Taming Hollywood's Baddest Boy - Max Monroe Page 0,42
there, I know she won’t see my smile.
Billie
When aliens did their earth walk last night, they must have probed the tent next to mine. Seriously. Something crazy is happening, but I don’t know what.
Maybe there’s something in the air. Or Mercury is in retrograde.
Or Luca’s body was switched out for the android version when I wasn’t looking.
I don’t know what it is, but something is different.
He is different.
A lot less broody and grumpy, my hiking companion hasn’t been anything but a gentleman since I ate dirt a few hours ago and screwed up my ankle.
He carried me—and all of our gear—up a freaking mountain.
He built my tent.
He managed to find a small stream with ice-cold water and wet a few washcloths to put on my ankle.
He even fed me dinner—beans and corn again, meh—but I can’t complain with all the five-star treatment.
I stand up, gingerly putting pressure on my ankle, and extend my hands closer to the fire.
“How is your ankle feeling?” Luca asks, his eyes locked on the offending body part.
Thankfully, now that the swelling is down a little, my comfy, cozy UGGs give my ankle room to breathe and don’t press against the bruising too much. They’re also probably to blame for the injury itself since they lack gravely in ankle support, but that’s not worth focusing on right now.
“Better,” I say through a yawn. “A lot better, actually.”
“You need to ice it again before you go to bed.”
“Are you crazy?” I look down at him with a raised brow. “I’m pretty sure it’s cold enough out here as it is. No ice needed.”
“Billie,” Luca says, his voice all Mr. Serious. “You need to get as much of that swelling down as you can. So, no, I’m not crazy. I’m realistic.”
Jesus Christ. He’s obsessed with those stupid cold washcloths.
“Did you take the ibuprofen I set out for you?”
“Yes, Dad,” I grumble. “And I swear I ate all of my dinner, too.”
“Good girl.” He winks, and an unexpected little shiver runs up my spine.
Oh hell. Should good girl sound that sexy coming out of his mouth? No, no, my mind warns. It most definitely shouldn’t.
“Now,” he continues, “stop being so fucking stubborn and ice your ankle one more time before you go to bed.”
Sexy thoughts out the window, I groan.
And then, I start to get an idea…
“Fine. I’ll do it.” I hold up one index finger. “But only under one condition.”
“And what’s that?”
“You let me ask you ten questions about Hollywood, and you read the screenplay.”
“Now, that’s funny.” His responding laugh is a little too amused, if you ask me. “Good one, princess.”
“I’m serious.” I put a hand to my hip. “Ten questions and the screenplay.”
He taps his finger against his chin and stares up at me, thinking it over for a few seconds. “Two questions,” he finally rebuts. “And five pages of the screenplay.”
“Six questions and fifty pages.”
“Two questions and five pages. That’s my final offer.” He grins and holds out his hand, ready for me to make good on the deal.
It’s a hell of a lot better than him not reading the screenplay at all, my mind squawks. Now is not the time to quibble, you fool!
“Fine,” I say, covering my excitement with a bland shrug of my shoulder as I hobble over to shake his hand. “You have a deal.”
Without hesitation, Luca hops to his feet and grabs another stupid washcloth. “Go ahead and sit your little ass back down,” he says when he makes his way back over to the fire.
I sigh and do as he says, sitting back down and sliding my boot off my right foot.
Gently, his fingers slide down my sock until my swollen ankle is exposed, and I squeal when the cold-as-ice material hits my skin.
“Heavens to Betsy, that’s freezing!”
“Relax.” He slides a blanket over my lap, ensuring that my right ankle is covered from the cool breeze, and winks. “Only ten minutes to go.”
“Well, at least I can busy myself with asking you questions, then, huh?” I grin, and he holds up two fingers with an agonized groan, likely already regretting this little arrangement.
“Only two questions.”
“Trust me, I’m aware of the deal we just brokered one freaking minute ago. I didn’t get a concussion when I fell today.”
He laughs. “It’d be hard to tell. Your normal behavior is already so erratic.”
I hold up a graceful middle finger on one hand and tap my chin with the other. He smiles, content with his little zinger.
“Okay…first question, what was your favorite movie