Hollywood Dirt (Hollywood Dirt, #1)(91)

CHAPTER 98


The decision was made, after I finally rolled off him, my shoulders hitting the cold tile, my legs trembling when I stood, a moment of awkward silence between us before I giggled and he smiled, that we needed dessert. Ice cream, preferably. On that we agreed. I went to the bathroom and felt a moment of panic when the evidence of his orgasm came out. Right. Another unprotected experience. Good thing I had just finished my period, my window of fertility not open yet. Still, I should probably go back to Tallahassee. I should also have my head cut open and examined because I had lost something, somewhere, that kept me intelligent.

Quincy had no ice cream shops, at least not that were open on a Friday night past ten. We debated over our problem, but there was really only one solution.

“Walmart?” Cole looked at me as if I had suggested we stage a coup and overtake the Quincy government.

“Yes. You know, giant superstore, has everything at every moment of the day?”

“I can’t go in a Walmart.”

“Because…”

“Not to sound like a pompous prick, but because of who I am. There will be crowds. Paparazzi. And DeLuca will have my ass if I am photographed with you. Especially with…” He made some general hand gesture that I’m pretty sure was meant to encompass my magazine article.

“It’s Quincy. At ten-thirty at night. There will be, like, three people there. And look—” I opened the curtain and pointed. “All the photographers are camped out at my house. Waiting for me to go batshit crazy.” It was true, they were still there, a line of six of their cars, stretched out politely to the left of the Holdens’ gate. Mama was going to turn the lights on and off through the night and keep the blinds drawn, television on. She’d wanted to get more creative with the ruse, but I shut that down. Mama, when she got creative, could go a little overboard. “We could get treats for Cocky there!” I added.

“There are still security cameras in Walmart.” He shook his head at me. “No.”

I twisted my mouth, then got an idea.





CHAPTER 99


“We’ll look like robbers.”

Summer looked at the two bags laid out on the dining room table, with a serious face. “You’re right.” Her forehead wrinkled, and then she looked back at him, an excited look on her face. “We should decorate them.”

He scowled in response, a grin pushing at the corners of his mouth. She clapped her hands in excitement, and it was official: he’d never be able to tell her no.





“This is stupid.” He pulled at the bottom of his paper bag and scratched an itch the paper was causing against his neck.

“Shut up,” Summer chirped, leaning over the gearshift and adjusting it, his eyes suddenly better lined up with the holes. They were face to face, her own paper bag covering her features, her eyes the only thing visible, shining through two oval circles, her holes much more ‘feminine,’ according to her, than Cole’s basic circles. She’d added blue eye shadow, giant lashes, and carefully drawn eyebrows, courtesy of a thirty-pack of markers they’d found in the study. “Your eye makeup looks fantastic,” he whispered and became suddenly aware of her hand, on his thigh, where she was resting her weight.

“Thank you,” she whispered back and giggled. “Though you should get that mole looked at. It’s worrisome.” Oh yes, the mole that she’d felt the need to add, drawn on his cartoon cheek. She’d added a thin hair coming out of the top of it, and just like that, his paper bag self was suddenly ugly. He’d compounded the issue, drawing worry lines on the forehead and bags under his ‘eyes.’ “He looks stressed,” she had said, then added a cigarette, limply hanging from his mouth. “There,” she said triumphantly. “Now he has a reason.”

“Lung cancer?” Cole had guessed.

“No!” When she’d shoved at his shoulder, he’d wanted to sweep the bags off the table and take her, right there, the markers pushed to the end of the table, her hair spreading out on the walnut surface. He hadn’t. He’d let her finish. “Bad breath and teeth staining,” she’d said somberly. “They are very serious side effects.”

“And that makes my bag man worry.”

“YES,” she’d stressed, picking up a watermelon pink marker and filling in the lips of her woman.

Now, he stared at those lips, then impulsively leaned forward, the paper bag crinkling as he pushed his lips against hers through two layers of brown papers. Her hand tightened on his thigh, then it was over. Her eyes laughed at him. “Are you done romancing? I want to get inside before you smear this super-expensive Crayola lipstick.”

“I’m done.”

“Then let’s do this.” She fist-pumped and opened his door, opting to crawl over his lap and out rather than return to her side. He didn’t mind, helping her on her way out, his hands friendly, and she shrieked out a protest before both feet landed on the ground.

At almost eleven at night, they were the fifth vehicle in the lot, if you ignored the line of employee cars parked on the far side of the building. Cole’s steps slowed as Summer strode toward the entrance, her feet hopping over a parking curb. Her head turned to him, and she saw his lag, her hand reaching out and grabbing him. “Come on, chicken. Grow some balls.” She tilted her head at him, the giant bag making her look like a bobblehead, and he grinned behind his mask.