Part 8 (1/2)
”Porter,” I corrected automatically, ”And yes, apparently. I can't say I'm all that upset about it either. I don't want to talk about the c.l.i.t Wizard anymore. I've already decided that I'm not seeing him again. There's no way we'd work out, Becks.”
”You don't know that!” she protested.
”Oh, but I do,” I said coolly, ”We're just too different. No amount of chemistry can bridge that gap.”
”You're just determined to suck all the fun out of my life, aren't you?”
”Yes, Becks. My sole purpose in life is to not date a p.o.r.n star just so you miss out on all the dirty details. If you like him so much, you go date him!”
Her mouth snapped shut as she seemed to consider my proposition for a moment.
”You're not dating him either, Becks! I don't want him in my life! I don't want to be around him at all! He's a p.o.r.n star for Christ's sake! There is nothing outside of s.e.x and money that he can possibly offer me!”
My best friend's eyes narrowed. She stared at me long and hard before she spoke quietly, ”When did you become so judgmental, Holly? When did stereotypes become an option for you?”
It was my turn to be struck speechless.
She stared at me silently for several long moments, waiting for my response.
After the silence stretched well into uncomfortable territory, I whispered the only words that came to mind, ”I don't know.”
”Honestly, Preston, I don't know why I even try! The woman hates me. There is no coming back from this. It's a lost cause.”
”n.o.body can hate you, Porter. You're too d.a.m.n charismatic for your own good. It's literally impossible.”
”Well, Holly Nash does.”
I had just finished giving him the details of my miserable dinner with the beast of Hollywood. I tossed back another shot of Jack and let the burn of the alcohol chase away the last remaining traces of Holly's gentle smile and steely, sensual gaze.
”Why do you care so much?”
”Because she's my ticket out, Preston.”
It was only a half-lie.
And Preston knew it. He grinned at me over his martini.
”There are dozens of other casting directors you could sleep with to get your big break, Porter.”
”But none of them are Holly Nash.”
The weight of the statement packed a h.e.l.l of a punch with me.
I told myself that my newfound infatuation with her was just because I wasn't accustomed to being denied. It was sound logic according to my ego, but part of me was screaming ”Bulls.h.i.+t!”
I did my best to school my features so that he didn't pick up on it. If Preston thought for even an instant that there was something more to my feelings for Holly, he'd turn into a dog with a bone.
That bone wasn't one I was ready to chew on just yet.
”She's the best, little brother.” I reached around the bar and grabbed the bottle of Blue Label Johnny Walker that he always kept stashed out of sight. I poured a neat two fingers and raised my gla.s.s, ”You know how I feel about the best.”
He rolled his eyes and raised his own gla.s.s. ”When you can have anything you want,” he lowered his voice and did his best imitation of me, ”why settle for less than the best?”
It had been my mantra for more than a decade. My father had asked me that very question once when I was nine and trying to decide on a birthday present. It just stuck.
We sipped our drinks and settled into a comfortable silence.
After several long seconds and another sip of scotch, he set his gla.s.s down with a gentle clink and leaned his elbows on the gleaming bar top.
”Cut the s.h.i.+t, Porter. You like her.”
The little s.h.i.+t was sharp. I didn't insult him by denying it.
”You can try to pretend it's just business all you want, but I'm not stupid. I've known you better than you know yourself. I've never seen you like this over a woman, regardless of her job t.i.tle. There's a h.e.l.l of a lot more to this than you're telling me. I'm gonna guess there's a h.e.l.l of a lot more to it than you're willing to admit to yourself, too. But I'll tell you this, if there's anything going on between the two of you, it's worth pursuing. Women like her don't come along every day.”
I downed the rest of my Johnny in a single gulp.
”It's been nice chatting with you, baby brother, but I have s.h.i.+t to do. Say a word about any of this to Holly and I'll kick your a.s.s.”
I walked out of my Preston's house without another word or a backward glance. There were a lot of things I'd talk to the kid about, but my infatuation with his friend was not one of them. He was reliable in a lot of ways, but keeping secrets for me had never really been one of his strong suits.
Especially where women were concerned.
I climbed inside my Land Rover and slammed my finger down on the ignition b.u.t.ton. The engine and the stereo roared to life in unison, the soothing sounds of Metallica's 'Fuel' came blaring out of the speakers. There was no room left in my head for Preston's words to echo around and for this, I was thankful.
I slammed my foot down on the gas pedal, shooting gravel behind me in an impressive spray of tiny projectiles.
I shot onto the street and made a right. I wasn't sure where I was going, or what I'd do when I got there, but it seemed that my foot was in a hurry to arrive.
I found myself flying south on the Five a few minutes later.
The windows were rolled down, the music was cranked up, and the faintest hint of the Pacific hung in the summer air. Only the occasional pa.s.sing car and the glow of streetlights at regular intervals punctuated the rolling darkness of the freeway in front of me.
It was just after four in the morning when I crossed into San Diego city limits. I headed southwest on Camino Del Rio and continued toward the beach on Rosecrans. Ten minutes later, I parked the Rover at the edge of the sand and changed into my board shorts.
There was no need to bother with the awkward ha.s.sle of changing inside the car. Even if there was anyone else around at four-thirty in the morning, it was hard to find someone in the state of California who didn't know my name. If they didn't recognize my face, there were other parts of my anatomy that tended to get me out of trouble.
The sand was still warm as I stepped onto it. Each tiny granule scrubbed at my feet with every step and the crash of the waves to my left took me away from the city as I walked north along the coast.
There's something about the beaches of southern California that just draws me to them like a moth to a flame. I know that hundreds, if not thousands, of deadly creatures live beneath the thunderous surf, but I'll be d.a.m.ned if I can keep myself out of the ocean. Some people are drawn to the mountains, some to the forest, and some of the most f.u.c.ked up people I know are actually drawn to the flat no-mans-land of the Bible Belt. I am not one of those people. I have to be close to the ocean. It's like a giant, wet security blanket full of killer beasts.
The sun had come up when I finally pulled myself from the hypnotic pull of the ocean to take stock of my surroundings. A few hundred yards further north, the coastline rose sharply out of the sea to form a small range of cliffs.
I had kayaked them dozens of times.
One of the main attractions of La Jolla were the caverns that wormed through the rock faces at low tide. The first of the adventure seekers were already packing their boats into the water.
I found myself walking toward the kayak rental kiosk up the sh.o.r.e a ways to join them when my phone rang.
”Yeah?”