Page 56 of Baxter's Right-Hand Man
Literally. My friends would think I was delusional, and I wouldn’t blame them. But they didn’t know Pierce. Maybe no one did. The personal things he’d shared were heartbreaking. He came from nothing and now had more money and fame than he’d probably ever imagined.
But he was alone. And obviously desperate enough for companionship that he’d confided in me of all people…and he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to kick me out. I was pleased and confused and dangerously infatuated.
With a movie star.
But when that same movie star dropped his towel and climbed into the tub, causing the warm water to sway ominously, I was awestruck for a host of reasons that had nothing to do with his celebrity. Pierce was gorgeous. His classically chiseled bone structure, muscular thighs, tight ass, and defined abs were godlike beautiful.
That was all well and good, but he was also surprisingly down-to-earth. And that was what made any of this possible.
No way could I ever sip Cristal naked with someone who looked like him and talk about things like…
“I have an ice cube fetish,” I confessed, smiling contentedly from my side of the tub.
“Huh?”
“You heard me.” I brushed my foot along his calf and took a sip of bubbly. “The ultimate is crushed ice, second place goes to those perfectly round balls they serve in old fashioneds.”
Pierce snorted. “It’s just ice.”
“But it’s cool ice.”
“I’m pretty sureallice is cool. Nature of the beast and all.”
“Ha. Don’t pretend to be impervious to awesome ice cubes,” I chided lazily. “It’s one of those silly things that stand out when done right. Like…butter.”
“Oh, now you’re talking. I fucking love butter,” he enthused. “France has the best butter in the world. Creamy with flecks of salt and…”
I sank deeper so the water skimmed my collarbone, hiding my smile behind the rim of my fluted glass. He was so ridiculously charming and boyishly enthusiastic. It was sort of ironic that he portrayed a macho badass. That wasn’t him at all. He wasn’t a narcissistic celebrity either, which was kind of amazing considering his rabid fan base. Pierce was just…an ordinary guy.
Okay, that was a lie. He was hotter than the average bear, and his job was undeniably cooler than most, but he was…easy to be with. I couldn’t figure out why—other than maybe we were both a little lonely.
No need for concern, I wasn’t naïve. I knew Pierce belonged to a different world. He was only visiting my planet for a short time. And that was okay.
It was oddly refreshing to know this wouldn’t last. It meant I wouldn’t get hurt when he returned to his red-carpet, jet-setting life.
Either way, he’d move on. And so would I.
In the meantime, I’d savor every second.
9
LORENZO
No one knew Pierce and I were lovers.
No one suspected that we spent every moment apart planning rendezvous via silly text messages. Like today’s…
I’m at the studio rehearsing with orange makeup on my face. Don’t ask, he typed.
Now I have to ask. Why orange?
They’re testing lighting and blocking for the new film. I’m a glorified guinea pig.
Oh! I want to see. I hope those photos get leaked, I teased.I can picture you now, sitting in your glamorous trailer looking like a Real Housewife who’s gone a little wild with the bronzer.
Pierce responded with an orange-faced angry emoji and a laughing one, then painted a different picture altogether, complete with a makeup artist who overdid her perfume, griped about her boyfriend, and giggled uncontrollably when her Pomeranian, Miss Dizzy, kept jumping into Pierce’s lap.
I got the impression that he stayed at the studio longer than was required because it was the one place he could roam freely without being stared at or mobbed. He made friends with the camera crews, makeup artists, sound engineers, and a medley of assistants, as well as a few fellow actors. But he didn’t seem to be close to anyone in particular.