Hollywood Dirt (Hollywood Dirt, #1)(68)

“Before I forget, I meant to talk to you about his name.”

“You gonna give me hell for naming him?” He closed his eyes for a minute and massaged the bridge of his nose.

“Cole, I cried like a baby when my first chicken died. I’m not going to make fun of you for naming him. I just think you could have been a little more creative than Cocky.”

He dropped his hand and smiled. “Next pet chicken I get, I’ll let you name it.” He regretted the statement as soon as it fell out. It was too much, pushing their shaky ground too far. But she ignored it, breezing on to a new topic.

“Where are you going?” The question had a naive curiosity about it, and he enjoyed, for a brief moment, their lack of sparring. Enjoyed and also hated it. There was so much familiarity in their battles that he almost felt uncomfortable with cordiality.

“Home. Or, rather, Los Angeles. My home there is now under the control of my ex.”

“So where will you stay?” She stopped him before he could answer. “Nevermind. That sounded… that came out wrong. Yes, I’m happy to watch Cocky.”

“I’m staying at a hotel.” He didn’t know why he felt the need to tell her. He wanted her to know, wanted to follow up the detail with the word ‘alone.’ I’m staying at the hotel alone. She wouldn’t care. The insecurity in her voice had been imagined. Why would she care? She wouldn’t.

“Fancy stuff.”

“Lonely stuff.” Another stupid thing to say.

“Right.” She snorted out a laugh. “Likely.”

He stopped the runaway of his mouth by filling it with whiskey, tipping back the glass and finishing it off, the flight attendant at his side instantly, her fingers lingering over the back of his hand when she reached for his empty glass. She’d come back to the hotel with him if he wanted it. She already had, after the first flight when he’d gotten the divorce papers. Her hips were double-jointed. He looked away.

“Where’s Cocky’s feed?”

“It’s by the kitchen door, in a clear container, there’s a scoop inside. I’ll have Justin send you more info.” He cleared his throat, well aware that the next sentence would make him sound like a pansy. “He’s used to me being around a lot… I don’t know how he’ll do at night, I’ve never left him in the yard all night…”

“Do you want me to bring him to my house? Or want me to stay at your place with him?”

The image of Summer at his house, in his bed… his hand trembled slightly when he took the tumbler back from the flight attendant. “Yes,” he choked out. “Stay at the house. If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.” She laughed a little, and he heard water start to run in the background, heard the sound of metal banging. Pots and pans, probably in the sink. He could picture her easily, her shoes kicked off, her sleeves rolled up, her house phone resting against her shoulder. “Did you leave it unlocked?”

Shit. “No. I—”

“Ben had an extra key from when he signed the lease. I’ll find out what he did with it. Anything else?”

He tried to think of something, a way to extend the conversation, but came up blank. “No. Call me if there’s any issues.”

“When are you getting back?”

“Tomorrow night. Early.” He should invite her to dinner. Any other costar he would. Especially if they’d pet sat. Though, when he flipped through his last dozen costars, none of them were the type to pet sit. They all had people for that, or a pet nanny on salary.

“I’ll be sure to be back home before you land. Call me if you need anything.”

“Will do. Thanks.” The word sounded odd when it came out and he tried to think of the last time he’d used it. Scary that he couldn’t remember.

“You’re welcome,” she said soberly, then laughed. He hung up before he laughed back, then smiled at the ridiculousness of it all. A chicken. He had a pet chicken. What the hell would he do with Cocky once filming wrapped? He couldn’t leave him behind. He’d have to—he dialed Justin’s number before he got sidetracked and forgot.

“Hey boss.” Justin sounded good, his voice clear and healthy.

“Hey. How’s the healing going?”

“Good. I’ll be flying back with you tomorrow night. Can’t wait, man. I’m going stir-crazy over here.”

“Did DeLuca tell you about the mediation?”

“Yep. I got a car ready for you at the airport. You eaten? I can have him grab something on his way.”

“No, I’m good.” Cole pulled down on the window shade and closed his eyes, half listening, his purpose for calling already forgotten.

“You’re at the Avalon tonight, and I put your Ferrari in one of their private garages. I’ll have a full details sheet for you in the car. And for dinner, I have Dan Tana’s, the Prawn House, and Morton’s all reserved, if—”

“Justin.” When he said the man’s name, his assistant stopped. It was one of Cole’s favorite qualities, his ability to run a thousand miles an hour and then stop on a dime.

“Yes?”

“I’ll be fine. Cancel the dinner reservations; I’ll fend for myself. Can you join me for breakfast in the morning?”