“MATT.” DONNA’S VOICE CHIRPED through my Bluetooth speakers. “Tomorrow morning, you are all set for Wake Up with Stacy. I’ve emailed you all the details.”
I flipped my turn signal and maneuvered my Range Rover through the rainy streets of Manhattan. “Great, thanks, Donna.”
I was less than thrilled about being Stacy Carlton’s co-host. The chick was a gossip hound, but her show was ratings gold. It was a good opportunity for people to see me in a new light aside from action star—personable, laid back Matt. The side I rarely showed the public, other than a few seconds in an interview before a premiere.
“Have you heard anything about the movie yet?” I asked, pulling my car into the parking garage of my apartment building on the Upper West Side.
“Nothing yet, but I expect that the final contract with come through in the next seventy-two hours.”
“What is taking so damn long? Is it the salary? I told you I thought it was too much.”
“The salary is what you deserve. Don’t you worry—that is my job. Now, get a good night’s sleep. The car will be there to pick you up at five a.m.”
I wanted that deal closed so that I could announce it on television tomorrow. This role. This movie. It was a game changer.
“I got it and I will be ready.” I ended the call and slid into my parking space. I was looking forward to a quiet night in, Netflix and pizza. Marco Polo was my current binge, although I’ve been hearing good things about Bloodline.
I hit the up arrow on the elevator and then stepped inside. After inserting my keycard, I punched my code into the panel.
When I stepped off the elevator onto my floor, my cellphone rang. “Hey, Ronan. What’s up, man?”
“I need a drink, are you available?”
He sounded pained. This more than likely had something to do with his relationship with Holliday. As much as I tried to avoid the gossip rags, it wasn’t easy.
“Yeah, man, how about Murphy’s in thirty?”
“Thanks, mate, I’m buying. See you there.”
“Man, you look like shit.” I didn’t mean for the words to come out so harshly, but they did.
“Piss off,” he grumbled in his Irish brogue running his hands over his face.
I laughed and settled back into my chair. Our server approached the table. Her hands trembled when she tapped the pen against the notepad. She was star struck, but I was going to do my best to put her at ease. My eyes drifted to her nametag—Ginny.
“I’ll have the boneless wings, twelve with extra hot sauce and another beer, thanks, Ginny.” I lifted my empty bottle and she nodded.
Ronan ordered a basket of regular wings and a glass of whiskey, although something told me he was going to buy the bottle.
“How many times are you going to tap the screen, Connolly?”
“What?” he asked, shifting his gaze towards the baseball game on TV.
I jutted my chin. “Your phone.”
Our server, Ginny, arrived with our drinks, and he downed the whole thing before I took my first sip. He called Ginny back over to the table, handed her his AMEX, and instructed her to charge him for a bottle. Predictable.
She hurried back to the bar, her red ponytail and hips swaying in time. Ginny reminded me of a model I used to fuck on a regular basis. Fuck. I needed to get laid. The only thing that seemed to get me hard these days was the thought of Tinley Atkinson’s sweet lips wrapped around my cock. I jerked off nightly to the fantasy of fucking her into my mattress.
Ronan signed for the bottle of Jameson 18 and then proceeded to slam back another drink. By the twisted look on his face, I could tell he was relishing that burn.
“Man, you should be on cloud nine. You fucking landed the Van Wyk picture.”
“I did, and I’m elated,” he replied, grinning as wide as the plains of Texas.
“Well, then I guess the rumor in the tabloids is true.”
“What rumor?” he asked, lifting the glass to take another drink.
“The one about how you and Holliday are over.”
He swirled the contents of his glass before taking another long sip. “We’re not over. I went and fucked things up, but I am determined to make it up to her.”
“Speaking of fucking things up, I’d like to anger-bang our waitress. Think I have a shot with Ginny?”
“What do you have to be angry about?”
I tossed back more of my beer, savoring the taste before swallowing. “Nothing. She just reminds me of a bitch model I was once screwing on a regular basis.”
“Well, then go screw the bitch model, not that fine thing.”
Ronan was torn up over this woman. I wondered what the fuck went down between the two of them. I wanted to ask him about Tinley. I knew this was not the time so I redirected and pulled my shit together. He needed a friend right now.
“I was only joking. I don’t have it in me to be that kind of asshole.”
“You are sort of an asshole.” He laughed, tracing the rim of the glass with his finger.
“I know you’re hurting, man. And judging by your appearance, I suspect that you haven’t slept or had a solid meal in days.”
“I love her, and every day I spent with her . . . I fell in love with her over and over again.”
“Jesus, Connolly,” I huffed. “Look, I feel like a giant pussy talking about this flowery relationship stuff, but if it’s any consolation, when I saw the two of you together a few weeks ago at Ella’s party, I could tell she was the one for you.”
“Fuck.” He slammed his hand to the table.
“So, Connolly, what are you going do about it?”
Before he could answer my question, Ginny dropped our wings off with a bottle of hot sauce.
He shook his head. “I’m hopeful, but I think it might be too late. Holliday hasn’t called or texted me. It’s been nearly two weeks.”
I’d never seen this guy so worked up over a woman. He was in deep—it was definitely love. Good for him.
I grabbed a fry from the basket. “Man, it’s never too late. It’s time for your Hail Mary pass.” My Irish friend raised his brow, confusion painted all over his face. I could see that he needed more convincing so I spread my arms wide. “The grand gesture”
“Propose to her?”
I shook my head. “No. Despite the fact that women love jewelry, she will hate that. She’ll kick you in the balls for sure. You said you were determined, so quit moping and go win her back.”
Ronan busied himself with his phone. After a few moments his head fell back and I saw a glimmer of relief.
“Good news?” I asked, and poured more hot sauce over the wings.
“Yes, very good news.” He stood up. “She wants to talk, and . . . she misses me.”
“Good luck, man.”
“Thanks, buddy.” He grasped my shoulder and headed out the door in the pouring rain. I finished my basket of wings and settled the bill. I tried and failed to persuade Ginny to let me take the bottle of Jameson home.
By the time I downed the last drops of my beer, the rain had stopped. As I walked to my Range Rover, the smell of spoiled garbage and wet pavement fused together in the air.
I hated New York. The smells, the crime, and the people were the worst. I missed Los Angeles and the scent of citrus from the orange trees in my backyard hanging in the air. I’d give anything to be back in California. Right now, I’d be on my motorcycle zipping through the canyon and then hitting the waves on my board. Hell, at this point I’d rather be in Texas—out on the ranch riding my horse across the dusty landscape.
As I opened the door to my vehicle, the reality that I wouldn’t be back to either place anytime soon hit me. Once this current movie wrapped, I’d be heading to Montana and I couldn’t wait, but it would be nice to have some downtime before production started. The film was about an ex-NFL player who dropped out of the spotlight at the top of his game to live a quieter life in a small mountain town. It would be a more challenging role, equal parts drama and romance. I’ve had my fair share of action movies, but this would be something out of my wheelhouse. When I’d nailed the audition, I couldn’t believe it. I hadn’t been this stoked about a movie in a while. I needed the change, to up my game and prove that my acting had more to offer than thrills and spills. This is why I was hoping the contract was final so that I could tell the world in my own words tomorrow.
My fingers tapped against the steering wheel when the sounds of “With or Without You” by U2 gently piped through the speakers. As I exited the parking garage, I slammed on my brakes as a tall blonde wearing a bright red trench coat darted in front of me. Mouthing “I’m so sorry” she waved and skirted around the right side of my car. Then, all that blonde hair and the color red had me back to thinking about Tinley Atkinson.