N.J. Adel

Andrea grabbed a gossip magazine from the stack on the coffee table and hid her face behind the glossy paper, while Dad climbed the stairs.

On the cover, there was a bare-chested picture of Mike Gennaro, and my mind went blank. The taupe brown curls of his hair flowed down to his naked shoulders. His dark brown eyes held a mischievous gaze. A scruffy jaw complemented his strong cheekbones and sculpted lips.

Heat spread under my skin as I traced down the lines of hairless, chiseled chest and killer abs. The thirty-three-year-old actor was a wet dream waiting to happen.

Happened.

So many times.

My eyes landed on the title under the picture.

The Italian Heartthrob back in L.A.

My heart raced despite me and all the promises I’d been making to myself. I mused back at my half-naked best friend, my thumb brushing against my smiling lips.

“He’s too old for you,” Andrea said. “Nine years too old to be exact.”

Eight years and nine months. I cleared my throat. “Who?”

Andrea’s head popped from behind the magazine. “Really?”

My head jerked in the other direction. “I already have a boyfriend. Mike is my friend.”

“No, he isn’t. He’s my friend, and my client. That makes him an acquaintance to you. Don’t mistake him for anything else.”

“Not everyone is so lucky to figure out what they want the first time. Some of us have to try again and again and again, and just hope they’ll finally find it.”

The phone buzzed again, this time with a text message alert. I scowled at the name on the screen. Mike.

Morning, Kiddo. Back from Berlin. Scheduled 4 photo shoots till 3. Call me when u r up. TC.

Sniffling, I tapped the dial icon and placed the phone on my ear, expecting voicemail.

“Carolina, how’re you doing?” Mike answered, his voice cheerful. “Why are you up so early?”

My heart thudded. The way his Italian accent popped as his rugged voice said my middle name warmed my cheeks. “Um… I haven’t slept yet.” I ran a finger across my eyebrow. “What’re you doing answering your phone? I thought they were getting you dolled up for pictures.”

He laughed. “They will…in thirty minutes.”

“Okay. How was Berlin?”

“Was all right. Shoot. Promote. Fest. Same old stuff. Anyway, what’s up with you, Kiddo?”

I hated it when he called me that. “I’m not a fucking Kiddo.”

He chuckled. “Missed your potty mouth.”

I rolled my eyes. “Really?”

His laughter continued. “No, not really.” He paused for a couple of seconds. “But I sure missed you.”

“I missed you too, Superstar.”

“So what are you up to?”

I took a long breath. “Guess what? One of my short pieces of shit has just won an award.”

“First, don’t call your stories that. Second, get the fuck out of here! That’s awesome.”

“Thank you,” I muttered.

“Have you told your parents yet?”

“Nope. You’re the first one I told.” My voice cracked.

“Maggie, you all right?”

“Yeah,” I lied. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Why do you sound so upset? You gotta celebrate, not brood.”

“Sure. The award comes with a social media party and everything.”

“Not your kinda party, I know. But I’m sure you won’t have a problem stumbling on one that matches your taste.”

“You know me too well, Superstar. Any chance I’m gonna see you soon?” I squeezed my eyes shut, disappointed at myself. I shouldn’t have asked.

“Er… Yeah. I haven’t seen you in like what, eight months now? Let’s meet at your parents’ place. I have something very important to discuss with Andrea this week anyway.”

What the fuck? “Whatever.”

“Listen, I gotta run now. I’ll text you the day. Take care, Kiddo.”

“Fuck you.”

He cackled. “Love you.”

Mike slid behind the wheel of his silver Porsche, his sunglasses tilted enough to hide half of his face. Like it was going to work. Fans and paps had already gathered along the street. He nodded and smiled through the glass as he slowly moved forward among the waving hands, bouncing bodies, and popping flashes. His foot went gentle on the gas until he eased through the madness and made the turn.

It’d been fifteen years since he’d decided not to become a chef and made his first movie. He was used to the madness. The attention, the love, the lights, he appreciated. It meant he was still hot, desired, and successful; there was still time before the crowds didn’t remember his name.

“Good evening, Loretta.” He took his shades off when she greeted him at the door, giving her his perfected, fan-mode smile.

She didn’t smile back. She never did. The old woman hated him for a reason he never cared to know.

She escorted him to the living room and asked what he’d like to drink.

“I’m good.” He sank onto the couch and placed his sunglasses on the coffee table.

“Mrs. Dawson is expecting you. She’ll be down any minute.”

He nodded at her and spread his arms along the back of the couch. A chuckle escaped his mouth as she stalked away, murmuring in gibberish

“No, he doesn’t. He’s my boyfriend. I don’t like to upset him.”

His fist tightened around the steering wheel. “So you’re not going to a party just to please some insecure boy who can’t trust you to go somewhere without him for a few hours? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Jealous much? Why don’t you get yourself a girlfriend?”

Fair question. One he couldn’t answer without having to lie to her. “Maggie, I got weed. Loads of it. You coming or not?”

“Well, when you say it that way…”

“I’m sending a car over at 9:30.”

“Maggie Dawson,” she yelled over the music, shaking his hand. Then she looked back at Mike. “You should get back to your friends.”

He rose. “Come with me. I’ll introduce you.”

“In a while. I need some air. You go ahead.”

“Okay. I’ll return with gifts.” He winked

“Hey, Kiddo.” Mike snickered as Maggie cursed in response. He could picture her hazel eyes rolling as he adjusted his phone on his ear, climbing into his Porsche. “Why didn’t you come to Andrea’s?”

“Ugh! You really don’t know the answer?”

“But we agreed to meet there.”

“No. You made that obnoxious suggestion, and I said whatever,” she corrected. “You know better than anyone that’s the last place I wanna be, even if it’s to see you.” There was an edge to her voice.

He grunted. “Okay. How about I make it up to you?”

“I’m listening.”

A grin stretched my lips. “I’m having a party tonight at the AKA. Why don’t you come over?”

“You still live there?”

“Si, si.” He’d been calling his AKA Beverly Hills suite home for the past two years. After his father passed away, the mansion in Bel-Air was too big and lonely for a single man like him.

“Um… You know I never say no to that, but Kyle isn’t in town tonight. He doesn’t like me going to parties without him.”

His face contorted in disgust when he heard the name. That nineteen-foot bastard with the cheekbones of a model she met a month after Mike had gone to Europe to shoot Everlasting. The one she’d been with longer than all her boyfriends combined. “Kyle? That slick ass broker bosses you around now? What the fuck?”

Mike did a double take as Maggie waltzed through the people jumping up and down in the strobe lights on his suite floor. She met his gaze with a crooked smile, sauntering toward him in a wraparound black dress and high heels with fancy lacing. Her hazel eyes, framed with black liner, shone with a wild glint. Holy fuck.

He gave James his drink and walked toward her. “Hey—”

“If you say Kiddo one more time, I’ll steal all your weed, and you’ll never see me again.”

He bit his lip on a laugh. “Come here.” He spread his arms, and she threw herself into them. His nose skimmed across her hair as he bent to kiss her cheek. Why did she have to smell so damn good? He closed his eyes, swallowing a moan. “Mi sei mancato tanto, pazza.”

Her arms slid around his waist, embracing him tighter. “I missed you, too.”

The way he was squeezing a young hottie with his eyes closed in the middle of a room full of people must have raised some eyebrows, but he didn’t care. These friendly hugs were his only chance to feel her warmth, to touch her skin, to hear her heartbeat. He wasn’t going to let go until she did.

When she finally pulled away from him, he gazed at her. “You look amazing.” His fingers played with a strand of her brown hair. “And this looks good short.”

“Thanks. You should tell that to Andrea. For her, my hair is never the right length. My body is never the right size. And of course, my choice of attire is never appropriate for any given occasion.”

“Good thing that you never listen to her. You’re gorgeous.” He took her by the hand and stepped onto the balcony, shutting the party craziness behind the glass door.

She tossed her purse on one of the wicker chairs surrounding a small, walnut table. “Maybe you should try that, not listening to her.”

“You should’ve been there today.” Cool air ruffled his curls as he slouched against the banister. “I’m sure you’d have liked it.”

“I doubt that. Did something new happen?”

He nodded, pushing his hair off his face, his lips twisting into a wry smile.

Her eyes narrowed. “What?”

“I told her I wouldn’t be making the same kinds of movies anymore, and I’d find a new agent if she wouldn’t get me what I wanted.”

She gaped at him. “Shut up! You practically told Andrea Dawson to shove it where the sun didn’t shine? Shit! I really should’ve seen that. She must’ve flipped.”

His eyes widened as he laughed. “Have some respect. She’s still your mother.”

“Suck my dick.”

“God help me.”

She hopped and sat on the banister next to him. “So you’re finally stepping out of your comfort zone?”

“Um-hum.”