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Authors: Frankie Love
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right now?" She moves her screen so it takes in a panoramic view of her in her apartment. "I'm in leggings. And I'm not wearing underwear, but it isn't because I have a hot date, it's because I didn't do the laundry. So, please. Go play. Drink champagne. And have sex with Johnny Jumper."
I air-kiss her good-bye before closing my computer.
A text comes in from Holden: Ten minutes until I'm at your front door .
Sliding matte red lipstick over my penciled-in lips, I look at myself in the mirror, unable to hide the smile spreading across my face.
I may not be a movie star, but I know I sure as hell look like one.
* * *
I try to pretend like this is a normal thing as I head downstairs with my overnight luggage. Yes, I’m a grown-up, but my parents’ judgmental eyes keep me in a perpetual state of inadequacy.
Stepping into the kitchen where my parents are sorting mail at the kitchen table, I barely receive a double-take. And I know I'm double-take worthy at the moment.
"So," I tell them. "I'll be back tomorrow sometime."
"Well, you know where we'll be," Mom says, not looking up.
My parents have volunteered at the local Food Bank every Sunday for the entirety of my life. I’ve spent enough weekends there to know the drill: 10-4, stocking shelves, sorting food, bagging up food for the people who come through the doors.
"Do you have a problem with me going?" I ask. "Because you've barely said two words about it since I told you."
Dad and Mom exchange a look that says where did we go wrong , and I suck in a deep breath, determined to have a good night.
"Bexley," Mom begins, "you know what we think about you spending time with a man like Holden. We just want what's best for you, and starring in movies that are superficial and don't really add anything to society ... well, we're just glad you didn't let his harebrained ideas sway you when you were vulnerable to his attention."
"You're being a little harsh, aren't you?" I know Holden's going to be here any moment, and I don't want him coming all this way to get another condescending tone from my parents.
"You decide that for yourself. Meanwhile, we're glad you're teaching youth about getting some self-esteem and confidence before they go out into the real world. And meanwhile, on our time off, your mom and I will continue to choose the less fortunate in our community, serving those in need. We all have our roles to fill."
My eyes widen, taking in the most passive-aggressive words I've ever heard from my father's mouth. And that’s saying something—my parents have passive-aggressive tendencies down pat.
The doorbell rings. I take a deep breath. "I'll see you tomorrow. Thanks for trusting me," I tell them, unable to stop myself from sinking to their level.
I open the door, clutch and canvas bag in hand, and look at my date.
"Damn," he says, shaking his head and biting his bottom lip. "You look fucking incredible."
Normally I’d look over my shoulder, scared my parents may have heard.
But tonight I don't.
Instead, I offer him my hand, knowing that by the end of the night I'll be offering him a lot more.
Chapter Thirteen
Holden
S he's gorgeous —which I knew she would be. Lindy picked out a dress after I gave her the specifications, and damn, she did good.
With her lips ruby red, her hair in a bun, she looks like herself—except those bare shoulders, the heavy-lidded eyes, those fuck-me-please heels, and that skin-tight satin gown. In those, she looks like my fucking date.
The drive is full of me adjusting my twitching cock, her smiling demurely out the window every time I do. We talk about our weeks—safe topics, not the past or the future.
"My agent wants me to choose between two scripts, but it's fucking impossible. So instead of choosing, I went out with my boys, Cash and Jude. We went golfing."
"You golf?" She eyes me with disbelief.
"Not well," I laugh. "But we know we aren't hot shit, and we totally piss off the dudes there who take it hella
I air-kiss her good-bye before closing my computer.
A text comes in from Holden: Ten minutes until I'm at your front door .
Sliding matte red lipstick over my penciled-in lips, I look at myself in the mirror, unable to hide the smile spreading across my face.
I may not be a movie star, but I know I sure as hell look like one.
* * *
I try to pretend like this is a normal thing as I head downstairs with my overnight luggage. Yes, I’m a grown-up, but my parents’ judgmental eyes keep me in a perpetual state of inadequacy.
Stepping into the kitchen where my parents are sorting mail at the kitchen table, I barely receive a double-take. And I know I'm double-take worthy at the moment.
"So," I tell them. "I'll be back tomorrow sometime."
"Well, you know where we'll be," Mom says, not looking up.
My parents have volunteered at the local Food Bank every Sunday for the entirety of my life. I’ve spent enough weekends there to know the drill: 10-4, stocking shelves, sorting food, bagging up food for the people who come through the doors.
"Do you have a problem with me going?" I ask. "Because you've barely said two words about it since I told you."
Dad and Mom exchange a look that says where did we go wrong , and I suck in a deep breath, determined to have a good night.
"Bexley," Mom begins, "you know what we think about you spending time with a man like Holden. We just want what's best for you, and starring in movies that are superficial and don't really add anything to society ... well, we're just glad you didn't let his harebrained ideas sway you when you were vulnerable to his attention."
"You're being a little harsh, aren't you?" I know Holden's going to be here any moment, and I don't want him coming all this way to get another condescending tone from my parents.
"You decide that for yourself. Meanwhile, we're glad you're teaching youth about getting some self-esteem and confidence before they go out into the real world. And meanwhile, on our time off, your mom and I will continue to choose the less fortunate in our community, serving those in need. We all have our roles to fill."
My eyes widen, taking in the most passive-aggressive words I've ever heard from my father's mouth. And that’s saying something—my parents have passive-aggressive tendencies down pat.
The doorbell rings. I take a deep breath. "I'll see you tomorrow. Thanks for trusting me," I tell them, unable to stop myself from sinking to their level.
I open the door, clutch and canvas bag in hand, and look at my date.
"Damn," he says, shaking his head and biting his bottom lip. "You look fucking incredible."
Normally I’d look over my shoulder, scared my parents may have heard.
But tonight I don't.
Instead, I offer him my hand, knowing that by the end of the night I'll be offering him a lot more.
Chapter Thirteen
Holden
S he's gorgeous —which I knew she would be. Lindy picked out a dress after I gave her the specifications, and damn, she did good.
With her lips ruby red, her hair in a bun, she looks like herself—except those bare shoulders, the heavy-lidded eyes, those fuck-me-please heels, and that skin-tight satin gown. In those, she looks like my fucking date.
The drive is full of me adjusting my twitching cock, her smiling demurely out the window every time I do. We talk about our weeks—safe topics, not the past or the future.
"My agent wants me to choose between two scripts, but it's fucking impossible. So instead of choosing, I went out with my boys, Cash and Jude. We went golfing."
"You golf?" She eyes me with disbelief.
"Not well," I laugh. "But we know we aren't hot shit, and we totally piss off the dudes there who take it hella
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