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“Nothing too bad,” she said. “A picture of your martini, then a picture of your second martini, and then a picture of some guy’s tank top?”
“Right! That was Sam’s tank top. He’s a bartender at Red’s,” I said. “That’s not bad content for my Instagram. His shirt just says Kiss Me, I’m Cute. That’s tame, considering I cropped out the arrow below it that pointed down at his dick.”
Madeline snorted. “The posts weren’t too bad. But it would still be a good idea to lay low on social media. Thanks to your situation.”
“I never tag my location anymore,” I said. “In anything. Ever. My stalker isn’t going to find me from that.”
The sound of a power drill echoed up from downstairs again.
“I know you’re careful with it these days,” she told me. “I just worry.”
“I used to post after-workout pictures all of the time,” I said. “Back when I was training to be in that action movie.”
“It’s probably a good thing that that movie never got made,” Madeline said idly.
“Agreed,” I said. “I might be a good actor, but I’m not exactly the right fit for James Bond type roles.”
“Anyway,” Madeline said, “I’m flying back out in a couple of days to see you. But I’ve got to admit, I’m not looking forward to being in the middle of nowhere again, even for a few days.”
“Hey, it’s nice here,” I said. “Kind of. Lots of cows. Lots of wheat fields. A really fucking hot guy at the bar, last night, who was too big of a sweetheart to even take me home.”
I looked over to my nightstand, where there was still a crumpled up receipt with his phone number on it.
Jesus Christ, he’d been sexy. I picked up the receipt, turned it to the other side, and saw that it was from a bookstore. The guy had purchased two books: Advanced Meditation Techniques and 100 Protein Smoothies To Turbo-Charge Your Workouts. I couldn’t help but smile.
“You felt safe enough to go home with someone?” she said, genuine pride and surprise in her voice. “Maybe Kansas is good for you.”
I rubbed my eyes. “I kind of freaked out when he offered to call a cab for me, so I’m not exactly feeling safe the same way I used to, but…”
“And you’re sure you don’t want to hire a bodyguard?” Madeline asked, for the millionth time. “You feel safe? I’m telling you, just for peace of mind, there’s no reason not to.”
I looked out one of the tall, multi-paned windows I’d had installed just last week. I’d made sure to get bulletproof glass that was tinted from the outside, so if my intrepid stalker finally did discover where I was, at least I’d have some sense of security.
In fact, the whole house was now kitted out with a state-of-the art alarm system.
“No bodyguard,” I said. “I don’t want one and I don’t need one. I like being alone. I’ve got my alarms. The idea of some man constantly hanging around the house sounds like shit to me.”
Madeline sighed. “Fine.”
“What’s on the docket for this week?”
“Well, that director who worked with Leo DiCaprio last year still wants a phone meeting with you tomorrow. I overnighted some scripts to you, they should also arrive tomorrow. And you wanted me to send flowers to Angelina Jolie, right?”
“Yes,” I said. “Right. Thank you for remembering. She texted me a photo of her cat Pippin saying he’s sick.”
“Got it,” Madeline said.
“I’m going to go take a ginger shot, make a fresh green juice, and try to reverse the effects of drowning myself in vodka martinis again last night.”
“Chug lots of water, too,” Madeline said. “Stay hydrated out there in the wheat fields and the wind, okay? Your beautiful face pays your bills.”
Everybody was always telling me to chug water. Maybe it was about time I listened to them.
“Hey, and my acting skills, too,” I protested. “I have two Academy Awards, Madeline—”
“And an Emmy, too,” she said. I could hear the smile in her voice. “You remind me about six times a day.”
We hung up and I finally extracted myself from my bed and hopped into the shower. The contractors had just finished the final touches on the bathroom a few days ago, and it was a beauty to behold. I stepped under the rainfall ceiling fixture and let the almost-too-hot water pound down on me.
The only thing different about last night had been the man who’d driven me home. Christ, he was my type. I couldn’t remember his name, but I hadn’t had a kiss that good in a long damn time.
He’d kissed me like he needed me. Even though that obviously wasn’t true.
And the guy hadn’t even known who I was. These days, nothing in the world could be hotter than that, for me. I loved feeling anonymous, like any other normal person. I’d felt more comfortable around a stranger than I had in years. My cock was hard as hell again now, thinking about it.
