CHAPTER 73
Cole sat alone in the cabin on the plane. One of his feet rested on the empty chair before him, his chair slightly reclined and a drink untouched before him. He watched the ice settle in the glass, and wondered what in the hell was wrong with him. The plane dipped slightly, and he glanced forward, the flight attendant smiling brightly at him. He looked back at the glass.
The kiss had been different, so different, from the kitchen. It had been more like the kiss in her bedroom, and that was probably what was nagging at him. When he had been in her bed, and she had rolled over, climbing on his body and kissing him, he had been half-conscious, drugged out of his mind by the experience, his body on autopilot, their kiss just one more ingredient in a decadent dessert. But on that set, by that car, he hadn’t been drugged. He had experienced every sense, every taste, every movement of her tongue. He had relished it, dammit.
Shifting in his seat, he closed his eyes and wondered why he was beating himself up so much over her. He hadn’t thought twice about banging the twins in the hotel room, or the Brazilian on Dillon’s yacht three days after catching Nadia in the act. It wasn’t cheating. Nadia had been photographed a hundred times since with that director; his cock was probably tattooed on her body by now. So what was the problem?
Maybe it was Summer. Maybe it was some ingrained part of him that saw something he didn’t and wanted him to stay away from it. Maybe it was DeLuca and his threats. A piece of ass wasn’t worth losing half of The Fortune Bottle. And that’s all she was—temptation. That was what he needed to remember.
He suddenly thought of Cocky and reached for his phone.
When she answered, she was out of breath, her huffs into the phone completely innocent and completely erotic. He lost his mind for a minute, then found it. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Interrupting something?” she pounced. “You left set an hour ago. I just walked in the door. How could you already be interrupting something?”
He ignored the question. “I forgot to ask you if you’d watch Cocky. While I’m gone.”
“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?”
“Breakfast?”
“Yeah.”
“Since when do you eat breakfast?”
Cole laughed. “You got time for me or not?”
“Of course I do. I’m just surprised.”
“I’ve missed you, man.”
The man laughed in response. “Who are you, and what have you done with Cole Masten?”
“Seven at that restaurant in the Avalon lobby. Get us one of those pool cabanas, something with some fucking privacy.”
“There’s the man I know. Consider it done. See you then.”
Cole suddenly remembered the reason for his call. “Any luck finding me a house?”
“I have four or five that are up your alley. I’ll bring sheets on them tomorrow.”
“Make sure you get one with a yard. And find out the city code on owning a chicken.”
There was a long silence on the other end. The man had organized sex parties, bribed paparazzi, and given Cole his pee for a studio drug test, yet this is what gave him pause.
“A live chicken?” Justin finally asked.
“Yes. A rooster.”
“I’ll find out,” Justin managed.
Cole said goodbye and hung up. He had lost a wife and gained a pet chicken. Yep. Sounded about right.