Breaking Stars - J. Sterling Page 0,16
saw it. It sucked that he pulled me into it and I wasn’t there to defend myself, which was why he probably did it in the first place. A hundred bucks said Colin knew I was off the grid.
When I made the mistake of using a computer in the hotel’s business center, I caught sight of an online report that had the audacity to claim that this was all a publicity stunt coordinated by me since my newest movie was due out later this year. But I didn’t give a damn about the publicity. This wasn’t a stunt. My life wasn’t a press release.
At least, it never used to be. I didn’t even know what it was anymore.
Focusing my thoughts back on the road in front of me, I listened to the sound of each piece of stray gravel crunching and popping as I drove along the deserted highway. It soothed me in an odd sort of way. Searching the recesses of my mind, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been alone like this. The last seven years of my life had been scripted, scheduled, and planned out for me. At first it had all seemed so glamorous, my new life on movie sets around the world, the parties, the money, the lifestyle. But once all my friends from high school started going to college, I started craving what they had. Seeing their pictures on social media filled me with envy, and I longed to have one thing in my life be normal, or relatable to others my own age.
Lost in thought, a sudden hissing sound followed immediately by a hard jerking motion to the right pulled me into the present. I steadied the wheel and guided my now limping BMW to the side of the road. Ungluing myself from the black leather seat, I stepped out of the car as the sweltering humidity almost pushed me right back in.
Wherever I was, it sure was hot. Don’t get me wrong, it was hot in Los Angeles, but it was a dry heat. This felt more like a blanket soaked in warm water and tossed across your shoulders. It wasn’t comforting. And it wasn’t refreshing.
Walking around my car, I noticed the shredded remains of what once was a fully functioning front tire. I crouched down, allowing my fingers to run along the rubbery edges, noting how eerie a tire looks when it was torn apart. The frayed pieces lay on the ground in different shapes and lengths, like a giant had ripped them in a fit of fury. Remembering I no longer had a spare, since I’d already used it and never replaced it, I plopped down with a defeated huff and allowed the hot summer sun to bake my uncovered arms. A light breeze blew past, and I was thankful as my hair moved with it, allowing my back and shoulders to breathe.
In my haste to leave town, I hadn’t really thought this whole thing through. I simply wanted to get away. My entire thought process went something like this: (1) drive, (2) figure the rest out later.
So I wasn’t that great at planning.
My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a loud muffler coming my way. I pushed up from the ground, wiped at the back of my tan shorts, and walked back around the front of the car toward the driver’s seat. A beat-up old green Chevy truck slowed to a stop behind my BMW.
Too late, I realized that my purse was sitting on the passenger seat with my pepper spray tucked safely inside. Not the best place for my only weapon right now. Shifting my weight from one foot to the other, I waited anxiously for the driver to emerge and for my survival instincts to tell me how to react.
The door creaked open and out hopped a freaking god in perfectly worn-in blue jeans and a fitted white shirt. The man was young, not much older than me, with a baseball cap pulled low, nearly covering his eyes. He had a muscular frame that wasn’t overly done, but begged to be noticed.
Forget the pepper spray, I wanted to spray this guy with love potion, or attraction potion, or come-here-and-put-your-lips-on-mine-forever potion.
Whoa.
Where did that come from?
“Afternoon, miss,” he said in a sexy Southern drawl.
I found myself instantly attracted to the sound of his voice. Could you be attracted to something as simple as that? In an industry filled with fakes—fake accents, fake boobs, fake tans, fake hair