Taming Hollywood's Baddest Boy - Max Monroe Page 0,92
to be at least something new happening…”
I can read between the lines. And my response is straight to the point.
“If you’re wanting an update on Luca Weaver, there’s nothing to tell.”
“But I thought he was doing the movie?” she asks, her voice edging toward concern. “What happened?”
“Oh, trust me,” I say through a sigh. “He’s doing the movie. He’s just making my life a fucking hell.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, since Serena is under the impression that I am friends with him, she has given me the terrible position of being Luca’s go-to person,” I update and take a sip of my Diet Mountain Dew. “And, in true Luca Weaver fashion, that bastard is taking advantage of it. Has me doing errands and shit. Walking his dog—”
“But I thought you loved his dog?”
“Dammit, Birdie, you know what I mean,” I retort. “I do love his dog, but I shouldn’t be responsible for his dog or dealing with movers dropping off boxes and furniture at his rental or wiping his celebrity ass—”
“Wait…what?”
“Get real, Birdie.” I huff out a breath. “Obviously, I’m not actually wiping his ass. It’s a metaphor.”
Her giggle fills my ears. “Goodness, you remind me so much of Granny when you’re pissed, it’s not even funny.”
“I do not.”
She cracks up. “You do.”
“Birdie. Now is not the freaking time to start comparing me to our ornery, mean old biddy of a granny,” I respond, then add quietly, “may she rest in peace.”
“Fine. Fine. I take it back. And I’m sorry he’s giving you such a hard time.”
Her words are meant to be serious, but laughter is still present in her voice.
“This isn’t fucking funny, Birdie! This is hell. I’m in hell.”
“Oh yeah, you’re in hell. Luca Weaver is always around. What a hell.”
“He’s a jerk.”
“You want to know what I think?”
“No,” I answer. “But I’m sure you’re going to tell me anyway.”
“I think Luca is hard-core into you. Even though he tossed cruel words your way, I think they were a bunch of bullshit. I think what happened in Alaska meant something to him, too.”
Memories of the things he’s said to me over the past few weeks fill my head.
Missing me.
Not hating me.
Thinking about me.
Liking me.
But I shake those memories out real fucking quick. The last thing I’ll let myself do is fall into his trap…again. I learned my lesson the first damn time.
“Whatever. I’m just someone he fucked. That’s it. He made that known.”
“Like I said, I don’t think that’s the case, Billie.”
“Yeah, well, it is the case,” I snap. “Now, enough about my shitty LA life. How is the tour going?”
“Oh my god! Billie! I have so much to tell you!” Her excitement is palpable as she dives straight into all the music updates.
The large crowds. The fans.
The fact that she is opening for Blue Street Band—one of country music’s biggest bands.
All of it is amazing. It is truly everything my sister has dreamed of and more, and I couldn’t be happier for her right now.
But even though I’m listening and responding and letting her know how proud I am of her, my brain wants to drift off to other things.
My mind feels like it’s a thousand miles away, wandering in and out of memories of a man I wish I weren’t thinking about. A man I don’t want to be thinking about, but I can’t seem to stop thinking about.
Son of a biscuit, why can’t he just go away?
Because you don’t want him to just go away. Deep down, you’re not ready for that.
Ugh. I’m an idiot.
I force myself to focus on the phone conversation with Birdie, but thankfully, she can only chat for another minute or two before music starts calling her name.
“Hey, I hate to cut this short, but I gotta run to rehearsal,” she updates. “Call me later?”
“For sure,” I answer without hesitation. “Love you.”
“Love you, too!”
I hang up the phone, and even though food is the last thing on my mind right now, I force myself to take a bite of my turkey sandwich.
This whole Luca situation has really messed with my appetite.
God, I just need to get him the hell out of my head. For good.
Then I’ll be fine.
Then I’ll be happy.
Yeah, good luck with that, sister.
Annoyed with myself, annoyed with this day, annoyed with every-fucking-thing, I get out of my car, slide my phone into the back pocket of my jeans, toss my half-eaten food in the trash and head back toward the set.