"Oh my God! I love you so much!"

You wouldn't believe how often I heard that phrase. Just about every day, after all this time, a girl rushes up to me, cheeks blazing, eyes wide and bright and in a not-so-inside voice gushes about how much she loves me.

What does a guy even say to that? Thank you? No. Never thank you.

"Hey, honey," I answered like I always do, with a smile. "I love you too!"

The girl seemed happy to hear that, though I had no idea who she was. Bubbly, blonde, tall, model thin. Bloodshot, glassy ocean blue eyes. Wide mouth full of straight white teeth, thick lips shellacked in blood red lipstick. If I were a different man, I'd imagine that mouth wrapped around my-

"So what are you doing here? It's so cool that I got to meet you!" A spindly arm wound around mine, the brightly painted talons of one hand possessively clutching my bicep. Her other hand gripped a long-neck bottle like her life depended on it.

"I'm here for the same reason you are, I guess."

"Huh?"

"The band. The music you're hearing?" I tipped my head toward the stage where a Prince cover band was working through a rendition of The Beautiful Ones.

"Oohhh," she said, drawing out the word. Her eyes were just barely open, so I wasn't even sure she understood what I'd said until she bobbed her head in a nod. "Yeah, my agent got me into this thing. I've never even heard of this band. I've just barely heard of Prince."

She giggled when I reared back in shock. Barely heard of Prince?

"I mean I know who he is... and whatever. Anyway, my agent said to come, that I might meet someone cool." She grinned, though it was drunkenly lopsided. "And I did! So, how are the other guys? Nick and AJ and... the rest. Are you guys still on tour?"

I couldn't help but laugh. It was that or roll my eyes. Hard. Not only was she blowing stale beer breath in my face, she couldn't even recall my career correctly. "Wrong band, honey. But Nick and the other guys are fine, I hear."

"Hey, Mara. Lewis is looking for you." A heavenly voice sounded behind us-feminine but hitting the low, sultry notes on the register.  "He wants to know if you want to meet the band."

"Ooh!" She squealed, unwinding herself from around me and practically skipping away. I watched her head bob through the crowd until she made a connection on the other side of the room.

"You seemed like you needed some help," said my savior, a woman I really appreciated at the moment, even more so after I turned around and got an eyeful of her. Her curly hair was swept into a purposely messy up do and her blouse, lavender with sparkles and glitter had a neckline that was so low, there was no way she was wearing a bra with it. It clung to her, settling on curvy hips, leaving just enough golden toned bare skin between the hem and the low-slung waistband of skintight jeans.

In other words... she caught my attention. I smiled and actually turned my back on the band strumming out the last notes of the song. "And I thank you," I responded. "Seriously. I owe you."

"I mean, how does she not even know what band you were in? Everyone knows you were the guy no one remembers from 98 Degrees."

She laughed with me, then lifted an amber bottle to her lips. I followed suit, letting a few beats pass before I asked, "But you do know who I am, right?"

She nodded, extending a hand to mine. Her nails-not talons-were painted purple to accent her blouse. I gripped her hand but didn't shake it. Instead I held it, sweeping my thumb across her silky soft skin.

"Yes, I actually do know who you are, JC. I'm Lena."

I didn't want to let go of her hand but did it anyway. "Nice to meet you. How do you like the show so far?"

"They're okay for a cover band. Nothing like seeing Prince in the flesh. I assume you've had the pleasure?"

"Lots of times." I nodded, a solemn mood washing over me. "I actually saw him the last time he came to LA."

"So did I! Wasn't that show amazing?!"

"He blows my mind every time. I wish I could have worked with him but he did let me perform one of his songs on my solo tour-"

"Let's Go Crazy. I saw you at the KISS-FM Jingle Ball. You performed without a track. It was kinda awesome."

"Kinda?" I feigned hurt, giving her a wide-eyed stare. "I did my set A cappella. It was just kinda awesome?"

She laughed, blushing. "Yeah. Just kinda."

"Okay, fine whatever. Stab me in the heart."

She chuckled again. "Okay, this band's version is not better than your version, even A cappella. How about that?"

"Better. Thank you." I chucked my bottle toward the barrel full of glass empties behind me.  "So do you come here, often?"

She glanced up toward the rafters of the Roxy, a midsize club in West Hollywood. The room had been decked out in purple tulle and curtains; purple glitter littered the scratched wood floor and the stage gave a decidedly ethereal purple glow. The staff was going all out for the cover band in tribute to the late, great Prince Rogers Nelson.

"I've been here a few times, but not often. My boss knows I'm a die-hard Prince fan. He was really excited to get me this ticket and I didn't want to hurt his feelings by saying I had no interest in a cover band, so..." She bobbed her head, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. It made her breasts bounce. I felt that bounce in my toes. "I do really like all the purple, but... this isn't my scene, really."

"Oh, really? So what is your scene? Some swanky lounge in Hollywood? A dive bar in Culver City? Maybe the Conga Room... I split my pants there, one time. "

She choked on her last swallow of beer. Mid cough, she tossed the empty into the same recycling bin I'd tossed mine into. Still laughing, she said, "On my couch, next to my dog. Better beer. Not so much purple. The new season of Orange is the New Black. And no chance that I'll split my pants."

I laughed. And nodded, knowing exactly what she meant. "So... how do you know her?" I nodded my head toward the tipsy blonde across the room with her arms around the lead singer. He seemed to be enjoying it much more than I had.

"Mara?" She rolled her eyes as she twisted her body back in my direction. "She's a client of a friend of mine. Model. Absolute idiot."

"I'm sorry, client? So... you're an agent? Manager?"

She wrinkled her nose. Her cute little nose. "Oh, hell no. Professional babysitting? I wouldn't be caught dead doing that shit."

"I didn't mean to insult you. Though my babysitter is pretty good. What do you do?"

"I'm a publicist. For Sexy Hair."

I tried hard to fight my grin but it didn't work. "Oh! I know uh... I know your product."

"I can tell," she said, stretching her fingers toward me.  I  bent forward so she could slide the tips of her nails along my scalp. "Our product has a distinct scent. I could tell you use us from a mile away."

After a few moments, she added, "You have a really nice curl pattern, great texture. You should try the Curly Sexy line. It would really bring out those pretty waves."

I shook my head. "I was using that when I wore my curls but now the formula makes it frizz up."

"We have products to combat that, you know."

"You sound like a stylist. Do you have some stuff in your trunk you want me to try?"

She grinned. "It's my job to talk up the product and make sure people know the full range of benefits of each and every line."

"Well, maybe I could be convinced to give it another shot over-"

"Yelena!"

Shit. Some douche wearing aviator shades indoors and a leather jacket at the height of summer bumped his shoulder through the edge of the crowd. "Only half of the product showed up and the band is pulling out tonight. We need to get the rest of the stuff here. Now."

She gave me a closed mouth, apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, I need to run. People need their free hair care products. It was nice meeting you."

"Uhm, yeah, it was nice meeting you, too. I was hoping we could-"

"Sorry buddy. She's working. Hit on her another time." Shades-and-leather-jacket ushered her away. She glanced back at me over her shoulder and I knew I might never see her again.

Unless I tried to find her.

 

 

 I didn't need it. I wasn't even hungry. But there I was anyway, peering into a box of hot, handmade delicacies from Earl's, a bakery so close to the Sexy Hair offices that the donuts were still warm.

"You are totally making my three mile run this morning worthless, Jennifer."

"Not worthless," she mumbled around a mouthful of sweet pastry. "You created a calorie deficit. Now you can fill it."

"With a donut." I'd have to run three miles a day and subsist on nothing but apples and celery to even come close to the body Jen maintained on a steady diet of carbs and sugar. "You are a freak of nature," I told her, as I pointed to some weird concoction in the corner. It was golden and glazed and calling my name. "What is that thing?"

"It's a Cronut. A cross between a croissant and a donut. They're all the rage on the east coast. You've never heard of them?"

"I try not to tempt myself with things I shouldn't eat. Did I mention you're evil?"

Jen reached into the box with a napkin, plucked the Cronut from the corner and set it on a paper plate. "It's Friday. Have something delicious. Are you ready for our 9AM?"

"Mmmhm... mmmm!"  I moaned as the buttery, sweet pastry practically melted in my mouth. "I just need to drop by my desk to pick up my notes. My God this is sinful!"

I crammed the rest of the Cronut into my mouth and walked out of the break room, away from that box of donuts, to my desk. I picked up my notes and my file on my current project, Sexy LA, and headed to the conference room. I fell into step with my boss, Ian, Marketing Director for Sexy Hair. The newest line was gaining a lot of momentum. It was my job to keep that ball rolling.

"Hey, how was the show last night?" I knew he would ask. My emotional breakdown on the day that Prince died was office legend by now and everyone was trying to make me feel better, either by bringing me purple things, or objects with Prince's likeness on them or gifting me tickets to see a cover band do a sad rendition of Raspberry Beret when I would have rather been home with my dog listening to it on Dolby Surround Sound.

"It wasn't bad," I lied. "It was nice to hear his music live. Thanks again for the ticket."

"And The XPerience got their product?"

I nodded, slipping into the seat next to Ian. "Yep. I crossed everything off with Ross. They'll start using the lines, posting pictures to Instagram, Twitter and Facebook, tagging our account, really talking it up. I have regular chats scheduled and they've agreed to do some video testimonials."

Ian swiveled his chair back and forth, the tip of his pen between his teeth. This was his thinking pose. "Are you sure we don't want to look at them first? Do some editing? They're not using professional stylists, so I'm worried about what their hair is actually going to look like."

"We picked them because they already have great hair. And the point of Sexy LA is that you don't have to be a stylist to use our lines. I met a guy last night that-" I stopped myself. Cold, mid-sentence, already knowing I didn't want to get into my brief conversation with JC last night. Already knowing I was too far in to backtrack.

"You met a guy last night?" Jen walked in, a fresh donut on a paper plate sitting right in front of her.   

I rolled my chair back far enough to grab a few bottles of water from the stocked cooler. I rolled back to the table and slid one to Ian and Jen, and then to our website copy editor, who'd just walked in as well.

"You were saying?" Jen prodded. I cut my eyes at her and gave her two stern shakes of my head. I would have been willing to talk about JC with just her, but I had an audience and I felt... awkward.

But then it felt like the whole room was watching, waiting for my answer. The sooner I got it over with, the sooner we could move on. "I met a guy last night that uses the product. His hair looked great and he's not a stylist. That's... all I meant."

"How great?" Asked Jen, before biting into the donut. "Maybe we can use him."

"Really great. He has thick, wavy, dark... just really nice hair-"

"Did you get his number? I'm serious, maybe we can use him."

"Well, he's... actually he was graying a little around the temple..."

"Ooh, like a distinguished graying?" Asked Ian. "Or like a really needs a dye job graying?"

"Doesn't matter," said Jen. "We can edit a little, right? He sounds cute. Did you get his number?"

"He's... not exactly a regular person."

"Not exactly a regular person. What does that mean?"

"He's...well..." I propped an elbow up onto the table and set my chin in my palm. "He's kind of a celebrity."

"Everyone in LA is kind of a celebrity. If he's not in the tabloids every day, I can use him. Does he do his own hair?"

"I guess... he said he used to use the Curly Sexy line." I twirled a pen between my fingers and chewed the heck out of my bottom lip. It was my nervous pose.

"Do we know this guy? Is he recognizable?"

"Highly.  It was JC Chasez."

Ian did more swiveling and pen chewing. "He might be obscure enough. He hasn't done anything lately."

"He's in a movie that was just at the LA Film Festival."

Ian rolled his eyes. "I mean anything that people might recognize him in."

"Topher Grace is in it. It opens this fall."

Jen stared, a single, perfectly arched eyebrow raised in curiosity. Ian stopped swiveling long enough to gaze quizzically in my direction.

"I... googled him. Last night. It's the first thing that pops up."

"Well..." Jen wiped her fingers on a napkin and tossed it toward the wastebasket near her. "I haven't seen him in a while, but if I remember right, he does have great hair.  He'd be a nice anchor endorsement for Sexy LA."

"But Sexy LA is supposed to be local, non-professionals using the product."

"If he doesn't stand behind a salon chair, he's not a professional."

"Well, I didn't get his number. Ross threw a fit about product for The XPerience and by the time I got that cleared up, he was gone."

"Oh, don't worry about that." Ian grinned, opening his MacBook, bringing up his contact database. "I know how to find him."

 

 >>||<<

 

"So. You want it?" Ian sauntered into my office and dropped into the chair across from my desk.

"Want what?"  I adjusted my glasses, pushing them up the bridge of my nose as my eyes flicked up to Ian and back to my computer screen. I was nearly finished with the update to my publicity plan for the Sexy LA campaign and our first endorsements. Unfortunately, Prince's sudden death meant The XPerience was a hot ticket. A hot ticket meant exposure and as sick as it was, that exposure was going to be our best friend.

"His number."

My fingers stopped moving. Slowly, my eyes crawled back up to Ian's face, which now bore a smug grin.  Between two fingers, he gripped a folded piece of paper.

"Who's number?"

"I hate when you play dumb. A certain pop star with great hair that you know too much about." Ian waived the slip of paper in the air. "I've got his number right here. Address, too if you're the stalking type."

I laughed, albeit nervously, and reached for the bottle of water I'd been trying to drink since our meeting an hour earlier. "I'm not the stalking type. But thanks. Isn't it against policy to hand out addresses and phone numbers for celebrities?"

Ian shrugged. "Special favors. I won't tell if you don't. So do you want it?"

I thought about it. I really did. I almost reached for it.

And then didn't.  "Thanks. It was nice meeting him, but..." I shrugged, shyly returning my attention to nearly finished brief. "You know how I feel about... people like him."'

"Celebrities? You said yourself he's only kind of a celebrity. You obviously liked him if you talked to him."

"We talked about hair, Ian. And Prince concerts. And yeah, I liked him enough, but he's a musician and-"

"He is hardly a musician."

"Pardon? Multi-platinum boy band. He writes and produces music, he plays piano and guitar and God knows what else. Musician."

"So your embargo on musicians and anyone related to the industry continues."

"Indefinitely."

"Lena..." Ian started, then I suppose he knew better than to even start. He pushed himself up from the chair. "So you're saying that if I leave this piece of paper on your desk that you'll set it on fire and probably chant his name while you utter some kind of career ending curse?"

"I'm fresh out of career ending curses. At the very least, I'll throw it away."

"Suit yourself," he chirped. Then dropped the small, folded slip of paper at the edge of my desk.

Where it sat. All day.

Until four o'clock, when I slipped it into my purse before I left my office for the day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Yelena Sandoval. She works for a hair product company. Are you serious, dude?"

"Very. Can you find stuff on her?"

"I can't believe you asked me that." I heard keys clicking in the background, rapid tap tap tapping that meant Alex was getting me what I needed. "Did you try googling her?"

"Yeah, but I didn't find much. Lots of work stuff, all of the articles she's written for the company.  I didn't find anything personal. No pictures. No Facebook. No duckface Instagram selfies. No blog. It's like she doesn't exist when she leaves the office."

"Uh huh. Yeah, that is weird."

More key clicking and a bored sigh came through the phone. I hated to call in a favor but if anyone could find a random woman in LA, it was my buddy, Alex. We actually called him HackerAlex. Got a girl's name and number but the last two digits are smudged? HackerAlex can probably figure it out. Need to know some high level intel about someone you used to date? Or want to date? Don't even think about it, give HackerAlex a call. The only payment he ever required was perks- concert tickets, movie tickets, free music, red carpet and seat filler invites. He was all over that shit.

"So, what kind of information are you looking for?"

"You know, the usual. Is she crazy? Has she ever been arrested for stalking? Has she fucked an unusually high number of my friends and told the internet about it?"

"The Crazy Starfucker Investigation? You've gotta meet some more interesting ladies. I'd love to dig up some real dirt one of these days." He chuckled to himself. "Okay, let me work on this. If there's something out there, I'll find it."

"Thanks, man." I ended the call and slipped the phone into the pocket of my shorts, adjusted my shades and pulled my cap low over my eyes before I approached the entrance to Runyon Canyon Park. I hadn't been out here in a while and something about the big 4-0 staring me in the face made me feel like I only had a few days to live out my youth.

An hour later, my t-shirt was dark with sweat and clinging to my skin. I stood at the top of my favorite trail and took in the view of Hollywood down below. I pulled a set of earbuds from my ears just in time to hear deep, loud barks on the trail behind me.

I love dogs, but I wasn't prepared for the massive paws that landed on my chest, pushing me backward down the hill. A long, pink tongue furled out and swiped my face from neck to cheek. I lost my footing and tumbled backward, landing on my ass.

Hanging over me, paws resting on my chest, tail wagging furiously and panting hot dog breath in my face was a beautiful, golden, heavy Mastiff.

"I'm so sorry! He's totally harmless! Barksdale, come!"

The dog barked and released me from his hold, bounding over to his owner, tail still wagging wildly like he didn't just knock over a complete stranger.  I sat up, trying to get my bearings. My t-shirt was covered in muddy paw prints.

"I'm so sorry about your shirt, sir. I'll pay to have it cleaned. Please don't report this to animal control; he's big, but he's just a puppy. I'll run and grab my wallet and pay for your shirt, I swear. I live right over--"

She froze, a finger in the air. She stopped talking. Stopped apologizing.

I stopped being concerned about the mud on my t-shirt and the dog and the heat and the canyon and... everything but her. Standing right in front of me.

"Hey," she said, dropping her hand while a slow smile spread across the pretty lips I remembered from a few nights ago. "Are... did you follow me here?"

I laughed. "From the Roxy, two days ago? Yeah. And then I put myself in the path of your dog so he could knock me on my ass."

Lena laughed, gripping a thick leather leash while the dog sniffed the grassy area around us. She wore a simple tank top and shorts, but the sight of all that golden skin, those toned arms and long legs and curly hair pulled up into a ponytail was making parts of me very happy.

"I'm so sorry. I let him roam around the park where dogs don't have to be on leashes. He loves the little pond over there but it's really muddy. We were heading home and I didn't think I needed this-" She waived the useless leash in the air. "He must have seen you and got excited. A new toy to play with. Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"Just my pride," I answered.

"And your shirt." She cringed, giving me the once-over glance.  "I hope it wasn't expensive."

"Cost me $30 four years ago. It's practically an antique."

"Antiques usually appreciate in value, though."

"This shirt is valuable to me, actually. It's very near and dear to my heart."

"Right. That's why you're out here running in it. In the middle of the day. In August."

"Are you trying to say this shirt is worthless?"

"Well..." She gave the shirt another wincing glance, then lifted her shoulders in a shrug. "I mean... if you really want me to pay for - "

"I'm bullshitting you, honey. It's a plain gray shirt from Old Navy. I have twenty shirts in this exact same color."

"Are you sure?"

I waived her off, then bent to give the dog a friendly pat. He wound himself around my legs, muddying my socks and shoes with his paws.

"Barksdale! Sit! You're so rude!"

"He's okay. I'm a big fan of dogs." I gave him a good rub behind the ears and some pats along his rump. He whimpered and wagged his tail. "He's an English Mastiff, right? How old is he?"

"Eight months. He was so tiny and adorable when he was a few weeks old And then three months later he was fifty pounds. And now he's a hundred pounds of overly excited, energetic puppy."

She shook her head, hands propped on her hips. "And he's filthy. I'm really sorry about your shirt. And your socks. And now your shoes."

"Forget about it. I already have."

A quiet moment passed, where it was just me and her and the dog, alone on that hill, the vista behind us, a blessedly cool breeze wafting over our shoulders. I wasn't sure I'd ever see this woman again. I wasn't sure I wanted to, until she just showed up. Well, she and her dog that didn't know his own strength.

"Listen, I-" she started.

"I wanted to-" I said, at the same time. Then I chuckled and gestured for her to continue.

"I uh... I wanted to apologize for that guy the other night. At the Roxy. He's one of those music industry types. You know, thinks he's really important but he's really the Chief Gopher. He's way over the top, all the time. And all of the product had arrived, so I didn't even really need to go back there."

"I know the type. I tried to wait for you, so I could get your number. Maybe see if you wanted to go out sometime?"

Her smile was... off. It was polite, not bright like a few nights before. She tipped her head up, using the palm of one hand to shield her eyes from the sun. "I tried to find you when I had everything cleared up, but I didn't see you."

"Well, the band devolved into some kind of crazy mix of Prince songs and I couldn't take it anymore. I had an early morning yesterday. I'm sorry I missed you, but we're here right now."

"Yeah. We are." She smiled. A real smile, this time. "So, you're covered in mud and it's totally my fault. Would you at least follow me home and clean yourself up a little? I just live up the road, in those condos over there."

She pointed at a grouping of buildings that I never had a reason to notice before. "Your scene, you mean?"

"Where there's good beer. And a lot less purple. But there's a big stupid dog..."

"And a really cute girl." I hadn't meant to say that. Too late, I realized that I'd said it anyway. 

"Uhm...so, follow us?"

I nodded, then whistled for the dog. Happily, he caught up to us, his tail whipping the hot, stale air and his ears flopping as he bounded down the trail.

 

 

 

"You're the one that likes to play in the mud. You know how this goes, now stand still!"

When I decided to get a dog, at my father's urging, I never imagined I would be wrangling a hundred-pound animal into standing still so I could spray him down after a romp through the ravines at Runyon Canyon. I walked him through the neighborhood every day, but weekends were special, so I let him run and play wherever he wanted, including bounding through water and exploring the trails around us.

Barksdale had done so much to change my life, since he came into it. I didn't hide in my apartment anymore. I wasn't afraid to be out alone, even after dark. His constant presence, his warmth, his weight was a comfort to me. He was a big, floppy security blanket and I loved him to pieces.

Except when he embarrassed me. He loved people, loved to play, and so I shouldn't have been surprised that he'd go running up to a stranger at the park. That it happened to be JC that he knocked over and coated with mud made me want to dig a hole and crawl into it.

JC had a pretty good attitude about it though, surprisingly. I expected to hear a lot of whiny entitlement about how much his expensive t-shirt cost and threats to turn my dog into animal control, but he was so easy going. He'd followed us down the trail to my condo complex and was now sitting at the edge of the pool, wearing only his shorts with his feet in the water, sipping a Stella IPA that I'd grabbed from my fridge and laughing at me trying to wash the dog.

"Do you need some help?"

"No," I answered quickly, aiming the spray of cold water at Barksdale's paws. "He's just showing off for you. This isn't normally that big of a deal." As if he needed to prove me right, he barked, bit at the water and took off toward JC.

"Maybe you should take him through a car wash," JC said, laughing at how Barksdale had laid out next to him and was now soaking up the sun's rays.

"It's not like I haven't been tempted. He gets his baths out here, usually."

I turned off the spigot and rolled the hose into a tight coil, which I placed on a hook hanging from the building. Next, I checked on JC's shirt, socks and shoes, which had been sprayed down and spread out to dry. It was hot enough that it wouldn't take long for them to be wearable- not completely dry but not dripping wet.

Unable to avoid it any longer, I grabbed the beer I'd brought out for myself and headed toward the pool, sitting on the other side of Barksdale with my feet in the water.

"So, have you lived in LA long?"

"About ten years. I grew up about two hours south of here. Small town, kind of. Too many people that know all of your business. Like a lot of people, I dreamt of moving to LA.  Just not to be an actress."

"To get away from that small town scene? I can understand that."

"Yeah you're from... Florida?"

"Originally Bowie, Maryland. Then yeah, Orlando. Moving to LA meant I could kind of disappear. People don't freak out about a familiar face out here."

I nodded, understanding where he was coming from. In LA, celebrity had levels. There was the famous person you might see on the street every day and the famous person that had to be a recluse because they couldn't go anywhere, not without a mob of people surrounding them. That level of celebrity made me uncomfortable.

"So, I mean, I get having a dog. I love them, myself. Been thinking about getting one, actually...."

"Why such a big dog?"

JC nodded while smoothing down the golden hairs on Barksdale's belly. I smiled at them both. "A friend of my dad's breeds them. We used to always go visit the puppies on the farm. But we only saw them as puppies. I don't think I ever had a real understanding of just how... big... Mastiffs get. I mean I knew, but..."

I shook my head, then smoothed down the fur across the dog's wide head. He didn't move, except for a lazy wag of his tail.

"A few years ago I had some trouble. I wasn't myself, after it was all over. I needed... something comforting and protective. My dad showed up one day with a puppy from the farm. I took one look at those floppy ears and big, dark eyes and I couldn't say no. But I make my dad buy his dog food, because this thing eats like a horse."

JC laughed, which made Barksdale think it was time to play. He scrambled up onto four legs and barked, then took a lap around the pool.

"He's... a big dork. We're made for each other."

"How big do you think he'll get?"

"He's got another year of growth at least. The vet says he could bottom out at nearly two hundred pounds. Which is a lot of dog."

"Yeah." JC nodded, watching Barksdale snap his jaws at a butterfly. "He's a sweet animal, though."

"He is. I think I'll keep him."

JC sipped his beer and I sipped mine. The pool filter rumbled to life for a few seconds and then shut back off. If someone had told me I'd be spending my mid-Saturday afternoon trying not to stare at JC Chasez's hairy chest, molded pecs and meaty biceps, I'd have told them they were crazy.

But here I was. Sipping Stella. Trying not to look. It wasn't working.

"So..."

My eyes popped up from where they'd been fixated on the thin trail of hair that led from his chest down into his shorts. He smiled, and I knew full well that he had caught me.

I averted my gaze and tried to hide an embarrassed grin. "So."

"So, you never answered my question."

"What question was that?"

"When I asked if we could go out sometime."

"Oh." I swallowed. Hard. It wasn't that I didn't think he was nice and handsome and... sexy. Goddamn that happy trail was doing things to me. And my loins. And my nipples, I thought, as I folded my arms across my chest. "Listen...I really don't- "

He chuckled, then gulped a huge swallow of beer. "Oh, here we go. You know what? It's fine. You don't have to let me down easy."

"No, it's not... I don't want you think that..."

"Hey, it's okay. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"Really, it's just that-"

"Lena. It's fine." Those gorgeous blue eyes were so wide open and earnest. He reached across the space between us and rubbed my bare arm. The tips of his fingers were rough.

Callouses. I remembered them. The sensation sent a shiver through my body. Involuntarily, I tipped away from him.

"Wow," he said, pulling back. "I really kind of fucked this up, didn't I?"

"No!" I blurted it, too loud and too quickly but I had to. I couldn't let him think my reaction was his fault. "I'm sorry. It's not you at all."

"Are you sure?"

I rubbed my arm where he'd touched me and gave a quick nod of my head. "My trouble a few years ago? The reason I had to get Barksdale...it was a guy. He was a celebrity. I really don't like to date celebrities because of it. Musicians, particularly."

"Oh." He huffed a brief chuckle. "So, all of us have to suffer because one guy is a dick?"

"Well, I don't know if all of the music industry is really suffering..."

"I am. I'd really like to take you out."

"It's not you, JC. It's really not-"

"If it's not me, then don't treat me like it's me."

He stood up then, and splashed out of the pool. Barksdale followed him, ears flopping and tail wagging, to the bench where I'd laid out JC's shirt, socks and shoes. They were very likely still wet, but he gathered them up anyway.

I stood as well, slowly making my way over to where JC stood. "So you're gonna put on wet clothes and leave because I don't want to go out with you?"

"Not at all." He rolled his socks together and tucked them into his sneakers, which were still wet. His t-shirt still bore dark spots but went over his head. "I actually have to get going. But for what it's worth, I do I think you want to go out with me and you're letting some rule make the decision for you. Based off of some guy that I don't know. Some guy that isn't me."

"Look, I told you I had some trouble-"

"And I'm really sympathetic to that. But..." He shook his head. "Maybe you're right. It wouldn't be a good idea. At any rate, you turned me down. No means no, right?"

He dug into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. "Thanks for taking care of that mud. It was nice to meet you again. And the dog. See you around." Toting his socks and shoes, he ambled down the hill to where I assumed he'd parked.

He never looked back.

I sighed, watching his figure grow smaller and smaller in the distance. "Well. I really kinda fucked that up, didn't I, Barksdale?" He sat up and yawned, flapping his tail against the ground. "Let's go get some dinner, huh?"

 

 

 

I kicked my feet up, resting the soles of my shoes on the edge of the console. In front of me was six feet of thick, sound proof glass surrounding the recording booth. On the others side of the glass, a wiry haired, young man with a hipster beard was seated on a stool, plucking out the melody to a song in preparation for recording it.

"So finish your story," said Randy, the sound engineer. He angled back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. "You saw her again at the park and... then what? You took her behind a tree and had your way with her?"

"Not even close. So she invites me to her place, right? It's right off of the park-"

"Fuck, you move fast!"

"One second I'm on the trail, the next thing I know I'm on my ass. Her dog saw me, thought I wanted to play, jumped me-"

"Jumped you?"

"You should see the paws on this thing. He's a huge animal, but he's still a puppy, you know? They don't know their own strength. So there I am, covered in mud.  She says to follow her to her place, she'll take care of me. We get to her place, she washes out my shirt and socks, lays them out in the sun to dry."

"Very domestic, very casual Saturday."

"Right. So, I'm hanging out by the pool. We're having a beer, we're petting the dog, we're having a conversation... it's a nice moment, right?"

Randy chortled, rolling his eyes. "Something tells me this doesn't end like you wanted it to end."

"Like I said, it wasn't like that. But get this... she's flirting. Hard. At least I think she is. Enough to ask her out. Then she gets all... weird."

"Weird? Weird, how?"

"Weird like... it's not you, it's me. I don't date celebrities. I had some trouble in the past, that's why my dog is the size of small horse." I shrugged, lifting my hands in an I don't know gesture. "Look, I know there are women out there like that, that don't date celebrities. I just don't think I've ever actually met one."

"Or one that would turn you down. Maybe they don't date B celebs but they'd think twice if Levine asked them out."

"For sure. Anything can be bought... you just have to name the right price."

"So you think she's serious about that? Or she's using it as some kind of cover for something else? Maybe a boyfriend she just remembered she had?"

"I don't think there's a boyfriend. I touched her arm and she acted like my hands were acid. I don't know.... I didn't really stick around to find out. Maybe she wanted me to beg or to find out what her price was, but I didn't. I grabbed my stuff and left."

Randy laughed. "So you picked up your toys and left the sandbox."

"Well, no... not-"

"How often do you hear no in your life? Not used to it, are you?"

"Man, it's not that at all. I hear no all the time..."

"Not from women, you don't. I've seen you out. You have to peel them off of you, practically. I'm just saying, you seem a little hurt that she wasn't interested in hoppin' on that."

"I don't know about hurt. I don't understand the mixed signals. Why flirt if you don't want it to go anywhere. You know?"

"Hey, guys. I think I'm ready." The kid hoisted his acoustic guitar to his lap and adjusted the microphone.

I sat up, dropping my feet to the floor and moving myself to be ready to adjust levels as needed. With one finger hovering over the record button, I held up three fingers on the other hand and counted down: three, two, one.

 

>>||<<

 

My session had ended but hours later, Randy and I were still at the studio, shooting the shit. My cell phone buzzed against the wood grain of the console. I grabbed it to see if the call was important. These days, not a lot of them were. HackerAlex, read the display.

Shit. I'd forgotten I'd asked Alex to dig up dirt on Lena. A lot of good it would do me now. "Lemme take this," I said to Randy, who nodded and pushed himself up from the chair. 

"I gotta get going anyway. My old lady wants to go see Ghostbusters. See you later." I gave him a fist bump and picked up the call from Alex.

"Hey. Whatcha got?"

"What do you have for me, first of all?"

"Uhhh..." I wracked my brain for something I could get for him. The last job he'd done for me netted him Blues Travelers tickets. "Best I can do right now is advanced screening tickets to my movie."

Alex grunted. "Let's just put it on your tab. Something comes up that I'm interested in, you're my first call. Deal?"

"Fine. I already blew it with this girl, so it's not like I can put your info to good use anyway."

"How have you already blown it with a woman you don't know? How do you do that? How does a guy... you, namely... do that?"

"I don't even..."  I kicked my feet back up on the console, deciding to not even get into it. "What do you have for me?"

"Okay. Well. I had to dig really deep but about eight years ago, she was pretty wide open about her life. A defunct Myspace page is out there. Some pics of her and friends from about ten years ago. Something must have happened between then and now, because except for work, Lena Sandoval disappeared. She grew up in Chula Vista. Normal background-parents are still married, two siblings; she's the oldest. Went to school at UCLA. Did an internship with William Morris, then moved on to a private agency, where she was publicist for some big names you might know- LaReina Childs, Dominick Martin, Rex Luther-"

"Wait, she repped Rex Luther?"

The first two I recognized as a model and an NFL Quarterback. Both had moderately successful careers and were household names in the sense that people, in general, knew who they were. They weren't superstars.

Not like Rex. Rex, the music industry's current darling, was in another orbit. So famous he couldn't leave his house without security guards- we called it the Black Cloud, back in the day. The higher the number of large men dressed in black that had to accompany you to Whole Foods, the bigger your star was. And the bigger your ego was.

Rex's ego was legendary, down to his stage name, which was a play off of Lex Luthor, the Superman villain. He dressed in black leather and thick boots, even in the summer. He dyed his hair black, wore thick black liner around his eyes and, on occasion, black lipstick. He was like a baby, pop version of Marilyn Manson.

"Yeah, she repped Rex for about five years. Put together his whole story, so to speak. How he's this hard rock guy from a small town in upstate New York, got a record deal when one of Iovine's boys heard him sing. Been pounding it out in LA ever since."

"I'm taking bets on how much of that story is true."

"Whatever the truth is, she was pretty good at hiding it, hyping up the press approved story and keeping him out of trouble. Mostly."

"So what happened? How do you go from Rex Luther and NFL players and models to... hair products?"

"Well, I'm surprised... but then again not surprised that people don't know about this huge fight she and Rex had in front of the Ivy one night. There was some chatter and a video, which was posted on a gossip site, but then somehow disappeared, along with any mention of the story. I, however, have good contacts and magic fingers, so I got a copy of it. I'll shoot it to you. It was nasty."

"I'm not surprised at any of it. Rex seems like the type to bitch out his publicist in front of people."

"It was way more than bitching her out."

"Okay. What else?"

"Well, after that incident, she pretty much disappeared. There was a brief statement on the agency website where she'd worked that she was moving on to a different opportunity. A year or so later, she popped up at Sexy Hair."

"You're not telling me anything good, Alex. I'm supposed to get you swag for this?"

"I don't know what you want me to say, man. She's an enigma. If she dates, she doesn't date famous. She doesn't have famous friends. She doesn't do social media- no Facebook, no Instagram, no twitter accounts under her name or anywhere in the vicinity. It's like the Internet was wiped clean of any mention of her."

I mused, chewing on my bottom lip, intrigued about Lena Sandoval. "At least the Crazy Starfucker check came back clean, right?"

"At least. Sorry I couldn't do more for you. I'll send you that video though. It's worth a view."

"Alright. Thanks man. I appreciate you sharing what you did dig up." I pressed the end button on my phone and slipped it into my pocket.

What had happened in Lena's life that took her underground?  Was it something I even wanted to know about? And even if I knew what it was... would it even matter?

She wanted nothing to do with me. 

 

I pressed the power button on my laptop with flourish, rejoicing at nearing the end of a long and busy week. The Sexy LA campaign was picking up momentum- The XPerience were already posting selfies and short video testimonials about using the product. The response was overwhelmingly positive, to the point where others had joined in to share photos and videos of their own hair using the Sexy Hair lines. The buzz was amazing and the entire web team had been on our toes all week, trying to stay ahead of the curve and keep the ball rolling.

I was about to clock out for the weekend. I'd scheduled Friday off for a much needed mental health break and I was looking forward to my couch, my dog and all yoga pants everything.

Then Jen walked into my office and ruined all my plans.

"We're doing Happy Hour at Red Room," she chirped, standing statuesque and chic in a splatter paint bodycon dress and stiletto heels.  

"Who's we?" I asked, lowering the lid to my laptop, unplugging it from its dock and slipping it into my work bag. I didn't know who I thought I was kidding, scheduling an actual day off. I would still be working... just from home, with my legs slung over a snoring beast.

"Me, you, Ian, Wendy... maybe a couple of people from accounting. They just closed July books.  I'm sure they need a reason to drink right now."

I shook my head, putting on my best really tired face. "I don't think I'm going to make it, Jen. I just want to get this weekend started. Like, as soon as possible."

"Yelena Christina Guadalupe Sandoval..."

"Oh, really with the full name? Like that will change my mind?"

"You always say you're coming to Happy Hour and then you never come to Happy Hour. You have tomorrow off, so you can even stay out late, guilt free!"

I stood, slinging my bag over my arm, fulling intending to listen to her sales pitch all the way out of the door, and then get in my car and drive home.

"Just come for an hour, have one drink, eat one appetizer, laugh at one joke."

"You know I'd love to, Jen. I'm just so tired-"

"Oh I know, honey," she cooed, looping her arm around mine. "We all are. It's been a good, long week, right? Now we're going to celebrate by getting drunk on fancy wine.  So you're coming. Right?"

I did the thing I try not to do, which is to look Jen in the eye, because I swear she is hypnotic. Those hazel things are witchcraft.

But the next thing I knew, I was sliding into a bar chair and ordering a glass of Cava.

This was new for me. Hanging out after work. With... anybody. I kept to myself, mostly. I was friendly and social at work, and I'd even venture out to the food court down the street on occasion. But hang out, in a restaurant, with people? Never.

Well, at least not in the last five years. I used to have this important job, working for important people. I was always on the go, everywhere, all the time. Putting out fires and supplying pat answers that may or may not have been true. Bailing clients out of jail. Pulling them out of places of ill repute, then threatening to sic an attorney on anyone who'd dare say my client was there.

For a time, I loved it. I felt high powered and creative. I could think on my feet, fast as lightning. My clients depended on me and I loved wielding that control.

One client in particular liked me a lot, and for a lot more than writing bios and creating a buzz about him and his life and his music. Despite a raging ego, we clicked.  So much so that we went from a volatile and borderline hostile working relationship to a passionately wild- and sometimes violent- affair in a matter of months.

I loved him. Then I hated that I loved him. And then I hated him.

When it ended, I was a mere shell of myself. My career and reputation hung in the balance and suddenly, all eyes were on me. I couldn't handle the pressure, the scrutiny, the whispers, the knowing glances. I had to escape, to erase myself and try to start over, if possible.

A year later, I heard about a job from a friend of a friend and I signed on at Sexy Hair with the caveat that I retained my personal identity. My face would never be used, not on the website, not on the social media accounts, not in any capacity in my job as publicist. I wrote copy, I developed programs, I wrote publicity plans and strategy. Someone else would have to be the "face" of Sexy Hair. Thankfully, Jen was more than willing to be that person.

"Are you gonna call that guy, or what?" Ian was across from me, sipping through the foam on a tall, cold glass of beer. Jen sat next to me, nursing a half full glass of red wine and perusing the Tapas menu.

"Which guy?" I asked, knowing exactly which guy he meant.

"You know who I mean. I know you didn't throw his number away."

I willed myself to not glance toward the front pocket of my bag, where JC's number had been safely zipped away every night after I pulled it out and looked at it and smoothed out the creases. And then folded it back up and put it back in the bag.

"And how do you know that?"

"You had a way about you, when you spoke about him. And then how your face lit up when I said I had his number-"

"Okay, that wasn't my face lighting up, Ian. That was my face wondering if you'd get fired for giving me his phone number."

"Whatever you say, love. Whatever you say, ever so strongly." He chuckled and downed more beer. Then set the glass down and pushed his rolled up sleeves higher up onto his arms.

Sometimes I wished that I was attracted to Ian. I could use a distraction from always worrying about Rex trying to worm his way back into my life. Alas, he was nowhere near my type and, if I had to make a very informed guess, was halfway in love with Wendy, our web editor, who was seated next to me and acting way too nonchalant.

I rolled my eyes at the two of them pretending they weren't on the cusp of an amazing office romance. "I haven't called him. And I'm not going to. Aren't you going to use him for Sexy LA, anyway? It'd be weird for me to like... date him if he was officially representing the product."

"Excuses, excuses," muttered Jen. "You need to take a big, huge, personal step and you're inventing every excuse in the world to not do it. The not dating musicians thing-"

"The I just got a puppy thing," Ian suggested, chiming in.

"The Mercury in retrograde thing," said Wendy, then back tracked. "Wait, that wasn't Lena."

"No, that was you and your one hundredth reason for not bedding Ian," said Jen. Wendy blushed exactly fifty shades of red. Ian just grinned.

"I've talked to him," I admitted softly, staring into my glass of Cava.

"What? When?" The tapas menu was tossed aside and Jen was suddenly all ears.

"I ran into him. Actually, my dog ran into him, knocked him over into the mud, then jumped all over him. Long story short, he ended up hanging out at the pool at my condo complex. We... talked."

My voice trailed off, hoping I wouldn't have to pick up the rest of the story from there, but Ian bellowed a demanding, "And?"

"And..." I exhaled a long breath, letting my shoulders sag. "He asked me out, okay? He asked me out and I fucked it up and he left and I really will probably never hear from him again."

"Fucked it up how, Lena?" Jen propped an elbow on the table and rested her temple on the tips of her fingers. "Did you tell him that bullshit about not dating celebrities?"

"Why is it bullshit?"

"Because it's not about celebrities. It's about one celebrity that you're still hiding from for no damn reason. You haven't heard from him in years. JC could be the man of your dreams and-"

"The man of my dreams," I mocked dryly, then rolled my eyes and took a deep swallow from my wine glass. "Did you really just say the man of my dreams?

 "The. man. of. your. dreams," she chanted, tapping the table in cadence to her words. "But you'll never know, because you sit in that apartment every night of the week with that damn dog, doing nothing with your life. How do you expect to move on from Rex, Lena? Huh?"

I knew Jen wasn't really looking for an answer. Which was good, because I didn't have one. I already felt bad about the conversation I'd had with JC. He seemed a little hurt, a lot confused, maybe his pride was bruised. I had my reasons for turning him down, however much bullshit others thought they might be.

But... at the same time, maybe everyone was a little bit right. I hadn't heard from Rex in years. And maybe, after five years, I could step out of my shell a little.

The very idea of it scared me shitless. That's how I knew I had to do it.

 

>>||<<

 

A few hours, another glass of Cava and an entire flatbread pizza later, I sat down on a bench near the path between my building and an open wooded area where I let Barksdale run free and snap at butterflies to his heart's desire.

In one hand, I held my cell phone. In the other, a folded piece of paper. I unfolded it, smoothed it out like I'd done at least once a night for the last week. But instead of folding it back up, I laid it in my lap and dialed the number.

My heart slammed around in my chest while the line rang... once, twice, then- ‘This is JC. I'm not available at the moment, but leave me one and I'll get back to you. Peace.'

He'd sent me to voicemail. I didn't even know what to say. Or do. Should I hang up and try him later? Send him a text? Or- the beep at the end of his outgoing message made me feel like I had to say something. 

"Hi. JC. This is uhm... this is Lena. We met last weekend at the Prince Tribute concert. And my dog attacked you at Runyon. You probably remember the dog more than me but...uhm. So, I was just giving you a call. To... talk...."  I rolled my eyes at myself. "Anyway, if you wanted to... also talk, give me a call back. My number is 323-555-1823. I hope you call. Okay, bye."

I pressed end call and slammed my eyes shut. "I hope you call? That's what I ended with? Could I have sounded any more pathetic?"

Barksdale let out a short bark and bounded over to me, resting his massive head in my lap. I smoothed down the fur down his neck and scratched behind his ears, something he loved for me to do. He groaned and his tail wagged, whipping the gnats in the evening air around.

"He's not gonna call back anyway. I know that, even you know that. But I tried, right? I reached out, I made an effort, I-"

My phone buzzed against the wooden bench. A number that wasn't in my address book popped up on the caller id display.

"Holy fuck, Barksdale. He's actually calling me back."

 

I'd been thinking about her.

I didn't necessarily want to be thinking about her. Nor did I really want to admit that she'd been on my mind. Or that I was hoping she'd find a way to get in touch with me.  I never gave her my number and I didn't take hers, but that didn't mean anything. LA was like a huge small town. If you wanted to know something, an answer would be easy to find.

So, I was only a little surprised when a call popped up on my cell phone- No Caller ID. I sent it to voicemail, because those calls are usually from people I don't want to talk to... magazine editors "looking for a quick quote", or photographers or people with "amazing film opportunities" which usually turned out to be bit parts paying scale. They never called my manager because they knew he'd turn them down without even talking to me.

But a call that comes through on a Thursday night, around 9 o'clock while I'm lying on my couch wouldn't be a business call. When the voicemail notification popped up, I clicked on it. 

That voice... soft but a little raspy, just enough to dance on the nerves in my back. She sounded timid. Contrite. Like she should have, the way she turned me down. For the reason she turned me down.

I guess I understood her point, having watched the video that Alex sent me. He was right, it was way more than chewing out your publicist in public. He was drunk and surly, red faced and screaming. The video was grainy but through amazing audio I listened to Rex Luther verbally cut Lena down like she was a tree and he was Paul Bunyan. 

"Rex, let's just go back inside, have a drink, calm down."

"Calm down?" Rex paced in front of the entrance to the Ivy, a hip LA restaurant where people go to be seen. Sure, they have a nice bacon, avocado and tomato salad, but no one goes to the Ivy for the food. "Have drink and discuss how you're trying to tank my career?"

Lena stood next to him in a slim black dress that hit her right above her knees. Her arms were crossed and her head tilted to the right- the international sign of annoyance. "I'm not trying to tank your career. I'm just suggesting that it would be best if-"

"How the fuck do you know what would be best for me?"

"I'm your publicist. I do know a few things."

"Oh please! You don't know shit about music. What publicist that represents a top ten billboard artist suggests he not release an album? Are you out of your FUCKING mind?"

"A publicist who knows her client is right on the edge. This right here, Rex! This is what I'm talking about! This is why I think you need push your album back and spend at least ninety days in a facility-"

"Fuck you and what you think, cunt!"

Lena reared back at the insult, then glanced around at the faces of Ivy patrons pretending not to listen to their argument. She laid a hand on a meaty, leather clad arm. "Listen, let's either go back inside the restaurant or leave. You can't stand out here screaming at me from the top of your lungs-"

"Stop telling me what to do," he hissed, yanking his arm out of her grasp, then sticking a finger in her face. "I don't pay you to think. I don't pay you to advise me on my career. I pay you to do what the fuck I tell you to do and keep my name in lights."

"They'll be in lights, alright. On the marquee at the funeral home when you keel over from cirrhosis-"

"Oh, shut the fuck UP! Stupid bitch- you think you know so much. If you knew twice as much as you think you do, you'd still be a stupid bitch!"

Lena rolled her eyes and moved a few steps away. "Fine. I'm leaving. Stand out here and scream to yourself."

"Finally. And do me a favor. Never call me again. For anything. Not for work and definitely not for sex. I never want to see that pussy again in my life."

Lena stepped into him again and muttered, through her teeth. "Shut the fuck up, Rex!"

"You don't mind if the world knows you have a loose pussy do you? Like throwing a hot dog down a hallway."

Her jaw dropped. Then re-hinged. "So we're doing this? Really? I guess I don't mind that if you don't mind if the world knows your dick resembles a cocktail wiener. Don't blame the hallway when the hot dog is miniature."

"You still choked on it."

"You still ate it."

"Shut the fuck up, ugly bitch."

"An ugly bitch that you fucked with your tiny dick. The one that only gets hard if you take a little blue--"

"Bitch, I said shut up!"

Then I heard it. Open handed, forceful, loud. A smack, right across her face, so hard, so violent that the force of it tossed her up against the facade of the building. At that point, three men in dark suits approached and Rex was pulled in one direction, Lena in another, both of them still screaming at each other.

According to Alex, in the following weeks, the web was scrubbed of any mention of the incident. Rex Luther was removed from the list of clients at Lena's agency and she was reportedly "away on assignment". A short time later, she disappeared from the agency website.

I wouldn't want to date one of us after that. But it had been years since that incident. She seemed to have moved on, at least professionally. That she was still hung up on a self-important asshole was... well, as fast as people seem to move in this industry, I was surprised that Rex Luther even mattered to her anymore.

I picked up her message and, before I could change my mind or talk myself out of it, immediately dialed her back. She picked up on the second ring and I almost didn't know what to say.

"Hello?" She repeated.

"Oh. Uh, hey. This is JC."

"I figured, since I just called you. Hi."

"Hi." I muted the TV, since I wanted to concentrate on our conversation, then tossed the remote to the other end of the couch. "So... what's up?"

"Not a whole lot. Outside with the big dork. He's... eating something... hang on." I waited while I listened to her footsteps plodding along pavement. "What are you eating? Give me that. Ewwww...."

"What was it?"

"A shoe lace. Gross. Don't eat that shit, buddy."

I heard the gruff playfulness of his bark and the tinkle of ID tags on his collar. It seemed crazy to miss an animal I'd only met once, but I did actually miss the little guy. Well, the big guy.

"So, you called."

"I called." She huffed a short breath. I got the sense that she was sitting down.

"I'm actually surprised to hear from you."

"I figured you would be. I wanted to say, first of all, that I'm sorry about how things sort of... well, how we left things, last weekend. I wasn't trying to upset you or hurt your feelings or anything."

"Yeah, about that-"

"I mean, I can see how it would be an insult and a lame reason to turn down a date when the truth is...I really wanted to say yes."

"I was just going to say-"

"So I wanted you to know that I don't think of you as that kind of celebrity. I mean, I still don't date celebrities. But I don't think of you as the kind I don't date." After a few beats of silence, she asked, "Are you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm here," I answered with a laugh. "You had a lot to say. I couldn't get a word in so I figured I would let you say it."

"I'm sorry. I work a lot with the web. I'm not used to people actually talking back to me."

"I talk back. And I talk a lot."

"Okay, then. Talk to me. I hope you're not weirded out that I called you."

"I'm wondering how you made that happen, yeah. But I'll be honest... I've had your phone number for a week. I just wasn't sure you wanted to talk to me."

"I wasn't sure I did either. Until tonight. And now?"

"Now that you somehow dug up my personal, private cell phone number?"

She laughed. "Yeah. Now that I've stalked you."

"Well...it gives me a chance to apologize to you, actually. I might have overreacted last weekend. And I might have acted a little entitled and... celebrity-like."

"Oh. That's incredibly sweet. And also true."

I laughed, despite myself. "I don't blame you for turning me down. But I was hoping I could make it up to you by asking you out again. And you actually saying yes."

"Oh, I-"

"We don't have to go anywhere fancy or anything. I wouldn't take you somewhere where there'd be cameras and a huge crowd."

"That sounds-"

"We could find a spot where you could bring Barksdale, if you want."

In my mind, I pictured her tossing her head back and cackling with laughter. "If you're trying to pay me back for my rambling earlier, you're doing a good job."

"I told you, I talk a lot."

"You did. I'm... I'm hoping we'll find a lot to talk about when we go out."

"When we... so, yeah?"

"So, yeah."  She emitted a quiet, sexy chuckle. And then in the next moment, barked, "Stop that, you idiot!"

"I really hope you're talking to the dog."

"Sorry about that. He really likes mud." I heard the tinkle of his collar again and the muted sounds of him panting in the background. "Well, so... when do you think you want to go out?"

I flipped the phone to the calendar app. My eyes bugged out when I noticed today's date. And Monday's date. My birthday- my 40th, in fact. It had really snuck up on me. Suddenly, I knew what I wanted to be doing when I turned another year older.

"Sunday. Let's do something with the dog if you want. Then maybe some dinner. How does that sound?"

"It sounds.... Very un-celebrity like. I'd love to."

"Good. I'm looking forward to it. So I'll call you in a couple of days to firm up plans."

 

 

 

I had no idea what my day would turn out to be when JC showed up on my doorstep at 2 o'clock in an LA Dodgers t-shirt and ball cap.  

"You ready for today?" He'd asked. "We're going to be doing some very un-celebrity like things."

"Uh... yeah," I'd answered, stepping back to let him inside my condo. "I guess I'm ready. For what, I don't know. But I'm ready."

"Is Barksdale ready? Are ya boy?" He was bent over, receiving kisses and whines and thwaps of a dog tail in greeting.

"Let me just grab his leash. Do you want to take my car? He's used to riding in it and it already has the essence of dog hair all over it."

"Nah. I'd rather drive and my backseat is all ready for him."

I grabbed the leash from its hook and rolled it up, shoving it into my bag. "Where exactly are we going?"

"Dodger Stadium. The game is kind of lame- we're playing the Padres. But it's Pups in the Park Day."

Every year, the LA Dodgers invited fans to bring their dogs and enjoy a late afternoon baseball game. This would be our first Pups In the Park and I was oddly excited to share it with JC.

Barksdale had an amazing time- he was so excited to see other dogs and people that JC had to take over manning the leash. He and JC played catch until he was panting heavily and once the game started, he had worn himself out, so he was happy and relaxed. JC and I had some beers, had some Dodger Dogs and fed Barksdale the treats from his goody bag.

The game was great, close all the way. The Dodgers and the Padres were tied at 3-3 when JC glanced over at me. "You wanna get out of here?"

"Are you serious? The game's tied!"

"We can listen to the rest on the radio in the car, if you want. We should get out of the parking lot before traffic is a nightmare. We have another stop tonight."

I was way more interested in whatever else we were doing, so I started to stand. JC grabbed the leash and whistled softly. "Come on, boy!" Barksdale, who been stretched out along the cool concrete, scrambled to his feet and led us out of the pavilion, to the entrance and back to the car, then hopped into the backseat of JC's Mercedes like he'd done it a hundred times before.

 "So where are we going now? And not that you could forget him, but we do have the dog, so-"

JC laid a hand on my thigh, giving me a little squeeze. I liked how it felt. Callouses and all. "I know we have the dog. I've got it handled."

He whipped the car through the streets of LA and after a while, turned into a pizzeria that I hadn't been to since my early years in LA.

"The Coop! I know this place! How did you know I know this place?"

"I didn't. They allow dogs here. I figured you'd like it."

We were seated at an outdoor table at the rear of the restaurant. Barksdale was plied with his own bowl of water and had stretched out in the cooling early evening air.

 "I had two Dodger dogs and so much beer. I'm not sure if I can eat," I said, browsing the menu.  "But I haven't had The Coop in a long time, so I'm going to give it a try."

"We could share something. Get what you want and I'll finish it off."

 A short time later, I balled up a napkin and tossed it onto the decimated pizza pan. We'd shared a small pepperoni with a thin, handmade, seasoned crust. "Did I say something about not being sure I could eat?"

JC grinned, then reached across the table and wiped a smear of tomato sauce from my cheek. "Let's just say that I felt like I had to fight you for that last piece."

"Well, I'm a sucker for a handmade crust."

JC nodded toward Barksdale, who was posed ever so gracefully on his back, legs up in the air, head tossed to the side with his tongue sticking out. "He is beauty, style and grace."

"I did mention that he was a big dork, right?"

"You brought that up, yeah. So..." JC paused for a beat, crossing his arms and leaning them on the table. "Did you have fun today?"

"I did. Thanks for taking us out. I had a really, really good time."

"With a celebrity," he added.

"With a celebrity," I slowly repeated, feeling the blush crawl up from my chest to my cheeks.

"A musician, even."

"A musician, yeah. Although, there's going out with a celebrity- a musician, even. And there's dating a celebrity. Big difference."

"I agree. But we're good so far, right?"

I nodded, vigorously. "Very good, so far."

"So, why don't we take the big dork home? He looks beat."

 

 

 

 

 "Hey, has anyone ever told you that your dad looks like Edward James Olmos?" I gripped a silver framed photo, turning it around to show her. She glanced at it with a wistful smile and set it back on the mantle.

"That is actually Edward James Olmos. That was at the Latino Film Festival about ten years ago. He's active in the community- he co-owns the Latin Book and Family fair, he attends the film festival every year and he does a lot of work with literacy, especially among our older community members.  It was an honor to finally meet him."

I hadn't asked if I could come in, after our date. I'd just... assumed I could. Lena didn't argue. While she dealt with getting the dog into the condo and settled with some water and a scoop of dog food, I was curiously scanning the gathering of photos on her fireplace mantle.

I picked up a different photo, in a different frame, of her standing next to a tall, thin, balding man. He wore glasses and a white button down shirt with black slacks. "That is my daddy," she said, her face bright with pride. "Raul Sandoval. A funny thing about him- he wears this outfit every day to work. White top, black pants, bright green apron. He runs a landscaping business. Fertilizer and plants and stones to make yards pretty. My mother runs the store with him."

She picked out a different photo, this one bearing the image of her and an older woman, hand in hand alongside a parade. "Everybody knows Lupe Sandoval."

We worked our way across the mantle as she detailed the family tree. Then I got an introduction to the extended family and then friends-who-were-like-family. "You seem like a close-knit group," I said, replacing the last of the photos I'd picked up from the mantle. "It's got to be hard to be away from them. Do you miss them?"

A pallor crossed her face, drawing the ends of her mouth down. She blinked a few times, quickly, like she was trying not to cry.  "A lot, in the last few years. But home isn't that far away and I make a regular habit of driving down there to see everyone. And I see my dad every month when he brings the bags of Barksdale's food."

At the mention of him, we both spun around to look for him. He hadn't been winding between us, panting and wagging his tail, basically begging for attention.  When I saw him, I burst into laughter. 

On the loveseat a few steps away, Barksdale's long form was sprawled out, all four limbs sticking out, his head buried under a pillow. His chest rose and lowered in syncopation with the deep breaths that rolled from him.

"We knocked him out. That big ass dog... and we knocked him out cold." Lena and I exchanged a giddy high five.

"I'm going to grab a drink. Do you want a beer or something? Some water?"

I patted my belly with a grimace. "Some water would be good. I feel like I've been drinking all day and I'm really getting too old for that."

Lena busied herself in the kitchen. I dropped onto the other couch to wait, scoping out her condo. I hadn't really taken it all in when I'd picked them up earlier. It was a cute place; perfect for one, a little small for one plus a large dog, but she was making it work.  Barksdale's living quarters- an oversized plush pillow and a set of stainless steel food and water bowls- were set up where a dining room table would normally sit. Instead of a table, several high bar chairs lined up along the kitchen pennisula.

Her couches were leather, black and grey. The throw pillows and the rug matched, as did the drapes. An enormous TV on a stand was front and center, flanked by two tall speakers and floor to ceiling bookcases. Full bookcases- books, photos, knick knacks filled every space.  

I was studying what appeared to be a pencil drawing, beautifully shaded, framed and hung above the television when Lena sat down beside me on the couch. She'd removed her shoes, changed out of her skirt into leggings and the Dodgers shirt I'd bought her. She looked comfortable.  

"Checking out my objet d'art?" She handed me a glass of ice water and set out a coaster on the glass coffee table in front of us.

"Yeah. What uh... what is that?"

"Just something I was messing around with."

"You drew that?"

She nodded, giving me a quick, humble grin. "But like I said, I was just messing around. It turned out nice, so I framed it. I have a couple more in the hallway and some in my uhm... bedroom." She gulped down a few swallows of water, then reached for one of the remotes lined up on the coffee table. Instead of turning on the TV, the funky, dulcet sounds of Prince's Prince album floated from the speakers.

"It's kind of cliché," she said, bobbing her head to the beat of I Wanna Be Your Lover. "But this is probably my favorite album of his."

"Oh yeah? You like the early stuff?"

"I do. I like the hunger, the passion, the wide-eyed ‘gimme all you've got' of the first album. You know? I mean... you must know."

"It's why I do what I do. I like that discovery period. When an artist only has an inkling of what they're capable of. And they're not jaded and bitter from trying to deal with the business side of show business."

"Yeah. Before things get all stupid and I actually do know more than the client. Before they experience a year's worth of action in three months' time and they're tired and cranky and start acting out."

"Is that what happened? With Rex?" Her eyes popped open wide at the mention of him, the warm brown irises etching themselves in my mind. "Sorry, I..."

"You know about Rex?"

"Uhm... yeah. It's no secret that he was your client, early in his career. And..."

"And?" I caught the piston action in her throat- swallowing over and over like she was trying not to throw up. I wished I could back up the conversation, rewind to before I asked about Rex, and then shut the fuck up and never mention it.

But I hadn't. It was out there now. I'd brought up what was possibly the most embarrassing moment of her life and I couldn't take it back.

"And?" She repeated, despite the fact that I didn't think she particularly wanted to hear the answer.

"And... I've seen the video," I admitted. "And I know that Rex was dropped at the agency you worked for."

She scoffed, setting her glass onto a coaster and pushing herself up from the couch. A new song started, but neither of us were really listening. I watched her pace, feeling more like a shithead every second.

"They didn't drop Rex as a client. They would have done anything to keep him actually, including firing me. He said I'd been trying to sabotage his career. That I only took him on and got close to him to sleep with him, to date a celebrity. He wasn't even that well-known when we started dating. He was a kid from Connecticut who had better than average talent and was full of himself. I took him from nobody to somebody.

"They tried to move him to a new publicist. Patch things up."    She paused, turning to glare at me with red-hot eyes. "Rex had a multi-million dollar contract. Never mind that I had other clients with just as much notoriety and power as he had. Never mind that I did a great job for Rex. All they cared about was the fact that I had lost their cash cow. The relationship couldn't be repaired and I was useless to them. They put me on leave. Told me to wait it out, it'll blow over.  Then fired me over the phone."

"Lena... I'm so sorry. It didn't mean to-"

"I went on the war path, of course. It wasn't fair that I should be fired because the client is a drunken asshole. Rex's people pretty much waged war against me. Anyone I thought was my friend?" She shook her head, a bitter grimace on her lips. "I got dragged, as the kids say. Rex spread all kinds of lies, called me all kinds of names. I couldn't get a job. I had to leave LA. My family helped me hire an attorney to deal with Rex's attorney. And then to scrub every website, message board, blog post that spread rumors about me. Thank God Twitter was a baby back then."

I sat, incredulous, listening to her story. "I... had no idea. None of that is online anywhere. It's like you never existed before you signed on at Sexy Hair."

"Good. That's what I paid for. How did you know about that video?" She asked suddenly, a hand on her hip. "I was told it would never be posted again, so if it is, I need to get my lawyer involved-"

"It's not online. A guy I know...uhm..." I stood, slowly ambling across the small room toward her. "I paid a guy I know to check you out."

Lena slapped a hand over her mouth, but not before a panicked squeak escaped her lips.

"I know it sounds really creepy and... celebrity-like. I just needed to make sure-"

"You checked me out?"

"Like you didn't check me out? How'd you get my number?"

"We have files. Information supplied by managers and contacts. They wanted to use you for a Sexy Hair campaign, or they never would have even known that I knew you. But you..." She blew out a breath, a deep, hard breath that she was having trouble sucking back in. "You hired a person to paw through my past. To dig up shit on me."

"It looks and sounds really bad, I know. From my end, though, I have to know, before I'm gonna go out with somebody that-"

"So you hire like... " She shifted her weight from one foot to another and back again. She swallowed hard, then finished her sentence. "You hired a private investigator?"

"Well... no." I lifted my shoulder in a shrug.  "He's... just a guy."

"Just a guy." She turned away, chuckling, but not actually very amused. "Just a guy. To hack the internet and dig up stuff on women you don't know."

"I needed to know that you were safe-"

"Safe?"

"Yeah, safe. Had you ever been arrested? Convicted of stalking? Did a stint in rehab?"

"Fucked a celebrity?"

I could have said a lot of things to that. Instead, I did what I should have done all night. I shut my fucking mouth.

"Well, so... what else did your amateur sleuth find? Embarrassing pictures of me? My DMV license photo? Did you dig into my love life?  Do you know who I lost my virginity to? Did your little report tell you about Mateo? About how we were engaged, about how he died six weeks before-"

She hiccupped, which was probably the only reason she stopped talking. That and the tears that spilled from her eyes and streaked her cheeks.  If it was possible to feel worse than shit.... I felt it.

"Lena, please, just..." I stepped in close to her, laid a hand against her cheek, cupping her chin. I stopped a tear with my thumb and wiped it away, and every tear after that.  My other arm slid around her waist. I expected her to resist, to pull back, but she didn't. She let me hold her... and in that moment I felt like there was a glimmer of hope.

"There was no report, okay? I didn't dig that deep. And I'm sorry I dug at all. It's an invasion of your privacy and I understand why you're upset. But I needed to know if it was going to be okay that I really liked you."

She sniffled, slowly raising her head so I could look her in the eye.  

"See, I met this woman at this very purple affair. She rescued me from a certain kind of death and she was funny. Clever funny, not silly funny. And beautiful. And the shirt she was wearing, with no bra... it's gonna stay in my mind forever. But she was taken from me, way too soon, by a guy who really needs to evolve his own personal style. I didn't have any way to reach her, but I really wanted to know her."

"So you called some guy..."

"A guy I trust, who is discreet. Who gets me information I need. I promise you, he didn't dig that deep.  Just when I was thinking that I might try to get in touch with you..."

She sniffled again and swiped at an errant tear. Then I saw a hint of a smile. "My dog ran you over."

I chuckled, looking over still snoring lump on the couch. "He's kind of a matchmaker, wouldn't you say?"

She took a few steps backward, rubbing the palms of her hands down her cheeks. "I'll be right back, okay?"

She gestured toward the hallway, then headed in that direction. I heaved a huge sigh of relief that I'd made it through that conversation without getting myself kicked out of her place.

 

 

 I drenched a cloth in cold water and wrung it out, then dabbed it across my forehead, under my eyes and across the bridge of my nose. I took my time, giving myself a few moments to breathe and get my emotions in check.

Even if I didn't have blips in my past that I didn't want anyone to know about, I was bothered by the fact that he had me investigated. He'd said he didn't dig that deep, but he dug deep enough to find the thing I was hiding and trying to forget. The thing that had nearly destroyed me.

Having had clients in his line of work though... I understood the need to know if a person could drag you down.  He was right, I had checked him out. I just didn't hire "a guy". A person couldn't be too careful, especially someone in the public eye. And if I was being honest with myself, I'd probably advise a client to do the same thing.

I lingered in the bathroom for a few more minutes, then opened the door and stepped into the hallway. The scene from my point of view made me smile. JC was camped out on the floor, Barksdale's head in his lap. JC scratched him behind his ears, then ran a hand across the crown of his head and down his neck, then circled around to his ears again. Barksdale's tail wagged so hard it thumped against the floor.

"He's why I have to live on a lower floor," I said, leaning against the door jamb, arms crossed and observing the scene. "He doesn't have a slight gait; he stomps. The sound of his tail vibrates through the floor. He doesn't just lay down, he flops. After a ton of complaints at my last apartment, I bought this place, mostly because it's close to Runyon but also because no one lives under us. He can be noisy to his heart's content."

"I'm sure he's worth it."

Having broken the ice, I ambled into the room and lowered myself to the floor beside JC. On the table, two glasses sat in front of us, both bearing a gold liquid.

"You busted into my tequila stash."

"Figured I'd just keep being creepy. I looked through your cabinets while you were gone. I thought you might need something a little stronger than water. And it's almost my birthday. I hoped you would have a drink with me."

Surprised, I reared back a little. "Your birthday? It's tomorrow?"

He nodded. "Yeah. The big one."

"Forty?" He nodded again, briefly sweeping his eyes closed. "Oh boy. That one's coming up for me, too. Just a few years."

"So I'll just warm it up for you."

"You worried?"

"Nah," he answered, but much too quickly.

"You sure? It's kind of... all downhill from there."

He laughed. "That's... not necessarily true. It's what you make of it. I plan to make a lot of it."

"Oh?" I shifted sideways so I could see him head on. "You've done so much in your life. Traveled the world, topped the charts, starred in movies, written, produced. What do you have planned for your forties?"

"Well..." He stalled for time by playing with Barksdale's ears. "I don't actually have anything planned. We'll see what comes up. I'll be open to new opportunities if they happen. And I'd like to..."

"You'd like to..." I prodded, after he was quiet for a few beats.

"I was going to say I'd like to meet somebody. But..." He glanced up at me, ever so briefly. "I did. So I'm hoping I can get to know somebody."

I flashed hot and a blush reddened my skin. It had been a long... long time since I felt a genuine like for someone, a real interest. I was nervous about liking him. About him liking me back. About him being a celebrity. About repeating the past and making the same mistake again.

"Rex..." I hardly ever said his name aloud. My chest grew tight and I ran out of air, so I stopped to catch my breath. "That relationship... it changed me. I trusted someone that I shouldn't have been trusted. It opened up my whole life in a way I never would have imagined it would be. I didn't realize it until after it was over and I had lost my job and I moved back to Chula Vista while my lawyer worked to basically remove me from the Internet. It took being back home with my family. All those people you were looking at earlier-"

I angled up to the mantle where the groupings of photos were propped so I could see them from anywhere in the room. "They were my lifeline. They helped me find me again. When I came back to LA I just wanted to be a different person. Just a regular girl with a job and friends and a private life. And I want to stay that different person."

"I don't have any intention of changing you or asking you to change. If you checked me out, you know I have regular friends. I don't hang out with the celebrity set unless I have to. I just want to know you, Lena. To be a part of your life. And, to be honest, have more access to this guy." He nodded his head to the slumbering animal next to him. "I... really love dogs."

"I can tell. He's getting far more action than I am."

JC's eyes popped wide open then, his eyebrows shooting up toward his hairline. "You wanted action?"

I shrugged, stifling a grin. "You didn't come in after our date to hang out with my dog, did you?"

"Actually..."

He laughed, then moved so he faced me. He was so close I could feel his breath on my cheek, see the deep blue in his eyes, practically run my finger along the indentation across his forehead where the Dodgers cap had sat all day.

"How long until your birthday?" 

He flicked his wrist, then swiped a finger across the square face of his Apple Watch. "Four minutes," he said, dropping his arm back to the couch, but closer to my shoulder. I felt him tugging at my curls, winding a thick band of hair around his finger, then releasing it, then winding it up again.

"I assume you wanted to toast your birthday? That's what the tequila is about?"

"Yep. I'd love it if you joined me."

"So... what are we supposed to do for three minutes?"

"I have some ideas."

"Do any of them involve kissing me?"

"I could move that one to the front of the line, if you want."

He leaned forward, tipping his head toward me. Just to be a brat, I arched back, placing my palm over his face. "Wait... what else was on the list?"

"Honestly..." He said, his words muffled behind my hand and through laughter. "After spending a day with you and your dog, my ideas start at kissing and get progressively worse. Or better."

"Okay, well let's start there." I removed my hand and dipped my head toward him, my mouth slanted over his. He met me more than halfway and pressed his lips to mine. Gentle, but firm. Sweet, but an undercurrent of sensuality lingering just beneath the surface.

I tilted slightly and opened my mouth when I felt his tongue along the seam of my lips. Once he made contact, he let out a deep, sultry moan. His tongue swirled around mine, his fingers curling into my hair as he pulled me into him. I scooted closer, closing the small space between us and sank into the kiss. It was slow and heady and... erotic.

That was the difference. Rex had always been manic, in a hurry, all about himself and his pleasure. Kissing was nothing more than a few pecks before he moved on to sucking my nipples and rubbing my clit, trying to get me in the mood. I never felt so much seduced as... manipulated.

This kiss was sensual and seductive and purely designed for my enjoyment. Enjoy, I did.

Until a loud, incessant beeping broke through the haze. JC tore his lips from mine and lifted his wrist. He showed me the face of his watch, where an alarm named OLD MAN had been set to go off at midnight. He laughed and swiped to turn off the alarm.

"My friends are pretty funny. Must have set that alarm when I took my watch off the other day."

"Well it's a good thing or we would have kissed well past the moment."

"That wouldn't have been such a bad thing," he mumbled. He handed me a glass from the table and took the other. "But let's get this out of the way so we can work on the rest of my list."

We clinked the rims of our glasses together. I tipped mine up, letting the velvety smooth citrus and ginger flavor of Roca Patron slide down my throat.

JC didn't fare so well. Halfway through about two fingers of the gold liquid, he coughed, gripping his chest. "Wow," he said, gasping, holding the glass aloft as if looking at it would explain why it burned his throat.

I giggled. "Puts hair on your chest, huh?"

"Holy shit! I can feel it growing as we speak. What proof is this?"

"Eighty-eight," I chirped. "Surely you've had real tequila, JC."

"Well, yeah.  But I mean... I don't drink it every day. It's been long enough that it feels like the first time." He sucked in a loud breath and tipped his glass up, downing the rest in a single swallow. After showing me the empty glass, he set it onto the coaster.

"I know you're trying to hold in a cough. Don't choke to death on my account."

He let out a loud, lung-clearing cough. Barksdale's head popped up at the sound. Finding his new friend still in the room, his tail began to thump against the floor.

"Have some water," I advised, pushing myself up. "It's time for his evening walk and then he goes to bed. I'm surprised he's not circling the couch. Normally by 11:30 he's whining because I haven't put him to bed."

JC got up, too, hanging one arm over the back of the couch and reaching out for Barksdale while I put his leash on. "You have to put him to bed?"

"Yeah, we have a ritual. And he works best on a schedule. We'll be right back."

"Should I come along?"

I smiled, realizing that I hoped he would want to come along. "Sure. It's just around the back of the building."

Barksdale knew the way, leading us through the low-lit breezeway to the open, grassy area behind the building. I released him from his leash and he trotted away. I couldn't see him, but I heard the tinkle of the tags on his collar.

"Don't go far!" I called into the darkness.

"Does he obey that?"

"Hardly ever," I answered, dropping onto my usual bench. I tapped the spot next to me and JC took it, then slid closer and dropped his arm around my shoulder.

"This is where I talked to you when I called you."

"When he was eating a shoe string?" I nodded. "So what do you do, when you're out here?"

I shrugged. "Whatever strikes me as an interesting thing to do, I guess. Our place is small and he's normally cooped up all day, so I try to give him as much time outside as I can."

"Well, I thought we could finish doing what we were doing when we were so rudely interrupted."

"Oh, that would be a good way to pass the time."

"I thought so," he mumbled, leaning in. This time, our open mouths met and we hungrily devoured each other, sucking in air through our noses, groaning muted moans. For a few long minutes, I was lost in the kiss, melting into him.

I heard a loud crack and opened my eyes in time to see a bright flash streak across the sky. JC opened his eyes when I pulled back. His gaze followed mine to the cloudy night sky.

"It's about to pour." He stood, offering a hand to help me up from the bench.

"Barksdale!" The tinkle of his dog tags got louder as he trotted nearer. I clipped the leash to his collar and let him lead us back to my condo. As soon as we made it inside, the sky lit up with another flash and the building shook with another clap of thunder.

I unhooked the leash and hung it in its normal place. "Okay, get to bed," I told him. He trotted over to his bed and plopped down in the middle of it. I grabbed the blanket that I normally kept stored behind his bed and spread it across his body. He laid his head down and thumped his tail against the floor a few times.

"That's Barksdale saying goodnight," I whispered.

JC reached toward him, squatting down to pat him on the head. "Night, buddy." He stood again, shaking his head at the scene. "That's the cutest thing I've ever seen."

"Now, here's another thing. If we sit out here, even just to watch TV and we're quiet and everything? He'll get pissy. So..." I grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the hallway, turning off lights as we passed through the living room.

Once we crossed the threshold of my bedroom, I closed the door behind us and turned on one of the bedside lamps. "We'll have to finish your list in here."

He closed the space between us, pulling me to him and wrapping his arms around me. My arms draped across his broad shoulders and I smiled up into his face. "Honey, that is fine by me."

 

 

 

 

I wasn’t one to brag. Well, maybe I was. I’d landed in bedrooms faster, for sure. But getting Lena to trust me enough to pull me into her bedroom felt like winning a long-fought battle. Even if that battle was only a couple of weeks long.

Holding her felt amazing. She was slim but not skinny. Soft but not squishy. She smelled good— light, not a flowery, thick rose scent. Standing flat on her feet, she could rest her chin on my shoulder. On her tiptoes, our mouths were perfectly aligned for our lips to mesh together, then linger for just a heartbeat longer than usual.

When she pulled back, I opened my eyes and found hers studying my face. “Everything okay?” I asked. “Do you want me to—”

“No. Don’t move,” she said.

But she was moving. She stepped into me, closer and closer still. Then I realized what was going on. My hands slid from the small of her back to the rounded cheeks of her ass and pulled her toward me, up and against me. My dick pressed against the stiff denim of my jeans, enough that she could feel me through the thin fabric of her leggings; enough to bring that unique sensation of pleasure and pain, when you want it to stop but don’t really want it to stop. 

“Is that what you were looking for?” 

I nibbled on a spot below her ear, then moved to the sensitive junction of her neck and shoulder. I’d never been able to kiss or lick or nibble there without getting a flinch or a giggle. Lena was no different— she squealed, her arms drawing tighter around me, her head tipping so I had more access to do it again. 

I groaned as I dipped my head to taste her skin. She even tasted good, and women don’t normally taste good. Lotion tastes like chemically treated shit, even that Victoria’s Secret stuff. Lena tasted like sugar and I couldn’t get enough of her.

“Why do you taste good? Did you rub some smoked bacon on your neck when you were in the bathroom?”

She giggled, the sound muffled since her face was buried in my neck. She tipped her head up to drop a kiss along my chin. “You’re tasting my homemade sugar scrub. I used it this morning in case…” Her gaze dipped toward my lips and back up.

“In case I wanted to chew on you for an hour?”

Her lips bent into a shy smile. She shrugged a shoulder, then blushed. And then I caught up with what I actually let fall out of my mouth. “Shit. Lena, I didn’t—”

“It’s… okay,” she said, laughing. She stepped back a little, which hurt my feelings until I realized she was moving us across the room. The requisite ridiculous amount of pillows and a slate grey and black comforter covered the bed. On either side were matching nightstands, each bearing a lamp and a few photos— some of her and Barksdale when he was a puppy, some family and friends that I recognized from other pictures.

She climbed up onto the bed and sat in the middle, patting a spot beside her. Once I’d settled in next to her she pointed at a drawing that hung on the wall. It was another pencil drawing, this time in color. “That’s one of my pieces. And that one,” she said, pointing at another.

“You have a natural talent. You should put them in a show or something.”

“Nah.”  She shook her head. “They’re just for me. Sometimes I get in a mood. This is how I emote. You have your music. I have my pencils.”

“But I sell my music. I put my music out there. I let people enjoy it. As celebrity as that sounds, it’s how I make a living.”

“I make my living in other ways. Art is my therapy.” She drew her legs up against her chest and locked her arms around them. It felt like a classic shutting down, shutting out gesture.

“I’m sorry. I sound pushy and I’m not trying to be.”

“What are you trying to be?” She asked softly.

“I’m trying to be encouraging, I guess. Positive. To tell you the truth, I’m really just trying to navigate things with you without getting pushed off the boat.”

She smiled, then shifted her legs, sitting criss-cross. “Better?” After I nodded, she said, “Thank you for trying to encourage me. I see the sweet. Through the pushy.”

“You’ll learn that that’s basically me. I’m not bossy; I just like order. And I’m not argumentative, I’m just right a lot.”

“Okay...well, you’ll learn that I’m not going to take your word for it, just because you say so. And that I have my own thing going, so back off.”

“Is that so?”

“That’s so.” She chuckled. “I uhm… can’t think of a good segue to bring this up but… remember when you said I tasted good and I said I’d used the sugar scrub this morning, in case…”

Of course I remembered that. I remembered the hell out of that, because in a millisecond I imagined my face between her legs and her fingers in my hair. “Uh…. that sparks a memory. Yeah.”

“Yeah. So. How can we transition to the in case part of the evening? Because I…”

“Because you…”  I stared at her, trying to keep my expression intense. Mostly because it made her nervous and flustered, but also because it brought me closer to what I’d been wanting all day. 

“I...I mean…”

My eyes narrowed and I grinned. “You want sex with a celebrity, don’t you?”

“No.” Her smile fell and I went back into the doghouse. Or so I thought. “I want sex with you. The man that picked me up wearing that Dodger’s cap that has to be ten years old. That spread a sheet out in the back of his Mercedes fucking AMG so my big stupid hairy dog could lay down back there. The guy that played catch with my dog until he passed out, then bought him treats. The man who raced me to see who could eat a Dodger Dog the fastest.  I almost threw up, by the way.”

“So? You won.”

“By a hair. You inhale food. Anyway,” she continued, shifting again so that we were face to face. She leaned in and kissed me, then kissed me again. “I’m not looking for a celebrity experience. You know that about me. Just… plain old, every day, regular people fucking.”

“Did you just say regular people fucking?”

“Yes, I did. Can we do some?”

I leaned over and kissed her, gently pressing myself into her until she leaned back. She wrapped her arms around my neck, bringing me with her until we were both laying on the bed. Her legs seemed to move instinctively, wrapping around mine, bringing the warmth of her core up against me.

“You should take your jeans off,” she whispered between kisses that had started sweet but moved to feverish and whimpering. I sat up for as long as it took to grip my shirt at the back of my neck and tug it off, then to unbutton my jeans and shimmy them down my thighs. I lifted one leg and then the other, kicking my way out of them like they were on fire.

While I’d been hurriedly undressing, Lena calmly pulled her t-shirt over her head and rolled her leggings down, kicking them off of the edge of the bed. She waited for me, looking sexy as fuck in a tiny black bra and even tinier black thong.

We were united again in seconds, skin to skin, mouth to mouth. Lena kissed me like… well, shit. She probably hadn’t kissed anybody in a long time.

“So… tell me if I do something you don’t like,” I said, between kisses I dropped down the center of her chest, into her cleavage.

“You keep stopping to talk, and I don’t like that,” she said.

Then she gripped my head and shoved my face between two generous mounds. I took my cue and shut my mouth— actually opened it, then closed it over the nipple straining against its lace enclosure. My tongue rasped over and over and over the bud, each stroke resulting in a breathy moan and roll of her hips. I moved to the other nipple and gave it the same treatment, until I was ready to move further down her body.

I swiped my tongue between her navel and the band of her thong while I rubbed the backs of my fingers against the mound between her thighs. She opened her legs, making room for me and my shoulders to comfortably settle between them.

The heat coming off of her was intense. The scent of a woman… there’s something about it. It awoke a need inside me. It made me impatient, made me want to rip her panties off and satisfy some very strong, very base urges.

I mustered up some patience and self-control, settling for a couple of nibbles on her clit through her thong. Her hips bucked toward me and she let out a low moan, her hands reaching for her breasts, freeing her nipples from the bra and twisting them while she watched me.

“Keep going,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

I gripped the edge of her thong and pulled it aside. A well-manicured landing strip led to a glistening wet pussy. She looked good enough to eat--metaphorically. And for real. I must have gazed, mesmerized at her for a while, because I felt a hand on top of my head.

“Do you need instructions?”

“Uh… no.” I grinned, knowing it was cocky and self-assured.

“Then let’s get to it, shall we?”

She pushed my head down and I… honestly I let myself have it. I licked, I sucked, I teased, I nibbled, I licked some more, depending on how loudly she was grunting, how many times she muttered “fuck” through clenched teeth, and how tight of a grip she had on my hair.

When I slid a finger into her with her clit in my mouth, she sucked in a deep, sharp breath. Her entire body seized for what felt like forever but was probably no more than a few seconds. When she unclenched, her hips were rolling, she was moaning, “fuuuuuuuuuuuccckkkk” and her body quivered like Jell-O.

I liked making that happen.

Lena reached out for me, her hands gripping my shoulders and pulling me up. Once we were face to face again, she kissed me. Down below, she was moving, pulling off her thong, then hooking her thumbs in the band of my boxers and yanking them down.

“Fuck me,” she demanded, her voice husky with desire. Or, at least I guessed that’s what made her sound so lusty. It was a turn on, whatever it was.

“Uhm… I didn’t really think…I didn’t bring… do you happen to have—”

She laughed, pointing to the nightstand on the right side of the bed. “Bottom drawer. They’re brand new.”

I crawled up the bed, leaning down to pull the drawer open. I grabbed a strip and tore one off, then ripped the square package open. “It would have been okay if you had an open pack. I trust that you’re not trying to have my kid by sticking holes in condoms.”

“They’re not new because I thought you wouldn’t trust me. They’re new because I had no intention of having sex until yesterday.”

“You say the sexiest things.”

“You’re doing so much talking and not enough regular people fucking.”

I rolled the condom on, then scooted back down the bed, resuming my position between her open legs. “You ready?”

She cupped my chin, bringing my lips toward hers. She kissed me, then laid back, lifting her hips and grinding against me. “Ready as ever.”

I positioned myself and pushed into her. Almost right away, her head lolled back and her eyes snapped closed. But her hips… those were working fine. I moved with her in a steady, increasing rhythm until I was buried inside her.

“This feels….mmmmm...so amazing…”

“Now who’s talking,” I panted, not missing a stroke.

She opened her eyes and smiled, then tightened her thighs around me. “I thought you would feel encouraged.”

“Oh, I do. I feel…” I shuddered as she squeezed her pussy walls around me. “I feel really encouraged right now.”

“You gonna come?”

“You first.”

“I already came, Papi. Go. Please.”

“You sure? I don’t like to—”

She squeezed again, pulsing this time. Milking me. My eyes rolled back in my head. That shit felt good. “Please come for me. I want to take you there. For my own personal satisfaction.”

I let go, then. I sped up my thrusts, pumped hard, ground my hips into hers, let myself enjoy the sounds of her moaning in my ear as I galloped toward my climax.

“I’m… coming…” I was able to get that out, before my own body stiffened and I felt myself release inside her. Right on my heels, Lena arched her back and gasped, then I felt her hips rolling against mine, her breasts thumping against my chest, her breath hot on my neck. I kept moving until she heaved a lung-emptying sigh and fell back, her legs splayed open alongside mine.

We both glistened with sweat. We were both panting, sucking in hot, uncirculated, sex scented air. We were both grinning ear to ear, watching each other come down.

“So, that was a pretty good idea,” I told her, as soon as I could get enough air into my lungs to talk.

“Like sex wasn’t on your list.”

“Eventually. Regular people fucking, though…”

“That was a good idea,” she agreed. Then she reached for me, dropping a sweet, light kiss on my lips. “Happy birthday, JC. I hope we brought it in with a bang.”

“You… you did that on purpose, right?”

“Did what?”

“That pun.”

“What pun?”

I scoffed. “Brought it in with a bang? Are you serious?”

She fell back, giggling hysterically. “I’ve been planning that one all night!”

I rolled toward her, claiming her mouth for another kiss. “Will Barksdale get pissy if I grab some water?”

“He’s a gentle giant. He won’t eat you. Go for it.”

 

 

"Yelena Christina Guadalupe Sandoval!"

I rolled my eyes at the use of my full name, usually only uttered by Jen to get my attention. I had ten minutes before our update meeting on Sexy LA and I needed at least five of them to finish my brief.

"Why do you always put my whole name out there? Are you angry that I have two middle names?"

Jen stomped into my office, stylish slingbacks slapping against her heels. The clingy, knee length blood-red wrap dress with the plunging neckline was so much for the office, but Jen would rather be fired than tone down to heather gray and periwinkle blue. The powers that be decided as long as she was covered, they'd let her be herself.

"No," she huffed, sitting in the chair in front of my desk and tossing one leg over the other. The split in her dress showed off a long, tanned thigh. She lived at Venice Beach Spray Tan. "I'm angry that it's been three weeks and you haven't spilled your pretty little guts."

"Spilled about what?" I had one eye on the clock and one eye on the keyboard, so no extra eyes for her, which was a good thing because I was afraid any change in my expression would give me away.

"Don't play dumb with me, spicy chalupa!"

"Chalupa? You're being very culturally insensitive right now. Besides, chalupas aren't even Spanish. At least not the way Taco Bell serves them."

"Don't change the subject. You've been in a very annoyingly cheerful mood for the last three weeks. And you've been walking around here like somebody split you in half."

I squinted hard and glared at Jen. "What are you talking about?"

"You are glowing, you are stupid happy even on a Monday and some days you look like your rode a horse to work. Someone. is. blowing. your. back. out." She scooted forward in the chair and leaned her elbows on the desk. With an earnest expression and the loudest whisper I've ever heard, she asked, "Is it who I think it is?"

"You're so damn nosy, Jennifer. Don't you have work to do? We have an update meeting in..."  I checked the time in the corner of my laptop. "Shit! Five minutes. I'm busy; go away!"

Jen sucked her teeth and slowly stood, but I felt her eyes on me the entire time. "Don't think you're getting out of telling me anything. I will find you. I... will find you."

"Okie dokie, Liam Neeson. I mean, I work here, so you won't have to look far."

I wasn't going to say anything but I was waiting for someone to notice. The impossibly good mood- yes, even on a Monday. The long periods of wistful staring into space with a smile on my lips. The several times a day I looked at my phone and said Awww, or burst into laughter at something JC had sent me. My hurry to get out of the office every day at 4PM sharp. How I always had a really good weekend, but couldn't pinpoint a particular event or activity that made it so good.

"It was just really good," I would answer.  Really good, indeed.

Since JC's birthday we'd been nearly inseparable. He had a lot of work to do- music sessions and meetings, not to mention press for the upcoming launch of his film, Opening Night. But once his commitments were satisfied, he always came to find me and Barksdale. Sometimes he'd join us for an evening walk at Runyon, sometimes we'd meet him in town for dinner at a dog friendly spot. Most nights, though, he'd come over and sit on the couch and play with the dog and eat whatever I cooked for dinner, talk incessantly through a movie or a TV show and then take me to bed.

It was no wonder Jen noticed that I'd been walking funny. I'd had more sex in the last three weeks than I'd probably had in the last five years. It had been really fun making up for lost time. Splitting me in half was... an amazing euphemism for sex with JC. And I had it on good authority that rumors that I was loose were greatly exaggerated.

"He really did have a small penis though," I'd told him one night while we laid in bed, drenched in sweat and trying to catch our breath. He'd pulled me close to him, the thick bulk of his arm around my shoulder. I reached up and wound my fingers between his.

"Well, there you go," he'd said. "Maybe he's overcompensating, you know. Making himself larger than life to make up for how small some other objects appear."

"If you only knew how I had to stretch my imagination to come up with a story that worked for him, that sufficiently hid his white bread, upper crust life back in Greenwich, Connecticut."

"But you know the story. He can lie and pretend and play that role all day but you know the real deal. Maybe he ran you off the road in a past life, but you still hold a lot of power over him. He can't stand that. Must be a guy-with-a-small-penis-problem. I wouldn't know anything about that."

I let out a series of sultry chuckles and curled my body into his. His arm tightened around me.  "Nope, you wouldn't know about that at all."

"Lena, are you coming to this meeting, or are you going to sit in your office and smile at nothing all day?"

I snapped to attention at the sound of Ian's voice. Shit. He'd caught me daydreaming, remembering that night. I slammed the lid of my laptop closed, grabbed a notepad and pen and scurried to the conference room.

After the meeting ended, I was the first to leave the conference room, swinging by the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee. And a cookie, since Jen had brought in an assortment of three dozen cookies from Snookies, another local gourmet bakery. 

I picked out an iced sugar cookie and turned to head back to my office. As soon as I hit the hallway, a set of clutches grabbed my elbow and yanked me down the hall.

"Jen! I have coffee! Slow down!"

She pulled me into her office and shut the door behind us. "Sit," she ordered, taking the seat directly across from the one she'd pointed at.  I hesitated, contemplating how fast I could get out of her office if I ran for the door. "Sit your ass down! You and I are having a chat."

"Maybe I don't want to have a chat."

I sat though, and set my coffee and cookie on the desk. I stalled for time, brushing the sugar crystals from my hands... which reminded me of that first night with JC when he said I tasted good. My thighs clenched involuntarily and I fought against a shudder while the memory of that night rolled through my mind.

"Something is going on. I want to know what it is. Furthermore, after all the support I've given you-"

"You mean harassment," I interrupted, breaking the cookie in half and taking a bite, washing it down with a swig of coffee.

"I hardly call pestering you to leave Limp Dick in your past where he belongs and getting on with your life to be harassment. No one has been more supportive of you, Lena. I'm hurt that something has happened and you haven't shared it with me."

"Hurt? Laying it on thick."

"I was appealing to your more humane side." I sighed, rolling my eyes up to the dingy rectangle ceiling tiles, wishing our office was a cool loft space. "Lena!"

"What? What do you want to know? What?"

"Is there a someone that is the reason you're so happy?"

"Yes. I can confirm that there is a someone."

"Is this someone not your dog?"

I laughed. "The someone is not my dog. Though he does make me pretty happy."

"So... is it... the person Ian risked his job to connect you with? The person that I, myself, personally begged you to call?"

"Could be, Jen. Could be." I took another bite of cookie and reached for the Styrofoam cup of coffee.

"I swear to God I will knock that shit out of your hands, Lena. I'm crazy, I'll do it."

"Fine! It's JC, okay? Splitting me in half and blowing my back out and I look like I rode a horse to work... yes. It's all him. Happy?"

A huge, huge grin spread across her face. "Yes, actually. I am very happy. Was that so hard?"

"It was, in fact, very difficult. I don't want to jinx it."

"There's nothing to jinx. He obviously likes you back because... I'm just saying. People in Santa Monica can see that glow coming off of you."

"Oh, stop it."

"I'm serious! You look really happy.  I've never seen Happy Lena. I might cry."

"It would ruin your eyeliner."

"You could pretend that I have a heart. So is he fun?"

"I'm having fun. And so is he. And so is Barksdale. He's in love with the dog. If we ever split up-"

Jen scowled. "Don't say that! Don't even think it! Man of your dreams, remember?"

"I... okay. Whatever. Anyway, he loves the dog and any man that loves my dog is okay with me."

"And he's good to you?"

I beamed. "He's so good to me."

"That's all I needed to know." Jen started to stand, but then sat back down again. "Except... you know... how is he?"

I laughed and pushed myself up from the chair. "Time for me to go."

"No, I was just gonna ask if he was-"

„I am absolutely not telling you a thing about him-"

"Is he bigger than-"

"I'm leaving," I said, opening the door to Jen's office and escaping into the hallway, where I promptly collapsed into giggles.

 

>>||<<

 

JC's usual tap tap sounded at the door before he turned the knob and stepped inside the condo. Barksdale hopped down from his perch on the couch to greet him. The sun was sinking toward the night sky, capping off a sunny day with a cool, breezy evening.

I dropped seasoned strips of chicken into a hot skillet and listened to the usual series of grunts, growls and belly rubs with the dog.  After Barksdale had been sufficiently greeted, JC came into the kitchen.

"I was wondering if you'd remember that I was here."

"Of course I remember you're here," he said, stepping behind me, sliding his arms around my waist and dipping his head to drop a loud, wet smack on my neck. "Sorry I'm late. I ran into some issues on my last session. I didn't think it would take as long as it did to iron it out."

"It's no problem. I just started dinner."

"What are you making? Smells good."

"Sweet pepper and chicken fajita stir fry. I grabbed the recipe from one of those Tasty videos people incessantly post on Facebook. We'll see how it goes."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, honey. But it sounds good." His lips moved to my ear, then my cheek. "How was your day?"

"My day was... good. Interesting."

"Interesting?"

"Yeah. Apparently, on some days I come into work walking like I've been riding a horse."

"Oh?" I felt his lips bend into a smile against my skin. "Wonder which days those are?"

"Possibly the days that someone decides sex at 7AM is a good idea."

"Can't help it. You're so..." He sucked, then nibbled my earlobe. "Sweaty and sexy after your run in the mornings."

"Yeah, well." I stirred the slices in the skillet, making sure they browned evenly.  "Jen finally demanded to be told what was going on. She practically took me hostage until I admitted to her that I took her advice to call you that night."

"Oh, that was her idea? Remind me to send her some flowers."

JC turned, reaching to open the refrigerator. "Did you get any regular beer and not that craft beer nonsense?"

"If by regular you mean boring Corona, then yes. And there's some lime in there, if you're a pansy and like that sort of thing."

"I'm gonna drink my domestic pale lager like a real man."

I heard the clinking of glass and the pop of a bottle being uncapped. JC tossed the cap in the recycling bin and resumed his spot behind me, where he watched me throw the vegetables I'd chopped earlier into the skillet. He drank a few swigs, then gave me a wet, beer-scented kiss.

"I'm gonna go hang out with-" The shrill ring of JC's phone filled the air. It was the standard telephone ring, which meant it was business call, not one he could ignore. "I'll take this outside if you want me to take Barksdale out." 

I nodded as he picked up the line. "Hey, man.....nothing, hanging with my girl....yeah, the one with the dog...."

JC winked at me before he walked out of the kitchen and snapped his fingers at Barksdale. With the phone cradled between his ear and shoulder, he hooked up the leash and he and the dog stepped outside.

I'd finished the stir fry and fixed two plates, setting them at our usual spots in the kitchen. JC still wasn't back from walking Barksdale. Worried that he'd run off and JC was wasting time trying to find him, I went looking for them.

I'd made it nearly to the end of the breezeway when I saw them. JC, still on the phone, sitting on the bench near the grassy area where Barksdale likes to run around. The dog lay at his feet, calmly watching the sunset behind Runyon Canyon in the distance.

"I mean, I hear you." JC was saying as I walked up to him. "It's business, but...yeah, that's true." I reached for the leash he'd rolled up and was gripping with an iron fist. He looked surprised to see me- his eyes popped wide open.

I motioned to him that I would take the dog. He nodded and continued his conversation while I walked Barksdale back to the condo.

JC came in a few minutes later, looking markedly more tired and giving off a less chipper vibe. "Sorry," he mumbled, sliding onto the chair he liked to use, because he could see the TV from that seat.

"No problem. Everything okay?"

He started to nod, but then... didn't. He picked up his fork and stabbed at the chicken and vegetable mixture that was lukewarm at best by then. "Just... some stuff. Eric got a call today about an opportunity I might want to take and... I don't know about it. Got some thinking to do."

"If it's a good opportunity, why wouldn't you?"

JC didn't answer. He ate a few bites, then a few more. "This is actually really good."

"You say that like you're surprised."

"You got a recipe off of the internet. Never know." He shoveled in another bite and chewed hard.

"So... there's a job and you don't know if you want to take it?"

"That's a good way to explain it. Yeah."

"And your reasons for not taking it would be..."

"I just... sometimes... well, think of all the reasons some of your clients might not want to do a movie, shoot a commercial, endorse a product."

I paused to ponder his point, thinking back to my days as a celebrity publicist. I had a model that wouldn't do ads for diet products because she didn't believe in them. They weren't the reason she was so thin. Certain athletes didn't want to rep certain products- like Reebok- because it would hurt their chances of ever being pitched by Nike.

I chuckled. "Rex once didn't want a song on his album because he said it made him sound like a pussy."

JC nearly choked on the mouthful of food he was eating. "No shit?"

"No shit."

"So what happened to the song?"

"It went on the album. You know how it goes. When you sign your first deal, you have no power, no say in what happens to you. You do what the label says."

"Hm." JC was somber and pensive, obviously consumed by whatever loop his manager had tossed into his life an hour ago.

"Did you want some more to eat?"

He shook his head and pushed his plate away. "No, I'm okay, thanks. I uh... hate to eat and run, but-"

"Oh." I tried hard to mask my disappointment. I knew it didn't work by his cringe. "You're not staying, tonight?"

"I just... got something kind of heavy on my mind right now. I need to go sit in my studio and..." he sighed, standing and pushing the stool away. "I just need to work some things out. We're still on for tomorrow?"

Westchester Park had been airing a series of 80's movies at dusk. We'd gone the week before and saw Sixteen Candles. This week they were showing The Breakfast Club.

"Yeah. I guess. If you're up to it. But... you have to leave right now? We didn't even get to..."

JC paused, mid-reach for the doorknob, keys in hand. He turned to look at me, standing between the kitchen and the front door, trying hard not to look hurt.

He dropped his hand, pushed his keys into his front pocket and walked back in my direction. When he was standing in front of me, he opened his arms and, the mush that I am, fell right into them. He closed his arms around me and pulled me close. My arms rested on his shoulders and I buried my face in his neck. He smelled good, fresh air and sandalwood.

"I don't mean to be clingy," I said, my words muffled. "If you really have to go, I understand. I was looking forward to spending time with you tonight."

"I was looking forward to that, too. I guess I don't have to go right this second. So..." He pulled back and kissed me, then started moving, shuffling us toward my bedroom. "What do you say we spend a little time together before I have to go?"

I grinned, almost embarrassed at how quickly my mood turned around. "I guess that sounds like a good idea."

"Bet your ass it does. Can't have you showing up to work not looking like you rode a horse in."

 

 

 

"Trouble in paradise?"

Tyler's voice and the thunk of the bottle he set in front of me snapped me out of my melancholy gaze over the empty tables at West Hollywood Big Wangs. It was mid-afternoon, the slowest part of the business day for them. Not that I didn't love a raucous Saturday night while the fights were on, or a lazy Sunday watching six hours of football and downing my body weight in beer, but a nice Wednesday afternoon had its perks, too.

I picked up the beer- a Corona lite with lemon, something Lena would roll her eyes at- and drank a couple of swallows. I felt Tyler's eyes boring into the side of my head. He wasn't going to let up until I said something, obviously.

"What?"

"You tell me, what? For three weeks you've been delightfully, assholishly chipper. I know it has something to do with a girl and a dog. Today, it's like somebody died. I haven't heard you say twelve words yet and I've been in town since noon. My daughter says more words than you have and she's two."

I sucked down more beer, shifting my view from the empty restaurant to the TV above the bar showing SportsCenter on mute. "Just got a lot on my mind."

"Well, get it off of your mind. Remember when we used to come here and have a beer and talk?"

I snickered. "Before you defected and left me here in California and got married and had a kid, you mean?"

"Yeah. But we can still do that, man. Something's eating at you. Put it out there."

I played with a thin bar napkin, the cheap kind that bartenders use to keep condensation from mucking up the wood. I heaved a deep, long sigh and sat back in my seat, slouching a little and folding my hands over my belly.

"I'm dating this girl, right? She's cool. Like, mad cool. Beautiful. Spicy little thing, so hot. I'm really liking her."

Tyler nodded along while I talked. "I had figured that part out. Move to the next part of the story."

"Well, I mean... I don't want to put her business in the street, you know? But... well, she used to be a publicist. I mean she's still a publicist but she used to work for celebrities. That's common knowledge, so I can say it. Right?"

"The attorney in me says yes."

"She had a client that... well..." I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. "He was an asshole to her. Let's say that. He got her fired from her job at an agency. She basically pulled out of LA and took a break from all that."

"Okay. Picking up steam."

I glared at Tyler. "You asked to hear this."

"I forgot you like to tell long stories." He sat up, then leaned forward, resting his folded arms on the table. "Sorry. Go ahead."

"You sure?"

"I've got a spare couple of hours."

"Anyway, she's been back in LA for a few years and she's learned her lesson. Doesn't want anything to do with anyone who's famous, a celebrity, a well-known person-"

"Which describes you to a tee, former member of a boyband."

"You see my issue. It was tough, but I won her over and we worked through that. We have a good time, we spend  lots of time together, doing regular un-celebrity things. She cooks dinner, we walk the dog, we watch movies-"

"You wear out mattress springs."

As true as it was, I blushed. "Aw, c'mon man..."

"Am I lying? You're probably chafing right now."

"Anyway, I get a call the other night from Eric about an opportunity to write and produce for an artist. He wants a ballad, something syrupy and boy-bandy for this project he's doing. He asks around town and the advice he gets is that he should get in touch with me."

"Okay. These two things have something to do with one another..." Tyler's eyes narrowed. "Somehow."

"Guy who wants me to write the song is the asshole, Asshole."

Tyler's brows shot up and his mouth fell open. "Ooooohhhhh."

"Yeah. So my first thought is that I can't do this. I can't do that to her. I can't write for someone that was responsible for so much heartache for someone I care about. Right?"

"Of course. But I bet Eric brings up money, which he makes a percentage of, because that's all he cares about."

"He cares about making sure my name appears in liner credits and that I get royalties. Plus, he doesn't know the backstory. All he sees is major multi-platinum recording artist wants to hire me."

"So he starts talking you into it."

"Trying to. And I see his side of it. It's business. It's writing, it's producing, it's money in the bank. It's what I do all day every day with my eyes closed. It's got nothing to do with her, and whatever happened between them happened a long time ago."

"Blah, blah, blah, you should think about it because it could help your career and give you exposure and more money."

I bobbed my head slowly, bringing the bottle of Corona to my lips. I swallowed a few gulps, then said, "Eric was told the song would be almost guaranteed to appear on the record. That never happens. Do you know how many artists I've worked with, songs I've written and produced that get nowhere near an album?"

"Eight hundred and twenty three. Roughly guessing."

"And for a guy like that, even if it's a pandering, sweet, syrupy boyband ballad-"

"The girls are gonna cream, download it, tell everyone else to download it or they're not, like, cool anymore."

"Exactly."

"So your quandary is... is your relationship with this girl good enough to give up a lot of money and the chance to get your work out there? Or do you forego it, for... God knows whatever reason-"

"So you side with Eric?"

Tyler immediately went on the defensive, which was evident in the sharp rise of his shoulders. "I'm not on a side. I'm just a natural at arguments. I do it for a living. If you give up this opportunity, the reason better be damn good. And the reason should not be pussy."

With that, he lifted a bottle of Miller Lite to his lips and sucked down half the bottle.

"I just... if I decide to do this, she'll be upset. She already took a chance on me. And I already almost blew it with her once, early on."

"I hear you, but... dude. You've been seeing her all of three weeks. You're not basing career decisions on the feelings of a woman you've known three weeks. I don't care how broken the bed springs are. And who's to say she even cares? Maybe you're worried for nothing. Maybe she doesn't give a flying fuck about the asshole. Maybe she thinks you should take the deal and charge him double for being an asshole to her."

"You know, you could be right about that."

I scrubbed a hand over my face, lingering over the stubble I'd allowed to grow over the past day or so. Lena was enamored with it during the movie; playing with it, rubbing her cheek against it, giving me that come fuck me stare whenever she looked at me. I'd decided to let it grow some. Just for her.

"I guess I hadn't really thought about it that way. I mean, we're solid, right now. She's happy with me and she and I have nothing to do with him. She could be so happy that she really doesn't give a shit."

"Don't know till you ask. Lead with the fact that it could mean a lot for you and your career. Don't talk about all the money you're gonna make, hand over fist, off of the asshole."

My mood was starting to lift, finally. Which was a relief, because I was starting to get on my own nerves. "When do you head back to Florida?"

"My deposition is tomorrow morning. I'm fying out tomorrow night."

"So we have tonight to do something-"

"Nope," he interrupted, then drained the rest of his beer. "You have tonight to go talk to your girl so you can get that frown off of your face. Sick of looking at it. I have tonight to hang with my frat brothers. It's bowling night."

"By bowling, you mean-"

"Getting drunk as fuck and throwing bowling balls down some lanes. Bowling."

"If I remember right, you suck at bowling."

"Who cares what the score is when you're drunk?"

"Well, good luck anyway."

"And to you too. Hope you break some more bedsprings."

"You're married and whatever, but you're still my little brother and you're creeping me out."

Following his lead, I finished my beer and set the empty in front of him. "One more for the road," I croaked through a belch. "Go fetch."

 

>>||<<

 

 

"So, you seem like you're in a better mood. That's good."

Lena and I walked hand in hand up the hill to Runyon Canyon, headed to Barksdale's a favorite spot. The dog walked between us, happily panting and wagging his tail so hard that I was trying not to get directly behind him, otherwise I'd end up with another bruise.

"Yeah. I feel like I'm in a better mood. My brother is in town; I laid some things out to him, man to man. He said some very real things that gave me some of my perspective back."

"So you lost some of it?"   

"Some, yeah. I mean, the simple fact is that for the last three weeks, I haven't really been paying attention to life. Like, I've been going to work and keeping appointments and being there but I haven't really been there."

"I guess some of the newness has worn off. The shiny luster of a relationship in its early stages."

I pulled her toward me, drawing my arm across her shoulder. She released the leash and let Barksdale run free. He took off, but knew to stay close by.

"I'm not saying I don't still really like you. Or that I'm not still hoping every day that you want some of this prime Mustang."

"Prime... Mustang..."

"Or Thoroughbred. Or Holstein-"

"That's a cow, JC."

I shrugged, laughing with her. "I'm just saying, maybe I'm getting some balance back. You know?"

She nodded, watching the dog trot around the field. "I know what you mean. I have a couple of friends I haven't seen since I met you. I feel bad, but I also really... really like you." She grinned, then stepped closer to me. We were belly to belly, nearly eye to eye. She wrapped her arms around my neck and pressed those beautiful, thick lips against mine. "And the Mustang."

I chuckled, going in for a deeper kiss. "That's what I'm talkin' about," I mumbled as our lips met. Simultaneously, we sank into the kiss, moving in so close to each other we almost overlapped. While I was devouring her mouth, sucking and teasing and twirling my tongue around hers, my hands made their way up under her t-shirt. I gave a little groan of appreciation to find that she wasn't wearing a bra.

I filled my hands with her breasts, rubbing the pads of my thumbs over her nipples. She gasped, then moaned. Then, very suddenly, she pulled back and tugged her t-shirt down.

We weren't alone. And not that our fellow nature lover and her bulldog were even watching us from across the park, but I adjusted my shorts and pulled my shirt down, trying to hide the results of our very public rendezvous. 

"We should-"

"Yeah," Lena said, reading my mind. She jogged toward Barksdale and clipped the leash to his collar. "Sorry to cut this short, buddy, but Mama's got some ridin' to do."

We headed back to the condo, fed and watered the dog and settled in on the couch for a night of TV, which usually ended up being whatever Lena wanted to watch. She pulled the ottoman over and stretched out her legs. I laid down, resting my head in her lap, with my notebook. I'd been writing a lot lately and not caring about whatever Lena was watching was good for my progress. Barksdale curled up into the other end of the couch. I pressed my soles up against his warm belly.

"What's a word that rhymes with brave?"

"Uh.... save. Rave. Fave. Grave. Cave. They've. Behave, gave, engrave. Microwave. Want me to keep going?"

I laughed. "I wanted to see how long you would go before I told you to stop. It's a love song, honey. I can't put microwave in it."

"I bet you could."

"Definitely not grave or cave. I could maybe do something with engrave..." I stuck the end of the pen between my teeth and rattled it around. It was something I did when I wrote and I was usually alone.

"If you don't stop that, I'm going to throw the pen across the room."

She reached for the remote, which was buried between the couch cushions. She took a little extra time digging it out with a detour to pinch the skin of my lower back.

"What are you writing? Maybe I need the whole concept."

"It's a love song. It needs to be kind of sweet and peppy. Sort of like the stuff we used to write in *NSYNC. Although back then, we didn't think it was sweet and peppy. It was very, very serious."

"Mmhmmm. Space Cowboy was oh my God, so serious."

"Exactly," I said, about to stick the pen in my mouth again, but remembering her threat from not even thirty seconds ago.

"Well, who is the song for? Would help if I knew what direction we were going in."

My heart seized a little in my chest. I'd decided not to mention it until she said something about it. If, on the off chance, the song was actually selected, we could deal with it then. But I got so relaxed about it that I opened my mouth wider than I should have and some words fell out.

I wished now that I could shove those words back in. And swallow them. And never say them. I had a big mouth and a huge problem, now.

"Uhhhhh..." I sat up and swung my feet to the floor. "Something I needed to kind of talk to you about."

"Oh really? Does it have anything to do with your mood lately?"

"Yeah. A lot to do with it, actually. I uh... listen, I just want you to be open minded about this. Okay?"

She reached for the remote and muted the TV. "Alright. Open mind. Listening without judgement. Give it to me."

"I got a call from my manager the other night. The night I was here and I was outside for a while. I mean, you have to understand that where I am in my career, I could stay here forever, right? It's like purgatory. But it's not very challenging and I'm always looking for opportunities to spread my wings. You know, work with new people and whatever. All with the understanding that a song might or might not get on a record."

"Okay. I get what you're saying, completely."

"So this call was a big deal. It was for writing a ballad- a love song. It's almost guaranteed to appear on a record. That..." I shook my head, my expression one of amazement. "That never happens. Never."

"So this is the job you were offered and didn't want to take? Why, JC? It sounds like a shoo-in."

I hadn't lifted my head, raised my eyes to look at her. I just... I couldn't. I reached for her hand and held it between mine and tried... really, very hard to feel good about what I was about to say.

"The thing is, Lena...you might not approve of who the song is for."

"Oh...oh my God," she uttered, softly. My head shot up to look at her. Her shoulders were blocky, her cheeks flushed a deep red and her body was ramrod stiff. I guess she did give a shit.

"Lena, I-"

"No. Nuh uh. No." She was shaking her head and blinking rapidly, but at the same time held a death grip on my hand. "Please tell me... please, JC, tell me that you are not writing a song for Rex Luther."

"Remember what I said about purgatory and where I am and where this could take me-"

"How could you even consider it, knowing my history with him? You don't even need the money!  You're a  multi-millionaire, JC. You could afford to turn this job down."

"You're right. I could. I... could. But..."

"But you haven't. For money?" The tears that had been building in her eyes spilled over and slid down her cheeks. She opened her mouth to say more but nothing came but a sob.   

Cue me feeling like an even bigger shithead than I'd felt before.

"I think I need you to go," Lena managed to say. She pushed herself up from the couch and put nearly six feet of distance between the two of us. May a well been a huge mountain chasm. 

"Can we talk, though? I'm sure that if I explain-"

"I don't want to hear your explanations. You've let me know exactly how you feel about me, exactly what I mean to you. And to think, I was gonna let myself fall..."

Her face crumbled in on itself. She covered her face and rushed past me. A moment later, I heard the bedroom door slam shut.  

Well. That didn't go anything like I'd planned. And I had nobody to blame but me.   

I grabbed my keys and wallet from the kitchen counter, pulled the Dodgers cap over my head and, before I headed out, checked the hallway. The bedroom door was still shut. Lena sniffled, over and over.  I guessed she was still crying.

"Hey. Uh, I'm leaving. I'll call you. Okay? Just give it a couple of days. We can work this out, honey."

The bedroom door flew open and Lena came storming out, eyes blazing, cheeks on fire. "Don't bother.  I want your celebrity ass to get in your Mercedes fucking AMG and drive away.  Forget you know me, forget you met me. Enjoy your new job."

She'd opened the front door and stood waiting for me to leave. "Goodnight, JC."

I didn't want to upset her further, so I chose to say nothing as I left her condo. No sooner had I stepped over the threshold than she slammed the door.

She was... pretty mad. And I was pretty hurt that I was the one that had caused it.

 

 

I didn't sleep on Thursday night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face and heard the words come out of his mouth, the words that he was trying to use to justify working with someone I despised with every fiber of my being.  Every time I thought about it, I tossed and turned, until the sun was coming up and it was a brand new day.

I got up, took Barksdale out, then called in sick because I couldn't deal with getting dressed and going to work and pretending everything was fine when my heart was breaking.  My eyes were puffy, my nose was big and red and I couldn't pull myself out of the slump I'd fallen into.

I took Barksdale out for a light walk a few times a day, but I couldn't bear the trek out to Runyon Canyon, where I'd met JC, where we'd spent so much time together.  Besides, I was afraid JC would come out and find us and try to talk to me and I wasn't ready to talk to him yet. Maybe I wasn't ready to ever talk to him.

By Sunday, I was really tired of my condo, of the four walls in my living room, of watching movies and listening to music and most of all, of Barksdale gazing out of the window, looking for JC; of him staring at me with those big browns, asking me ‘what's wrong?' in that way that only dogs could. He hadn't left my side since Thursday.  I'd tried to put him to bed, but he wouldn't go. Instead, he lumbered to my bedroom and hopped up on the bed.

It wasn't fair to him, and it wasn't his fault I was sad, so I took a shower and finally put some clothes on and grabbed the leash.  An hour later, we were lounging at the beachfront patio at Oscar's of Venice Beach. Barksdale gnawed on a giant rawhide bone and I sipped on a giant lime margarita.

"Did he say why he was writing a song for Rex? Or even how he knew Rex?" In a strapless, knee length smocked sundress, Jen drank from a bottle of Lagunitas Pale Ale. Her oversized shades hid evidence of a late night.

I picked large granules of salt from the edge of my margarita glass, listlessly shrugging a shoulder. "I didn't even really give him a chance to explain. I don't want to hear about the benefits of working for Rex and why I shouldn't be angry right now."

"But I mean... there must be a reason. He knows about you and Rex, right?"

"Everything, Jen. He knows everything about me and Rex. The relationship, how he lost his ever-loving mind after his first hit, the abuse, that fight at the Ivy. How I got fired from Teller Publicity. How I left LA because of the bullshit that Rex started. All of it."

Jen's brow furrowed, her lips pursed. If she was confused, I was double confused. "And so... he still... hmmmm."

"Yeah. Hmmm, is right. Like... why? Is there really even an answer to that question? Did he just not think about it? Did he not think it would hurt me?"

"He would have told you right out instead of making you pull it out of him."

"I guess. I just really... was hoping..." I sniffled, but refused to let myself cry anymore about him. I'd known him less than a month. It was three weeks of amazing... but that was over now.

"I don't really want to think about it anymore. I don't want to talk about it, especially at the office. That's why I wanted you to meet me out here today, so we can get all of our gossip and speculation and calling him an asshole out of our systems."

I sighed, lifting the thick heavy glass to my lips. I took a sip, then a gulp. And then another. Heartbreak tastes like tequila and lime apparently.  "When we get to the office tomorrow, I don't want any mention of JC. I'll talk to Ian, too. I just want to forget him. And I'm really, for serious, done with celebrities."

"Okay, hon," Jen said, agreeing surprisingly easily to my demands. I had expected to have to argue with her, talk her down, refute a bunch of platitudes and sayings meant to make me feel better. That Jen gave in without an argument old me a lot about my situation.

My heart sank even further, physically aching in my chest. My bottom lip began to quiver, but I caught it. And the miscellaneous tear that threatened to bring its friends to cascade down my cheeks.

Jen reached for the menu.  "Let's order something, okay? You need to soak up that alcohol.    I propped my elbow onto the table and rested my head in my palm. I closed my eyes and nodded. She was right, I did need to get some actual food in my belly. I hadn't really eaten since Thursday.

We chatted over frittatas and I traded in my margarita for a beer. Jen regaled me with stories of her Friday night antics that started with an early happy hour and had ended at 4AM on Mulholland Drive. For a few moments I laughed and indulged in a well-told story of an absolutely ratchet Friday night in LA.

I forgot about JC, about Thursday night, about Rex. About opening up myself and my heart after five lonely years of solitude and seclusion. About finally tearing down that wall, only to have the bricks thrown in my face. 

The Red Sox game was showing on three different TV's, easily viewable from my booth at Big Wangs, had I bothered to look up. Instead, I was in the corner, bent over my notebook. A frothy beer sat to my left; a plate of monster nachos to my right. In front of me was a blur of words and phrases. Meaningless, stupid sentences that didn't rhyme or make sense or even really matter, anymore.

I'd scoped out Runyon, trying to see if Lena and Barksdale would be there, but I knew she wouldn't be. She wouldn't want to run into me, to see me. Even if I saw her there, she would refuse to talk to me. I hiked up to my favorite spot, the spot where her dog had run me over the first time and I stood there for what seemed like forever, in the blazing heat, watching her condo and hoping for a glimpse of her.

Just when I'd started to give up, I saw her. But she and Barksdale weren't headed for Runyon or even for the grassy area where he like to play. Rather, she loaded him up into her small SUV and drove away. It felt a little like she was driving right out of my life. But I was too far away, too powerless, too...removed to stop her.

"Figured I'd find you here."

Eric, my manager, slid into the booth across from me, an open bottle in his hand. "Tried calling you. Are you not talking to me, now?"

I glanced at my phone, which I'd turned off after I'd tried to call Lena again and got the voicemail right away. She'd probably blocked me. Reaching for my beer, I shook my head. "Had some things blow up on me. I needed some time to myself."

"Understood." He lifted the bottle to his mouth, downing a swallow before continuing. "Have you given any thought to our phone call the other night?"

My eyes settled on the page, the words still blurring together in a senseless mess. I clasped my hands together and rested my chin on them. The short, wiry hairs in the goatee I hadn't shaved yet pricked my skin. "I'm not sure what I want to do, honestly."

Eric's eyes grew huge. His mouth fell open and words tried to come, but all I got was frustrated, impatient sounds.

"Look, I know it's a big deal. It's a lot of money. It's exposure. It's... everything good for me. I hear everything you're not saying right now."

"It's just that it's Rex Luther." Eric licked his lips, rubbing his thumb along his chin. "And he's waiting and I don't want to keep him waiting. If you want to say yes, contingent on a few points, then let's do that.  I don't want to string him out, piss him off."

"I'm not worried about pissing off Rex Luther-"

"It's my job to worry about it. Look, J..." He pushed his beer aside and leaned forward. "I heard about that girl you're dating. She knew him, she worked for him, they had a professional relationship that ended. That's got nothing to do with you. Don't go all Captain-Save-a-Hoe on me right now. You've known this girl a couple of weeks. This is your career. Just the announcement of this deal could put you back on the map."

"First off, it's a song. Nobody cares who writes the song, alright? If it goes on the record, it goes on the record. If it charts, it charts. Rex Luther isn't any different from any other artist I've worked with. Second?"

I leveled a cold, steel stare across the table. "Don't bring up Lena again. Not in that way. There's things you don't know about her, about what went on between her and Rex-"

"What, that they fucked?" Eric scoffed, his face bearing a wicked half grin. "Why would switching publicists be such a big deal if they hadn't? He threw his weight around and got her fired-who doesn't know that? And who cares? In LA time, it was a century ago. Water under the bridge.  She moved on, right? She's at Sexy Hair now, doing well, I hear. And, I remind you again, none of this has anything. to do. with you."

Through closed eyelids, I rubbed my painfully dry eyes. Listening to Eric drone on about Lena and Rex and their relationship like it was People magazine fodder was driving me crazy. I hadn't slept more than a few hours since Thursday and my nerve endings were frazzled. My mind was on a path that I couldn't manage to detour from. Her fiery eyes, the words she'd said, even how fiercely she'd slammed the door after I left- all played on an endless loop.

If I had a chance to get her back, it was slim. Was it even worth the effort when right in front of me was a golden ticket? All I had to do was write one song. Doors could open, huge opportunities could fall in my lap.

The choice was obvious. But then again.... it wasn't.

 I cleared my throat to remove the grit from my voice. "Give me a few days before you talk to him. I need to think, to come up with something. Then... tell him I want to meet. Not a yes. But not a no. Let's talk first."

"I can handle that," said Eric. He extended his hand. I reluctantly shook it, just so he would go away. "I'll call you when it's set up. Just keep in mind that you'd be a fool to throw away a good thing for a girl you barely know."

Eric walked away, leaving me alone in a booth, deep in the bowels of Big Wangs. I stared at the notebook in front of me, pen in hand. I scratched out a word or two here, moved a phrase or two there.

Then I ripped out the page, and the pages before it.  It was time to write something new.

 

 

"Take a look at this."  Jen tossed a thin, wire bound report on my desk. I recognized the charts and graphs and squiggly lines that made up our weekly web reports. "Wendy just dropped this on my desk."

My eyes skipped across the page and for the first time in days, I felt like smiling. The numbers were up... and climbing. The segments from The XPerience were getting massive hits and leading to other areas of the site, most especially to the product page.

I rifled through a stack on my desk, finally finding and opening the report from the previous week. "Last week we were at half a million hits, which is awesome anyway. This week we're at two million."

"And counting."

I pushed my chair back and stood, walking around to where Jen had propped her hip against my desk. If I thought I could get away with it, I would dance around my office, squealing and crying, but... we were professionals.

"I see a lot of leaps to products. What does retail say about sales?"

"Check the next page," said Jen. Her grin was smug, so I already knew it was good, but I flipped the page anyway. "Hot damn... an 18% increase in Curly alone!"

"Strong, Big, Healthy, Smooth- all of those lines are seeing a double digit increase. The Sexy LA campaign is definitely doing its work. And, if you check the Instagram numbers, they're absolutely nuts, on our page and The XPerience page."

"I've seen that. I've been watching it. I had no idea it would translate to the website like this. So people don't seem to care that they're hocking some product."

That had been Ian's prime concern, one that Ross shared. It was great to see that it hadn't been well-founded.

"Well," Jen mused, crossing her arms over her chest, which was unusually covered in a black lace crop top. True to form, though, her belly was bared and her white jeans were extremely low rise.  "Like I told Ian when he brought it up, their fan base is largely women- who have hair- and men who are somewhere between hipster and metrosexual. Men haven't had wake-up-and-go hair in years."

"Isn't that the truth," I mumbled. A memory of JC and I in my bathroom one morning snuck into my brain. He was seated on the closed toilet lid as I worked a blob of Curly Sexy foam curl enhancer through his hair and then a dollop of Smooth Sexy frizz eliminator and sleek serum. He'd been so pleased with his hair that day that he'd adopted the products into his normal routine.

I kicked the errant thought that I missed him, really and truly missed him, out of my head. I'd taken a chance and risked my heart. It didn't work out. Life didn't stop just because I wasn't "riding the Mustang" anymore.

"Let's go share the good news with Ian. And then knock off early and hit Red Room. I feel like celebrating."

Jen's hazel eyes danced, her smile was wide and I was actually feeling like joining her in her jovial mood. It had been days since the last call from JC. I saw it come in, and then watched it go to voicemail. He hadn't left a message. Maybe he'd given up.

A few hours later, Ian and Wendy- who'd finally given into the smoldering attraction to each other-  and Jen and I occupied a table in the corner of Red Room. We'd already eaten through a bowl of chips and salsa and were halfway through a second one, plus a round and a half of drinks.

"Guys, I don't know if I'm going to make it into the office tomorrow. I can't party like this on a Tuesday."

"Take the day," said Ian, his arm slung over Wendy's shoulder. She beamed while slurping the last of a margarita. "You've more than earned it. We all have."

"Hear, hear!" I announced, raising my glass of red wine. Next to me, my bag began to vibrate. I reached inside and pulled my cell phone out of a pocket. NO CALLER ID, read the display. I toyed with not answering it, but I was halfway drunk and curious. Maybe JC had started blocking his number so I wouldn't know it was him.

"Hello?" I plugged one ear and dipped my head low, to block some of the noise in the restaurant.

"Good to hear your voice, Lena. It's been a while."

I stiffened at the tenor of the voice in my ear. I hadn't missed that distinct Connecticut accent that came out whenever Rex was offstage, off guard, not "in the role".

"What do you want?"

"Well, to welcome you back to LA, first of all. I didn't know you'd made it back."

"I've been back. You didn't think I'd really run away from you, did you?"

A gruff chuckle crossed the line. "You always try to be this spitfire, spicy Latin thing." He sighed. "When you're still really a little Mexican girl in the big city, playing like you're hot shit. Hanging out on the arms of celebrities, trying to make a name for yourself. How're you liking the new one?"

I sucked in a breath.

"Yeah, I know about you and him. I'm kind of surprised. On the one hand, I mean... he was in a boyband. How lame. On the other hand, he does have a lot of money. And maybe a career you can throw in the toilet. I feel like he's on the verge of doing just that. It'll be a huge mistake if he turns down my offer."

"So you knew about JC? That I was dating him? And it's just a coincidence that you offered him work?"

"Did you really think you were inconspicuous? For a publicist, you're so oblivious. People were sending me pictures and reports every day of your cute little dates with him, out with that miniature horse of yours. Practically screwing at the movie in the park. Fuck yeah, I knew about him."

 "So, is the job real or are you just fucking with him?"

"Is that Rex?" Jen whispered, her eyebrows drawn together. I shifted away from her so I could concentrate.

A few long beats passed before Rex answered. "Good question. I could be fucking with him, dangling it out there long enough to get you to dump him for wanting to work for me, like he'd choose you over his career. Then maybe I'd snatch it away once you're gone. Would serve you both right.

"Or... maybe the offer is real. I could throw a little money his way and we could form our own Fuck Lena Club. What do you think he should do, publicist? Throw away his career for you? Or put himself back in the world he used to live in, when he needed a security detail to go take a shit."

"Rex, please don't..." I licked my lips, which were bone dry. I grabbed my wine just to wet my tongue enough to peel it from the roof of my mouth. "I know how you are, how you operate but he doesn't live that your world; he doesn't play your game. He's not on the level that you are. He's a guy that used to be famous, that writes songs and that's it." 

His laughter was so diabolical, it sent shivers up my spine. "It's cute how you're really sticking up for him. You're so concerned about his gentle feelings; meanwhile, we're meeting tomorrow about a song he's writing for me."

"JC is free to do what he wants. I have nothing to do with his decision to work for you."

"Uh huh. But I know you, Lena. I bet you flipped your shit when you heard I'd offered the work."

I didn't dignify the statement with a response but my silence told him everything he needed to know.  "So I guess we'll find out tomorrow how he really feels about you, huh? And hey..."

He belched, loudly, into the phone. "I don't think leaving LA is going to work this time. You'll have to come up with something way more dramatic. And you'll need a bigger comeback than repping hairspray. I mean, my God, Lena. Who but you goes from working for one of the biggest names in music to talking about fucking shampoo?"

He hung up mid-cackle. I stared at the phone for a few moments, not letting myself believe that what had happened had actually happened.

  Jen was saying something, but her voice seemed so far away. It was hard to hear her over the echo of Rex's voice in my ear. I guess we'll find out tomorrow how he really feels about you, huh?

"Lena?" Jen's voice barged in loud and clear pushing Rex's taunts out of my mind. "What did Rex say?"

"He..." I swallowed hard, to get past the lump in my throat. I clutched at my neck, finding it hard to breathe. "He knew about JC. That I'd been dating him. They have a meeting to talk about the song JC is supposedly writing for him. I guess he's really doing it."

"They have a meeting to talk about it... which means he hasn't agreed to it yet. What exactly did he say, Lena?"

"He... said... I guess we'll find out tomorrow how he really feels about you. He said JC had a choice between throwing away his career for me and signing on with him to make a ton of money. That he's about to make a huge mistake if he turns down the offer."

"Find out?" Repeated Ian. "He would have texted you a copy of the canceled check if it was a done deal."

Jen leaned over and laid an arm around my shoulders. "Maybe JC isn't the asshole that we think he is. Not yet, anyway."

"I need to go. Let me out." I grabbed the handles of my leather workbag and pushed them over my shoulder while scooting Jen off the seat.

"What are you going to do?"  she asked, stepping out of my way. I tossed a few bills onto the table to cover my drinks and rushed away from the table.

"I'll call you!" I yelled over my shoulder, heading for the door.

 

>>||<<

 

"Fuck! Where are you, asshole?!"

I screamed at the phone, relentlessly hitting redial and then hanging up when voicemail picked up while weaving through traffic. JC wasn't picking up. My texts went unanswered. I'd driven past his house, twice.  The driveway was empty. JC always parked outside, rain or shine, because his garage was full of crap. We'd made plans to clean it out once the weather cooled down.

I didn't know him well enough to know where his usual hangouts were, where he went when he wasn't with me. I couldn't keep casing his house or driving around West Hollywood, hoping I'd see a black Mercedes AMG parked somewhere. He was probably at a studio, somewhere in downtown LA.   

Hours later, I pulled into the parking spot in front of my condo, feeling defeated. Maybe it was a sign. Part of me thought I should just leave well enough alone. JC had made his choice. Maybe I should let him walk into Rex's trap. 

But another part of me, small though it might be, didn't want that for him. He wasn't exactly innocent, but JC didn't deserve what Rex had in store for him. Once upon a time, that man had ruined my life. I knew what he was capable of. Could I really let him do that to someone else?

A someone I was falling in love with?

Barksdale met me at the door, tail wagging, expectant gaze in his eyes. He looked past me, at the spot where JC usually parked and whined.

"I know, buddy," I said, collapsing onto the couch with a sigh. "I miss him, too."

 

 

"I'm getting real tired of you ducking me. I'm trying to make moves for you and I'm getting voicemail when I call. What's wrong with you?" 

I sat up, swinging my feet to the floor, groggy and disoriented. I'd been at the studio for days, working my ass off. I finally felt like I could sleep, so I came home, just barely making it to the couch. I was still in the clothes I'd worn the day before. My beard was thick and unruly and there was a taste in my mouth that resembled roadkill. The phone, my actual house telephone, woke me up.

It wasn't until Eric called me at the house that I realized I didn't have my cell. I'd turned it off at Big Wangs and probably left it there. My Apple Watch, which was supposed to be my backup and failsafe, was dead. I hadn't gotten in the habit of charging it and hadn't bothered to put it back on its stand.

"Uh... hey, Eric." I rubbed what felt like gravel from my eyes.  "Sorry... I've been a little out of touch, I guess."

"A little? You'd better get your head out of your ass."

Eric bitched a considerable amount but his bark was worse than his bite. Besides, he worked for me, not the other way around. There was a limit to what he could say or do. I just... wasn't in the mood to put him in his place. I couldn't even find my shoes.

"So, be ready in an hour," he was saying. "I need you showered and shaved."

"Wha-" I cleared the frog from my throat. I was starting to come to. "What are you talking about? Where are we going in an hour?"

"You didn't get any of my messages? We're meeting Rex at The Ivy for lunch."

"What... today?"

"Yes, today. You would have known that on Monday if you'd been paying attention. Get your ass up and get moving. It's Rex Luther; I'm not rescheduling this meeting."

 

>>||<<

 

An hour later, Eric pulled into the valet lane in the Ivy's circular driveway. A gaggle of paparazzi was poised, cameras held aloft to catch the arrival of A-list stars and their B, C and D-list counterparts. Eric was dressed like he managed an A-lister- dark suit, crisp white shirt, tie and pocket square to match, even in August LA heat.

I was dressed considerably less A-list, in a white t-shirt and dark jeans with converse sneakers. He'd rolled his eyes when I opened the door, slipped on my shades and said I was ready to go.

"I'm not changing," I'd told him.

"It's the Ivy, JC. You have to wear a jacket."

I grumbled and reached into the front hall closet for the first jacket I could lay my hands on. "I'll put it on when we get there."

Since we were approaching the front door, I slipped my arms into a navy blue jacket that still smelled like cologne from the last time I'd worn it. We were shown to a table in a far corner of the restaurant. Rex and his entourage had already arrived.

He looked the same as he'd always looked-- black t-shirt, black leather pants, black boots. His jet black hair was combed back from his face. A pair of shades hung from the collar of his shirt and his nose bore a black pearl earring. He was missing the black lipstick, but I supposed it was a little early in the day for full makeup.

He stood as we approached the table, however there was only seating for two. "Your manager can sit over there with my folks," he said, nodding toward a group of men in dark suits a few tables away.

"No way," Eric started. "No deals get signed unless I'm-"

"Eric." I gestured toward the table and grabbed the back of a chair. "I'll call you over when we're ready to talk numbers. Go," I goaded, when he hesitated. He slowly made his way over to the table and insisted on sitting where he could see me.

Rex sat, spreading a black linen napkin across his lap. He grinned up at me, his blue eyes glinting. "I love putting my team at a table a few spots away from me. It reminds them that they're peons that work for me."

 "You play a lot of games with people. Mind games. Heart games. Don't you ever worry that it will backfire?"

"Not really," he answered, so flip and nonchalant, it pissed me off. "You think you're smarter than me, Mr. Boyband? That you can get one over on me, teach me a lesson?"

He reached for a half glass of water with lime and sucked down the remaining liquid. The ice sloshed around in the glass. Then I realized it wasn't ice water.  I propped an elbow on the table, cupping my chin. I eyed him for a few moments. "It's 12:30. Just barely afternoon. Are you drunk?"

"Getting there," he answered with a slapass smile, then clapped his hands together. "But don't worry. I'm totally alert. I'm ready to talk about this song you're going to write for me. It's going to be a hit, the girls are going to love it, the guys are going to hate it but they'll buy it anyway and me and you will make a ton of money."

I pulled a notebook out of my satchel and flipped to a page.  I turned it around so he could read it. "After listening to your catalog, I'm wasn't sure how well a ballad would fit. I brought something that's a little rocky, still peppy with that sweet note you're looking for."

"Let's see what we have here," he mumbled. He squinted, making face. "I can't... what does this say?"

"Let me read it to you." I flipped the notebook back around and read the lyrics aloud.

 

You feel like it's all gonna change

It's written on your face

But girl don't be afraid

Let's talk about us

And the promises we made

How they still mean the same

The questions in your heart can't be erased

You say I won't come home

And that I'm leaving you alone

But you'll always be with me wherever I go

Close your eyes

Hear what my voice says

It all comes down to making choices

Can you hear me now?

Do you know how much you mean to me?

I'm just a heartbeat away

So girl don't be afraid

See time goes by so slowly

In my heart you're the one and only

And I can't wait for you to hold me

 

"Okay, that's enough of that." Rex mused, sucking down his second glass of... whatever he was drinking in record time. "You boy banders like things mushy and lovey, don't you?"

I smiled, taking the criticism in stride. "Women want to see female singers be strong and self-sufficient. That's why Kelly Clarkson and P!nk get the play they get. In male singers, they want to see vulnerability. The more of your heart you can show, the more they swoon. The more you let go of the macho, the bigger the hit."

"Is that right?" He slurped another mouthful, then focused his gaze on me.  "Is that how you get so much snatch?"

I tried to hold my smile, but it didn't work. "Look, I know you're used to referring to women-"

"Bitches."

"--as cunts and snatch and other colorful terms. Do your fans like that kind of thing?"

"They eat it up." He shrugged a shoulder and sucked down another swallow. The smarmy grin on his face made me want to punch him in it. He dug and poked and prodded and pushed buttons until a person snapped.

I was about there.

"So the song," he said, leaning onto his folded arms. "It's sweet for me. I'm not much for writing but it needs to lose a lot of sap. If you wanted to share co-writer credit, I could move some words around-"

"Dalton."

A familiar voice sent familiar tingles down my spine. I turned in my seat to find Lena standing behind my chair. The maître 'd rushed to the table and gripped her arm.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Luther. She slipped in and bypassed the staff. I'll get rid of her-"

"No, no. It's fine. Go." Rex waived away the little man in glasses and gave Lena a huge grin. "Lena Sandoval. Very long time no see. You're looking well-fucked."

I gripped the edge of the table and started to stand. "You know what... I'm about three seconds from-"

"JC." Lena laid a hand on my shoulder. Something about the look she gave me made me back down.  Reluctantly, I settled into my chair. Lena grabbed a chair from another table and slid it across to ours.

"I wish I could say it was good to see you, Dalton."

"You of all people know my name is Rex."

"Come on, now. Let's be real. It's Dalton. Dalton Brock Richards. You didn't grow up on the mean streets of anywhere-you're from Greenwich, Connecticut. Your parents are firmly upper middle class. You played lacrosse and baseball. You're a fucking blonde. You didn't learn to play the guitar until you saw KISS on TV and thought they were cool. That's where you get all your inspiration for this..."

She leveled a hand at his attire. "This look you have going. It's a good thing you were some kind of prodigy. You play well enough that your band only has to cover for you a little bit. During live shows, you play with a backing track. I bet no one even knows the difference."

Rex was beet red, first from the alcohol, then from the filleting he was getting from Lena. "Whatever, bitch," he said, in what must have been his normal speaking voice. It was so ordinary. "I'm riding this image all the way to the bank."

"An image I created for you. Everything you are, everything you have, everything you ever will be, you owe to me. And this is the thanks I get?"

He snorted, then emptied his glass and shook it at a passing waiter. The waiter nodded and rushed away to bring him a fresh glass.

 "JC, there's something you should know," she said, turning her attention to me. "Unfortunately, as great as this opportunity sounds, I don't think Rex was planning to hire you. I think he found out about you and me and decided to fuck with me one last time. Using money. And fame and notoriety."

"Oh bravo," said Rex, sarcastically clapping. "You still think you're smart, don't you? No, I wasn't really planning to buy a song from him. You figured it out... so what?"

He nodded his head toward the notebook, which still sat in the middle of the table. "The song, though. I didn't expect it to actually be good. I could use it, if you're really selling it."

For a few moments, I said nothing. I leveled a glare at Rex and stared until he glanced away.  Finally, I said, "The song was never for sale."

His gaze quickly shot back to me, his expression reddening. "What the fuck-your manager said-"

"I wrote a song," I explained. "Took two days to write it. Burned the midnight oil last night, in fact. But I was never going to sell it to you. The song is for Lena."

I glanced at her and watched a tiny gasp of surprise fall out of her mouth. 

"What I wanted was for you to see what knowing a woman like Lena is supposed to do to a man. I wanted you to see what I was willing to leave behind for her. I wanted-"

I paused, moving my focus to Lena. "Scratch that- I wanted you to see that I'm falling in love with you. And if walking away from this job proves that to you, okay. But that's not why I'm doing it. I wanted Rex to see what he threw away. I wanted him to know that you found someone that loves you. That treats you well, that appreciates you. Someone who is..."

I shook my head. "Really sorry he fell for this stunt and hurt you. I will never step over you to further my career. I will never turn my back on you for money or notoriety."

"JC..." She laughed and her eyes slid closed for a few moments, long lashes brushing her full, reddening cheeks. Her voice was husky and low, catching at the back of her throat. "Thank you for the song. What I heard of it was beautiful. But I've been doing a lot of thinking and Rex...Dalton... whatever the fuck he's calling himself these days...he doesn't matter to me. When I found out that he knew about you, I knew exactly what he was doing. I came to warn you, but not about what you think."

She leaned over to me, resting a hand on my thigh. The heat from her palm burned through the denim to my skin. I hadn't touched her in what felt like forever. I laid a hand over hers and squeezed. She squeezed back.

"I want you to sell the song, JC."

"You want... what?"

"Sell the song," she repeated. "I don't care anymore about my past with Rex. He's nothing to me, as of right now. But, speaking as a publicist, this is business. If Rex can make it chart, it means not just money but a name for you. You could be big again, if that's what you want. I'm not going to stand in the way of that."

"Listen to her, man. This goes big, you could be on top.  An A-list celebrity." Rex smiled like that that was a goal I'd set to achieve.

"I've been there. I'm not in a hurry to get back there. Lunch at the Ivy, four guys in suits following me around all the time, not having any privacy. Losing the respect of someone that means a lot to me." I shook my head. "No. I want the life I have. I want to come home to you and Barksdale and go for walks at Runyon and go to the movies and make dinner and go places with the dog. And... you know, the Mustang is always revved and ready."

Lena burst into giggles, then realized where we were. And who we were with.  She slapped a hand over her mouth.

"So is the song for sale or isn't it? Co-writing credit. If it charts, we both win and you can buy Lena some diamonds or some shit. What do you say?" Rex extended a hand across the table. "Partners?"

I grabbed the notebook and flipped the cover closed, then slid it back into the satchel. "Like I said, Dalton, the song was never for sale."

"You dick! She said you could sell the song!" Rex stood knocking over his glass, his hands curled into fists. "I'm not leaving without it."

"Looks like you are. It's not for sale. I'm going to finish it, then record it and Lena will have the only copy."

I pushed my chair back and stood, then offered a hand to Lena. She took it and let me lead her out of the restaurant, in front of every eye in the place. I saw Eric get up and follow us out.

He would very likely be pissed at me. I walked away from millions of dollars and what might have been a whole lot of fame, but I didn't care. I had Lena and I was never letting her go.

Outside, Lena came to an abrupt stop, which meant I stopped, too. "JC, are you sure about this? Really, really sure. He will never, ever ask you for music again. Once you turn him down, you've burnt your bridge."

I stepped in close, sliding an arm around her waist, pulling her close to me. "Lena, I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. If you forgive me and take me back, I will happily never entertain another deal from that guy. How ‘bout it?"

She huffed, but she was hardly serious. "Well, I'm still pissed at you."

"I figure you'll be mad at me for a long while and I deserve it. I'll make it up to you, I promise. I'll take Dog Shit Duty for the next 6 months. Starting tonight."

She smiled, though she was trying not to. It was her most hated task, so I knew it was tempting. "I... suppose I can be pissed at you and still make dinner."

"I can't wait." I dipped my head toward her, but stopped before I reached her lips. If she was still too mad to kiss me, I had a lot of work to do.

But she tilted her head up so our lips met and brushed them against mine. I took that as my cue and hungrily claimed her mouth, sucking on her bottom lip. Lena moaned into my mouth and pressed herself into me, cupping my chin with both hands, using her thumbs to stroke my cheeks. It wasn't until we heard the pop pop pop of cameras that we realized we were still standing in front of the Ivy. I started to pull away, but Lena held me close to her. 

"We're going viral right now, honey."

 "I don't care. Did you mean what you said in there? To Rex... about me?"

"Every single word. I'm in love with you and I want a life with you. The question is, do you want me? Do you want that life too? I'm just a guy that did some stuff that people remember from a long time ago, but if I'm too much of a celebrity for you-"

She stepped back, winding her arm around mine and pulling me toward her SUV in the self-park lot. "There's someone at my house that doesn't care how much money you have and if you drive a Mercedes fucking AMG and how many people know your face. He misses long walks and belly rubs and ear tugs. He has looked for you for days and days and I'm very interested in reuniting the two of you."

"I mean, I miss Barksdale too, but-"

"And then I'm very interested in reuniting the two of us. We have some time to make up for." She winked, then walked around to the driver's side of the car. "And I miss the Mustang."

"That's what I'm talkin' about," I muttered with a grin and climbed in on the passenger side.

 

 

Five months later...

 

"Honey! Come see this!"

 I abandoned the box I was unpacking and hopped down the stairs to the living room where JC was packing a box. Moving me into his house wasn't going as easily as we had planned. In order to make room for me, Barksdale and our things, he had to box up a few of his. He claimed to not care what stayed and what went to storage, but he was closely guarding his gold records and MTV awards.   

JC leaned an arm against the window pane, beckoning me to join him in staring at whatever had captured his attention. Outside, my big, beautiful Mastiff-who'd grown two feet and gained 75 pounds, had commandeered a huge floating cushion and was in the middle of the pool. On his back, legs in the air, head tossed to the side and his tongue sticking out. To say that Barksdale had become acclimated to living at JC's house was obviously an understatement.

"He is beauty, style and grace," I said, watching him float while fast asleep.

"He's a big dork, is what he is," said JC, shaking his head, then moving back to the shelves he was working on clearing. "How many shelves do you think you need?"

"Well, mine were floor to ceiling. And full. So..." I shrugged a shoulder, then watched JC stretch his arms up above his head. His t-shirt rolled up, revealing a flat belly and the happy trail that led to the waistband of his shorts.

"So you need a lot more shelves, is what you're saying." He rolled his t-shirt back down, much to my disappointment. "How're you making it upstairs?"

"Some things in your closet have to go. Like everything in the back that you don't wear anymore."

"What, like my celebrity clothes?"

I nodded, stifling a laugh. JC had a whole section of his closet that he reserved for clothing he only wore when he was "in the role". Otherwise it was jeans and t-shirts and converse sneakers and a very un-celebrity like existence.   

He walked past me toward the stairs, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me with him "A lot of those can move to another room. Let's go take a look."

I recognized his ruse to get me to the bedroom, but I followed his lead anyway. In the months since that day at the Ivy, he and I had grown so close we were practically finishing each other's sentences. Barksdale was getting big and gaining weight, completely growing out of my tiny condo.  We were together all the time anyway, so we'd made the decision to move us to his house. Despite how small my condo was, the process had been painfully slow, but we had finally moved the last box, the last piece of furniture and the last rawhide bone. Now all that was left was the unpacking.

"You're making good progress," he said, noting the empty boxes I had flattened and set out into the hallway. Along the walls, amid fancy, expensive paintings were a few pieces of my art. Most of my clothes and shoes had made it to the closet and the bathroom was pretty much a shrine to Sexy Hair. He nodded, looking around at how I'd managed to infiltrate... well, take over his bedroom.

"Do you like the bedspread? You needed a new one." I'd replaced his plain, navy blue bedspread with a black and charcoal grey designed comforter. The sheets were a steel blue and, despite his complaining about a ridiculous amount of pillows, the pillowcases matched as well.

"You're here. That's all I care about. C'mere."

He pulled me toward him, flush up against him. I felt his hardness through the cotton shorts he wore. A chain reaction rolled through my body, stiffening my nipples and sending goosebumps rippling across my skin.

"This isn't going to get me unpacked, JC."

"That's not on my list of ideas."

He lowered his lips to mine and kissed me, then moved to whisper his lips across my shoulder and under my ear. I shuddered and rose up onto my toes, wrapping my arms around his neck. His hands moved from the small of my back to the curve of my ass and pulled me tighter against him.

"Let's try out that IED thing you got."

I giggled, backing up toward the bed. "It's an IUD. An IED is an explosive device."

"Oh." He didn't bother to blush or be embarrassed about his mistake. "So I'm the IED."

"Exactly." I grabbed him by the collar and pulled him toward me. He landed on top of me, our lips meshing together, our tongues twirling around one another until I couldn't take it anymore.

I sat up halfway and pulled the strapless top I wore over my head. JC followed suit, each of us pulling off an item of clothing in between feverish kisses and sultry moans. His hands kneaded my breasts, alternating between the rasps of his thumbs and his tongue across the tips of my nipples. My hips convulsed in reaction, which made JC groan, sending a vibration through my body to the tips of my toes.

"Hey," I whispered, making him pause mid-crawl down my body. "I want to have sex with a celebrity."

He chuckled, then continued his crawl, dropping kisses and nibbles from my belly to a thin strip of hair. "Sorry, honey. There are no celebrities here. Just this guy that's in love with you."

"I guess I can handle-" My back arched and my hips jerked up off of the bed as soon as his tongue made the first swipe down my clit. "Oh.... fuck, yes!"

"Yes?" He kissed the inside of one thigh and then the other.  "You sure? I can go get a celebrity if you really-"

I grabbed a tuft of hair at the top of his head and gently tugged until his face was buried in my pussy and he was licking, sucking and nibbling like his life depended on it. My hips rolled in rhythm to his movements, driving me higher and pulling grunts and moans that were louder than I'd ever been at my condo. Now that we were in a house, we were enjoying the ability to be vocal.

"Fuck! Okay, stop... please." On a dime, he stopped, lifting his head to catch my eye. I hooked my hands under his arms and pulled, bringing him up to me, making sure he was aligned with my body. Without another word, I maneuvered a hand between us and guided him to me.

I was slick and warm, so ready for him that I almost came as soon as I felt him push into me. JC groaned, loudly, like the feeling was mutual. "Goddamn," he muttered, dipping his head to my shoulder.

A low hiss rolled from my clenched teeth. He made long, excruciatingly slow thrusts, savoring the way we moved together, the way he felt inside me. He plunged deep, and then pulled all the way out, then plunged deep again. Over. And Over. And Over. Every few strokes he would thrust harder and faster, sending the headboard slamming against the wall. And then he would slow down again.

I was nearly climbing the walls. My legs tightened around him. I kissed him, then whispered across his lips, "I love you so much."

"Mmmm," he moaned into my mouth, never missing a beat. "I love you too. I'm gonna come. You comin' with me?"

"Yes," I whimpered, grinding my hips against him. His body jerked. His bottom lip crept between his teeth as he moved like a piston, faster, harder until my back arched and my toes curled and I screamed his name until my throat was raw. Right behind me, JC came, thrusting until he was empty and exhausted.

He collapsed on top of me, his skin a ruddy red and covered with a sheen of sweat. My legs were beginning to regain strength; I lifted them and locked them around his torso and drew my arms around his shoulders.

"Way to christen the bedding, huh?"

"I thought it was a good idea," he answered with a grin, settling himself between my legs. "Something to pass the time." I ran a hand through his hair, wiping sweat from his hairline. "Watch the hair, now. I have a photoshoot tomorrow for Sexy LA."

"Oh, it'll be fine."

"Hey, uh... did you hear about Rex?"

I shook my head. "No. I actually haven't thought about him since that day at the Ivy. What happened?"

"Rehab. It was announced this morning, after he was bailed out of jail for punching some guy at a club and breaking some windows. I guess his management is making him go."

I rolled my eyes and JC laughed. "If he would have just listened to me-"

"We would have never met."

I leaned up to kiss him, cupping his face in my hands. "You're right. I wouldn't have gone through all that shit, but I wouldn't have found out how strong I really am. I wouldn't have found a career in an industry that I really love. And I wouldn't have met the man of my dreams."

JC's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "The man of your dreams?"

I smiled at him, remembering Jen's prediction that JC would be the One for me. "The man of my dreams. You are not a celebrity. And I love that about you."