Taming Hollywood's Baddest Boy - Max Monroe Page 0,28

me and wrapping what look like garbage bags around my boots.

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask and try to step back, but he keeps one hand firmly on my calf.

“Saving your toes from frostbite.”

In a minute flat, he’s done, and I stare down at the disaster that now sits on my feet. My pretty fur UGGs have been transformed into ugly plastic galoshes.

“I look ridiculous.”

He chuckles and raises both of his brows. “You’re just now figuring this out?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re wearing booty shorts and UGGs in the Alaskan wilderness. Trash bags or not, you are the picture of absurdity.”

“Well, ex-cuse me for not knowing I’d have to trek to hell with you,” I retort with a defiant hand to my hip. “I would’ve packed accordingly had I known I was hiking with Satan.”

His stupid grin just grows wider, consuming his damn face. “Does that mean you’re starting to realize this was a bad idea?”

Of course I am. But I sure as hell am not giving him the satisfaction of a yes response.

“No,” I lie.

“God, you’re fucking stubborn.” He groans, rolls his eyes, picks up his pack, and walks away from me, off the dock and toward the trail that lies ahead.

“Where are you going?”

“Now is the part of the trip where we walk,” he says mockingly over his shoulder before whistling for Bailey to follow his lead. The handsome Labrador stands at the edge of the dock, looking back and forth between Luca and me.

Luca comes to a halt when he realizes no one is following him—not even his dog.

“Goddamn, what now?” he asks, jaw firm.

I huff out a breath and raise both of my hands up in the air. “Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”

“My friend Lou lives thirty or so miles that way,” he says and points over his shoulder. “And since I already told you this was a hiking and camping trip, those next several miles are by foot.”

Wait…how many miles did he say?

“Did you mean three miles?” I ask, hoping I’m suddenly hard of hearing.

“I said thirty because I meant thirty,” he answers. “Well, thirty-six-point-two, to be exact.”

“We hike over thirty miles? On our feet?”

“Yeah.” His stern expression turns to amusement, and I don’t miss the smug smile that crests his perfect lips. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Yes, I do. I very much do.

Thirty-six fucking miles?

That’s, like, more than a marathon. Why on earth would anyone be friends with someone they had to hike a blooming marathon to get to?

“Billie?” Luca asks, his frosty blue eyes positively sparkling. “You think maybe you’ve bitten off more than you can chew?”

Fucking definitely. From the moment I said his motherfucking name.

But the reality of my situation is that my whole career depends on this.

I have to convince Luca Weaver to do this movie. I. Have. To. Or else, Charles the Kiss-Ass will be Serena’s right-hand man, and everything I’ve worked so hard for over the past four years will just be…useless.

I’ll be starting from scratch again. Back to the beginning in a way Switchfoot doesn’t even understand—and they wrote a dang song about it.

Ugh.

“You need me to take you back?”

Get it together, Billie. Get it together, and get ready to move your feet and hike like you are the world’s hike-iest hiking hiker that’s ever fucking hiked.

“No.”

Unconvinced, he tilts his head to the side. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Because you don’t look sure at all. You look scared out of your skull.”

I really want to tell him to fuck off. I also want to tell him to take me back to civilization.

But the stubborn, unrelenting part of me wins out.

“I’m sure.” I force a smile to my face and move toward him and Bailey.

Off the dock. Onto the mushy ground. And toward the fucking forest.

“Let’s hike, hike, hike it up!” I feign excitement, and Luca groans.

“God help us all.”

Yeah, for once, I think we’re on the same page here, buddy.

Billie

History always repeats itself. Sometimes in the ways you don’t want it to. Sometimes, especially in the ways you don’t want it to.

When I was a kid, around seven or eight, if memory serves, my parents took my sister and me to Disney World. It was supposed to be the trip of a lifetime.

Mickey, Minnie, roller coasters, and overpriced snacks, all coming together to make the ultimate fantasy for a little girl like me.

But two days before we were all set to fly to Orlando, Birdie broke her foot at soccer practice. The