The Effects of Falling (The Weight of Rain Duet Book 2) (4 page)

“Summer, what’s going on?” Bright eyes and a growing smile greet me, making my lips tug up into a reciprocated grin.

“Hey, Tommy. How have you been, stranger?”

His gaze shifts between me and the road which is collecting a fresh layer of powder as he moves closer to me, his strides wide and confident across the icy ground though he moved to California several years ago. His arms wrap around me, and his hug is familiar and comfortable, as if we do this regularly.

“What’s up, Tommy?”

Pulling back to shake Kash’s hand, Tommy keeps an arm loosely draped around my shoulders, and I note Kash’s glance focus on it for a moment as they grasp hands. Though it shouldn’t, Kash’s minor distraction sends a satisfying jolt through me. It increases when Kash releases the handshake and securely clasps my hand before pulling me free from Tommy’s touch and toward the house with the excuse to see the inside.

We step through the double doors that are both taller and wider than standard.

Releasing my hand, his touch is only absent a second before he snakes his arm around my shoulders. “We need to get dibs on the biggest room before everyone else gets the chance to look around.”

We?
The word dances off the log beams lining the high ceilings.

The house, while cavernous is warm and inviting, furnished with overstuffed leather furniture and more throw pillows than most stores. The walls are covered with large prints that I suspect were taken nearby to show off the beautiful views and terrain.

“Come on!” Kash’s fingers weave with mine, and then he tugs me forward in the direction of the staircase that we race up, losing track of the others and whether it’s them we’re trying to beat or each other.

I see my cheeks pulled up into an impossibly wide grin as we turn a corner and stumble to a stop in front of a large room hosting a bureau with a large oval mirror atop it. My glance travels downward, catching sight of the width of Kash’s fingers woven with mine. Then to how close he holds my hand to his side, up to the broadness of his shoulders that have always been one of my favorite features of his, and then to his face which is covered with a short beard he recently decided to try out that I’m still debating my feelings for. I’ve never been in favor of facial hair, but Kash could grow out a ridiculous handlebar mustache and likely pull it off. He not only has the confidence and charisma to carry out a fashion trend so ridiculous, but his near perfectly symmetrical face which displays his slightly rounder lower lip, the deep indention below his straight nose, and endearingly brown eyes that are swathed with such a thick coat of eyelashes, you’d swear he was wearing eyeliner—easily make him the most attractive man in all of existence.

“This can’t be the master. Come on!” Before I can look at the room, Kash is pulling me back through the door and down the hall.

Three rooms later, he tugs his arm free, and with one then two quick sprints, he leaps into the air, turning to his back mid-jump, and lands in the middle of a large king-sized bed with a gratifying sigh. “I’m never leaving,” he says, closing his eyes.

I snicker, knowing how quickly his tune will change after tonight.

Kash is a homebody. As much as he loves the business and being around the entourage that follows him most days, he is balanced between introvert and extrovert, relying on his alone time and confines of his house to recharge his energies and focus.

“Are you smirking?” Kash sits up, leaning up on his elbows as he watches me.

“We should find out what’s going on. The lighting is about to be perfect. I bet they’ll want to shoot pretty quickly,” I say.

Groaning, he sits up fully and releases a deep sigh. “All I’ve done is sit today, and all I want to do is sit some more.”

I don’t suggest that we ask if we can wait until tomorrow to begin after a full morning of travel because even if Kash wasn’t a homebody, his desire to be home and see Mercedes would be an overpowering need that would prevent him from blowing off today’s schedule and delaying things.

“You didn’t find it,” King taunts as we trudge back down the stairs, our hands hanging separately at our sides.

“We did too,” Kash argues.

King grins with satisfaction as Kash’s pace quickens. “Come on, you know how these places work. The master is always on the bottom floor unless the house is set on a hill.”

“Dammit!” Kash growls, hitting the granite counter with a tight fist.

It’s for show rather than legitimate frustration. It’s Kash’s way of deflecting his true emotions. I’m pretty certain he does it so often he doesn’t even realize when or if something is truly bothering him, specifically us.

“Mercedes is going to be so upset when she sees the pictures of this place,” I comment as I look through my lens and focus on the fireplace that has to be at least eleven-feet high.

“She’s in Florida! Her toes are in the sand, and she’s likely talked Grandpa Robert into buying her more crap than any eleven-year-old needs.”

Mercedes already has more stuff than four children, but I don’t comment. I know Kash has a tendency to buy things for her out of guilt, one that he shouldn’t possess.

An hour later we’re outside, our bags still packed, the house still not toured, because the crew decided the lighting is in fact going to be perfect, like I had suspected.

Rubbing my hands together to try to regain feeling, I take a step closer to Lo. A year ago I wouldn’t have considered doing this. I’ve always found it easier to be friends with guys because they’re not nearly as emotional, and generally don’t make it a habit to stab their friends in the back or change opinions based on their audience. It’s a bit ironic I avoid most of the female population since I consider myself a strong feminist. But meeting Lo has been beneficial for both of us, serving to remind me that we can’t judge everyone based upon our previous experiences, even if I’ll never be able to fully forget them.

Lo and I share a kinship that I regret to say I took more seriously after meeting her mother, because it was many months after she came to work for Kash, and several after the others had already accepted her as part of the clan.

We all have stories we can tell about our parents. I mean, really, shouldn’t they order, like, a psychiatric evaluation or something before they allow someone to procreate? Or at least ensure they aren’t going to turn the top drawer of the dresser into your crib for the first year of your life?

My mom is a special brand of bad parent though, and it took me a really long time to recognize that, rather than believe she was the most awesome best friend like I did when I was younger and she was buying me my first fake ID. In addition to helping me get into clubs and bars before I could legally drive, she was the mastermind behind the manufactured stories we shared with attractive older men. I don’t know if she thought I was going to be her ticket to a bigger and better lifestyle or if she was simply trying to live vicariously through me. Does it matter? I’m still trying to wash off the dirt she created and planted deep under my skin. Sometimes, I fear I won’t ever be able to fully change and rid my tendencies to fabricate truths, judge females upon sight, smile as soon as an attractive man enters a room, and strive to be the best at everything because of my need to stand out.

Thank God for my Uncle Toby. If it wasn’t for him, I’d probably be the trophy wife of husband number four by now. Uncle Toby introduced me to the world of BMX riding, and when I was sixteen, and despite my mom was encouraging me to seduce a man twice my age, I found security and a little bit of consistency for the first time in my life.

I didn’t see much of her after that. A few times in the beginning she would come to some of the events, and quickly realized that some of the guys who rode were not only really attractive, but some also had the potential to make a shit-ton of money between endorsement deals and winning competitions. It didn’t take more than a few months for Uncle Toby to catch on to her games, and when he threatened to notify the police, she vanished like the wind.

Lo’s mom is nearly as manipulative and demanding. She wanted Lo to go into modeling, something she could easily do with her slim frame and looks, but we all knew she would never be happy in that profession. She’s an artist, and she has a passion for it that is undeniable. Thankfully, she too realized what was right for her was more important.

Now, we share a friendship that, regardless of our eight-year-age difference, is both easy and fulfilling. I forgot how much I missed having someone around who I could talk to about things like art, fashion, and the occasional Hollywood gossip because even I sometimes get sucked into it.

Going to get coffee or lunch with Kash can be a scene. Even when people don’t recognize who he is, they often look his way. He exudes a level of confidence and masculinity that alerts every female within a two-mile radius. And with knowing countless people in Portland, we almost always run into at least one person who wants to talk to him.

With Lo, it’s only us. A reprieve from an audience, from watching girls flirt and smile, and from wishing one of us were brave enough to admit our true feelings.

“
G
OD, IT’S COLD
,” Lo remarks with a full body shiver as she focuses on where the guys are receiving their final touches before the shoot begins.

“It’s freezing,” I confirm, as I watch with equally rapt attention while the makeup crew finishes, and parts from King, Kash, and Tommy. Most of their minimal makeup was applied inside, but they ended up needing some touch ups when their cheeks quickly turned a less attractive shade of red, and the lead photographer said it made them appear less masculine.

Raising my camera so I can look through the lens, I adjust a few settings for the brightness of the snow and take a few practice shots as the guys head over to a fallen tree that has had the limbs sawed off. Even without the boughs, the surface makes my heart accelerate. The bark already promises to be a difficult surface with its roughness, but in addition the trunk is marred with large pits and gashes.

“Do you miss being on the opposite end of the lens?” I loathe this question from absolutely everyone, but even more so when it comes from Spencer. How many times can someone ask the same question? For a while I worked to generate a new response to see if he’d catch on. He didn’t, of course, because he took the opportunity to stare at my chest when I would reply. Out here with my subzero winter coat, there’s hardly even a curve to reveal my lady bumps, and still, he’s staring. Clearing my throat doesn’t even make him flinch. If he wasn’t one of the best producers in the business, I would make an effort to convince Kash to fire him.

“You must be Lo.” He redirects his attention over my shoulder. “I’m Spencer. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You as well.” She isn’t yet aware that he’s a perv. Instead, it’s her usual nerves about meeting someone new that has her greeting him with a tight-lipped smile.

“Let’s move closer, so I can change lenses.” I make the excuse while taking Lo’s arm and directing her away from Spencer and closer to the danger-riddled tree.

“Kash, you want to test it out a few times?” someone yells from behind us.

That’s all Kash needs before he sets out across the trunk, his face down so he can best study the surface. His bike bumps and weaves unsteadily, but his hands remain loose, his shoulders stable. If he’s nervous at all, I can’t pick up even the slightest trace of it. He approaches the end, which has been sawed off to keep the log from bowing, and without warning, he kicks off, raising the bike to his left side with a small trick that has him falling deep into powder. The whoop he releases is nearly instantaneous, followed by his laughter and cheers from King and Tommy.

“That was sick! I didn’t think he’d have enough speed,” Parker says from beside me, his bike leaning against him so he can shout another cheer with both hands cupped around his mouth.

Parker lifts his bike and trudges through the snow as Kash stands and moves so that Tommy can go.

I’ve watched Tommy plenty of times, but it’s been years. He’s narrower than the other three, spindlier, almost scrawny, like many other guys in the profession. Though he doesn’t look it, he’s stronger than most having used his own body as a weight so often. His movements are fluid and graceful, which has me lifting my camera to get a couple of quick shots in.

“He rides a little differently,” Lo remarks, her attention still focused on the tree though Tommy has already leaped into the snow with his bike, eliciting a chorus of laughter and applause as he emerges, covered in the white powder.

“He sits farther up on his seat,” I explain.

“You’re right. Is that because he’s smaller?”

I shrug. “Maybe, or it’s just how he was trained. He rides a bike slightly bigger than the others, so I think he has to in order to be in proper alignment and keep his balance.”