Being Assholes is Part of Our Charm #2
I take another sip of my coffee, buying myself a moment to think.
“Probably a few months, maybe a year. And as for working with Troy? It’s been amazing.
In just two meetings, I feel like I’ve learned intricacies of pitching that I never knew.
It’ll definitely take a while and a few more lessons from Troy before I actually look professional on-screen .
. . as professional as an actor can look, that is. ”
“Several months or a year?” Dev chimes in, and dammit, I’m not quick enough to stop him from asking the rest. I might not know the guy well, but his smirk says he gives zero shits about putting me on the spot. “But didn’t you just buy a house here? Specifically, across the street from Nisha?”
The entire table goes quiet once again, except for the sounds of forks clattering against plates.
“Well, isn’t that one hell of a coincidence,” Dean says with a shit-eating grin. “And Dev, are we talking about Nisha Arora? The ex-wife of our Hollywood guest of honor today?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. The asshole knows damn well which Nisha he means.
“Why yes, yes I am, Dean,” Dev responds, playing along.
“So let me get all this straight because”—Garrett whistles before he grins—“it’s a doozy.
A Hollywood A-list celebrity decides to film a baseball movie in San Francisco, based on his ex-sister-in-law’s new fiancé’s career.
He then buys a house in a ‘regular’ neighborhood, instead of staying in a highly secure condo, and it just happens to be across from his ex-wife?
” He looks around the room exaggeratedly, getting their nods. “Did I get all that right?”
I should have asked more questions or maybe politely declined when Troy asked if I wanted to meet his friends.
“The neighborhood is secure enough,” I hedge. “My team even added more security around it.”
“I don’t know about you guys,” Hudson says, trying to suppress a smile, “but this sounds more like a strategic plan than a coincidence.”
Clearly, he’s recovered from his bout of speechlessness, though a part of me wishes he’d go back to sputtering again.
“Some may even call this ‘strategic plan’ a stalking operation,” Darian muses with an amused expression.
“Hey now, guys,” Dean says, turning up his hands in mock defense. “Perhaps Patton just couldn’t find a condo of his liking in one of the largest cities in the U.S.”
“It’s likely the same reason he didn’t like any other screenplay besides the baseball one,” Troy adds sarcastically, inciting the same shit-eating grins on every face around the table. “Not that I’m complaining!”
Wow.
Et tu, Troy?
I run a hand through my hair, squeezing the back of my neck, realizing that I’ve walked right into a trap set by these guys.
“Look,” I say, not able to hold back my smile, but refusing to give into them cornering me. “It’s not like I’m hiding out in her basement or anything. I told Troy I was looking to buy property, and when he mentioned the house across from her was on the market, I decided to act on it.”
“Sure, sure,” Dev says, grinning. “This all makes sense. You absolutely didn’t move here under the guise of filming a baseball movie to win back your ex-wife.”
I give him an “are-you-serious?” face. “I am filming a baseball movie!”
“Sure, sure.”
“It’s actually romantic,” Hudson says into his mimosa. “In a ‘not advisable and will probably end badly’ sort of way, but romantic, nonetheless.”
I take a breath, hating how hard I’m having to work to suppress my damn smile. “I might have just met you all a half-hour ago, but I already think you’re assholes.”
Dean raises his glass. “That’s the spirit! Welcome to the club, man. Being assholes is part of our charm!”
Darian side-eyes Dean. “Some of us are bigger assholes than others.”
Without missing a beat, Dean pulls him into a headlock and kisses the top of his head. Darian shoves him off, both of them laughing like they’re twelve and not grown adults.
“But seriously,” Dev says, bringing everyone’s attention back to me. “Are you trying to get her back? You’re part of the Schlongs now, so anything you say will stay in the circle of trust.”
“The Schlongs?” Why do I feel like I’ve heard the name before?
Troy nods, pulling out his phone and typing something while he speaks. “It’s our group chat—the Six Schlongs Hen Party. It’ll be Seven Schlongs now since I’m adding you to it.”
I swear, I only understood fifty percent of that, but when my phone buzzes in my pocket, I see I’ve been added to a new group chat.
“Well?” Hudson asks, pushing his empty plate away and leaning back in his chair to look at me. “Are you trying to get her back?”
Over the past almost-decade since I’ve been in the spotlight, I’ve had to be careful with who I trust. And I’ve learned the hard way that when you have money and fame, most people aren’t after the real you.
But something about this group is different.
Perhaps it’s the way they couldn’t give two shits about my celebrity status or the fact that they’ve welcomed me into their group so easily—already giving me shit like we’ve known each other for ages.
Whatever the case, I find myself wanting to trust them.
Hell, maybe I’ve been craving friendship just like this. It sounds sappy as shit even in my own head, but it’s the truth.
I run a hand down my face. “You know what? Yes. I moved here hoping to win her back. After Troy was injured and then had that incredible comeback, I proposed the idea for this movie to the right people in the industry. When it seemed like they were interested, my only condition was that it be filmed here.”
Troy raises his brows, and I can’t tell if it’s in offense or in admiration. “So you used me to get closer to my sister-in-law? Do I have that right?”
“Yes.”
“Damn.” He pauses before nodding. “Well, I respect that.”
“What happened between you two, anyway?” Hudson asks. “I mean, is it truly ‘irreconcilable’ like the tabloids stated?”
“Clearly, Hudson hasn’t been stalking you online or anything,” Garrett says dryly, to which Hudson just flips him off.
I take a long breath. “That’s a story for another night.
But no, it wasn’t irreconcilable in the unforgivable sense.
Nisha and I never stopped loving each other.
We just . . .” I drag my teeth across my bottom lip as memories, both good and painful, dance across my vision.
“I didn’t prioritize what mattered, and I’ve been paying for it ever since. ”
The guys go quiet. A couple of them nod, whether in understanding or support, I can’t be sure.
“But what’s your actual plan?” Dean asks. “Knock on her door and ask her to chat every day?”
I smile, recalling doing exactly that this morning when I went over to deliver her package.
God, she looked fucking beautiful—my Little Borealis—dressed in those shorts and that tank top, showing off her sleeve of tattoos.
Her dark, glossy hair skimmed her toned shoulders, and she smelled like pomegranates.
Always like pomegranates.
And when her shocked eyes found mine and those delectable lips of hers turned downward, I swear, I wanted to fist my hand in her hair and drag her mouth to mine, if only to cover that scowl. If only to hear her gasp before I tasted her pomegranate-flavored lip gloss again.
Years later, and my ex-wife is still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, even pissed.
I’m just about to answer Dean, just about to tell him that I don’t really have much more of a plan than that, when Troy cuts in, “What are you doing next weekend?”
My brows furrow. “Not sure yet. Why? What’s happening next weekend?”
Troy smiles, raising his brows at the rest of the guys in some sort of silent exchange. They all nod before Troy answers, “The Schlongs and Clams bachelor and bachelorette party.”
I still don’t understand most of that sentence, but I have a feeling my plan to get my ex-wife back just got hijacked by six guys I barely know.