The Scene Stealer: A Hollywood Romance

“Good. Though, I think he liked having you around.”

“Naw.”

She walks over to grab her suitcase from the entrance hallway; her wrap dress left open, hanging around her shoulders like a robe swaying with each step.

“I owe him. He. . .he somehow paid off my hospital bill. Money has been tight for so long I don’t know how he found a way to do it. Maybe you can help me figure out a way to pay him back.”

Shit.

“Larsen, I. . .” I begin and then realization dawns on her. She’s so intelligent I don’t know how she didn’t figure it out before.

“You gave him the money,” she whispers, and I can’t tell if it’s in awe or anger, her face is stoic, giving nothing away.

“I had to do something. You didn’t deserve that burden. No one does. And I have the means to make it right.

“I tried to pay it directly to the hospital, but there were too many red flags. I called your uncle and he paid it on my behalf.

“Please don’t be angry. Even if nothing had happened with us, you were, are, a friend. I would do it again. No question.”

Her suitcase now forgotten, she slowly stalks toward where I sit on the edge of the bed. The approach is steady, but as she raises her hands to rest on my shoulders, I find them shaking. Instinctively I wrap my arms around her trim waist.

“I never asked for your money or for anything regarding your career.”

“I know. Maybe that’s why I didn’t hesitate to do it. You see me. Just like I see you,” I point out, referring to the woman that is more than the scars she possesses.

Larsen kneels onto the bed, her legs bending on either side of my hips, bringing our bodies together. But the move isn’t sexual. Her arms wrap around my neck as she presses against me, tucking her face into my throat.

Against my neck, she whimpers. “Thank you.”

In return, I tighten my hold around her back and waist beneath her open dress, keeping her body firmly pressed alongside mine.

We stay like this, our bodies tangled together until I feel the soft, steady breath of Larsen’s exhales against my neck. Slipping my arms from behind her dress, I softly run my fingers along the back of her head, combing the long strands with gentle ease.

My other arm grips under her legs until I’m holding her and am able to place her length on the bed. I maneuver the covers aside with the hand that had been holding her head and then place her on her side. She instantly settles, but her face winces as we lose contact. Kicking off my shoes, I move to the other side of the bed and glide beneath the covers, my body facing toward Larsen’s back. As if subconsciously seeking me out, her body turns over to my direction. I reach out and tug her closer, fascinated as her distorted face calms at my touch. Even in her sleep, she finds peace with me.

“Sleep, sweet angel.”

An hour later, we wake together, her bright blinking eyes taking me in. It takes me a minute to realize that she’s not just a dream, but she’s here in the flesh.

Extending my arm, I run the backside of my fingers along her cheek. “I still can’t believe you’re really here.”

“I guess you have America’s sweetheart to thank for that.”

“I suppose I do. But it’s strange since she was the one that was pushing the fake relationship for the film. It’s not something she’s ever done. At least to my knowledge.”

Larsen’s hand stretches to meet mine and laces our fingers together.

“Maybe she was hoping you’d turn it down? Getting a confirmation about me at the same time.”

Ah, that makes sense. And I failed, miserably.

“I can talk to her about ending things with Elena.”

“Don’t, Devyn. If it’s going to help your career you should continue the charade. Besides, I’m going to be gone again tomorrow.”

Damn, I hate that she’s right. And just thinking about her leaving tomorrow sets the brakes in my chest faster than the ones in the racecar I drove yesterday.

“What time is your flight?”