Winning Hollywood's Goodest Girl

“Oh my God, that’s amazing. Probably the best secret anyone has ever told me.” A blush joins the smile party on her pretty face. “But I have to know…why your grandmother? And why didn’t you ever send them?”

“Because my grandmother was crazy. It felt like, somehow, she’d understand me, even if I was being ridiculous. But my parents didn’t get along with her, so I didn’t see her. I didn’t even have her address.” She laughs. “Though, I doubt I’d have had the guts to send them even if I did.”

“If she and your dad didn’t get along, she was probably the perfect person to send a letter in which you called him a pussy.” I chuckle and shake my head. “God, I’m dying to know why you were calling him a pussy in the first place. That’s pretty damn hilarious. I mean, I knew your parents in a very remote, removed sense, but I didn’t have any real occasion to know anything other than that they were always very punctual when coming to get your brother from the principal’s office. Mine were always a little late.”

“I can’t say I remember the exact incident that incited the word pussy,” she explains further. “But I believe it had something to do with the way he always rolled over for my mom.”

“Sometimes it’s good to let your wife set the pace.” I offer a knowing smirk. “They don’t have that saying happy wife, happy life for nothing.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t created for my mom. The exact opposite, actually. She was never really happy, and my dad let her bully him into decisions that were questionable.”

“Wow, Rock. That’s some really personal shit for a non-personal conversation.”

It is some deep shit, but the fact that I’m here, at this bar, on the same day I buried my dad is evidence that I’m certainly not one to judge.

She sinks her face into her hands and laughs. “God, you’re right. What have you started here, Doctor? How much do you charge for the hour?”

“Oh no,” I admit, more than ready to allow my own personal baggage to serve as her salve. “You don’t want me as your therapist, baby. I’ve got my own psychological issues when it comes to my parents. I’ve come here tonight,” I whisper, “straight from my dad’s funeral.”

“Oh my God,” she says, putting a delicate hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

I shrug. “Yeah, see…I’m not.” Her eyebrows jump up, and I laugh. “I told you I had my own issues.”

“So, you’re saying we’re both headcases?” she asks, and the soft, relief in her voice makes my chest feel a thousand times lighter.

I chuckle and shrug again. “If the shoe fits.”

“Well, whatever. I guess I’ve been called worse.”

I blow out my chest in mock-masculinity. “By whom?” I say, lowering my voice to a timbre reminiscent of Tarzan. “Show me man, and I beat with club.”

She giggles before taking the last sip of her water. “Usually it’s people I don’t even know, I’m afraid.”

The sentence doesn’t exactly make a ton of sense to me, but I don’t spend too much time on it. I just did a caveman impression, so I’m hardly the right person to hold either one of us to any kind of standard at this point.

The bartender brings over another round of water and iced tea and slides them onto the bar top in front of us, distracting both of us from the conversation unfolding for a brief moment. We simply smile at each other before taking a swig of our fresh drinks.

Tonight is so damn…unexpected.

No doubt, I didn’t anticipate finding an old California nemesis’s sister in a bar in Manhattan, but I really didn’t expect to end this day having a good time.

It’s been a long time since I’ve chatted with a woman in a way that didn’t feel forced—and I spend plenty of time chatting with women. I’ve certainly dated my fair share over the years and then some.

But now that my friends have all found their soul mates, it’s like I’ve got nothing but free time to fill. Sure, I’d like to find what they have, but I’m not set on it either.

I mean, while they’re busy at home with their wives and kids, I’m busy meeting different women and banging my head against a wall. Of course, sometimes it’s because we’re having the kind of sex that shakes a room; sometimes it’s because I’m bored out of my mind.

“What about you, then?” she finally says, pulling me from my thoughts. “I’ve given you one of my deepest, darkest secrets. It’s only fair that you give me one of your own now, isn’t it?”

“I suppose you’re right.” I put a finger to my chin and ponder. “A secret. Hmm. What do I even have that I can—”

She rolls her eyes and cuts me off dramatically. “Oh God, give me a break. Start with something easy. How many women have you slept with?”