Noah

Julian didn't answer, and I got lost in making my sauce. More garlic, definitely. Salt, pepper, olive oil.

It didn't take long before the kitchen was smelling like good old times.

"I know some things about you," he said after a while. "Mr. Life of the Party."

I grinned and took a swig of my beer. "No arguing there."

I'd always been popular for getting a party started. I was great to have around for casual fun, in and out of the bedroom. It was for the heartfelt stuff I was known for bailing. Red carpets, interviews, even being chased by the paparazzi when I was out with Sophie—shoot. No issues. But when shit got serious, I didn't like attention at all.

Fuck being vulnerable. It had always made me uncomfortable to the extreme. And, of course, opening myself up and getting into a genuine relationship with Emma had worked out so well…

I added a layer of basil and sliced mozzarella in the pan, followed by pasta and some butter.

"Noah, what did you mean earlier when you said you'd had your fair share of fun?"

"Hmm?" I poured some sauce on next and then turned to Julian. "You mean…ah. I meant with men."

"Oh." He looked away and tugged on a lock of his hair. "I figured you were straight."

I shrugged and bent over a little, getting closer to the cutting board to make sure the slices of eggplant and zucchini came out perfect and thin the way I liked them. "I'm not really into labels, kid. It restricts my fun. I suppose I'm straight, yeah; I never felt anything deep for a dude. Doesn’t mean I'll turn down a threesome with a hot couple, though. And it sure as hell didn't stop me from having fun with my buddies in college."

After finishing all the layers and dumping a shit-ton of cheese on top, the lasagna was ready to go in the oven, and I was itching for another beer.

I was a bit rusty without the same enthusiasm I once had, but I could get into this again. Cooking. I still had it in me, the passion. Buried somewhere.

*

Dinner was a hit, and no bullshit, I was smug when Julian collapsed on the couch afterward in a food coma. Darkness had fallen, fireworks were going off in the distance, and I clung to my good mood.

Nothing stronger than beer, I kept telling myself.

We didn't have any liquor at home anymore, but that didn't mean there wasn’t a bar or two nearby. I'd deal, though. It wasn't a painful struggle. I just had to readjust a bit in my noggin. It was all in the head.

While watching a movie, Julian got into asking me about the actors I'd worked with. He was slightly starstruck when I told him some of my favorite memories from film sets. I doubted he was into gossip, but he did get a good laugh from hearing some actors' diva antics.

"Does the big Sophie Pierce have any outrageous demands when she works?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Not really, unless you count bigger trailers. She and Tennyson sync their schedules so they don't have to spend more than a week apart. So when one works, the other is usually nearby with the kids."

"That sounds nice." Julian quirked a grin. "Are they really the American Sweetheart couple the press has us believing?"

I snorted. "You read gossip rags? You should know better."

"Some things can't be avoided," he argued in his defense.

True, unfortunately. Running mouths in LA were loud.

"They're pretty fucking perfect, yeah," I conceded. "They fight and fuck up like any couple, but they're in the same league as your parents and mine. They come out stronger, and unlike my lovely ex-girlfriend, they remain loyal."

Had Emma been right to say I always compared us to Tennyson and Sophie?

Always was a strong word, but maybe my expectations had been too high. Then again, who wouldn't want what my friends had? I supposed I was all-or-nothing in that respect. Fuck settling. Fuck her for stepping out on me.

Julian's forehead creased, and he hesitated a beat before asking. "She cheated on you?"

Right. I hadn't told him why Emma and I broke up.

"Yup. I walked in on her and some guy she'd picked up at the store." I reached for my beer and drained half of it. "This was the day before the plane crash."

"Jesus." Julian flinched. "I'm sorry."

It was what it was. Thinking about Emma didn't hurt as much as it had a few weeks ago. With everything else going on, her betrayal paled in comparison, and it made it easier to move past.

*

That night, it was difficult to sleep.

Boredom had kicked in, which I supposed was a good thing, and I tossed and turned until I gave up. Putting on a pair of sweats, I headed for the living room to watch TV.