Hollywood Holden: Los Angeles Bad Boys (8 page)

T
he next morning
, I shower while Holden is in the kitchen making coffee.

My legs are sore, my pussy completely worn, and my heart? It's warming up to possibility.

In the bathroom, though, I admit that it's disheartening to see an entire shelf of women's hair product options, and in the adjoining walk-in closet I can't help but notice the shelf of women's clothes, mostly athletic wear, but also plenty of panties. For what, exactly?

Still, I dress, pushing the knowledge of Holden's conquests—past and present—from my mind. Well, I let myself dwell on his latest conquest: me. Because, oh my heck, I can't believe I have lived twenty-two years not having a man take control of my body that way.

Regardless, I can't help pulling out the drawer in his bedside table before walking out of his room. My curiosity is piqued with the teeny-tiny thongs. Has Holden changed at all in these last four years?

In the drawer I find a baggie of pot. A pipe. A lighter. Pursing my lips, I shut the drawer. It's not my place to assess his life choices. I’m here for him, not his habits.

Walking into the kitchen in jeans and a tank top, I smile, looking at Holden in his low slung jeans, with his washboard abs and perfect white-toothed grin.

"Hey, beautiful," he says. "Do you still drink it black?"

I nod. "Some things never change."

"Some things change an awful lot."

I sit on a barstool, and Holden offers me a warm croissant and hands me a steaming cup of coffee.

"Where did you get these? I was in the bathroom for like fifteen minutes."

"I have an on-call cook, but today my assistant Lindy delivered them, per my request."

I break off a piece of the flaky goodness, raising an eyebrow. "Someone delivers you breakfast every day?"

He shrugs. "I'm kind of a big deal."

"Barf."

He smiles, peeling a banana.

"You're not having one?" I ask, pointing to the buttery morsel of heaven.

"I'm on an eating plan. No carbs before noon."

I laugh. "Holden, you're in amazing shape."

"Because I don't eat breakfast pastries."

"Way to make me feel like a beached whale."

"Fine," he acquiesces, "I'll have one. I just don't want my trainer to yell at me. You know I have a thing with being a people pleaser."

"Right," I laugh. "You've always had such a hard time doing what you wanted."

"Well, maybe we're just different kinds of people pleasers. If I remember correctly, I pleased you pretty well last night."

"That's true." I smile again, and it's quiet for a moment as the memory of last night washes over me. "Is it weird that we picked up like this? After not talking for so long?"

"I missed you. I wanted to call you a thousand times," he tells me. "But you were pretty clear at graduation."

"I shouldn't have said those things," I tell him. "I didn't mean them."

"You meant them then."

My words were very clear, and so undeniable. It had started simply enough. I told him that I was sorry, but I was going to Northern California University and not moving to LA with him.

I had kept this from him for two months, because I knew that the moment I told him I had agreed to my parents' post-high school plan, we would never recover.

And I was right.

In response, he called me a disappointment.

I called him selfish.

He called me a dick tease.

I called him a man-whore.

He called me a sell-out.

I called him a pothead.

He called me a straight-laced prude.

I called him my ex-best friend.

He called me a bitch.

I called him out for cutting class, for screwing girls during passing period, and for never thinking I was worth changing any of his behavior for.

I told him not to call me ever again, because by then my face was streaked in tears, and his mom was watching, and my parents were shocked, and I was crushed.

I’d led him to believe that after Tolling High, he and I could start a crazy life together where no one could put boundaries on me. On us.

And I had loved dreaming of that possibility with him. How could I not like that fantasy? I had spent eighteen years in my parents’ shadow. I had never really, completely let go and given in.

But Holden made it seem like together we could. That I could actually let go after high school, and that he would break my fall. That we could take over Hollywood, one audition at a time.

I let him believe it was more than a daydream.

Meanwhile, I dutifully mailed in college applications, got accepted with scholarships, and made my parents beam with pride.

And I put off the inevitable.

So I ended whatever sexually-wrought relationship we shared. I had to end it. Because the idea of keeping in touch with him, and hearing how he was doing in LA, without me, would have killed my resolve.

And then, as only Holden could, he started taking over Hollywood in a way no one could have scripted. He was the golden boy, with a thousand-watt smile and charisma that could crack the coldest director in LA.

He was brave, and it paid off.

"I didn't know anything back then, Holden, at graduation. And I'm sorry. For all the things I said."

"I'm sorry, too, for … you know, never stepping up and telling you exactly how I felt."

"How did you feel, Holden, back then?"

He shakes his head, bites his bottom lip. "Mostly? I thought you were way too fucking good for me."

"Maybe now you're too good for me," I tell him. "I mean, look at this place." I wave my hand around at him. " You’re this entire
movie star
. This man who’s bigger than life. Certainly bigger than a drama teacher at Tolling High."

He juts out his chin. "You're better than that, too, you know."

I shake my head, confused. "Better than what?"

"Being a drama teacher. I mean, you’re an amazing actress."

"Was. I retired," I joke.

"Whatever. You're telling me if you were offered a role with a major studio, you'd turn it down?"

I roll my eyes. "Holden, I have my whole life figured out. I don't want to be an actress anymore."

"Bullshit."

"Don't." I shake my head at him. "Don't belittle my choices."

"It’s a choice you made four years ago out of fear, Bexley. I'm not belittling anything; I'm only speaking the truth."

"Stop it. You're going to ruin any good thing we have here—you realize that, don't you?"

"Why, because I'm telling you things you don't want to hear?"

"No, because you're judging my choices." I storm off to his bedroom, him trailing me. I want to get my things. I want to go. Now. "And you know what, Holden? It's such bullshit. I'm not judging you. You're still the exact same guy as you've always been. Smoking pot, fucking strangers, and pretending with me."

He slams his hand against the door. "Dammit, Bexley. I'm not pretending with you at all. I’m putting myself out there, completely. You're the one who's fake, who's acting like the life you chose is the one you fucking want. You’re the same, not me. I've grown up."

"Sure you have, Holden. Keep telling yourself that."

He punches a wall, and I get out my phone, my hands shaking, and call a cab as I leave his house.

"You aren't seriously leaving my house in a taxi."

"Yes, Holden, I am. And I've said it before, but I never thought I'd say it again: don't come after me."

When we were teenagers, I never directly asked Holden to change for me. And I won't do it now, either. If he and I were ever to work, that would have to be his own doing.

I walk to the street, waiting for the taxi. I don’t look back, because I don't know what would be worse—him standing there wanting me to come back inside, or him not there at all.

I get in the cab, knowing that, deep down, Holden and I both have a lot of growing up to do.

M
y knuckles are
bloody from the wall collision, and I pace my house trying to sort out what the fuck just happened.

The moment she's gone, I know that I need her back. But damn it, beyond the needing, I
know
I'm right about her. And, shit—I need her to understand that I'll give up all the pot and women. She’s the girl that can tame me. The only woman I want to share my wild side with.

It's always been her.

Of course, a few nights with me in sexed-out bliss isn't going to convince her that I'm actually the stand-up guy she wants. I need her to know I’m committed to seeing this thing through. God knows, I was never man enough when I was younger.

I've changed, even if that change started the moment I saw her in the parking lot, last week, four years after we screamed our good-byes.

I want to call her, but her words were so fucking clear. She ended things before they began.

Because, once again, she got too fucking scared.

I drop the phone on the counter, looking in the freezer for ice for my knuckles.

Then I pour a cup of coffee and start making a fucking plan.

* * *

"
F
irst of all Holden
, did you look at the scripts?" Trenton asks me the following morning. We're in his office and I'm throwing a dart at the target mounted on his wall. Bullseye.

"I looked at them. But it's a tough call. Either a superhero or a cowboy." I smirk. "That's really the best you got for me?"

Trenton guffaws. "These are the best scripts anywhere right now. You should be grateful to have an option outside the Johnny Jumper franchise."

"Give me some time. That's not what I came here for anyway."

Trenton pulls the darts from the target, looking at me, quizzically. "Why are you here?"

"It's about a girl."

Trenton laughs again. "Damn it. With you, Holden, it's always about a girl."

"No. This time it's about
the
girl. And I need a favor."

* * *

J
ude
, Cassius, Rachel, and Evangeline meet me for dinner at TropiCALI later in the week. We're getting cocktails as I fill them in on my plan.

"So then, afterwards, I want her to meet you guys. Show her that I'm a good guy. That I've changed."

"So you want us to lie to the girl you want to win back?" Rachel says. Dark eyeliner rings her eyes, and heavy bangs cover half her face. "That seems like a stellar plan," she deadpans, while rubbing her burgeoning baby belly.

I don't get this girl at all.

"I don't want you to lie, exactly. Just avoid the hot-button stuff."

Rachel isn't gonna budge. "So you don't want us to tell her that you had strippers at your place three weeks ago?"

I take a drink of my vodka soda, swallowing what I could ask her about the rumors constantly circulating about
her
, before and after she got pregnant.

Instead, I say evenly, "The strippers were there as a present for my friend, Zac Turner, who happened to be in town."

"His girlfriend wasn't too pleased about them, either," Evie says, swirling her drink.

"Damn." I shake my head. "Can anyone go easy on me tonight?"

"To be fair," Cassius pushes playfully, "Ashley wouldn't be too happy about anything."

Ashley Fast is Zac Turner’s girlfriend, though who knows for how long. It’s always trouble in paradise with her, and he’s only last in a long string of guys she can write breakup songs about.

"Because you know everything about Ashley, now that you and Jack Harris are BFF's?" Jude asks, giving his friend a hard time. DJ-turned-songwriter Jack Harris was Ashley’s boyfriend before Zac, and the breakup song about
him
was a doozy.

"Did you seriously just say
BFF
?" Evie asks laughing. "My cousin is such a nerd."

"Maybe we could stay on topic?" I wave over a waitress and order another round for the table.

"Okay, homeboy," Cassius says. "We promise to mention that you let Evie stay at your guest house when she was in a jam, and that you're the future godfather to Jude's son."

Jude's jaw tenses as he turns to Rachel. "He's just fucking around, don't worry. No one has been asked to be the godfather."

"I don't really give a shit about that stuff," Rachel says, dismissively. "Besides, I think it’s sorta fucked up to trick that girl into thinking you're a good guy, Holden. Everyone knows you're a man-whore."

"Fuck," Cassius says coolly.

"Everything okay, Rachel?" Evie asks, choosing a softer tone. "You seem a little ... tense?"

Rachel purses her lips. "I just think Holden is fighting for a relationship that died a long time ago. This girl wants to move on, so let her. Friends come and go; just let her go."

Jude looks at her, incredulous. "What about fighting for what you believe in? Fighting for love?"

Rachel studies her seltzer water thoughtfully before answering, meeting Jude's gaze. "I think that's sweet, but it sure as hell isn't real life."

Everyone goes quiet, and in this full, loud restaurant I swear I could hear a pin drop at this table.

"I need to get some fucking air," Jude says. "I got your back when your girl comes to town, Holden. But right now, I need to breathe."

He walks out of the restaurant, and I'm pissed at Rachel.

But also completely sure—of what I want, and what I need to do. Rachel is hella wrong.

I'll fight for Bex.

And I’ll win her heart.

Or I'll die trying.