Laurelin Paige - Take Two

Maddie moved her hands to his chest and, fighting against every aroused nerve ending in her body with more strength than she knew she had, she pushed him away. He dropped his hands and stepped back.

She wiped her mouth, trying to erase the taste of him. “It’s sex, Micah,” she said when she could speak. “As long as you’re officially free and single, that’s all we have.”

She turned again to leave, but paused in the doorway. “Silent partner, I think.”

“I’ll tell Richard.” His voice was cold and empty, breaking her heart further—she hadn’t known it was possible.

Without another word, she walked out on Micah Preston, her chest aching, and her pride hurt. It killed her to admit, but she had learned something important: Fairytale endings only ever happened in the movies.

Micah woke up with a hangover from hell. He peered over at the alarm clock on the nightstand. Ten forty-seven a.m. How come it felt so much earlier?

He lay in bed, massaging his temples for several minutes to no avail. Finally, he staggered to the bathroom for Advil only to find an empty bottle in his medicine cabinet. Dammit.

He relieved himself and splashed water on his face, then ventured downstairs in search of pain reliever. Dressed only in his boxers and squinting to shield his eyes from the bright light of day, he stumbled to the kitchen of his Brentwood mansion. Fudge sat on a stool at the island, eating a bowl of cold cereal, reading the latest Walking Dead comic book.

“Morning,” Fudge greeted around a mouthful of Cinnamon Life.

Micah groaned, heading straight for the stainless steel refrigerator. “Could you crunch a little less loudly, please?” He opened the freezer cabinet, pulled out a package of frozen peas—when on earth had he purchased frozen peas?—and placed the vegetables over his throbbing forehead.

Fudge tsked. “Feeling the effects of last night? I’m not surprised. I think you drank all the tequila.”

“Tequila?” Micah leaned back against the cool stainless steel door. “I thought I was drinking vodka.”

“That was the night before.”

The night before, that’s right. How many nights had he spent in a drunken haze now? Let’s see, since Tuesday after he’d last seen Maddie. What was that…five nights ago, now? Christ, if he kept this up he was going to be an alcoholic in no time.

Micah threw down the peas and rubbed his hands over his face. “Do you know where I can find some Tylenol or something?”

Fudge waited until he swallowed to speak. “There should be some in the cabinet under the minibar.”

“Good place for them.”

He made his way to the minibar in the dining room off the kitchen. There he found a bottle of aspirin, emptied two small pills into his hand and downed them with the rest of the almost empty bottle of Cuervo Gold. Hair of the dog that bit him, he reasoned.

After tossing the finished Cuervo into the trash, he opened the minibar’s fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. “Do I have anything going on today?” he asked as he returned to the kitchen.

Fudge flipped a page in his comic book. “Hmm? I don’t think so.”

Even the sound of pages flipping irritated Micah. He took a swig of water, wishing it was something stronger. “What time do I have to be at the award show tomorrow?” He paused. “That is tomorrow, isn’t it?”

Fudge dropped his spoon in his bowl, causing an annoying clank. “Am I your secretary now?”

His friend had been teasing, but Micah wasn’t in the mood. “You’re my half-assed bodyguard who lives free of charge in my pool house. Excuse me for thinking you could maybe pull a little weight around here.”

“Grumpy.” Fudge rolled his eyes then crossed to the kitchen laptop. He clicked on a desktop icon and turned the screen to Micah. “Here. I pulled up your calendar.”

Micah massaged his scalp, trying to rub away his irritation. “Ooo, thanks. What effort that must have taken.”

“What the fuck is your problem? You’ve been in a foul mood all week.”

Micah ignored Fudge and glanced at the laptop. Yep. America’s Choice Awards were scheduled for the next day. At least he wasn’t up for an award. He was just a presenter—a much easier job with very little focus on him from the press.

“In fact,” Fudge was still talking. “You’ve been in a foul mood since that investment meeting you went to about Maddie’s movie.”

Micah scowled at her name. He didn’t want to think about her, hence the recent large consumptions of alcohol. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He pulled the laptop closer, not really looking at it, but trying to discourage Fudge from conversation.

Fudge wasn’t deterred at all. “Come to think of it, you’ve been a bitch since the last week of filming. Since right around when Maddie left production.”

Ow, her name again.

Fudge patted Micah on the back. “Did the standard Preston brush-off not go well?”

Micah let out a groan. Even though the two of them were good friends, he didn’t share much emotional crap with Fudge. What he knew about Micah’s personal life was from observation and interrogation. Interrogating was today’s tactic.

“I didn’t give her the standard Preston brush-off. We ended things mutually.” Only a partial lie. She wanted one thing, he wanted another. They’d both had a chance to let it not end, and neither of them took it.

“Then why are you moping over her, dude?”

Micah shut the laptop lid. It wasn’t like he was really looking at the computer screen anyway. “I’m not.”

Fudge pulled a near-empty bag of Cheetos from the pantry. “You’re certainly moping over something and every time I say the name Maddie Bauers—”

Micah winced.

“You wince. What’s that about?”

Damn Fudge and his inquisition. He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. “She wants me to be a silent partner.”

“So?” He popped a Cheeto in his mouth and grimaced. “These are stale as crap.” He put another three in his mouth, crunching noisily.

“They’re from before Colorado. I’ll put them on the list for the housekeeper. She won’t be here until Monday, though.”

“That’s cool.” Fudge ate another Cheeto. “Anyway, I thought you were just helping Maddie out financially. Are you interested in contributing creatively?”

Micah watched Fudge as he put yet another Cheeto in his mouth. “Why do you keep eating them if they’re bad?”

Fudge shrugged. “Why aren’t you answering my question?”

Micah took another swig of his water, noticing that his head felt the slightest bit better. Talking no longer seemed quite so unbearable. “I’m not interested in contributing creatively.” How could he explain how he felt about being sidelined on Maddie’s movie? “I just…I don’t know…I really enjoyed talking through the process with her. It made me remember why I loved this whole business in the first place because she’s still so fresh about it. She has a good eye, very creative. Super intelligent. And when she gets a new idea or hits a roadblock, she likes to bounce it off someone.” He paused, remembering. “She’ll get all fidgety and she starts pacing and talking with her hands. And her beautiful brown eyes get all big and bright.” He smiled. “By the time she’s finished telling it, she’s always worked it out herself, but it’s stimulating to be near her when…what?”

Fudge was staring at Micah, his mouth gaping. “You’re in love with her.”

“Whatever.” Micah crossed to the fridge and opened it, pretending to look for something to eat, even though he had zero appetite.

Fudge slammed his hand on the counter. “You’re totally in love with her!” He chuckled. “Does she know?”

“No,” Micah answered quickly. Too quickly. He backtracked. “There’s nothing to know. Just drop it.” He shut the refrigerator door.

Fudge wasn’t dropping it. He followed Micah outside to the veranda. “Why the hell did you break things off with her?”

“I have rules, remember?” God, the sun was bright. “No dating. No serious relationships.”

“It’s your own stupid rule. You can break it.”

“The rule exists for a reason. It’s not stupid.” Micah circled back into the house, out of the blinding sun, Fudge in tow. “It’s a proven fact that relationships in this town do not work.”

“Then why were you seeing her in the first place?”

He stopped walking and turned to face Fudge. “Exactly. No clue.”

Fudge shook his head as if disgusted.

So Micah amended his statement. “Because she made me think that maybe I was wrong. But I wasn’t.” Except he hadn’t known if he was wrong or not. He’d wanted to see what happened with her. He sighed. “I asked her if she wanted to keep seeing me on the down-low.” He wandered into the den and threw himself facedown on the couch. “But she didn’t want that.”

Fudge sat on the couch arm and threw the bag of Cheetos on the coffee table. “She didn’t want to see you anymore?” Surprise laced his voice.

“I didn’t say that exactly,” Micah said into the couch pillow.

“Hmm.” Fudge stood and crossed to where he could look at Micah directly. Then he walked toward the kitchen, but returned a second later, his arms crossed.

Micah leaned himself up on one elbow. “Do you have something to say?”

“Yes, I do.” Fudge took a deep breath. “You’re an asshole.”

“What?”

“You’re a selfish asshole.”

Micah moved to a sitting position. “Selfish. That’s what she said.”

“Because you are. Dude, you probably don’t know this since you’ve had, like, zero experience with any relationship that lasts longer than an hour, but when you love someone, you do things in the best interest of you as a couple, not just you as a superstar. You can’t give up your playboy status to see where things go with Maddie?”