Hollywood's Secret Baby

At this point, a body slams into Cory and me. I fall to the ground, and Cory’s phone tumbles out of my hand and slides across the tile floor. When the huffing man turns to look at the damage in his wake, his face is reflected in the photo still on Cory’s phone.

Cory moves like a viper, snatching Jay’s collar and yanking him back even as the overweight man attempts to flee. He manages to stay on his feet, but he’s stumbling from the sudden disturbance in his gait, and while it’s a cheap shot, Cory doesn’t hesitate in throwing all of his weight into a punch that cracks across Jay’s jaw like a boulder dropping into a lake.

The man goes down right beside me, groaning and spitting blood.

Security shows up in seconds. They go straight for Cory, but Sarah explains in French who the man is. They don’t seem convinced until I pull out my phone. This probably isn’t the best way to let Sarah know what happened, but I’m not going to let Cory get arrested for doing what I so desperately wish I could have done to Jay.

“He’s guilty,” I say, looking at the security guards and then to Sarah. I hold her gaze as I continue. “He admitted to me tonight that it wasn’t Jeb Eli who assaulted Sarah Park. It was him. And I have his confession right here.”

I play the video on my phone. The crowd around me, who has been jostling for a better look at the remains of the fight, holds its breath as all ears attune to the crude words Jay admitted to me just hours ago.

Another reason I’m proud to call Sarah my friend is that she doesn’t break down at this reveal. No, she breaks Jay.

Sarah has always been on the cutting edge of fashion and tonight is a perfect example of her audacious style. She’s sporting gold highlights in her black hair with little diamond-shaped gold stickers dotting up the left side of her face, encircling her eye. Her dress could be a bridal dress if it weren’t made of this golden fabric that flows about her like the wind. Lastly, her shoes are angled, and sharp. And it’s these high heels that she plunges into Jay’s nether regions over and over again until Cory actually has to restrain her.

As we watch them pull Jay away, the security guards reassure us that they will be contacting the local police and then the US embassy. Then they’re gone, and so is the useless heap that is Jay, leaving Sarah, Cory, and me speechless in his wake.

All the alcohol has evaporated from my system, and I’m not the only one’s who’s sobered up. Sarah started crying after her furious kicking session ended. She’s cried plenty on screen, but this is the first time I’ve ever observed a crack in her real personality.

“I should have told you right away, but I didn’t want to ruin your night.”

“It is not your place to apologize, mon ami.” Sarah places the corner of a tissue at her eyes, careful not to smudge her elaborate cosmetics. “You were sharp enough to get that on tape, and for that I am eternally grateful.”

She kisses my cheek.

“You okay?” Cory asks her.

“Unlike my wounds,” she says and takes his hand, rubbing her finger over his bloody knuckles. “Yours are fresh.” She then places his hand in mine. “You take care of him. I have been invited to speak on an early morning talk show up in Paris. I have a jet to catch.”

“You sure you’re going to be alright?”

“That disgusting man has no control over me anymore. Now go,” she says, shooing us away. “Go and make lustrous love.”

“Sarah!” I hiss, appalled that she could say something like this at such a normal volume.

“What? I am French. I am allowed to say such things.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Cory says, and he actually lifts me up in his arms, just like that night on the beach. Then he carries me out onto the red carpet and into the night.

Chapter 35

Epilogue

Cory’s plan was to head into the first hotel we could find. But our passionate embraces start in the streets, where we duck into shadows, press each other against walls, and grope desperately at what we can’t have until we can find a bit of privacy.

Lost down a cobblestoned alley, we stumble into this quaint hotel where a ring at a bell on the front desk calls up an ornery woman who takes our money with a scowl. Undeterred by her annoyance, we frolic up the stairs and practically fall into our room. A room that hasn’t been updated since the seventies, hasn’t been dusted since the eighties, and has walls thin enough that we can hear the couple on the other side bickering.

“I thought French was the language of love. Who knew it could sound so toxic?” I say as we pause, taking in our lackluster surroundings. But as bad as it is, we don’t turn around and look for somewhere better. We’re running on the sort of high that comes once a decade for the lucky and once a lifetime for people like me. I need Cory right now, damn the shitty state of th

is room.

Cory wraps me up from behind, hugging me as I turn my head so our lips can meet. His hands slide under my dress, gliding over my ribs on the way to my breasts. I sigh into his mouth as his fingers find my nipples. Cory is obviously as turned on as I am, and we’re in no mood to take this slow. His fingers only have a brief visit with my nipples before sliding down under my panties. His middle fingers tests the waters, finds that I’m beyond wet, and then plunges right inside of me.

My moan is all the signal he needs, but I press my ass against his cock to make sure he’s getting my message: I can’t wait another second for you to be inside me.

We both pause to look over at the bed. The sheets are a faded blue color, and there’s a layer of visible dust on the headboard.

That’s a solid no for me. Thankfully, where we’re going, we don’t need a bed.