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Prologue
Tuesday, March 22, 2016
Isometimes wondered if I was the only human alive who understood what it felt like to be alone. I could be in a crowded room full of people and still feel isolated to the point that I just wanted to escape.
So, I got my things together and left the function my clients had invited me to, no one noticing my absence as I headed out the door and hailed a cab. If I was going to be alone, I might as well be by myself at home. The only time that emptiness of spirit went away was when I was with my girls or when Noah decided I was his flavor of the month. He affectionately called me his strawberry sundae when he wanted me to drop everything and go to him. I think part of him came close to experiencing the alone I was beginning to feel more often than not. He was Hollywood’s hunk, adored by millions, and yet he felt detached from it all. There were nights we’d spend hours on the phone talking about it all. He could be a flippant asshole who enjoyed pressing buttons, but my psych classes in college had taught me that was just his way of being noticed. There were times I thought I could feel that part of him, even when it seemed like I was a million miles away; almost as though that part of us was constantly connected and in communication.
I locked myself in the apartment as soon as I got home and headed to the couch. Unlike Noah, I could get my fix of him whenever I wanted. I’d turn on the television, watch the entertainment shows, and there he was. Tonight was no exception, especially as it was the premiere of his latest movie. Noah was in a tux, hands in his pockets with his roguish smile on full display, highlighting every angle of his handsome face as he walked the red carpet.
I studied his features, those beautiful blue eyes sparkling with mischief as the paparazzi and fans chanted his name. Like Kenzie, he was built for Hollywood life, and he fed on the attention. Even after the premiere, the show continued talking about him and his attachments to other stars and starlets. Their most provocative rumors were child’s play compared to the reality of his life. They were speculating about his current love life when my phone buzzed.
Noah:
Call me, Strawberry. I want phone sex.
I never responded to him immediately, no matter how much my fingers itched to do so. I’d learned a long time ago that film stars like Noah and Kenzie could become codependent if you gave them an inch. If you allowed them, they would consume every minute of your time to satisfy their needs. Egos like theirs needed stroking, and they sought that out where they could. I’d had the ‘limits’ talk with Kenzie when we were still teenagers, but I didn’t want to have that conversation with Noah—we were too casual—so I’d implemented the limits instead, making sure he understood that my time was mine. He appeared to appreciate it.
My protest only lasted fifteen minutes before I pulled up his name and hit send. The loneliness still gathered around me, fueled the need to hear his voice, even if he was high and drunk; it became a balm that called to me.
“Hey, Elmer,” he said, tone flirtatious.
“Good night?”
“Not bad, but much improved now that I’m hearing your voice.”
I smiled, the small hole in my chest easing.
“How was the premiere?”
“Boring.” His tone was petulant, like a scolded child. He was feeling self-indulgent and sorry for himself. Noah Jennings was narcissistic enough to get a kick out of seeing himself on screen, and it usually put him in a good mood. That he wasn’t told me he was home and alone.
“No after parties?”
“If you believe my co-stars and the crew, they’ve all gone home to bed.”
“Who did you piss off?”
“Fuck, I love how well you know me.” His rough laugh was warm and full of affection. It was sexy and sarcastic in the way only he could pull off.
“Director?” I guessed.
“The mother-fucker loves me.”
“Producer?”
“Might have grabbed his wife’s ass.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “In my defense, I didn’t know it was his wife. She’s half his age.”
“Which you told him.”
“Elmer. You make me fucking hard when you do this.”
I huffed out a laugh, mainly because he was being honest. The intonation of his voice, that hoarse sandpapered texture that took over when he was aroused, was present, sending a shiver dancing down my spine. In person, that tone usually meant I was going to have a fantastic night. Over the phone, it told me I would be frustrated, staring at my phone and wondering whether it was worth calling one of the few guys I had beneficial friendships with here in town.
“I miss you,” I finally admitted. It had been almost six months since I’d seen Noah last.
“Come see me.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
