You’d think I had a pair of red sequin shoes and I was skipping down the yellow brick road when my truck tires leave the highway, far away from my small town of Climax Cove where I grew up between the ocean and the mountains of Oregon.

My pickup rolls up next to a Bentley with the window half rolled down. A business man is behind the steering wheel smoking a cigar. Once the white puff of smoke clears, he winks at me. It isn’t until the car pulls forward that I see a pile of blonde hair bobbing up and down on his crotch.

“I’m definitely not in Climax Cove anymore and hell if I want to go back,” I mumble to myself. My truck backfires as I press down on the gas trying to pay attention to the road and not all the hot ass strutting down the sidewalk.

Not that the hot ass is giving me a second look. Especially when the cloud of smoke coming out of my car isn’t from a thousand-dollar cigar, but my exhaust.

I read the next line on my MapQuest directions my sister, Charlie, printed out for me. According to this piece of paper I should be at my new apartment within ten minutes.

Deciding to leave the safety and security of a town where everyone thought I was the golden egg that’s only laid every fifty years wasn’t easy. To leave my parents, my sister, my best friend, Garrett...was a tough call, but I had to find out if I could make my dream of being a screenwriter happen. I’ve given myself one year to make it.

“Watch where you’re going!” A guy honks his horn and flips me off, the tires of his sports car squealing as he rounds the corner.

I chuckle at the idiocy of some people and turn into the parking lot of the row of apartments I’ll now call home. Spotting an empty space, I back in to make it easier to unload all my crap.

I step out of my truck and inhale deeply. I’m not making bank—yet—and so the complex isn’t near the ocean, but that doesn’t matter to me. I got enough salt water air to last a lifetime at home. The sound of traffic in the distance and the general hum of the city welcomes me to the place I was desperate to call home ever since I can remember.

Stretching my arms overhead, a car full of girls drive up, all of their eyes zoomed in on every inch of my body. I’m not new to girl’s enamored eyes, but these girls are like the ones I see in magazines and commercials. They’re a whole new level.

I wave, and they giggle. Shit, just as easy as at the Happy Daze Tavern back home. I’m about to approach them when I realize my truck is running, so I turn back around and grab the keys out of the ignition. Swinging them around my finger I head back to the wonderland of girls, but they’re mouths are open, disgust in their eyes now that they’ve seen my truck.

Instead of approaching them as planned, I turn up the walkway of the apartment number the guy I’m rooming with gave me.

The complex isn’t bad, but it’s not super nice either. Definitely doable. Now I just hope my roommate is as cool as he sounded on the phone.

I head up to the third floor, taking the stairs since there’s no elevator, and knock on door 356. One plus is that I’ll be that much closer to ripped abs from the cardio of three floors.

There’s no answer so I knock again.

No answer.

I dig into my pocket to retrieve the key my new roommate, Leo, mailed me. I feel awkward using it even if he’s not home regardless of the fact that I’ve already paid my security deposit and first month’s rent.

Inserting the key, the lock clicks open, and I peek my head inside. No one’s around. The small television in the corner is dark. No music playing. No talking. I push the door open to the place I’ll be calling home until I can snag a job that pays me enough to live on my own.

The first thing I notice is stacks of fabric on the kitchen table. Not manly fabric either—lace, sheer, and that tutu material. Other than that, the tiny space is spotless. A What’s up, L.A. magazine sits on the coffee table in front of the couch but there’s nothing else displayed that gives me any information as to what this guy’s about.

I guess my fear about the place being a bachelor pad full of empty beer cans and pizza boxes because Leo is single was all for naught.

I’m halfway down the hall to check out my bedroom when I hear a soft knock on the door.

“Leo,” a feminine voice sing-songs.

I turn, and a redhead is standing in the doorway, her eyes glittering with appreciation before I even introduce myself.

She’s wearing—or practically not wearing—a tight t-shirt that exposes her flat stomach and short shorts that show off her long, tanned legs and pink painted toes in a pair of flip-flops.

My dick twitches. The bastard never can keep his opinions to himself.

She tilts her head, bites her lip and eye fucks me for a second.

Damn, I’m really going to enjoy L.A.

“Are you the new roommate?” she asks, not crossing over the threshold.

“Vance.” I step forward with my hand held out, forgetting my bedroom. The caveman in me wishes I could carry this piece of eye candy in there, so she can initiate me into the L.A. Club of Bachelors.

She shakes my hand. “Ashley.” Her hand is soft and gentle. “I live downstairs. Leo made this outfit for…” Her eyes scour the apartment and then she nibbles on her cheek.

“I don’t think he’s here.”

Her shoulders deflate and a small pout rests on her lickable lips. “I saw him leaving with his board, but I thought maybe he’d be back by now.”

“I’m sorry. Did you want to come in?” I step to the side.

“No. Can you just tell Leo to come down when he returns? It’s kind of important.”

“Sure.”

She smiles a perfectly straight pearl-white smile and her eyes peruse my body once again. “Welcome to L.A. Vance.”

She waves her hand and then descends the stairs before I can say thank you. Peeking out to the hallway, I watch her ass sway back and forth down the stairs.

Oh, I’m definitely going to like L.A.