tell me. If you need to, tell me what you want forgiveness for, Bexley. But the truth is, I could come up with a long list of things I need your forgiveness for, too."

"That's not true. You didn't quit on me.
I
quit on
you
."

"I've missed you, Bex."

I shake my head, scared that I'm going to cry again. Damn, seeing Holden makes me regret so much. Everything.

"Let's not do this tonight," he says. "I don't want to make you cry."

"What
do
you want, Holden?"

He draws in a deep breath, then smiles softly, shaking his head. "Girl, you've always known what I wanted."

I don't push back and say
You may have wanted me, but not enough to give up all the other girls you slept with. You wanted me, but not enough to stop smoking pot even though you knew I hated it. You wanted me, but not enough to claim me as yours.

I don't say that. Because four years of silent treatment is more than enough.

And in this moment I don't want anything to ruin what might come next.

"Then take what you've always wanted, Holden. I know it's insane, but I've been saving myself for you."

His jaw tenses. His eyes narrow. He's caught off guard. "Just like that, after all this time?"

I smile, wondering if it will be this easy. This simple. Tell him to take all of me, and let him. "Yes. It's my peace offering."

"Bex," he says softly. "I can't accept that."

"Please." My chin quivers. "Please. Sleep with me. It's all I want."

He shakes his head. "I've never even kissed you, Bexley."

I don't want to walk away the same girl I was. I want Holden to make me a woman.

Tonight.

I step closer to him, lowering my chin, looking into his eyes. "I’ve read enough magazine articles to know you have no problem taking things fast."

"Bex," he says, his breath heavy, his lids hooded. I know he wants this. Has always wanted this.

Wanted
me
.

"Please, Holden. Don't make me beg."

He cups my face with his hands, lowers his face to mine. "I forgive you, Bexley."

And then his mouth presses against mine. I moan immediately, because I met Holden when I was a freshman in high school and it’s been eight years of waiting. Eight years of imagining kissing him. Eight years of fantasies that involved his hands on my face and his lips on mine.

So I can't help but melt a little now. I lean in to him and his tongue slips into my mouth, our kiss deepening as his hand moves to the base of my neck. I sink into his hold, into his mouth and body … and oh, he tastes as good as I imagined.

My body is alive, ignited with this desire that I've always kept firmly behind the line. Ignited with the longing that I’ve held for too long.

My knees are weak, but my conviction is strong.

I'm finally going to have the night I've been waiting my entire life for.