Brad looked at the woman asleep in the bed next to him and sighed. It was time for her to go, but he wasn’t sure exactly how to get the bitch out of his house. She’d practically moved in once Sherry had left in such a tizzy. He knew she assumed she would take Sherry’s place, but he found that idea less appealing than he once might have.

He’d met her in a strip club after another failed audition. At a low point, he’d invited her back to his house after they’d spent the night doing it in the back of his car. He’d taken her to breakfast, and then, knowing Sherry would be at work, brought her back to their house.

Well, Sherry’s place actually, since she paid the rent on the small apartment they’d been living in together for the last six months.

He assumed she’d drive around and come back like a dog with its tail between its legs. But she hadn’t, and now he was beginning to worry. It didn’t help that he was stuck with this chick—Stephanie? Doris? Amanda? He couldn’t remember her name, didn’t even try. These days he just called them all “baby,” and so far none had complained.

He usually only dated women he knew wouldn’t want more than his body, which he was happy to donate to the cause of making women happy, but this one seemed to want the whole package. Not likely.

He needed his space; he’d thought Sherry understood that. In his roles as a model and sometimes actor, he needed to be footloose and fancy free. He’d thought Sherry was just a fling, something to fill the time in between jobs. She was fun, and smart, and seemed to really care about him, but his need for a walk on the wild side had doomed them.

Now he regretted it. The idea that the grass wasn’t always greener on the other side was true. He needed to get her back.

Looking at the woman in the bed next to him in the cold, harsh light of day, he realized her boob job was sagging, her legs had been subjected to lipo so many times the cellulite had pock marks, and her wrinkles were not as appealing as they were in the darkness.

He slapped her hip harder than he intended and shoved her to wake her up.

“What’s wrong, baby?” she asked him with what she probably thought was an adorable sexy pout, but which disgusted him now.

“Nothing’s wrong. You need to get up. Get out of here. I got stuff to do. Come on, move it.”

She sat up, calling him every name in the book in words of four letters and more. He ignored her. He walked like a cat stalking its prey toward the living room where he kept a pack of cigarettes hidden in a vase. Finding them, he lit up, even though he knew Sherry hated the smell of cigarettes in the house.

He’d told her he quit, but it was a lie.

Like so many other lies he’d told her. They all blended together into a jumble in his mind.

“Bitch,” he whispered in the empty room.

“Hey, baby, when can I see you again?” the bimbo stood in the bedroom door, her blond hair disheveled from sleep, her lips pouty and full. He thought about taking her there, on the floor, before she left, but quickly dismissed the idea.

No sense giving her the idea she had a chance of getting back with him.

Instead he pointed to the door and silently sent her on her way.

She turned angry eyes in his direction, giving him the finger before the door closed on her.

She was already a memory to him, though.

Watching through the window as she left, his thoughts turned to Sherry. Where was she? Why hadn’t she come crawling back yet? How was he going to find her?

Then he had a flash of brilliance. At his last audition, he’d sat next to a private investigator, someone with the ability to trace vehicles. What if he reported Sherry’s car as stolen and had him trace it? Now, where did he put that guy’s card?

A short while later he’d found the card and was chortling with glee to think of the surprise on her face when he showed up to surprise her. He imagined the reunion, which would involve a lot of time under the sheets, because the insult he’d thrown at her about being a bad lay was a complete lie. She was definitely nota bad lay. She was probably the best lover he’d ever had, and it had taken her running away to prove that to him.

In twenty minutes, he was connected to the private investigator and detailed his problem.

“It’ll take a little time,” the PI told him. “I’ll get back to you when I know something. That’ll be $200 for a motor vehicle trace. Fifty up front, and the rest when the information is found. Agreed?”

Brad hesitated—he had exactly $350 in the bank—but he was certain Sherry would be happy to repay him once he’d won her back. He could tell her it was “research” for his next role.

“Yep, that would be great.”

A little while later, dressed in a pair of running shorts and a shirt in his signature black, Brad stretched before heading out for a jog. Keeping his body in great shape was important, and no matter what else was going on, he was not going to miss out on his run.

As he was undressing for his shower, his phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Got that information for you,” the voice on the other end of the line said. “Car is at a place called Havenwood Falls. It’s in Colorado. There seems to be no address for the garage, just some vague directions to it. I think they have a bus that you pick up at a place nearby. Here’s where you can pick up the shuttle.”

Brad wrote down the address. “Got it, thanks.”

Per the agreement, Brad paid the bill, wincing at the depletion of his bank account.

“Well, well,” said Brad with a huge grin, “gotcha. See you soon, Sherry, my girl.”

Time for a road trip.