The Real Baxter (The Baxter Chronicles 1)

“I said that?”

“Your terminology was smoother, but that’s the general translation.” I gestured toward his burger. “I thought you were hungry.”

“I am.” Seb nodded and took a bite. I could feel his gaze in my peripheral vision. His eyes roaming my face as if scanning for clues.

“You’re staring at me.”

“Because I’m curious about you. Tell me about—”

“No, no, no.”

“No…what?”

“No more questions,” I growled. “I’ve told you everything there is to know about me. Quit grillin’ me. It’s your turn to do some talkin’.”

Seb set his burger on his wrapper and pointed at the street sign. “Turn right on Bundy.”

“And then what?”

“Keep going. I live in the hills.”

“The hills? I should have known,” I grumbled under my breath.

“Don’t be a dick. I’m paying for the honor of your company.”

“I’m not an escort.”

He huffed derisively. “Trust me, I know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It doesn’t matter. As you said, this is a professional meeting. I’m not grilling you, and this is not a barbecue.”

I snickered in spite of myself. “I gotta give you dad-joke points for that one, but I still say it’s your turn to share.”

Seb shook his head. “I’m just a guy who works too much. I’d rather hear about you.”

“I’m tapped out. You’re sucking lame-ass stories out of me like some kind of vampire hoping I inspire you or some shit. How about if you do the inspiring? Tell me something about you no one else knows,” I cajoled, stealing a sideways glance at him in the shadowy interior at a stop sign.

He froze midsip, resting his bottom lip on the straw. That was sexier than it should have been. Until the warmth in his eyes turned steely and foreboding. “Why?”

“Because that’s how normal conversations work. You tell me something, I tell you something. Exchange of currency.”

“This isn’t a date.”

For some reason, that comment tickled my funny bone. I started laughing and I couldn’t stop.

“Date?” I gasped between bouts of hilarity.

Seb eyed me warily as he nibbled on a french fry. “Yeah, and what’s so funny about that?”

I made a right at the next signal per his instructions and tried to figure out a nice way to tell the guy who might finally give me the career break I needed that although I thought he was extremely hot, he wasn’t my type.

Unfortunately, I was all out of fucks to give. And sitting side by side, sharing fast food and personal info had lulled me into a dangerously complacent state where I could almost convince myself we were a couple of buddies chilling after a long day.

But Seb wasn’t my friend. I barely knew the guy and the things I’d told him about myself were so inconsequential, they were hardly worth mentioning. I was tired of acting. I wanted to be real. In case you’re curious, “keeping it real” had proved to be detrimental to my career. You’d think I’d have learned by now, but—

“You’re not my type.”

Seb’s lips twitched. I couldn’t tell if he was amused or offended. For someone with an extraordinarily expressive face, he was difficult to read. Or maybe I just needed more than a few stolen sideways glances from the driver’s seat to study him.

“Ouch.”

“No offense. And that might not even be entirely true. I’ve always had a thing for suit porn, but you’re just very sophisticated and…I’m not.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. Who’s your type?” He made a show of slurping his shake, then lifted it as if giving a toast. “No, let me guess—tall blondes with huge tits or gym rats with big biceps and tight asses.”

I made a buzzer noise and picked up my burger. “Wrong. Not that I have anything against beautiful blondes or fitness freaks, but looks aren’t everything.”

Seb barked a laugh. “Says a Hollywood actor.”

“And stuntman.”

“You got fired from that gig, so maybe stick with actor.”

“Right,” I huffed sarcastically. “Don’t read into it. It’s a personal preference thing. I’m attracted to people who are a little more…connected to reality.”

He widened his eyes as he finished swallowing his food, gaping at me in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? I’m the most connected person you’ll ever meet.”

“Attraction for me has nothing to do with who you know or how much you own. I get turned-on by men or women who are a little less…conspicuous about their belongings. On a professional level, sure, I think it’s cool that you have your own table at a hidden, bougie bar in Beverly Hills. And yeah, I was impressed and vaguely alarmed by the attention you got just for showing up. But that’s the actor in me talkin’. In real life, that shit doesn’t give me wood. You know what I’m sayin’?”

Seb wiped the corner of his mouth and shook his head. “I cannot believe I’m asking this, but…what gives you wood, Trent? And nice smile and a good sense of humor are bullshit answers. Be honest.”