Top in place, he returned to the driver’s seat and his hand made its way back onto my knee. I smiled, and we were off.

“They’re not really pushy—other than the fact that they’re stalking me outside my apartment—but it would be nice to go home and not have to deal with that,” he said, his voice dropping just a bit.

I knew better than anyone how grateful he was for his fan support, but he needed some anonymity as well.

“No worries, love. I can handle it,” he said, kissing my hand firmly as we drove through the streets of Beverly Hills.

Once home, I started to make a list of the things I needed at the grocery store, and he settled onto the couch. Within seconds I heard the TV click on. I smiled at how at home we both seemed here. I went in to see if he wanted to come to the store, and found myself pulled onto his lap. I kissed him soundly and told him I was heading out.

“Do you want to come with me?” I asked, nuzzling his ear until he cried uncle. “We could dress you up in a hat and glasses. I might even have a wig around here somewhere.”

“No, I think I’ll stay here. I can help you when you get back.” He smiled and ruffled my hair.

“I’m going to be making pie crust,” I said, snuggling into his arms.

“Okay, sounds good,” he replied.

“You want to help me make pie crust?” I rolled my eyes at him.

“Sure. Why not?” he asked, making a point of rolling his eyes back at me.

“I feel bad. Is there somewhere you want to go, friends you want to see? Aren’t you going to be bored? Making pie crust?”

“Are you kidding me? For the first time in weeks the phone isn’t ringing, no one’s telling me I have to go somewhere, no one’s knocking on my door asking me for an autograph, and I can pick my nose if I want and not worry about it ending up on Perez. Making pie crust sounds about f**king perfect if you ask me.” He laughed and laid back on the couch.

“Okay, then. Pie crust it is. Want me to pick you up some Fatburger while I’m out?” I asked, getting up to grab my purse. I heard a moan behind me. I turned and he was smiling huge.

“Grace, I knew I was right to keep you around,” he said, winking.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” I winked back as he threw a couch pillow at me. I paused when I got to the door and looked back at him. “Is it me, or did we just say the words ‘pie’ and ‘crust’ like seventy times?”

“We said pie crust a lot. Pie crust, pie crust…” he answered, saying it differently every time.

I left him mumbling to himself. With a giant grin I walked out to my car, which now looked a little paltry next to his Porsche, and slid in. I turned on the tunes and realized life really didn’t get much better than this.

Chapter 20

Four hours, five pie crusts, and six orgasms later, I packed the Brit into his new car and sent him to his interview. I headed to Holly’s to pick her up. We were going to our favorite little sushi restaurant, tucked away up in the hills on Beverly Glen, for a girls’ night. When we arrived we ordered dirty martinis and spicy tuna rolls, and we told our waiter to keep them both coming.

We toasted each other, sipped, and sighed at the same time. Nothing was as good as a dirty martini, extra dirty.

“So all is well with the Brit, I take it?” she asked, sucking on an edamame.

“Things are fantastic with the Brit. So glad we worked our shit out,” I said, matching her suck for suck.

“You mean you worked your shit out?” She snorted into her cocktail.

“Yes, exactly.” I smiled at her. “I mean, I still have plenty of shit to work on…”

“Ya think, Little Miss Meltdown?” she interrupted, which I stopped by tossing a carefully aimed soybean at her head.

“I still have plenty of shit to work on. Thank you. But I feel better about it than I have in a long time. I think coming clean with Jack about it all—even though my way of coping was a little too dramatic even for my taste—was the best thing that could have happened to us. I mean, we talk a lot more now, about all kinds of things. It’s good for us.”

“Imagine, talking in a relationship. We are so evolved.” She rolled her eyes, and I reared back to throw another bean when she kicked me under table.

“Look at who’s evolved now!” I laughed. “So now that I have my shit worked out, when are we gonna see about getting you a man, huh?” I kicked her back under the table.

“I’m fine. Don’t play matchmaker with me, asshead,” she warned, gulping down her cocktail and waving at the waiter, indicating we were ready for a second round.

“I just think it’s a shame that such a fine-looking piece of ass is going to waste. You need to get some, girl!” I laughed and sipped my drink, trying to tease out the olive. She blushed a little, then tried to distract me by pointing out Randy Quaid over in the corner.

“Don’t go all Quaid on me. What’s up with the blush, please, Ms. Holly?” I prodded, setting my drink down with a flourish.

“What? I’m not blushing. It’s the spicy tuna roll,” she said, looking at the table.

“Idiot, they haven’t brought the tuna roll yet. Are you—wait, are you seeing someone?”

The blush deepened. She was now trying to get Randy Quaid’s attention.

“Don’t you dare try to bring Cousin Eddie over here while I’m interrogating you. Are you seeing someone? Fuck me, you are! Who are you seeing?” I asked, pointing a soybean at her.

“Ya know, you point food at people a lot. Just sayin’. And I’m not seeing anyone, okay?”

I sat back and looked at her. “You’ve been with a man, haven’t you?” I asked, dissolving into laughter.

She glared at me and sucked her soy, hard.

“Oh, man, who are you f**king?” I laughed harder, almost choking on pimento.

“Okay, look, I’m not f**king anyone. There’s someone I’ve…well…who I’ve f**ked a few times, but it’s nothing. I am thirty-four years old, by God, and I have needs from time to time. Shut it!” she huffed, and sat back in her seat.

“Hey, girl, I get it. I’m glad for you. I know it’s been a while. I just can’t believe you didn’t tell me. Why wouldn’t you tell me? Unless…wait a minute…do I know him?” I asked, eyes wide.

She slunk further down in her chair and hid her face behind her hands.

“Does this man happen to have killer blue eyes and a very sweet disposition?” I asked, arching my eyebrow.

She nodded, still covering her face with her hands.

“And does he happen to have abs you could grate cheese on?”

She nodded again.

“I knew it! I knew it when I saw you two at the premiere. You’ve been schtupping Lane, haven’t you?” I screeched, and she finally lowered her hands.

“Grace, shut up,” she hissed.

The waiter brought our second round over, and I immediately sipped my new cocktail.

“Lane, Lane, Lane. Well, I’m impressed. Well done, sister.” I nodded and raised a glass.

“You think it’s okay?” she asked, looking guilty.

“Do you think it’s okay?” I asked right back.

“It’s more than okay. It’s amazing.” She chortled, smiling big.

I raised my glass again and clinked hers. “Here’s to the hottest thirty-four year olds in this city getting it on with two of the hottest young actors! Hell, yes!” I said.

She grinned back at me. “Actually, Grace, you’re thirty-three. I’m thirty-four,” she corrected as she sipped.

“Oh, I know. I just wanted to make you say it,” I said. She threw her napkin at me.

Over the next few hours she brought me up to speed on what had transpired between her and Lane. Apparently when she first met with him (right after I left for New York), there were some definite sparks flying. However, she’d been concerned about representing two actors in the same film, particularly one that was branded so heavily. But she enjoyed their meeting so much that when he asked her if she wanted to grab a drink later, she was surprised to hear herself say yes. She would never date a client, but since they’d agreed that her representing him was not a viable option, she felt okay about it.

Later that evening, she felt more than okay about it. She confided that it was the most powerfully raunchy, explosive night of amazing sex she’d ever had. But she quickly concluded that was all it was, and she tried to pretend nothing had happened. Poor Lane was lost in the signals and tried for weeks to get her to go out with him again. She continually refused, which explained the tension I knew I’d noticed at the premiere. Finally, he cornered her after an event and she came clean.

That night, they struck a sort of sex-only accord—it wasn’t as if Lane was looking for a soulmate—and they’d been getting it on every so often ever since. I was happy for Holly, as she’d needed to get laid for such a long time, and by someone who knew what he was doing. As they now knew neither was interested in pursuing anything beyond the physical, it seemed to work for them.

She was concerned about anything ever being leaked to the press about this very Alanis-like arrangement, so she was reluctant to tell even me. I, of course, assured her I wouldn’t tell a soul, especially since I was one of the few who could empathize with her predicament.

***

We stayed at the restaurant long enough so I was okay to drive, then after I dropped off the slut, I headed back down the mountain toward my canyon.

The Porsche was not there when I got home, so as I pulled in I made to sure to leave him enough room in the driveway. I let myself in and headed toward the kitchen. I wasn’t quite ready for bed, so I poured myself a glass of red and slipped out to the patio. I sank into one of the comfy deck chairs and turned on the stereo. I’d taken a page from Holly’s house when I remodeled, and I made sure to have speakers installed throughout. I selected my “quiet sexy times” playlist on my iPod and settled in. The canyon was so still at night, even though mine was a well-traveled street.

I smelled the honeysuckle and lemons and relaxed into the solitude. Did I miss the hustle and bustle of New York? Eh, a little. But not enough to ever give this up. I sat quietly in the dark, in the quiet, in the wonderful. I soaked in the moon and the few strong stars that punctured through despite the city lights close by. I absently wondered why my cheeks hurt until I realized I’d been smiling for hours. I heard Jack’s new car purr softly into the driveway, and the smile grew bigger.

I tracked him through the house, hearing the jingle of his keys on the table inside the front door, the lock clicking closed for the night, the slip of the leather jacket as it left his shoulders, and the soft slap of his shoes on the floor.

Comfort.

He spied the open door and came to stand in the doorway, squinting into the darkness. “Gracie?” he asked quietly.

“Hey,” I answered, stretching in the chair as he walked toward me.

“Hey yourself,” he said, settling on the ottoman in front of me. I placed my feet in his lap, and he took off my flip-flops without thought. He began to rub my feet, and my toes curled.

“How was the interview?” I asked.

He smiled a knowing grin and said, “It was good. Holly’s going to kill me, though.”

“No filter?” I asked, arching my eyebrow.

“No filter,” he confirmed, winking at me like the devil himself.

“Good party?” I asked, leaning up a little, but keeping my feet in his lap.

“Eh, it was fine. These L.A. parties are just not my thing, but it was pretty cool, I guess. How was dinner with Holly?”

“It was fun. I know a secret…” I said in a teasing voice, offering my glass of wine to him.

He took a large swallow and handed it back. “About Holly? A secret? Is it that she and Lane are having the sex?” he asked, winking again.

“You knew? And you didn’t tell me?” I cried, slapping him lightly. He increased the pressure on my feet and began to work his way up my calves. His long fingers slipped underneath my legs, rubbing circles and kneading my muscles.

“I knew, but it wasn’t my secret to tell,” he replied, lowering his gaze and looking at me from beneath his lashes. I could feel my heartbeat speed up as the green darkened, almost imperceptibly.

“Well, she seems to be enjoying herself,” I said, rubbing my legs together slightly as he continued his massage, working his hands now to the backs of my knees. My skin tingled and warmed under his fingers, and he knew it.

“I should think so. Lane says they’re having quite a good time. He wonders why we didn’t start dating older women years ago.”

His hands slipped higher on my legs. His palms rubbed in between my knees, parting them slightly. He wrapped his hands under my thighs, and suddenly pulled me closer to him, bringing me to the edge of the chair.

“You two are pretty funny, ya know? We love taking young pups and training them. You’re so much more moldable when you’re young, ripe for the picking. And the recovery time is reason alone…” I teased back, trying not to moan as he pushed my legs open further.

“Recovery time, you say?” He laughed, his eyes staying on mine as he pushed my skirt up higher, his hands now inches away from my panties. He continued to watch me as he scooped underneath me and pulled me into full recline in the chair. With precision, he flipped my skirt up and removed my panties slowly. His breath quickened as he brushed against me and felt how he had already affected me, how he always affected me. My body never, ever failed to respond to him.