Hollywood Dirt
Page 36
Her eyes skipped over his body briefly and she stepped inside, apparently approving of his new level of dress. Funny, a fan had never yelled at him to put on clothes. Though Summer wasn’t a fan. She’d made that abundantly clear.
She stopped in the middle of the kitchen and nodded to one of the bar stools. “Sit,” she ordered, the gleam in her eyes back.
He sat, hesitantly, more scared of friendly Summer than he’d been of the hostile version.
“I know last night was a little… rough. So I wanted to come over and give you a housewarming present.” She beamed, but didn’t set the towel down.
“A housewarming present,” he said slowly.
“Yes. To mend the fences. Between you and I,” she clarified, like he was a complete idiot.
“You want to kiss and make up,” he risked.
She glared at him, but he saw the laugh in her eyes. Oh… so many different pieces to this woman. “In a metaphorical sense. But what I said yesterday—”
“I got it,” he interrupted. “No kisses. You don’t like that.”
Her forehead scrunched in an odd fashion. “Right.”
“So what is it?” He gestured toward the wrapped bundle before he lost all patience and swept her onto the counter. The package, he meant. Before he swept the package on the counter.
“Oh, right!” She stepped forward and gently set down the towel on the counter, parting it in careful motions, as Cole leaned forward. When the head popped out, in one quick jerk, he jumped back with a curse, the stool flipping out from underneath him, his hands trying to grip the counter for balance, then he fell back, his ass hitting the tile floor hard, with a smack hard enough to make him yelp.
There was a quiet pause from behind the counter, then Summer’s head came cautiously over its edge, mirroring the actions of the tiny baby chick that wobbled out from the towel’s bed and looked down at Cole.
CHAPTER 42
A rooster. I thought he’d find it funny. We could laugh about it, in Cyndi Kirkland’s ridiculous rooster house, and make amends. Get our friendship off on a better foot, one that didn’t involve insults and barbs and impromptu kisses. I woke up that morning determined to get over my insecurity in regards to kissing and to get on the right side of the asshole that was Cole Masten. I needed this money, I needed this role, and if I happen to suck at kissing, so be it. A present was the most obvious solution to the problem. I would have made him something to eat, but he had curled his lip at my apple cobbler so I had to think outside the box. And when I thought of a rooster, it seemed perfect. Funny, light-hearted, a country gift for a city boy. I didn’t expect the man to fall backward like I’d put a bomb on his doorstep. Didn’t expect him to glare at me like he was, right then, my hands gently wrapped around his new pet.
“Are you crazy?” he gasped, pushing to his feet and brushing himself off. Not much to brush off. Cyndi Kirkland’s floors were cleaner than a Holiday Inn room on inspection day. “Literally, I need to know this, for the future of the movie. Are you insane?”
The baby chick clucked nervously in my palms, and I slid him back a few steps, closer to the protection of my chest. Against my fingers, his heart beat a rapid patter.
“Well?” he demanded, and I blinked.
“That’s a serious question?” I responded. “I thought you were just asking it to be a smart ass.”
“No. It’s a serious question. What normal person brings someone a fucking bird as a housewarming present?” He gestured to the baby chick, and I had the ridiculous urge to cover up its tiny ears to protect it against the swearing. I should have. Just to see the look on Cole’s face.
“I am not insane,” I responded. “And it’s not a baby bird. It’s a baby rooster.” I nodded in the general direction of Cyndi Kirkland’s decoration insanity. “I thought it’d be funny.”
“Oh, it’s hilarious.” He raised his hands to his head and turned away. “This whole thing is fucking hilarious. I’m gonna have a nervous breakdown over how fucking hilarious this is. What am I supposed to do with that? Eat him?”
I started back, bringing the tiny body to my chest. “No! He’s a pet!”
“I—” He pointed to me, then to the baby chick. “I can’t have a pet. I don’t have anywhere to keep a fucking rooster, Summer.”
“Would you please stop cussing? It’s so… unnecessary.”
The man’s eyes widened before rolling upward, and I turned away before I set down my heartfelt gift and meat-cleavered this man to pieces. I carefully cradled the chick against my chest, his little beak pecking at my shirt, and opened the pantry, then the kitchen cabinets, looking for different items, Cole’s footsteps loud as he walked behind me and stopped.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
I didn’t answer him. I found a large plastic bin in the back of the pantry, holding bags of dog kibble. I unloaded the bags and gently put the chick in it. Then I left it there, on the floor in the pantry, moving to the back door and opening it.
“Don’t leave that thing here!” Cole shouted after me, panic edging the sides of his words.
“Chill,” I grumbled, moving to the edge of the lawn and yanking at some taller pieces of grass, gathering several handfuls before I trotted back inside, dropping the grass in with the chick.
“I mean it,” Cole rambled, following me as I opened cabinets, finding a small bowl, then a lamp from the living room. “I can’t have a pet. I’m too busy. And I don’t know a damn thing about chickens.”
She stopped in the middle of the kitchen and nodded to one of the bar stools. “Sit,” she ordered, the gleam in her eyes back.
He sat, hesitantly, more scared of friendly Summer than he’d been of the hostile version.
“I know last night was a little… rough. So I wanted to come over and give you a housewarming present.” She beamed, but didn’t set the towel down.
“A housewarming present,” he said slowly.
“Yes. To mend the fences. Between you and I,” she clarified, like he was a complete idiot.
“You want to kiss and make up,” he risked.
She glared at him, but he saw the laugh in her eyes. Oh… so many different pieces to this woman. “In a metaphorical sense. But what I said yesterday—”
“I got it,” he interrupted. “No kisses. You don’t like that.”
Her forehead scrunched in an odd fashion. “Right.”
“So what is it?” He gestured toward the wrapped bundle before he lost all patience and swept her onto the counter. The package, he meant. Before he swept the package on the counter.
“Oh, right!” She stepped forward and gently set down the towel on the counter, parting it in careful motions, as Cole leaned forward. When the head popped out, in one quick jerk, he jumped back with a curse, the stool flipping out from underneath him, his hands trying to grip the counter for balance, then he fell back, his ass hitting the tile floor hard, with a smack hard enough to make him yelp.
There was a quiet pause from behind the counter, then Summer’s head came cautiously over its edge, mirroring the actions of the tiny baby chick that wobbled out from the towel’s bed and looked down at Cole.
CHAPTER 42
A rooster. I thought he’d find it funny. We could laugh about it, in Cyndi Kirkland’s ridiculous rooster house, and make amends. Get our friendship off on a better foot, one that didn’t involve insults and barbs and impromptu kisses. I woke up that morning determined to get over my insecurity in regards to kissing and to get on the right side of the asshole that was Cole Masten. I needed this money, I needed this role, and if I happen to suck at kissing, so be it. A present was the most obvious solution to the problem. I would have made him something to eat, but he had curled his lip at my apple cobbler so I had to think outside the box. And when I thought of a rooster, it seemed perfect. Funny, light-hearted, a country gift for a city boy. I didn’t expect the man to fall backward like I’d put a bomb on his doorstep. Didn’t expect him to glare at me like he was, right then, my hands gently wrapped around his new pet.
“Are you crazy?” he gasped, pushing to his feet and brushing himself off. Not much to brush off. Cyndi Kirkland’s floors were cleaner than a Holiday Inn room on inspection day. “Literally, I need to know this, for the future of the movie. Are you insane?”
The baby chick clucked nervously in my palms, and I slid him back a few steps, closer to the protection of my chest. Against my fingers, his heart beat a rapid patter.
“Well?” he demanded, and I blinked.
“That’s a serious question?” I responded. “I thought you were just asking it to be a smart ass.”
“No. It’s a serious question. What normal person brings someone a fucking bird as a housewarming present?” He gestured to the baby chick, and I had the ridiculous urge to cover up its tiny ears to protect it against the swearing. I should have. Just to see the look on Cole’s face.
“I am not insane,” I responded. “And it’s not a baby bird. It’s a baby rooster.” I nodded in the general direction of Cyndi Kirkland’s decoration insanity. “I thought it’d be funny.”
“Oh, it’s hilarious.” He raised his hands to his head and turned away. “This whole thing is fucking hilarious. I’m gonna have a nervous breakdown over how fucking hilarious this is. What am I supposed to do with that? Eat him?”
I started back, bringing the tiny body to my chest. “No! He’s a pet!”
“I—” He pointed to me, then to the baby chick. “I can’t have a pet. I don’t have anywhere to keep a fucking rooster, Summer.”
“Would you please stop cussing? It’s so… unnecessary.”
The man’s eyes widened before rolling upward, and I turned away before I set down my heartfelt gift and meat-cleavered this man to pieces. I carefully cradled the chick against my chest, his little beak pecking at my shirt, and opened the pantry, then the kitchen cabinets, looking for different items, Cole’s footsteps loud as he walked behind me and stopped.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
I didn’t answer him. I found a large plastic bin in the back of the pantry, holding bags of dog kibble. I unloaded the bags and gently put the chick in it. Then I left it there, on the floor in the pantry, moving to the back door and opening it.
“Don’t leave that thing here!” Cole shouted after me, panic edging the sides of his words.
“Chill,” I grumbled, moving to the edge of the lawn and yanking at some taller pieces of grass, gathering several handfuls before I trotted back inside, dropping the grass in with the chick.
“I mean it,” Cole rambled, following me as I opened cabinets, finding a small bowl, then a lamp from the living room. “I can’t have a pet. I’m too busy. And I don’t know a damn thing about chickens.”
