Rugged (32 page)

Air clearing. Good idea. Then again, right now, pretty much anything that isn’t listening to the Winstons’ sexual greatest hits is a good idea.

“I’ll give it a shot. Clearing the air, I mean.”

“Good. Because he won’t talk to me about it, but I know he feels things ended badly.” That kind of makes me want to laugh and cry. Well, good. At least Flint feels bad that we went down in flames. I could ask Callie about how he and Charlotte are getting along, if they’ve chosen a new wedding date yet, but the words stick in my throat. Maybe it’s cowardly avoidance, but screw it. There’s no wizard to help me out with that.

Mentally, I congratulate myself on the Cowardly Lion/Wizard of Oz reference while Callie gives me a quick hug. Flint and I head out, leaving her and David to cuddle with the twins. As we stroll to my car, I breathe in freedom.

“So. I guess I’m driving you back to your hotel…unless you want to get an Uber?” I say, opening the door. Flint grunts.

“You in a hurry to get home?” he asks. “Got plans for tonight?” The way he asks, it almost sounds like he’s interested. Except that of course he’s not.

“More like I have a date with a bubble bath and a Netflix marathon,” I say. He nods.

“Sounds good. Netflix, I mean. Not bubble bath.” He clears his throat, making his voice as rugged and masculine as possible. “Bubbles. Not something men of the wilderness really know that much about.”

“You’re much more of an Irish Spring in a cold shower type of guy,” I say. “Like all your ilk. You must never enjoy the finery of feminine hygiene products.”

“I once got a loofa for a present,” Flint says. “Had no idea what it was supposed to do. I ended up using it to stop a leak.” He shakes his head. “Didn’t work.”

“Well. Maybe we should continue this scintillating loofa conversation in the car,” I say, sliding behind the wheel. “Come on. I’ll show you the city at night.”

“What are you talking about? I’ve seen the city. Rodeo to Sunset, remember? Publicity hasn’t given us a break.” But he gets in the car.

“You’ve seen LA, sure. But LA and Los Angeles are two different things. LA’s industry, Los Angeles is home. I promise, you’ll like it.”

Flint adjusts his seat again; apparently my puny muscle car is no match for the powerful bulk of his body. It would be really awkward with him stretched all the way back in the seat, his fingers fumbling at the buttons on my blouse, unhooking my bra…

I need to focus on driving so I don’t kill us with my horniness. We drive out and down the glittering streets of the city, managing to thread our way through Beverly Hills and up into the lush, dark twilight in the verdant hills. Once we get up around the Hollywood sign, we stop for a moment and get out of the car.

“Unbelievable,” Flint says, his voice soft with incredulity. Well, he’s not wrong to be amazed. When I first arrived in Los Angeles, I drove up into the hills and went right up to the Hollywood sign. Maybe it wasn’t entirely legal, but hey, I live on the wild side. Ish. Now we’re standing close to where I stood that first trip up here, with the whole city spread out before us in the darkness. The sun’s just gone down over by the ocean, creating a rippling haze of fiery orange and red on the horizon. And the city lights are sparkling, twinkling, almost like the ground remains of crushed diamonds.

“It is,” I say. We stand right next to each other, and the hot jasmine-scented night air passes over us. I can actually smell him close to me, the woodsy scent of his cologne, the musk of his body. Once you learn that smell, you don’t forget it. I’d love to lean against his shoulder, bury my face in him. But that would be a bad move. Bad, bad move.

“When I see it like this,” Flint says, putting his hands in his pockets. “At a distance, I mean. The city almost makes me want to stay.”

There is no reason my heart should do an enthusiastic leap when he says those words. Especially when the next thing out of his mouth is,

“But that’s not who I am. It’s only this beautiful from a distance. I don’t want to be like those people you work with.” He all but shudders.

“Oh?” My blood starts rising, just a little. “Well, we’re trying to make a living in a very difficult and highly competitive industry. I suppose I’m just as bad as the rest.”

“Don’t take it the wrong way,” Flint says, sounding surprised. “I wasn’t talking about you.”

I will not be appeased, dammit. “No, but you’re always going on about how awful we are down here. ‘Boy, those Angelenos, what a waste of space. Trying to make a deal or screw somebody, yee haw.’” I’m not sure it helps my case that I do a kind of swinging arms thing when I say those words, or that I’m making Flint sound like he’s one of the river people from
Deliverance
. But you know what? I’m frazzled, I’ve been around him for many, many consecutive days, and I miss him too much to be calm right now.

“I’m just telling you what it looks like to me,” Flint says, anger coloring his voice. “Those people I met at the premiere, Kandy Kristi, the waiter at Replenish or whatever that restaurant’s name was. Everyone’s a prostitute or a snob. The way executives in your company talk, you’d think Americans were these backwards mouth breathers who need to be told what to eat, what to drink, what to buy, what to do. That without Hollywood pulling their strings, they’d curl up and drool on themselves.” Even in the dim, flickering light of the city, I can see the emotion flashing in his eyes. “All
you
people want to do is take, and you never give back.”

“You people? As in me people?” I snap. Okay, that’s it. Before Flint can respond, I stomp away from the lights, back down to the car. I get in and slam the door, waiting for him to just get inside and let me drive him back to his stupid hotel. Last I remember, I
gave
him a one way ticket to stardom and a chance to save his floundering company. Not much taking in that department. But I’m not going to talk to him about this. It sounds too petty, and I’m too fucking pissed off. How
dare
he pass judgement on all of us as he rides by on his high and mighty horse (that he couldn’t even afford in the first place if it weren’t for my soul-sucking, greedy hack of a production company)?

Flint finally gets in the car beside me, and we’re both incredibly silent as we drive back down Mulholland, back down toward the city. We’re nearing my apartment when he finally speaks again. “You know what Callie said to me right before we left?” Flint asks. His voice is still tense.

“That she wants you to use your newfound celebrity to keep her and David in expensive hotel rooms?” I say, trying to sound lighthearted amid the turmoil.

“No.” He sighs and leans back in his seat. “She told me I need to start being honest with myself. That I need to focus on what I want, not on what I think is best for the family or anyone else.”

Well, remembering how perfect Charlotte is, I get the feeling he probably
has
been focusing on what he wants. So what can I tell you, Callie? Your argument is invalid.

We finally pull up, and I hit the button on my building’s garage door. It takes a full minute of Flint clearing his throat before I can stand to ask, “What? What exactly is the problem now?”

“I don’t mean to bother you while you’re thinking,” Flint says, his voice cool, “but this isn’t my hotel.”

Surprised, I look back at the opening garage door and almost scream. Great, I was so frazzled I drove us directly to my apartment. I all but start banging my head on the wheel.

“Easy there,” Flint says, grabbing my shoulder. His touch is electric and completely depressing. He’s like a bolt of lightning that hits you once and then never calls again.

“Okay, let me drive you back,” I say, looking over my shoulder and getting ready to peel out and knock over some trashcans. I think Flint senses how totally on edge I am, because he instantly says,

“No. I can get a cab. Let’s go inside, get you a drink, and I’ll be out of your hair in ten minutes. You still get your Netflix and bubble bath.”

“Fine,” I mumble, pulling into my underground parking space and turning off the ignition. Instead of getting out right away, we just sit there in silence. I’m flooded with memories of the last time Flint was at my apartment, how different things were between us just a few short months ago, and I don’t want to get out of the car at all. My, how time flies and everything gets worse. I finally take a deep breath and open my door, sliding out and into the garage. It’s dimly lit in here, but at least it’s warm and smells Downey fresh, since somebody’s got a load of laundry going in the small room just next to the elevator.

Flint gets out but stands by the car door, as if he’s not sure which way to go. Which actually, he probably isn’t. Last time he was here we stumbled out of a cab, onto the sidewalk, through the building’s front entrance, and then tumbled into my apartment devouring each other. Nope, I clearly don’t remember the details at all.

“I’m not going to bite your head off,” I sigh. “You want to come up for a drink?”

“I should probably call the cab first,” Flint says, still not moving. But there’s something about the way he’s watching me. My skin prickles with sudden goose bumps; man, where did those come from?

“I’m sorry I lost it on you back there,” I blurt out. “That’s not what I wanted.”

He shakes his head. “I honestly wasn’t talking about you. I’ve just been really frustrated with this whole process. I didn’t want to hurt you. That’s never what I want,” Flint says, his voice low and earthy. “I never want to see you upset, especially not because of me.”

Then why did you use me? Why was I just a pawn to get Charlotte back into your flannel-clad arms, you infuriating, wonderful, stupid, handsome man?

“What did you just call me?” Flint sounds shocked. Oh God.

“Um. Wait. How much of that did I say out loud?” I ask.

“Something about infuriating, stupid, handsome?” he asks. His eyebrows lift slightly. “What did you mean by that?”

Oh no. Oh, shit. I have this bad habit of talking while I’m thinking. Or thinking while talking. Or talking. I talk sometimes; always a bad option. My mouth opens and things come flying out and then disaster strikes. Flint watches me with wordless surprise while I make probably fifty different faces, ranging from terror to embarrassment.

“I uh, I meant exactly what I said,” I reply, crossing my arms. Good. Smooth recovery, doofus.

“And Charlotte? What about Charlotte?” His voice is rising now. “Why would you bring her into this?”

“What do you mean? You’re back with her, together, all lovey dovey and housey wousey and sunflowers or whatever! I don’t do this baby talk shit!” I’m yelling, my voice echoing in the empty parking garage, and he comes over and stands before me, towering like a…big hot hunk of tower.

“You’re bringing up Charlotte after you spent yesterday rubbing your new guy in my face?” he asks. Every word is a crisp, clean snap. My heart starts pounding.

“New guy?
Gay
guy, is that what you meant?” I almost laugh at his confused look. “Thomas is the gayest man in the world. He goes to
Sound of Music
singalongs at the Hollywood Bowl without irony—that’s how gay! Did you not notice him drooling over you? How could you possibly think we were together?”

“You’re not?” Flint asks. He steps towards me, a wild, crackling light in his eyes. “Really?”

I can’t resist him anymore. I don’t even think.

One microsecond later, I’m in his arms.

32

His hands are in my hair, trailing down my back, gripping my ass as we kiss, the forceful thrust of his tongue scorching hot and needy. I’m dizzy with desire, completely overwhelmed by the taste of him, the smell of him, his touch everything I’ve longed for these past months, and as I lose myself in the kiss he walks us forward, almost like we’re dancing, until we hit a cinderblock wall.

“How fast can we make it upstairs?” he asks, eyeing my car as he pulls back. But I’ve already been down that road, at least in my imagination, and nothing says mood-killer like elbowing someone in the face or accidentally kneeling on their balls because you’re trying to accordion their gorgeous but massive body into your less-than-roomy backseat.

“We don’t have to,” I reply, grabbing him by his shirt collar and pulling him into the laundry room with me. I slap the light switch off and slam the door, twisting the lock. It’s just me and Flint and the laundry, all of us hot and tumbling around wildly in the pitch dark room. Flint’s rough hands go to my waist, pulling me hard against him.

“Flint,” I sigh into his mouth.

Wait
. Stop.

Charlotte. Charlotte. We need to talk about Charlotte. I am not okay with this. I will not give myself over to this kind of stupid, horny—

When Flint lifts me in his arms, burying his face in my neck, biting me softly there, I completely lose my train of thought. The reaction is instant, perfect cause and effect. I’m not thinking anymore. He takes a few tentative steps in the dark and stops when he comes up against the dryer, setting me on top of it. The machine is vibrating with the rotation of the laundry tumbling inside it, and the steel is deliciously warm under my ass.

“Tell me what you want,” Flint whispers, an urgent note in his voice.

Literally every thought I have ever had about Charlotte, right and wrong, good and evil, up and down, fucking everything goes out of my mind as I pull him toward me, wrapping my legs around his waist. I moan as I squeeze him with my thighs, grinding against the button fly of his jeans. My hand goes up to stroke the stubble along his jawline, and I nip at his lower lip, then lap his tongue with mine, letting myself go to my happy place as my hands slide up under his shirt to feel the muscles of his chest. Mmmm.

I get that flannel off him so fast that I’m sure I deserve an Olympic medal in de-shirting hot, rugged men. Surely a bronze, maybe even a silver. My hands trail down his back, across his abs, and then I find the bulge in his jeans and rub my thumb against it.

He wraps a hand around my throat, carefully, easing me away from him.

“Tell me what you want, Laurel,” he repeats, running his other hand up my leg, over my knee, pushing my skirt up around my hips. I tremble as Flint strokes my inner thigh, his hand teasing higher, closer. The machine under me is sending light vibrations through my skin, and as Flint paws at my underwear with one hand, his grip firm but gentle on my throat, I feel something inside me twinge with the need I’ve been holding back for so long. When he dips his hand into my panties and slips a finger into me, pressing deep and sure, I buck my hips, rocking against the sweet penetration.