Chapter 9
9
Cate
I catch Shane sneaking peeks at me when he thinks I’m not looking. I swear his gaze softens, and my heart softens along with it. A gentle pitter-patter that leaves me wondering where we go from here. Other than the divorce attorney’s office, that is.
There’s no arrogance tucked into the corners of his mouth when he smiles at me. His eyes don’t seem to hide any agendas to keep me on guard. But I still need to be careful with him. He’s someone who “lives life to the fullest” as he puts it. That’s not a lifestyle that meshes well with the predictability of my comfort zone.
Responsible.
Dependable.
Beige and boring.
I can’t seem to set aside that he basically insinuated my life is orderly, in those exact words, too. Just another reason to safeguard my heart and keep him solidly in the friend zone. No harm in having a good time for a few hours that doesn’t include a bed. That will probably be new for him and a nice change of pace as well.
We’re finally moving through traffic again, and I turn as directed. I have always loved the tree-lined streets of Hollywood Hills, but it still surprises me that he lives here. “Do you still surf?” I ask, glancing at him when I come to a stop sign.
“Not as much as I’d like.”
“Living by the beach might help.”
He nods. “When I’m home for longer periods, I’ll hit the waves with Laird sometimes.”
I take a left, driving higher into the hills. “I’m failing in my stalking duties. Hope you don’t mind the questions.” That earns me a smile.
“I don’t.”
“Do you tour a lot?” I try to keep my eyes on the road but prefer looking at him. He’s a very attractive . . . friend , I remind myself once again.
“The band always tours during the summer months, but we’ve been going since April of this year.”
“It’s August.”
His head drops back on the headrest. “Yeah, it was a world tour to support our new album,” he replies, staring out the side window. “It ends next month.”
“Now I understand why you’re exhausted.”
“I love what I do.”
“I’m sure, but it doesn’t mean you don’t burn out.” I pull in front of a gate and brake. “How long are you home?” I ask, sounding very stalkerish.
Maybe he felt the same way because of the grin leading to a soft chuckle. “I leave tomorrow morning.” He still answered without hesitation.
Shifting into park, I angle toward him. “Am I reading you all wrong? You said you love what you do, but you don’t seem excited . . .” When his eyes connect with mine, I whisper, “Or happy.”
He shifts a wry grin into place, but it isn’t natural. Not when deeper emotions hide in the depths of his eyes. “I’m about to get a divorce. What’s there to be happy about?” He chuckles, but it’s kept under wraps before humor has a chance to amp it up. He looks at the iron gate, a wall of steel blocking the view of the property. “You know where I live now.” He gives me a wink along with a click of his tongue. “Don’t break in and murder me in my sleep, okay?”
“If I were breaking in, I wouldn’t murder you.”
“Oh yeah? What would you do to me?”
I raise a finger in the air, laughter getting the better of me. “I think this is when I should say goodbye. I have a busy day ahead.”
He pops the door open. “That’s too bad. I was about to invite you in.” Shutting the door behind him, he crosses in front of the car and punches in a code on the keypad I’m parked next to.
I’m still trying to convince myself that us becoming friends is a nice consolation prize. Screw it. Rolling down the window, I say, “Funny enough, my schedule just cleared. Want a ride to your mansion’s front door?”
His laugh is bold and hearty as he stands in front of the gates as they open. “I think I can manage. I’ll see you up there.”
I watch him start up the edge of the driveway. It’s not particularly long compared to what I imagined, but the house does not disappoint. It’s smaller than I pictured in my head. I like that. A lot. Like he didn’t sell his soul to LA yet. I’d say give him time, but he’s had twelve years, and he still chose a modest house compared to Hollywood standards. I park and get out just as he walks up a short sidewalk to the front door.
The home is the opposite of modern on the outside. Greenery climbs the grayish bricks; French blue accents trim the roofline and highlight the front door. I assume he purchased it as is, but I’m still curious. “I love the house.”
“Thanks. I had nothing to do with it. It came this way.” He opens the door and waits for me to enter. “I knew it was the one when I saw it, though.”
“But you kept it this way, so some credit is due.” Across the living area, I’m hit by an incredible view of the city, causing my breath to catch. “Wow, that’s . . .” I keep walking as if drawn to the light. “That view is everything.”
“The house is unassuming in the front, which was what drew me to it. And then you walk in, and it’s updated and bright, has a pool, but that view.” He nods, staring through the glass. “That’s why I bought it.”
I look around the living room and back toward the kitchen. White walls surround serene furniture. A wooden coffee table accents a neutral beige couch, and a plush leather chair rests on the hardwood floor nearby. The sterile aesthetic feels more akin to the nursing home than a rock star’s crash pad. Sparse furniture and a painting on the wall don’t make it a home. I glance at him, not feeling like this place represents him at all.
“My bedroom is down the hall on the left if you’re taking notes.”
“Good to know.” I smirk, giving him the satisfaction. Tapping my temple, I reply, “It’s all up here for future reference.”
Grinning like he has a juicy secret, he asks, “What can I get you to drink?”
I like the time together without the pressures of trying to save a house or convincing people to help us. I still feel sick over losing the earnest money, but there’s relief found in the slowdown of knowing it’s over. The fight, the battle, the war was lost. “I’m good right now. I guess we should talk about how to proceed from here, though?”
“Want to sit outside or?—?”
I wouldn’t mind staring at the view while I can. “We can go outside.”
He opens a massive sliding glass door and leaves it, so a breeze reaches me before I even step out. The pool is modern in design but isn’t huge. Perfect for a family or couple, or a single guy in his case, to cool off. I wonder how often he uses it.
Making myself at home on a lounge chair with a puffy black-and-white cushion, I lie back, close my eyes, and soak in the sunrays. “I’d spend all my time out here if I had this to come home to.”
“What would you do?”
“Read. Catch up on social media. Nap.” I don’t know why I make that sound like I’m breaking a rule, but a nap sounds indulgent to me most days.
“I don’t use it as much as I should. I come out more often at night and watch the lights as I hit my sticks against the cushion.” I watch him settle at the table nearby. He picks the far chair and faces me.
“You practice on your days off? Seems like you’d be a pro by now.” Just a little teasing before we delve deeper.
By the amusement on his face, he gets me. “Probably not considered practicing at this stage in my career, but I still hit when I’m not performing.” As if he’s in on a joke I’m not, his chuckle remains under his breath. “Believe it or not, it relaxes me.”
“I can believe it. Gardening relaxes me. It’s work, but something peaceful can be found in its simplicity.”
“And a reward in the results.” It’s strange how different we are but can still manage to find something to relate to. He says, “I’m sorry about the house. How much money did you lose?” He sits forward, his words rushing out, “I shouldn’t have asked something so personal. You don’t have to answer that.”
“It’s nothing in the scheme of your life, but it was years of sacrifice for me.” I shouldn’t feel defensive. He’s done nothing wrong and so much good to help me. “I’m sorry for . . . that.”
“Money is a tricky topic probably best left untouched among friends.”
Friends. A kind reminder slipping back into my heart.
“Well,” I start, remembering how it played out a few months ago. “My agent advised me to bid higher if I really wanted the house. Someone already had a thirty-five-thousand-dollar earnest money offer on the table. I took a chance and won the house but lost in the end.”
“The sellers won’t give it back?”
“Legally, they don’t have to since the issue was on my side.” I crisscross my legs and pluck at a loose thread on the cushion. I glance over, trying not to stare even though he beats the view of the city hands down every time. “That was my signature on the license, and I can only reason that it was yours since it’s from before your signature went to the highest bidder.”
“Odd, right?”
“It makes no sense and leaves us no choice but to file for divorce.” I watch his face to see if I can detect how he feels, but I’ve discovered he’s good at keeping his expression shifted in neutral when he wants to. “It might go public.”
Dropping his sunglasses over his eyes, he angles away from me, redirecting his gaze beyond the hills. “I have people who can control it if given a heads-up.”
“So secretive.”
“Best you’re not involved.” The scrunch of his nose is a nice touch and draws me right in, making me want to be a part of any plan he’s concocting.
“I’m already pretty damn involved.” Speaking of rewards, I’m given a quirk of his lips that wins hearts all over the world. And now I see why. Not that I didn’t know already. That charming smile hasn’t changed so much since high school.
He sits forward suddenly, angling my way. “The timing will be everything. We’ll need to plan this carefully.”
His energy is contagious. “I love to plan. It’s my specialty.”
The dropping of his mouth isn’t necessary. “Planning is your specialty?”
If I hadn’t already hit my quota of eye rolls for the day, he’d be gifted with my most epic version. “You know what?” I fail to keep a straight face. “Not all of us need the limelight to get off.”
He doesn’t bother with polite. Shane practically laughs in my face. “Nothing like spending a Friday night with a good planner. You know, the kind with the grids and the extra numbered spaces to check off your accomplishments that day.”
I push up, but before I stand, he’s coming around the table with his hands up in surrender. “I’m kidding, Cat. Just giving you a hard time.” He drops into the chair next to me, kicking his legs out and crossing them at the ankle, looking more like a movie star than ever.
I finally relax again, bending my legs at the knee just in case I need to duck out quickly. “Not funny.”
“Kind of funny?” Holding up his fingers just an inch apart, he asks, “Just a little?”
Going for a half inch myself, I hold up my fingers. “Microscopically entertaining.”
It’s not like he stopped grinning, but it cracks his expression wide open. “I’ll take microscopic unless it’s referring to?—”
“Nope,” I say, stopping him with my hand between us before he finishes that sentence. “I’ve made a grave mistake by joking with you.”
He chuckles and lifts his sunglasses back to the top of his head. “What is it about sex that makes you so uncomfortable?”
“You sure do make a lot of assumptions about me.”
“I’ll assume you do the same.”
“See?” I swerve out my hand like a server’s tray. “There’s a prime example.”
If someone had asked me even a week ago if I would be hanging out with Shane Faris, a guy I had a crush on in high school, I wouldn’t have believed them. Yet here we are.
Though he embodies the rock star in the sexy bad boy way, he’s also just Shane from the bonfire having a good time. He sure is making it hard to remember we’re just friends at best or still acquaintances getting to know each other.
“You have me all figured out, Cat Farin.”
“I don’t think I’ve scratched the surface, Shane Faris.”
“Is scratching something you’re into?”
“Stop it. We’re not going there. Not ever.”
“Mmm.” I catch him with his eyes closed, shaking his head. “That’s too bad. Not ever is a long time.” Peeking his eyes open, he asks, “You up for the challenge?”
Laying my head back on the cushion, I close my eyes, enjoying everything about this moment. “Guess we’ll find out.”
“We sure will.” Every word from his mouth feels like an insinuation of me ending up in his bed. No matter how deliciously naughty that idea is, I need to be careful. He’s a celebrity, and for him, notches on bedposts are a dime a dozen. I can be one of many, or I can safeguard my heart. But I have a strong feeling I can’t do both with him.
Dropping his feet to either side of the chair, he gives me that billion-dollar smile, looking happier than I’ve seen him, and asks, “Want to order dinner?”
“Absolutely.”