“Holly?” Belle screamed into Holly’s ear; reggae music was blaring in the background, along with high-pitched laughter and someone shouting, “Call my agent to discuss that!” Holly strained to hear what Belle was saying. “I’m—at—the Cabana—Club—-with friends!” Belle managed to yell into the phone. “Come—meet me!”
“Where is it?” Holly yelled back as Kenya raised her eyebrows.
“On Ivar—off Sunset—right behind—Amoeba Music!” Belle replied. “DJ—amazing—oh, God—just saw Lindsay—Lohan—she hates me—gotta—-run—” And then Belle was gone.
“Are you familiar with the Cabana Club?” Holly asked Kenya as she snapped her phone shut. Belle’s garbled directions hadn’t made much sense to her.
Kenya stared back at Holly, her expression incredulous. “I thought you didn’t know anyone in LA.”
Minutes later, Holly was back in the Hybrid, following Kenya’s car down Sunset Boulevard. By now it was deep nighttime, and the windswept strip was alive and glittering; Holly was transfixed by the bright, blinking lights of the House of Blues and Whisky a Go Go, and yes, the glowing red sign pointing to the castlelike turrets of the Chateau Marmont. Three girls in teeny sherbet-colored dresses and skinny heels, followed by a lanky guy who looked suspiciously like Topher Grace, crossed the boulevard to get to a club, and a bouncer unclipped a velvet rope for them. Holly rolled down her windows and breathed in the scent of evening jasmine, and she felt a sudden, overwhelming rush of possibility. It felt, she thought, almost a little bit like falling in love.
After Holly and Kenya had turned their cars over to the Cabana Club valets, they walked across the outdoor patio. There was a reflecting pool, lit-up palm trees, a giant waterfall, and huge beach balls that bounced around among the sleek guys and girls. Holly decided that the atmosphere felt more casual, beachy, and less celebrity-obsessed than The Standard had last night, and she felt herself relaxing. She was even surefooted enough to tell the bouncer that she and Kenya were here to see Belle Runningwater, and her manner must have seemed assured, because he nodded and let them pass.
“Okay, I’m your biggest fan,” Kenya said as she and Holly made their way through the gold-and-brown interior. “You handled that better than an LA native.”
“I don’t know how,” Holly admitted as she scanned the dancing crowd for Belle’s long black hair. “I’m usually such a baby about that stuff.” But am I? Holly wondered. Maybe she didn’t give herself enough credit for how much she’d grown over the past year—or even the past day.
She and Kenya came upon Belle on one of the elevated dance floors, shaking her slim hips to Matisyahu. Belle immediately enveloped Holly in a hug, greeted Kenya warmly, and introduced them to her group of friends, none of whom Holly recognized from television. In fact, the girls, in stovepipe jeans, leggings under skirts, and long, beaded necklaces, seemed fairly…normal. Holly realized she’d hit it off with Belle last night because she wasn’t the kind of girl who necessarily befriended other celebrities.
“I’m going to text some of my friends and tell them to meet us here!” Kenya called to Holly over the music, then hurried off the dance floor toward one of the mocha-brown booths. As Holly felt Belle tug on her wrist to draw her into the dancing circle, she was flooded with a startling sense of…belonging. The sensation was unfamiliar; Holly hadn’t exactly been an outcast in high school, but she’d never felt as if people had clamored for her attention, either. Yet here, in social-climbing LA, the most un-Holly Jacobson place on earth, she felt as if she’d managed to find a group of people who were on her wavelength. She felt like she was exactly where she wanted to be.
Before Holly could dwell on that surprising thought, her cell vibrated in her clutch. Taking a pause from dancing, she removed it and smiled when she saw that it was Tyler.
“Are you at a concert?” Tyler shouted in her ear when Holly picked up. Over the din, she could make out that he sounded a little annoyed. “I can’t hear you!”
“I’m at a club near the Sunset Strip!” Holly cried in response, taking a few steps back from the flailing, sweaty crowd.
“Tell—amazing—surfing—story—”
Holly could only make out Tyler’s every other word. “Let me call you back,” she said, snapping her phone shut. She told Belle she’d be back, then turned and elbowed her way out onto the patio. Holly fanned her flushed face with one hand and leaned against a palm tree, not far from a group of hyper girls in belly-bearing Juicy sweats who were flirting with sloppy-looking guys in sideways trucker hats (“so 2004,” Alexa would sneer if she were there). “I’m pitching my script to Wes Anderson,” one of the boys was crowing, while one of the girls was boasting about a callback she’d gotten for an under-five on Veronica Mars.
Holly smiled at all the LA-speak; she actually found it more funny than irritating. She was opening her phone to redial Tyler, when the cell buzzed in her hand. Distracted by her entertaining neighbors, and the blur of color and light, Holly answered without checking the screen.
“Tyler? Honey?” she asked.
“Uh, no.”
It was a boy’s voice—deep and slightly raspy. Holly froze, her automatic reaction whenever a guy she didn’t know called her. She let her hair fall back to her shoulders. “Who is this?” she asked, feeling a tremor of recognition.
“It’s Seamus,” the boy replied. “Seamus Kerr? I know that what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, but I was kind of hoping I wouldn’t fall into that category…”
“Seamus!” Holly cried, pleasantly surprised. But why was he calling? “Oh, my God—I owe you an iced coffee, don’t I?” she gasped, upset that she’d forgotten. Holly was excellent about paying people back; Alexa, meanwhile, owed her, like, five hundred dollars after eleven years of gas money, chewing gum, and ice-cream bars that had never been reimbursed.
“No, no, don’t stress about that,” Seamus said, laughing his warm laugh. Suddenly Holly heard the beep of her call waiting, and knew it was Tyler. But she wanted to hear what Seamus had to say first. “I was calling for another reason,” Seamus added. “To see if you’d be around tomorrow afternoon…”
“What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?” Jonah whispered to Alexa, twining his fingers through hers as they meandered up the flagstone path of El Sueño.
Night had fallen, and the estate was shrouded in darkness, but tiki lamps on the main house’s deck illuminated the way. The fragrant smell of bougainvillea was even stronger in the darkness, and crickets hummed overhead. All this, combined with the delicious glass of wine she’d had with dinner, had lifted Alexa’s spirits considerably. Her moment of boredom at A.O.C. was in the past. Now she felt tingly and flushed, and much warmer toward Jonah.
Or, rather, hotter.
“Because,” Jonah added when Alexa didn’t answer right away. “I get off early from rehearsal so I thought maybe—”
“Shhh,” Alexa whispered, wheeling around, and putting her hands on Jonah’s shoulders. She rose up on her toes and kissed him.
Jonah didn’t argue; he pulled Alexa tight against him, running his hands up and down her back, his breath quick and his tongue teasing hers. In that moment, Alexa understood how fully and completely she had this boy. Jonah may have been the one who could get them a table in a restaurant, but Alexa was the one with the power now. It was a familiar sensation to Alexa—the moment when a guy completely gave in to her. Boys were simple, she’d realized at a young age, even boys like Jonah, who could have any girl they wanted.
“Hot,” Jonah was murmuring into Alexa’s mouth, drawing back a little. “Hot tub.” He cleared his throat. “I have a hot tub on my sundeck,” he managed. “Meet me back out there?”
Breathless, Alexa turned toward the guesthouse to change, when Jonah called after her.
“Hey,” he said, lifting one arm. “Do you want some herb?”
“Um,” Alexa replied, surprised. Jonah smokes pot? What the hell? “I thought you didn’t like, uh, toxins,” she finally said. Desp
ite all her daring when it came to boys and breaking rules, Alexa had never tried pot, and didn’t have much interest in doing so.
Jonah shrugged and gave her a winning smile. “It’s organic.”
As Jonah went to go change—and possibly roll himself an organic friend—Alexa flew into the guesthouse. Weirdly, Holly wasn’t home yet, and Alexa wondered what her friend was up to with Kenya.
After she’d slipped on the Shoshanna bikini that Jonah hadn’t had a chance to see last night, Alexa hurried outside, her dark brown Havaiana flip-flops thwacking the ground, and made her way around the sundeck of the main house to find Jonah. He wasn’t smoking up, only waiting, shirtless, in a sunken hot tub. The water was bubbling around him, and his broad shoulders and chest glowed in the moonlight as he rested his arms on the tub’s sides.
Hooray for Hollywood.
Smiling, Alexa dipped one toe into the scalding water and slowly eased herself in until she was chindeep. Ahh. The jets pulsed against her skin, the water almost too hot to stand. Above them, big, hazy stars sparkled, and the roar of the ocean below them was hypnotic.
“I want to photograph this,” Alexa murmured, glancing down the mountain to see the Pacific, black and foamy. Her fingers tingled for her camera, back in the guesthouse.
“What for?” Jonah asked, reaching over to pull her close. “A million other houses have this same view.” His wet chest pressed against hers as he held her waist underwater. “Now this is a view,” he added, rubbing his thumb along Alexa’s cheek.
Alexa, her skin flushed from the water and Jonah’s nearness, closed her eyes and lifted her mouth to his. There was something about kissing a boy in a hot tub that made any other kind of kissing seem almost unsexy. Jonah’s hands moved down to her hips, and Alexa slid her arms around his shoulders. Within seconds, they were kissing deeply, their hands growing bold, their legs entwining underwater, their breaths mingling…
And the whole time, Alexa was remembering.
Hysterities. My plot in life. You’re so wacky.
The words wouldn’t leave her head. The more she and Jonah kissed and touched, the more Alexa remembered.
Challenging my craft. It’s organic. You know it’s all fake, right?
As Jonah backed her up against the side of the hot tub, kissing her neck, Alexa remembered how her heart hadn’t palpitated in the limo, how she’d realized Jonah wouldn’t understand her photography, and how he made her want to laugh—but for all the wrong reasons.
And, in the middle of Malibu, with her lips against a movie star’s, living out every sane girl’s dream, Alexa St. Laurent came to a simple realization:
She wasn’t that into Jonah Eklundstrom.
The thought was so startling that Alexa literally gasped and pulled away. She swept her eyes over Jonah’s confused face, wondering if she was going insane. But no. The realization held. This wasn’t right for her. He wasn’t right for her. Jonah raised his brows at Alexa, his hands still lingering on her hips, his fingers tickling the skin beneath the waistband of her bikini. Alexa knew that this was the classic cliff-hanger moment between guy and girl, when things could either go in the direction of lights, camera, action…or not.
“Cut,” Alexa whispered, and Jonah’s eyes grew round; that language, he understood.
“Do you not want to—you know—out here?” he asked. “We can go inside…”
Alexa shook her head, taking Jonah’s hands and guiding them off her hips. She didn’t want to “you know” out here, or in the house. She didn’t want to with Jonah. Period. Yes, he was dizzyingly hot, hotter than the water that burned up her skin. Yes, he’d been nothing but attentive and kind—which, of course, only made him sexier. But for maybe the first time ever, Alexa understood that true passion couldn’t be faked or acted. She couldn’t make herself fall in love with Jonah, even if she wanted to.
Alexa put her hand against her chest to feel the rhythmic thumping of her heart. She wished it would listen to her sometimes, but it always seemed to have a mind of its own.
“Is everything okay?” Jonah asked, sounding anxious. Alexa realized she’d been motionless, her hand pressed to her heart. “Am I moving too fast?”
Alexa almost wished Jonah would stop being so sweet; it was going to make what she had to do that much harder. She shook her head and backed up a few paces in the water. “No, you’re fine,” she told him. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Jonah’s brow creased. “But you’re not acting like yourself,” he observed.
“Maybe I am,” Alexa murmured. “Maybe that’s been the problem all along.” Jonah didn’t know her, Alexa realized. Anyone who thought she was easygoing didn’t know her in the slightest. Margaux had predicted that Alexa and her brother would get along—and they had. But Alexa didn’t want a boy she got along with. She wanted someone who would understand her so well that he’d challenge her between every kiss.
“What are you doing? I don’t understand,” Jonah sputtered, shaking his head in frustration.
Holding his gaze, Alexa reached out to run her damp hand along the side of his face, knowing she owed him an explanation.. “Jonah, I’m so sorry,” she said truthfully. “I know it’s sudden, but…this isn’t what I want right now.”
Jonah frowned at Alexa. “It’s about Charity, isn’t it? The kissing scene today? I promise you it’s all phony, Alexa.” He caught her hand and held it against his stubbly cheek. “I know you must have doubts about me, about us, because I’m an actor, and I’m all famous and shit, but I—”
“Jonah, it’s not that. Honestly.” I don’t care that you’re an actor—I’m just not feeling it with you. Alexa wondered how, or if, she could phrase that sentiment tactfully. But it was true; although the thought of Charity Durst still got under Alexa’s skin, Alexa realized she wasn’t—and had never been—that jealous of the actress.
Especially since Alexa knew she was about a thousand times cuter.
“I just can’t,” Alexa said. Hoping she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her life, she withdrew her hand from Jonah’s face and turned to pull herself out of the hot tub. But Jonah’s hand on her arm stopped her. His face, devastatingly handsome in the starlight, was etched with disappointment.
Alexa braced herself for his rebuttal; after all, Jonah was Hollywood royalty—he could do and say whatever he wanted. He could easily send her away from his estate or disinvite her to Margaux’s wedding. If there was any moment for Jonah to shed his niceguy image and flaunt his inner asshole, this was it. Alexa bit her lip, but to her surprise, Jonah’s expression softened.
“Total, total respect, Alexa,” he said, nodding at her. “You’re your own person, you’re on your own journey, and I’m just grateful that I got to…” Jonah paused, running a hand through his wet dark hair. “Spend a part of that journey with you.”
As always, Alexa was a little unclear as to what Jonah was talking about but she decided a soft “Me, too” was a safe response.
The corner of Jonah’s mouth lifted. “And maybe you’ll change your mind before you leave LA. But that’s entirely up to you.”
Clearly, Jonah Eklundstrom didn’t have an inner asshole.
Alexa gave him a grateful smile, and then got out of the hot tub, shivering as the cool ocean air hit her damp skin. “Thanks for understanding,” she called softly, walking backward.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jonah called back, but there was a question in his voice.
Alexa turned away from the hot tub and began to cross the soft grass, her flip-flops in her hand and the moon sailing the sky above her. Once again, she felt as if she were part of a scene in a movie. But, Alexa realized as something that felt suspiciously like relief rose up in her, the movie wasn’t a drama. It was a romantic comedy. That was what she and Jonah had been trapped in—a bad romantic comedy, with clunky dialogue and not-great chemistry between the leads.
And, somehow, as she slipped back inside the guesthouse, shut the door, and took a deep, steadying brea
th, Alexa sensed that this wasn’t the end of the film just yet. LA, in all its wildness and glamour, still waited out there, and so did Jonah.
Who knew what else might happen before the final credits rolled?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Grin and Bear It
“I can’t believe you dumped Jonah Eklundstrom,” Holly declared the next morning as she and Alexa sprawled across lounge chairs on the guesthouse sundeck, watching the ocean’s turquoise surface glimmer through the ficus trees. Lingering jet lag had awoken both girls early, but they’d been too wiped out from their respective nights out to do more than pull on bikinis and collapse in the sunshine. Birds were twittering brightly and El Sueño’s friendly gardener, Miguel, was humming as he trimmed the nearby hedges, clearly listening in on the girls’ juicy conversation.
“I didn’t dump him,” Alexa argued as she adjusted her sunglasses on her face. “It’s not like we were ever officially together.”
She sighed and glanced across the estate’s sprawling grounds. According to Miguel, Jonah had left for Paramount at dawn, and Alexa was grateful that she didn’t have to see him that morning. She was sure that the eternally laid-back Jonah wouldn’t make things awkward between them, but Alexa herself felt a little uneasy about what she’d done. She knew she needed to hash out her decision with Holly before she could feel one hundred percent about it.
“Still, you blew him off,” Holly argued, but she grinned as she said it. After her eventful night, she’d slept fitfully, imagining herself going bankrupt because of her new dress, and remembering the somewhat strained conversation she’d had with Tyler outside the Cabana Club (“Maybe you should just call me back when it works for you,” Tyler had said, his voice distant). But Alexa’s riveting Jonah story had taken Holly’s mind off her fatigue. “Only you, Alexa St. Laurent. Only you would decide that a gorgeous, millionaire Oscar-winner isn’t, you know, good enough.”
“Oh, shut up.” Alexa laughed in spite of herself, and swung her foot out to poke Holly’s bare leg. “So sue me. I have high standards.”