When I Was Yours
Page 5
And I know what that feels like.
When I’m out on my board, riding the waves, nothing can touch me.
But the minute I’m back on shore, that momentary freedom I felt is gone.
Sure, I have freedom in the sense that my parents haven’t given a fuck about me since the second I was born. So long as I don’t bring disrepute to the Gunner name, tarnishing their smoke-and-mirrors lifestyle, then I can pretty much do whatever the hell I want.
But there has always been an expectation of me.
I’m the heir to Gunner Entertainment, the oldest and largest movie studio in Hollywood.
After this year off—that my parents graciously granted me after I’d threatened to do some seriously crazy stuff if they didn’t give it to me—I’m expected to go to Harvard and graduate with honors. Then, I’m to take my place at my father’s side until the day I take over and become the King of Hollywood.
Sounds like a dream to most. To me, it’s a fucking nightmare.
I despise everything about it and what it represents.
The glitz and glamour cover the lies and deceit. My world is filled with frauds, each one with a dirty little secret to hide.
Soon, I have to become one of them, and when I do, I fear that I’ll turn into someone I’ve never wanted to become—my father…or worse, my mother. She’s a fame-hungry, soul-sucking bitch who cares about no one, except for herself.
I paint a nice picture, right?
Well, call me a cynic, but growing up with the parents I have, you’d be one, too.
I don’t want any part of the life they’re forcing me to have.
All I want is to become a pro surfer. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I just want to be in the ocean, chasing that never-ending wave.
When I was fourteen, I tried telling Ava that I didn’t want to take over the family business, that I wanted to become a professional surfer. She laughed in my face and then reminded me exactly what would happen if I did.
They’d cut me off cold. I would have nothing.
And believe me when I say, they would leave me penniless, living on the streets, and they would do it without losing a second of sleep.
Especially Ava. She is as hard as the Botox filling her face.
I wish I were brave enough to go it alone. The problem with being brought up with unlimited funds would be to have to live without it. And I don’t know if I could do that.
So, for now, I’m my parents’ bitch.
Although I might be their bitch and screwed up in more ways than I can begin to explain, I’m not a fucking weirdo. I don’t usually hang out on my balcony, watching chicks, like some creeper.
I’m not exactly the shy type. I’m confident—probably too confident sometimes—and when I want a girl, I tell her. I don’t hide in my house, afraid to approach her.
And I’m not an asshole—well, not all the time—but I am aware of how I look. When your mother is one of the most beautiful women in the world—even if she is a demon from hell—you stand a damn good chance of scoring lucky in the gene pool.
And I scored well.
At six-three, with an athletic body that I’ve gained from all my years of surfing and swimming, I keep the scruff on my face overgrown and my sun-bleached hair longer.
I have no problem at all with getting chicks. It’s getting rid of them that is usually the issue.
But for some reason, I can’t seem to get my ass off this balcony to go over there and talk to Rock Girl.
I’m seriously starting to worry about myself.
For fuck’s sake, Gunner. Just go down there and talk to her. What have you got to lose?
“Hey, fuckface. You still watching that chick?”
Releasing a sigh, I turn to look over my shoulder at Max. “I’m not watching her. I’m…looking at the scenery.” I gesture weakly with my hand.
Max snorts out a laugh. “Sure you are, limp dick.”
I see Darcy, the girl Max has been banging for the last few days, sidle up beside him. She shoots me a sexy smile.
“Hey, Adam.” She lifts her hand in greeting, wiggling her fingers at me.
I lift my chin at her, not bothering to say hi.
Darcy might be hot, but she’s an idiot.
And she must think I’m fucking stupid.
She tried to play it off as an accident when she walked into my bathroom yesterday while I was in there showering. My private bathroom, the one you have to walk through my bedroom to get into. Yeah, sure it was an accident, Darcy.
Max laughed his ass off when I told him.
He doesn’t give a fuck. And if Darcy weren’t screwing Max, I probably would have banged her, as I’m guessing that was what she was there for. I’ve never been one to turn down a hot girl, even if she is an idiot. But Max is banging her, and we have one golden rule in our friendship. We never sleep with the same chick.
Bros before hos, and all that.
Max is the only real thing I have in this shitty world, and I wouldn’t do anything to risk losing him. He’s the same with me.
Max’s background is pretty similar to mine, fucked-up parents and all, but sadly, between us, I score the highest on the screwed-up-worst card.
We look out for each other. We’re brothers in the true sense of the word. Aside from his poor taste in women, he’s the best person I know.
Thankfully, Darcy will be gone in a few days. That’s Max’s MO. He hooks up with a girl and keeps her around for a few days—longest I’ve seen is a week—and then she’s replaced. Me? I don’t keep them around. I screw them for one night, and they’re gone the next morning.
No repeats. No relationships.
That’s exactly how I like it.
And if I sort my shit out, then Rock Girl can be my next no-repeater.
Actually, something feels very wrong with that statement. Again, what the hell is wrong with me?
Maybe that’s why I can’t get off my pussy ass and go introduce myself to her. Sitting up there on that rock, she’s perfect to me. If I go over there, I’ll only end up tainting that perfection, ruining it.
Spoiling pretty things is a gift of mine. It’s a Gunner family trait.
“We’re just going to grab some dinner,” Max says. “You wanna come?”
I turn around, pressing my back against the sun-warmed railing. “Nah, I’ll pass. I’m gonna go for a run.”
Am I? I guess I could go for a run. I could go for a jog along the beach. Maybe speak to a little hottie seated up on a rock…
“And would that run take you past a certain blonde over there?” Max jerks his chin in Rock Girl’s direction.
I lift my shoulders, shrugging at him.
He shakes his head at me. “What the hell is going on with you, Gunner? Why haven’t you just talked to her already? It’s been a fucking week.”
I flicker a glance at Darcy, who has this sudden sour look on her face, and now, she’s staring out past me in Rock Girl’s direction.
Yeah, not going to happen, Darcy.
I strike a glance at Max. I love the guy like a brother, but I wish he hadn’t said that shit in front of Darcy. She has a big mouth, and I don’t want to get a rep here in Malibu for being a pussy who can’t even talk to a girl.
“Nothing’s wrong with me. Maybe I just don’t want to talk to her.”
I really do. I want to talk her straight into my bed.
When I’m out on my board, riding the waves, nothing can touch me.
But the minute I’m back on shore, that momentary freedom I felt is gone.
Sure, I have freedom in the sense that my parents haven’t given a fuck about me since the second I was born. So long as I don’t bring disrepute to the Gunner name, tarnishing their smoke-and-mirrors lifestyle, then I can pretty much do whatever the hell I want.
But there has always been an expectation of me.
I’m the heir to Gunner Entertainment, the oldest and largest movie studio in Hollywood.
After this year off—that my parents graciously granted me after I’d threatened to do some seriously crazy stuff if they didn’t give it to me—I’m expected to go to Harvard and graduate with honors. Then, I’m to take my place at my father’s side until the day I take over and become the King of Hollywood.
Sounds like a dream to most. To me, it’s a fucking nightmare.
I despise everything about it and what it represents.
The glitz and glamour cover the lies and deceit. My world is filled with frauds, each one with a dirty little secret to hide.
Soon, I have to become one of them, and when I do, I fear that I’ll turn into someone I’ve never wanted to become—my father…or worse, my mother. She’s a fame-hungry, soul-sucking bitch who cares about no one, except for herself.
I paint a nice picture, right?
Well, call me a cynic, but growing up with the parents I have, you’d be one, too.
I don’t want any part of the life they’re forcing me to have.
All I want is to become a pro surfer. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I just want to be in the ocean, chasing that never-ending wave.
When I was fourteen, I tried telling Ava that I didn’t want to take over the family business, that I wanted to become a professional surfer. She laughed in my face and then reminded me exactly what would happen if I did.
They’d cut me off cold. I would have nothing.
And believe me when I say, they would leave me penniless, living on the streets, and they would do it without losing a second of sleep.
Especially Ava. She is as hard as the Botox filling her face.
I wish I were brave enough to go it alone. The problem with being brought up with unlimited funds would be to have to live without it. And I don’t know if I could do that.
So, for now, I’m my parents’ bitch.
Although I might be their bitch and screwed up in more ways than I can begin to explain, I’m not a fucking weirdo. I don’t usually hang out on my balcony, watching chicks, like some creeper.
I’m not exactly the shy type. I’m confident—probably too confident sometimes—and when I want a girl, I tell her. I don’t hide in my house, afraid to approach her.
And I’m not an asshole—well, not all the time—but I am aware of how I look. When your mother is one of the most beautiful women in the world—even if she is a demon from hell—you stand a damn good chance of scoring lucky in the gene pool.
And I scored well.
At six-three, with an athletic body that I’ve gained from all my years of surfing and swimming, I keep the scruff on my face overgrown and my sun-bleached hair longer.
I have no problem at all with getting chicks. It’s getting rid of them that is usually the issue.
But for some reason, I can’t seem to get my ass off this balcony to go over there and talk to Rock Girl.
I’m seriously starting to worry about myself.
For fuck’s sake, Gunner. Just go down there and talk to her. What have you got to lose?
“Hey, fuckface. You still watching that chick?”
Releasing a sigh, I turn to look over my shoulder at Max. “I’m not watching her. I’m…looking at the scenery.” I gesture weakly with my hand.
Max snorts out a laugh. “Sure you are, limp dick.”
I see Darcy, the girl Max has been banging for the last few days, sidle up beside him. She shoots me a sexy smile.
“Hey, Adam.” She lifts her hand in greeting, wiggling her fingers at me.
I lift my chin at her, not bothering to say hi.
Darcy might be hot, but she’s an idiot.
And she must think I’m fucking stupid.
She tried to play it off as an accident when she walked into my bathroom yesterday while I was in there showering. My private bathroom, the one you have to walk through my bedroom to get into. Yeah, sure it was an accident, Darcy.
Max laughed his ass off when I told him.
He doesn’t give a fuck. And if Darcy weren’t screwing Max, I probably would have banged her, as I’m guessing that was what she was there for. I’ve never been one to turn down a hot girl, even if she is an idiot. But Max is banging her, and we have one golden rule in our friendship. We never sleep with the same chick.
Bros before hos, and all that.
Max is the only real thing I have in this shitty world, and I wouldn’t do anything to risk losing him. He’s the same with me.
Max’s background is pretty similar to mine, fucked-up parents and all, but sadly, between us, I score the highest on the screwed-up-worst card.
We look out for each other. We’re brothers in the true sense of the word. Aside from his poor taste in women, he’s the best person I know.
Thankfully, Darcy will be gone in a few days. That’s Max’s MO. He hooks up with a girl and keeps her around for a few days—longest I’ve seen is a week—and then she’s replaced. Me? I don’t keep them around. I screw them for one night, and they’re gone the next morning.
No repeats. No relationships.
That’s exactly how I like it.
And if I sort my shit out, then Rock Girl can be my next no-repeater.
Actually, something feels very wrong with that statement. Again, what the hell is wrong with me?
Maybe that’s why I can’t get off my pussy ass and go introduce myself to her. Sitting up there on that rock, she’s perfect to me. If I go over there, I’ll only end up tainting that perfection, ruining it.
Spoiling pretty things is a gift of mine. It’s a Gunner family trait.
“We’re just going to grab some dinner,” Max says. “You wanna come?”
I turn around, pressing my back against the sun-warmed railing. “Nah, I’ll pass. I’m gonna go for a run.”
Am I? I guess I could go for a run. I could go for a jog along the beach. Maybe speak to a little hottie seated up on a rock…
“And would that run take you past a certain blonde over there?” Max jerks his chin in Rock Girl’s direction.
I lift my shoulders, shrugging at him.
He shakes his head at me. “What the hell is going on with you, Gunner? Why haven’t you just talked to her already? It’s been a fucking week.”
I flicker a glance at Darcy, who has this sudden sour look on her face, and now, she’s staring out past me in Rock Girl’s direction.
Yeah, not going to happen, Darcy.
I strike a glance at Max. I love the guy like a brother, but I wish he hadn’t said that shit in front of Darcy. She has a big mouth, and I don’t want to get a rep here in Malibu for being a pussy who can’t even talk to a girl.
“Nothing’s wrong with me. Maybe I just don’t want to talk to her.”
I really do. I want to talk her straight into my bed.
