I loved this life, however. I loved the work and the opportunity, the high that I got performing again. And the paycheck was nothing to sneeze at. Jack was right: we could take what he had already made and the money I had in savings, plus my new income, and we could disappear. Seychelles? Sure. East end of London? Of course. Farm in Iowa where I could grow my own salads and put up jars of jam and beans for us to survive the hard, lean winter?

Okay, you’re not Laura Ingalls . . .

Regardless, Iowa had its own appeal, and there’s no question Jack would look fantastic in overalls with a pitchfork.

But realistically we wouldn’t do any of those things. Because I had fought to get back here, and I wasn’t letting some slimeball with a telephoto lens run me out of anywhere. So we would deal. But how?

“I was not prepared for that. Next time I will be,” I muttered, looking past Michael’s concerned eyes to my bundle on the patio, who still hadn’t moved.

Michael called a cab and left a little while later, promising to check in tomorrow. I didn’t ask him about what might or might not be going on with Holly. I would let her squirm for a bit before I put on the real pressure. It was rare I had something juicy like this that I could press out of her, and I was going to enjoy getting her to tell me.

For now, I headed outside and poked Jack with my toe. He was still wrapped up. Wordlessly, he unfolded his arms and let me sit on his lap, sharing his blanket with me. He held me tight, cradling me into his chest and letting our breathing sync. In. Out. In. Out.

We sat in the quiet night, interrupted only occasionally by a coyote howl. Laurel Canyon was magical, especially at night. I could understand why so many musicians and artists set up shop here so many years ago. It was inspiring at every turn.

He sighed heavily, his arms tightening, bringing me as close as he could. I let him, his entire body was craving contact, and I wanted to be that for him, his contact. I threaded my hand through his, breathing in his scent, which was concentrated thickly at my favorite spot on his neck, just below his ear. Every limb intertwined, the blanket covering us from the world, I sat with my sweet boy, listening to his heartbeat.

“Can we talk about this tomorrow?” he asked quietly, his body tense.

“Yes, but we will talk about it,” I replied, squeezing his hand.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“Not bloody likely.”

Every time I closed my eyes I saw those damn flashbulbs.

nine

Time heartthrob Jack Hamilton and rumored girlfriend Grace Sheridan were partying hard in the Hollywood Hills last night! The couple was photographed leaving the party, with Jack intoxicated to the point of being held up by his girlfriend and another party guest. Sources from inside the party last night tell us, “He was drinking a lot, spending most of his time at the bar with Adam Kasen.”

Jack Hamilton skipped the fender and went right for the bender, getting so drunk last night at a party hosted by his manager, Holly Newman, he had to be helped out to a waiting car! Grace Sheridan, older actress, and Michael O’Connell, writer and creator of Grace’s new show on Venue, held up the Sexy Scientist Guy as they left the party last night. Sources inside the party confirm that while Jack and Grace refuse to confirm their relationship, the two got very chummy there. “She was totally sitting on his lap. They were kissing and ignoring everyone else they were sitting with. She knew there were people watching too, and she made sure everyone saw she was with him.” The actress hid in the backseat as they sped away; Jack appeared to be passed out cold in the front seat.

In the hills of Beverly last night, photographers caught Jack Hamilton sneaking out of a party hosted by his manager, so drunk he was barely able to walk to his car! By his side was rumored girlfriend Grace Sheridan, nine years his senior and star of the upcoming show on Venue, Mabel’s Unstable? The pair struggled to their car, helped by fellow actors Lane Robbins and Adam Kasen, Hollywood bad boy. Kasen, a castmate of Jack’s in the still-in-production soldier flick Soldier Boy, has been spotted out on the town with Jack. The two actors have been seen partying at various nightclubs and bars in Los Angeles lately. Sources close to the unconfirmed couple say that Grace is “furious at Jack for spending so much time out at night.” Grace sat in the backseat of the car last night as the couple sped away from photographers, both trying to hide their faces from cameras. Dr. Richard Pearson, psychiatrist and expert on substance abuse, speculates on Jack’s condition. “He’s displayed the classic signs of someone who is having difficulty dealing with the pressure this industry can place on young stars. He is in real trouble. He’s clearly not handling the fame well.”

I closed my laptop and thought of Jack, still in bed and sound asleep. Sawing logs but still gloriously cute. I made coffee and didn’t think about it. I sliced peaches and nectarines for a fruit salad and didn’t think about it. I perched on the end of my kitchen island, the granite cool underneath me as I hyperventilated, not thinking about it.

Why was it necessary that every time they referred to me, they made sure to comment on the nine-year age difference? I knew it; he knew it; anyone could see it, but really? Every time?

I snot-sobbed, letting everything out in a way I hadn’t for a long time. Everything that had happened lately, everything we were going through would once have ended up in the Drawer, where all bad things went. In the past, when I couldn’t deal with something, I literally didn’t deal with it. Instead, I walled all things unpleasant into a tight little box, which eventually exploded. And landed on everyone around me. This had happened spectacularly at Jack’s Time premiere the previous year.

Now I vowed to deal with things as they happened, in the moment and in the present. This resulted in a lot more tears but a much less confused head. And now I needed to talk to Jack. Armed with a breakfast tray loaded down with treats, I headed into our bedroom. Sprawled across his side with one hand on my pillow, searching out missing boobies more than likely, was the Sexiest Man Alive. Still snoring, he wore the sheets low on his hips, revealing that happy trail that made me more than happy. I set down the tray and curled into his side, pressing kisses across his shoulder and chest as he stirred. Green sleepy eyes opened to mine, and a sweet smile crept across his face.

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” I whispered, dipping down to kiss on that sweet smile. His hands tangled into my hair, and he tried to pull me down to him, coaxing me with promises of what he’d do to me if I let him.

I almost let him. It would be a wonderful way to get lost and avoid what had happened, even if just for the morning. But I had nectarines. And a Brit to take to the woodshed, although in a kinder way than I’d originally thought I’d be taking him.

“No, no, Sweet Nuts, I made breakfast. Come on, let’s eat.”

“Oh, I’ll eat all right.”

“That’s crass, love.”

“Never heard any complaints,” he sassed, licking his lips and beginning to flip me over. I knew I had to take control. Once he was south of my belly button he would own me, and I wouldn’t even be able to spell “woodshed.”

It’s an easy word to spell. Come on, let him do it.

“I have nectarines,” I protested.

“So do I,” he responded immediately, leading my hand south on his body as well. I copped a quick feel—I wasn’t made of steel—then wisely sat up, removing his hands from my body before I could get too distracted. I scooted away from him on the bed, pouring some coffee as he protested.