Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“Probably. Why don’t you introduce yourself and unleash some Charlie charm on him?”
“I’m not sure who he is exactly. I thought he was the tall skinny guy I’ve seen at a few shows. He was there tonight. He looks uncomfortable and crabby every time, but he keeps showing up. He says he’s not Nelson, but I think he’s lying.”
“Why would he lie? Seems pointless,” I said, slowing behind an old Camry blaring a rap song so loud my truck vibrated.
“Who knows? People lie all the time about stupid stuff. Maybe he knows who I am and doesn’t want to talk to me,” he huffed.
“Now who would do that?” I chuckled.
“Right?”
I reached over to caress his cheek when the urge to touch him became too strong to resist. “You’re gonna get as much shit as I am for bailing early, you know. Justin is probably pissed.”
“I doubt it. He loves mingling with the crowd. He doesn’t need me there to babysit.”
“Yeah, but what about schmoozing the labels?”
“I think we’re done with that.”
I squinted against the glare of neon lights as I came to a stop at a red light. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I think we should do it ourselves…like you suggested.”
“Me?”
“Yes. You said I should go for it and I’m—oh! Stop here.”
“What? Where?” I slammed on the brakes in a panic and raised my hand in apology to the car behind me before pulling to the curb.
“Park your truck anywhere.” He tapped at the window and grinned at me. “That’s romantic!”
“There’s nothing here and I’m not getting a ticket for loitering, so—Charlie, what are you doing?”
He opened the passenger door and hopped out. “Go park across the street where it’s residential. I’ll be waiting for you here.”
I banged my head on the steering wheel, then shook it for good measure. “We should be back at the club partying like rock stars or at one of our places fucking like bunnies. Everything’s closed, Char. There’s nothing to see but those lampposts and we can see those from here. Get in the truck. Let’s go.”
“Meet me in the middle,” he said with a grin before spinning away dramatically and skipping toward the cluster of lampposts to the left of the county museum.
I stared after him in true “what the fuck?” fashion. Thirty minutes ago I’d been onstage, rocking out to an enthusiastic mob of Zero fans in what was arguably our best show ever. How did I end up alone in my crappy old truck with traffic whizzing by me on Wilshire Boulevard? I didn’t know this neighborhood, but I knew better than to walk around by myself anywhere in LA. Obviously Charlie didn’t.
I gritted my teeth and kept an eye out for a break in the traffic before cranking my wheel, then punching the gas to turn down the side street in front of the museum. I parked illegally in front of a chained-off public parking lot, locked up, and ran to the curb, craning my neck to look for him. There was no way to cross Wilshire without becoming roadkill, so I waited impatiently for the light to change before running to the opposite side of the street toward the iconic lampposts.
The permanent art exhibit had been part of the landscape for over a decade, but I’d never actually been here. And I wasn’t exactly in the right frame of mind to enjoy it…until I found Charlie standing in the middle of the sea of old lampposts with his arms open wide and a huge smile on his beautiful face.
“You found me.”
“Yeah, I found you,” I growled.
And I wanted to fuckin’ strangle him. I moved toward him purposefully, composing a parental-sounding speech about safety, responsibility…and other stuff I had no business lecturing anyone about. But as I closed the distance between us, my angst faded and all I wanted to do was hold him.
I swooped Charlie in my arms and squeezed him tight, breathing him in, then burrowing my face in his neck before spinning him in a circle. If possible, his smile was even bigger when I finally set him down.
“Wow. You are romantic,” he sighed dreamily.
“I am not romantic, I’m pissed at you, you little asshole. I should smack your ass for the trick you just pulled.” I pointed my forefinger at his chest and furrowed my brow as I blasted him.
“And kinky too. Yes, please. You should definitely spank me, Ky.”
I released a beleaguered sigh and stuffed my hands into my pockets. “You’re nuts. What are you up to, Char?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to show you this place. Have you been?”
“Not this close, but I’ve driven by it.”
“It’s Hollywood dreamy. Old and new. These lampposts are almost one hundred years old. They lit these streets where the biggest names in show business lived and worked and brought joy to the masses. Cary Grant, Gene Kelly, Rock Hudson, Marilyn Monroe, James Dean, and lots more. I wanted to be like them when I was growing up,” he said wistfully.