Hollywood Holden: Los Angeles Bad Boys (6 page)

O
n the ride home
, I don't want to think. I'm so fucking pissed at Bexley.

And the best cure for a mind-fuck is a classic Holden pool party.

I text Jude and Cash.

Me:
Party. My place. Tonight. I wanna get lit.

Jude:
Rachel says she's in.

Me:
And you?

Jude:
You know I can't deny my girl and my boy what they want.

Me:
Cash?

Cash:
Sounds good. But Evie wants to know why you never threw any parties when she lived with you!

Me:
She lived with me for like three weeks. Tell her there will be tequila. Lots.

Cash:
We're in.

* * *

S
everal hours later
, I've got a DJ on the patio, caterers with trays of food, and plenty of bartenders to mix drinks. I've got this whole last-minute party thing pretty much covered. I know who to call, and when I'm in a bind Jude always seems to have a hook-up.

By the time Cassius and Evie show up, there are people all over my place, topless girls swimming, a bonfire on the beach, and a hot tub filled with what looks like the beginnings of an orgy.

I grin. Bexley doesn't want me? Fine. I'll find someone else who isn't an uptight, critical beotch. Like that girl who's sauntering over to me as we speak, with a string bikini and nice, long legs, perfect for wrapping around my waist.

"Hey, Holden, great party," she purrs, cozying up under my arm. "You always have the best parties."

"Yeah?" I say. Cassius and Evie are walking toward me, drinks in hand. I look down at this girl, mostly only seeing her over-the-top fake tits, and ask, "How do you and I know one another again?"

She laughs. Okay, more of a cackle, and I instantly remember how we know one another. She was an extra on the set of
Johnny Jumper 3
, and we shared a few nights together. Nothing about them was memorable besides the fact that when she came she laughed like a fucking witch—and not in a sexy witch way. In a
what the fuck
sort of way.

"Who's your friend?" Evie asks, eyes wide, concealing a smile. She likes to give me a hard time about the women who show up here to ride me.

"Uh, this is...." I look at the girl on my arm, no fucking clue what her name is.

"Coco," she says, lowering her chin and gazing up at Cash, offering him her hand.

He shakes it awkwardly, but doesn't offer her anymore. He looks at Evie, sharing a look only two people head over heels in love can.

Good for them.

"Hey, I'll catch you later, Coco," I tell her, stepping away from her and toward my friends, mouthing
Save me
to them as we head inside to my living room. As we’re settling into couches with drinks in hand, Jude and Rachel join us.

Jude has his regular
doing-my-best-to-keep-this-relationship-alive
face on—tight smile and tired eyes. His hand is on Rachel's back.

Rachel is moaning about not being able to drink, and her baby bump is on display.

Jude has already warned us how much she hates the fact that she's having this baby, because it's messing with her ability to drink and because it's making her, apparently, “fat as fuck”—her words, not his. I know better than to mention that I think she looks fucking gorgeous with her round ass and tummy and full breasts.

"Quite the party, asshole," Jude says, greeting us.

Rachel has already decided she’s bored, and leaves for the patio. "What's the occasion?"

"Oh, just had my heart broken by the same girl for the second fucking time in my life," I tell him.

"Ouch." Evie grimaces.

"I know. I thought a rager might dull the shot to my heart, but all it seems to be doing is reminding me that I've already fucked half the girls here and never called them back for a reason."

"Who’s this girl?" Cassius asks. "Because I know from motherfucking experience that not fighting for what you really want is a coward's move."

His girl grabs his hand and kisses his knuckles that have the word
EVIE
in all caps inked across them.

Cash pulls Evie toward him, and she kisses him full on the mouth. I know from hanging out with them every weekend that these two will be straddling one another in about ten minutes, and then excusing themselves to find a secluded spot on my private beach.

Shaking my head, I look at Jude. "She's Bexley. From high school. The girl who fucking got away."

"So what are you gonna do about it?" he asks.

Surprisingly, Evangeline pulls away from Cassius and exclaims, "Bexley? Your old BFF Bexley?" She punches me in the shoulder. "Holden you never told me you loved her."

"What is there to tell?" I shake my head. "We were supposed to move to LA after we graduated high school. She backed out. We hadn't talked in four years."

"Cold," Cassius says, shaking his head and letting out a low whistle. "You loved her and haven't spoken in four years?"

"Well, we spoke last night, at the theater dedication thing."

Jude laughs, grabbing a beer that a cocktail waitress hands him as she passes by. "Bro, I know what
speaking with you
means."

"Does it matter, if she still told me she wasn't interested?" I ask.

"Were those her exact words?" Evie asks.

I run my hand through my hair. Damn, these three have worked themselves into my life really damn quick. Cassius never had a crew in LA until he met Evie and me. And Jude, well he and I go way back, but never with real shit. It's always been about partying together, dogging on one another for the movies we worked on. When I first moved to LA we had the same agent. We started out in this town at the same time.

But after the shit went down with Cassius and almost losing Evangeline, we got hella tight. All four of us. Of course, Jude's with Rachel ... but that relationship is way over my fucking head and I stay clear.

I owe them; that's the God's honest truth.

"Fuck, she thinks I'm a player who hasn't changed since school, and I accused her of being the same repressed bitch she used to be."

"Wow, so besides being the movie star of the decade, you're also a complete douchebag," Evie says, laughing, and semi-choking on her margarita.

"You okay, girl?" I ask, smiling. "I mean, not that a douche like me would care."

"You know what I mean," she says, and wipes her mouth with a napkin. "I mean, what do you need to do to get this girl back?"

I groan, falling back against the couch cushions.

"Bex isn’t like other girls."

Cassius laughs. "Right, because Evie and Rachel are so fucking cookie cutter."

"That's not what I mean. I mean ... Bexley is scared silly of anything outside of her comfort zone."

Evie smirks, giving me a satisfied shrug. "Then give her a reason to believe your zone is one she can feel safe in."

"Easier said than done," Jude says. He looks around, probably to make sure his girl is okay—not somewhere doing something that will embarrass her, or him. Rachel has a past as complicated as Cassius's, as far as I can tell.

"Go get her, douchebag.” Cassius waves his hand toward the women strutting all around us. “Don't sit here with these girls, when you could be with the woman of your dreams."

He's right. They all are.

Still, it takes me until Monday night to get the fucking balls to call her.

When I do, she answers.

Maybe she's looking for a way into my "zone" as much as I want her there.

T
he last thing
I expected was for Holden to call me on Monday. I still don't know what to think of it.

He invited me to a premier—not his, but one of his friend's films that he had tickets to. He said he thought maybe I'd want to “check it out.”

He said it just like that. Like I've ever been to a freaking Hollywood premier before. Like I know the first thing about attending anything on a red carpet. Like he and I are actually friends.

And we're not. Because when you don't talk to someone for four years, and then just let them into your vagina, and
then
tell them to get off your front lawn the next day, it wouldn't exactly be what I'd call “buddy-buddy.”

Still. It's a premier.

With Holden.

I couldn't say no. I didn't
want
to say no. So I allowed myself to say yes.

And now, it's Saturday afternoon, and Sami is in my room telling me to go commando. Well, not literally in my room—she's FaceTiming me on my laptop, which is propped on my desk.

"The last thing you want is a panty line," she says, grimacing.

"It feels a little...."

"Like you're saying something with your lack of an undergarment?"

"Pretty much."

"Good, because you
are
saying something. You’re saying
Fuck me please, Holden, and show me what it's like to be Johnny Jumper. Jump my bones
."

She moans dramatically and I immediately click down the volume, holding a finger to my lips.

"Language, woman, my parents might hear."

"Oh, you're no fun," she pouts, throwing a kernel of popcorn at her computer. "Just go all-in. He's being nice. I know you said he was a player, but maybe you ruined him. Maybe, after you broke his heart in high school, he had no choice but to sleep with all of Los Angeles."

"I did not ruin Holden," I scoff. "He was sleeping with plenty of people before we took Acting 101 our freshman year."

"That's impressive, to be sleeping around as a high school freshman. I didn't get my cherry popped until I was a freshman in college."

"I remember." I shake my head, grossed out by the memory. "I was your roommate, and above you in that freaking bunk bed, while Maloney-Baloney tried to put on a condom. It's pretty much cemented in my memory as one of the most awkward nights of my life."

"Poor Maloney-Baloney. A man with a dick as flimsy as lunch meat." Sami picks up a can of Diet Coke, sighing before taking a sip. "And now look at you, all grown up and going out with a man rumored to have a cock the size of a summer sausage."

"Eww, stop it. I'm going to hang up on you."

"Never!" she mock-screams. "You love me."

"I do." I slide my panties off, then pull the skirt of long black strapless gown back down.

Holden sent it over via FedEx yesterday.

It's exactly the sort of dress I'd have chosen for myself: form-fitting but classic, with a mermaid tail. I smooth it out, adjusting the fake diamond bracelet on my wrist—which I've kept in a jewelry box since my senior prom, when I wore it last. "But seriously, Sami, I'm scared. What if I fall for him all over again?"

She moves so that her entire face fills up my computer screen. "There are worse things than having your heart broken."

I nod, not wanting to cry and mess up my mascara.

"Now put on some lipstick and walk downstairs, pretending that you don't have the parental issues that you so clearly do, and get into that hottie's limo. Do you even know how jealous I am of you right now?" She moves her screen so it takes in a panoramic view of her in her apartment. "I'm in leggings. And I'm not wearing underwear, but it isn't because I have a hot date, it's because I didn't do the laundry. So, please. Go play. Drink champagne. And have sex with Johnny Jumper."

I air-kiss her good-bye before closing my computer.

A text comes in from Holden:
Ten minutes until I'm at your front door
.

Sliding matte red lipstick over my penciled-in lips, I look at myself in the mirror, unable to hide the smile spreading across my face.

I may not be a movie star, but I know I sure as hell look like one.

* * *

I
try
to pretend like this is a normal thing as I head downstairs with my overnight luggage. Yes, I’m a grown-up, but my parents’ judgmental eyes keep me in a perpetual state of inadequacy.

Stepping into the kitchen where my parents are sorting mail at the kitchen table, I barely receive a double-take. And I
know
I'm double-take worthy at the moment.

"So," I tell them. "I'll be back tomorrow sometime."

"Well, you know where we'll be," Mom says, not looking up.

My parents have volunteered at the local Food Bank every Sunday for the entirety of my life. I’ve spent enough weekends there to know the drill: 10-4, stocking shelves, sorting food, bagging up food for the people who come through the doors.

"Do you have a problem with me going?" I ask. "Because you've barely said two words about it since I told you."

Dad and Mom exchange a look that says
where did we go wrong
, and I suck in a deep breath, determined to have a good night.

"Bexley," Mom begins, "you know what we think about you spending time with a man like Holden. We just want what's best for you, and starring in movies that are superficial and don't really add anything to society ... well, we're just glad you didn't let his harebrained ideas sway you when you were vulnerable to his attention."

"You're being a little harsh, aren't you?" I know Holden's going to be here any moment, and I don't want him coming all this way to get another condescending tone from my parents.

"You decide that for yourself. Meanwhile, we're glad you're teaching youth about getting some self-esteem and confidence before they go out into the real world. And meanwhile, on our time off, your mom and I will continue to choose the less fortunate in our community, serving those in need. We all have our roles to fill."

My eyes widen, taking in the most passive-aggressive words I've ever heard from my father's mouth. And that’s saying something—my parents have passive-aggressive tendencies down pat.

The doorbell rings. I take a deep breath. "I'll see you tomorrow. Thanks for trusting me," I tell them, unable to stop myself from sinking to their level.

I open the door, clutch and canvas bag in hand, and look at my date.

"Damn," he says, shaking his head and biting his bottom lip. "You look fucking incredible."

Normally I’d look over my shoulder, scared my parents may have heard.

But tonight I don't.

Instead, I offer him my hand, knowing that by the end of the night I'll be offering him a lot more.