Page 2 of Hollywood King
Cathy
I hadto remind myself to breathe—almost to remind my heart to beat. It was cliché: falling for the bad boy. But Heath wasn’t just the bad boy. He’s the off limits boy, the you’ll-be-disowned-if-anyone-found-out boy. Which, to my rebellious mind, made him all the more irresistible.
He climbed off his Indian Scout motorcycle, one booted foot planted in the lush fall foliage and then swung the other across to join it. No helmet, nothing to protect his fragile bones except a beat up leather jacket he wore even in the summer. I couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t wear that jacket.
Breathe, Cathy.
Breathe.
I drew the damp Earth scent deep into my lungs and exhaled the warmer remains. He shook his fingers through his hair and ambled up to the steps. Heath did nothing quickly. It was always at his own pace, in his own time. One reason my brother Ley hated him so much. Time stood still for Heath, and the world waited.
I waited.
He took the stairs of the Earnshaw cottage two at a time. I stood there simply breathing in the Catskill air. “Hey, Beautiful.”
His deep voice broke through the constant rustle of crackling leaves, and I felt like I could finally draw a full inhale. I launched my arms around his neck and pressed my cheek to his chest. Taking comfort in the thump thump thump of each heartbeat. We’d been apart for a week, and it seemed more like a year.
“Hey, Babe.” He drew my arms down and clutched my hands tight in his own. “What is it?”
I almost choked, forcing the words out. “I thought you forgot.”
He chuckled softly, released my hands, and tipped my chin up to meet his eyes. “Never. It’s only been a week. Even if years passed, I’d never forget. Stop being so dramatic. Let’s go inside.”
Instead of waiting, he interlaced our fingers and pulled me into the house.
Cottage is a misnomer. The 2,000 square foot house had six rooms, four bathrooms, and a service staff. Who I’d sent home a few hours before Heath arrived. The rafters sent back the echo of his boot steps. 48 hours alone. It seemed like a dream. We’d never been able to steal more than a few hours together.
In two days, he headed to Los Angeles to join the Earnshaw Company for his internship with my father. I was headed to Berkeley after a two-year gap before college. Who knew when we might steal some time together again.
“Everyone gone?” he asked, spinning around to face me. I could only stare and nod dumbly. How did I capture this beautiful creature? His black hair had a mind of its own, full of knots and curls. He never did more to it than run his fingers through it to brush it out his face. His brow sat forward, giving him a more authoritative look. Even his lips looked princely. His full lips I’d been learning every inch of over the last year we’d been sneaking around behind my family’s back.
“Good.” He pulled me in and ducked his face to mine.
I held my breath again as his lips touched mine. Nothing more than a graze, but it sent sparks through me like the first bright flare of a sparkler.
He stepped away and peered around the living room. I could only watch as he picked up knickknacks and set them back down one by one.
“How was the drive?” I managed when my heartrate sank back to normal.
“Beautiful.” I could hear the smile in his voice even as he faced away. “I love the Autumn, but I’ve never seen it like this. I’m afraid I’ll be ruined for Fall anywhere else.”
I folded myself onto the couch, lined with flannel blankets in every color. “Oh, you will be, but it’s worth it to see regardless.”
He continued his inspection of the space and I of him. We’d grown up together. To the outside world, he should be my adopted brother, but it had never been that way between us. From the moment he stepped through the door with my father, I knew what I might one day feel for him was not familial. I was twelve and he fourteen. Now at 20 and 22, we were still children in my father’s eyes, but we’d grown out of childhood infatuation into something more dangerous. And nothing sparked urgency in a relationship like impending absence.
When he finished, he threw his tall frame onto the couch next to me causing to me to topple sideways into him. He wrapped me up and settled in close. “Two whole days together. Whatever will be do?”
His question floated between us. Rhetorical since we’d spent a lot of time talking about this weekend. And I’d spent even more nights imagining it start to finish. My skin lit hot in anticipation.
“I had Roberta get the groceries and start the soup. She said it will be ready in a couple of hours. Which was, you know, five hours ago when I got here.”
He laughed, his stomach pitching against my side. “Let’s eat then.” He left the couch and pulled me up, one of my hands in either of his.
We walked together, him dragging me by the hands into the kitchen. I gathered the bowls from the cabinet while he poured two glasses from a bottle of wine I’d placed on the counter. Roberta clucked at me when I chose it, but I reminded her I’d spent the last two years drinking in Europe. I wasn’t about to stop now.
I ladled the beef stew into the bowls and carried them to his counter near the refrigerator. Another expanse of counter sat opposite, framed by a window displaying the season in all her glory. He took his and traded it for a glass of wine. I climbed up on the counter, cupped my bowl, and blew gently across the steam.
He pressed his face almost into his bowl. “This smells so good.”
