Hollywood Holden: Los Angeles Bad Boys (5 page)

W
hen we wake
in the middle of the night, Bexley looks more beautiful than ever. She's glowing, her skin drenched with sweat and her long brown hair covering her full tits. Nestled in my arms, she’s the perfect fit. Even though the twin-sized bed requires her to be smooshed up against me, I don't mind. Not in the least.

Maybe she and I could be everything we haven't had the chance to be before.

"Oh, crap," she says, sitting up. "What time is it?"

I look at my phone. "It's after three," I tell her.

"I've got to go. My parents will be worried."

I raise an eyebrow. "Still got a curfew?"

"Not a curfew, but I know they'll expect me to be home. I don't want to worry them."

Instantly, I'm reminded of dozens of similar conversations with Bexley. What she can't do, or can't be, or can't try, because her parents will be disappointed, angry, sad, scared.

Never anything about what
she
actually wants. Who
she
wants to be.

"Them. Right." I nod, getting up from bed and slipping on my boxers, even though what I really want to do is lift her ass up and test out her pussy from another angle. She has no fucking clue how hot she is in bed. "You okay to drive?"

"We didn't get wasted, we slept together," she says, pulling on her black pants. White blouse. Ballet flats. Still the quintessential Bex uniform, even after all this time.

Damn it looks good on her.

"Maybe not wasted, but I sure as hell ruined you."

"Ha," she deadpans. "Sorry, to leave like this, but...."

"It's cool. I'll walk you out."

At her car, I open her door, not wanting her to get inside. Not knowing exactly what I
do
want.

Her. Me. Everything?

"Can I call you?" I ask.

"Call me?" She furrows her brow. "Like, to get coffee or something?"

I shrug, feeling a tinge of rejection. "Or, like, something more."

"Uh. Sure," she says, with little enthusiasm. She hands me her phone, has me send myself a text so I have her number.

"Right. Well, then." I pause. Why did this just get so fucking awkward?

Maybe because I literally never get myself into a situation where I ask a girl out for a second time. Hell, even a first time. I do hook-ups and threesomes, and giving out my number isn't something that comes with that territory. My assistant, Lindy, fields my calls. I don't make dates.

"Thank you Holden, for accepting my apology. For giving me a chance to finish what we started—what we should have done all those years ago," she says.

Before I can answer, or even fucking process her words, she practically jumps into her Volvo and drives away. The streetlights pour over the dark street as her headlights fade into the distance.

* * *

T
he next morning
, Mom and I go for a long jog. It's my suggestion; I’m hoping it will allow us to avoid talking to one another about the fact that Bexley's car was in the driveway last night.

Mom, though, is never subtle. With our Nikes laced and the pavement dry, we head for a five-mile run, where she apparently plans on discussing everything about last night with me.

"Lindy is so fun. I had no idea. We went to a bar, had a blast. Did karaoke. When’s the last time I did karaoke?"

"I have no idea," I say, impressed with her ability to talk while jogging at such a good clip.

"She says I'm free to come to LA and she'll hook me up with more
livin' la vida loca
."

"Did she actually use those words?" I ask, re-indexing the Lindy I've known for the last year.

Mom matches me stride for stride, and slaps my arm. "Oh shush. Now," she says, an extra bounce in her step—which is remarkable, in my opinion, considering we're on mile three. "What happened with Bexley?"

"We caught up."

"Did you make up from your fight?"

"Mom, you remember that? It was four years ago?"

"I think everyone remembers."

My jaw tenses. "We made up." When I don't add any more details, Mom takes the hint and drops it altogether, instead using the final two miles to catch me up on my sister Catalina and her summer plans.

Apparently Catalina wants to come out to LA, too.

* * *

T
he town car
comes at noon, as promised by Lindy. She's already texted me three articles documenting my successful theater reveal—though apparently inquiring minds want to know the deal with the theater's name.

I pocket my phone, and tell the driver to head toward Central Ave. I need to see Bex one last time before I go.

The driver stops at her house, and I walk up and knock on her front door.

"Mr. Maddon, good to see you," I say, offering Bex’s father—my former shop teacher—my hand. He looks at it for a solid three seconds before reaching out and shaking it.

Some things never motherfucking change.

"Bex here?" I ask.

He nods curtly before swinging the door open wider, letting me step inside the foyer.

It’s the exact same: same framed
Tolling Volunteer of the Year
certificates on the wall, same row of shoes by the closet, same table holding a vase of fake sunflowers. Even though Bexley and I spent countless hours at the school theater, I never got further in her house than this front entrance.

"Bexley, Holden's here." Mr. Maddon calls. Turning back to me, he smiles tightly and asks, "Are you just in town for last night's unveiling? Going back to Los Angeles today?"

"Yes," I tell him. "Yes, sir. Uh, I come back a few times a year, but mostly my mom and sister come out and see me."

"I bet."

I narrow my eyes. "What does that mean?"

Mr. Maddon, shrugs, smiling in a way that feels hella condescending. "Isn't that the way it's always been with you, Holden? Always what you want, not considering what other people need?"

This comment really pisses me off. My mom and sister love coming to LA. I hook them up with spa treatments at the Four-fucking-Seasons and get them tickets to any premier I can. To hell with Mr. Maddon and his sweater vest and his family of the year.

But I don't need to justify shit with him.

Instead I smirk, which I'm sure really irritates him. "I'm sure you're right, sir."

Bex walks into the room. Her lips are painted red again, but I know they’re still swollen from last night. Because they were wrapped around my cock for plenty of time.

"Holden," she says, looking confused. "I thought you were headed back to LA?"

"I am, I just wanted to stop and say good-bye."

"Oh," she says, looking at her dad. "Uh, Dad, I'm going out front with Holden."

Once outside, with the door closed, she crosses her arms. "You know my parents hate you."

"Ouch."

"What? Holden, your reputation is the same as it's always been."

"Okay," I say uneasily, not exactly sure what her beef is. "It didn't seem to bother you last night."

She presses her index finger to her lip. "I don't want them to know."

I lean in, whispering, "Don't want them to know what? That you like sucking my cock as much as I like licking your pussy?"

Her face turns beet red, but her eyes cross. "I don't like that kind of talk, Holden. I'm not like your other girls."

I pull away, raise my hands. "Okay. This is not what I fucking expected."

"What did you expect, Holden?" She shakes her head, speaking softly, "Look, last night was amazing, and something I know we’ve both wanted for a really long time. And I thought it was the best way to ask for your forgiveness."

"Seriously? It was a
forgiveness
fuck?"

"Is that even a thing?" she asks.

"I think you made it one, girl." I step farther away, so fucking pissed. For four years she pushed me away, and now it's like she’s doing it all over again.

"Don't, Holden. Don't walk away mad. I thought we settled things last night."

"Nothing is settled, Bexley." I lift my eyes to the sky, wishing we could be on the same page.

"What do you want from me?" she asks. "I have my life here. I'm student teaching, and I’m about to start my career. Meanwhile, you're starring in action movies where you have maybe twelve lines in an entire ninety-minute film, and you’re on the cover of every magazine with a different Hollywood hottie every week."

"Wow. So that's what you think of me?"

"Is there more?"

"Fuck, Bex. Really? You're going to judge my movie choices now?"

"You're better than that. You could be a real actor."

"And you could be less judgmental."

"I'm not judging you. I'm sorry. That wasn't nice. You are making an amazing career for yourself—not exactly the one I thought you were after, but you're on the cover of every magazine. You’ve made a name for yourself, that's for sure."

"And meanwhile you’re back at Tolling High. But
I'm
the sell-out."

Of course I moved to LA hoping I'd star in a film that valued me beyond my ripped body and bright smile. But Johnny Jumper was a sure bet, a guaranteed paycheck ... even if I know the movies aren't exactly adding value to the culture.

Changing my career path now is terrifying. What if I'm a hack? What if I'm nothing more than Johnny?

Staring at Bex now, I realize that of
course
she's the only one who would call me out about my movie roles. She's the one who always believed I was more than a pretty face.

"Last night was incredible," I say, hating that I'm trying to convince her of something we both know is the goddamn truth. "Don't pretend it wasn't."

"Last night wasn't real life. It was something that was a long time coming. It was you and I finally finishing what we started when we were kids."

"So it's finished?" I ask, my voice growing loud. "That's what you're trying to tell me? Last night was your good-bye?"

"I think so, Holden. As long as you're the man you're choosing to be, and I'm the woman I'm choosing to be, I don't think those two people can mesh."

"And you don't want to try?"

"Try
what
exactly, Holden?" She shakes her head and a tendril of hair falls from her bun. She tucks it behind her ear, licks her lips, not meeting my eyes. But I see a tear fall from her eye. "I think we already made our choices."

"That's fucking bullshit. You haven't changed, Bexley. Not one bit." I ball my hand into a fist, pound it against my other palm. I’m so fucking pissed.

Tears stream down her cheeks and I hate that she doesn't want me to wipe them away.

Fuck that, I know she wants me to. She wants me. But Bexley never gives in to what she really wants. Except last night—that was the single time she's ever followed her heart.

I breathe, meet her gaze, tell her the truth: "You’re still the same scared girl, following orders and ignoring your heart. You're the world-class actor here. Not me."

"I think you should go," she says, wiping her tears.

I turn and walk away.

A
s Holden walks away
I feel like a legitimate bitch.

But, come on, who am I kidding?

He shows up here in his town car, headed back to LA and a world I know nothing about.

And besides, we said we made up for the past ... but did we really? Did a forgiveness fuck erase anything besides my curiosity about what-if?

Now I have the answer. Holden was amazing in bed. He blew my mind. There’s no denying that.

But when I woke up at three AM, naked in his arms, all I could imagine were the other girls who have ended up in that exact same place in the middle of the night. Pussy aching and lips swollen and nipples still erect.

Am I an insecure girl?

Absolutely. I have never once hid that from anyone, least of all from myself.

And so I tell him to go, because the truth is, we haven't spoken in four years. The truth says an awful lot. If we were really meant for more ... meant to be
Beldon
, then I doubt either of us could have walked away.

Twice.

But we did.

I call Sami. "So," I tell her. "I did it."

"No fucking way!" Her shriek is deafening and I hold the phone from away to save my eardrums. "Precious little Bexley lost her V-Card. To the hottest man in America. Tell me everything. Was the interview he did for Cosmo true? Does he really like to fuck for hours and then call in room service?"

"I don't know about that. We had sex in his childhood bedroom."

"OMG, that's even better. It's nostalgic. I mean, didn't you two almost kiss there one time?"

"Almost." I regret telling her about the night we stayed up memorizing lines on his carpeted floor. He was Romeo and I was
not
Juliet. I was playing the part of Juliet's nanny. But I was there to help Holden, reading Juliet’s lines ... and I nearly kissed him as we played our parts.

But, shocker: I pulled back.

Now, on the phone with Sami, I wonder what would have happened if I had leaned in.

"Well," she says. "Tell me ... how was it?"

"It felt like it was supposed to happen. Like it was inevitable."

"A good inevitable though, right?"

"Like
perfect
inevitable. Everything about it felt so safe and natural, and like ... we fit."

"Soooo," she says, drawing out and exaggerating the word. "When is the wedding?"

"He went home. We aren't a thing. And honestly … I mean, we never will be."

"Okay, back up."

"No, I just—I told him we had made our choices, and I had a good time, and I'm glad he forgave me."

"Wow. I knew you were repressed, but I had no idea my bestie was such a cold, hard bitch."

"Don't be like that. It's complicated."

"Did he want more, Bex?"

"I don't know. He wasn't exactly getting down on one knee."

"And if he had, Bex, what would you have said?"

"It doesn't matter. He wasn't. He wasn't offering me anything."

"But if he was."

"If he was?" I sigh, wondering why I’m giving into Sami's line of questioning, remembering this girl can get me to do anything once she’s planted the seed of an idea into my brain. I should hang up right now. Still, she's my best friend and she deserves an answer. "If he was ... I probably would have still said no."

"Because?"

"Because I'm going to be a teacher. And he's a movie star." I pause, not knowing if I should say more and just be done with it. Done with him.

"And?" Sami presses. Damn, this girl is relentless.

"And I don't trust him, Sami. I never have. He's what bad boy romance novels are made of. Lots of girls. Lots of money. No commitments."

"Right," Sami snorts. "Because you're so comfortable with commitment."

"Okay, I love you, but I'm done with this."

"You're the one who called me, Bex. It's not fair to be pissy with me because you're more comfortable living in your own shadow."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means of course you pushed Holden away. The idea of him and you means you have to figure out why you're back in Tolling, and face the reason you never went to LA in the first place."

The line is silent. Sami and Holden have swallowed a little too much truth serum, because I feel blasted with the reality of how they both think of me.

"Listen, Bex, maybe I crossed a line," Sami says, taking on a softer tone she must know I need. "Maybe you don't want to hear this from me. And that's okay. I love you, and I’m here for you. Why don't you call when you’re ready to talk?"

"Love you, too," I say, not able to muster anything more.

* * *

M
onday morning
, I go back to teaching, ready to throw my heart and soul into the job like I never have before. I talk with my advising teacher, Rita Childs, asking if I could take anything else off her plate.

Her eyes get wide with excitement. "Honestly, helping get this office cleared out would be amazing." She looks around the full office, the one that she's still using until she can get her stuff moved into the new theater.

"Okay," I say, assessing the space. "I can totally help."

"Really?" Rita asks.

"I'd love to. I'm not exactly a professional organizer, but sometimes making the decisions is the hardest part of decluttering."

"Well, that would be wonderful. I know it goes above and beyond what’s required of your student teaching, but it would help. I'm swamped."

"Oh, really?" I ask, a little surprised. Not to be dismissive, but I don't get the impression the Rita is exactly overworked.

"Well, my mother's in San Diego, and had knee surgery last month. She's recovering slowly, and I'm going out to see her most weekends—but of course there isn’t time for everything."

"Except now you have me," I tell her, smiling.

"I guess I do." She winks. "You know, I was wondering if Holden showing back up was going to make you regret being here at Tolling High. The old drama teacher told me you two were his shining students."

"Right." I raise my eyebrows. "Mr. Pepper was always generous with the compliments."

"Well, I've been hearing about you from more than your old teacher. I've heard your parents gushing about you in the teachers’ lounge since I started teaching here two years ago."

"Kind of awkward," I mumble, wondering what exactly my parents have been saying.

"Not awkward," Rita says, patting my shoulder. "Proud. Proud that you chose to be a teacher, follow in their footsteps. "

"Right. Well, it's nice to know they're proud of me." I smile tightly. "Working together ... just like I always dreamed."

"Well, I'm glad to have you right here, Bexley. The students are too."

I nod, telling myself that the best thing I can do right now is throw myself all-in to this job. This life that I have.

The one I chose. The one I want.

And the mantra works—until Holden calls me late on Monday night.