Jace
“It must be one of those tiny homes?” I state, more as a question than a fact as I glance over my shoulder but instantly pull back. Lennox is practically using my shoulder as a chin rest and our faces nearly collided.
He chuckles at my question. “I don’t know, but,” he shrugs, “it looks brilliant.”
I don’t know about brilliant. I mean, sure the scenery is beautiful but the wooden house looks miniature.
Shifting my head from side-to-side, I try to see if maybe it goes back further than we can see looking straight on, but no, it looks like a petite, square log cabin.
It’s probably bigger inside than it looks on the outside.
I’m shocked that Pierre doesn’t have a larger estate. Don’t get me wrong, the landscape is stunning. The panoramic horizon of the forest green landscape that engulfs the entire perimeter of the diamond-like lake could relax even me on my toughest day.
It’s like he didn’t want to take away from the natural beauty so he placed a teeny, tiny model home on the flat shore.
Well, this should be interesting.
Raymond walks to the side of the vehicle and opens the door for us. I step out first and the distinct scent of pine and earth hits my nostrils as my feet crunch into the gravel driveway.
I’ve grown up in the city my entire life, so I’ve never had the desire to camp in any form or fashion. Needless to say, this is all new to me.
Lennox exits the limo as swiftly as he entered, spreading his arms up over his head and stretches the entirety of his body. He’s taller than me by a few inches, much leaner, and has that typical rockstar body type that girls swoon over.
The tattoos decorating his torso peek through the bottom of his shirt that lifted up over his belly button with his exaggerated stretch.
I find myself confused at my reaction. I look at women. I date women. I haven’t cared to pursue a relationship with any because, frankly, I just don’t have much chemistry with them. Well, with anyone, if I’m honest.
“You want to see?” I didn’t realize I was staring at his tattoos and my eyes startle upward to meet his gaze.
He doesn’t wait for an answer as he lifts his shirt over his chest, tucking the hem under his chin and looks down. He cascades his fingers over the ridges of his abs, pulling the waistline of his jeans down a little, showing off a perfectly lean V cut.
There’s a phoenix with its wings spread over the tops of his pecs, the body of the majestic, red and orange bird covering the column in between. Flames spread over his lower abdomen, along with other designs that snake under and through the flames. It’s intricate and surprisingly beautiful.
Yet again, I’m confused by my internal response and swallow hard then nod awkwardly. “Cool.” I shift my gaze to the ground as I head up the walkway to the cabin.
Raymond is already up the two small porch steps and sliding the key into the door. He unlocks it then turns around, handing them to me.
“The cabin is on a gated, private road. You’re completely secluded. This place doesn’t really even need a lock but it’s always good to have one considering who you two are.”
We’re two of the most sought after celebrities; the paparazzi gets thousands of dollars for one compromising image of us. I’ve seen some desperate actions from some of those photographers and have been on the receiving end of it more times than I’d like to admit.
“I’ll be locking the door.”
“Always a good idea, sir,” he adds, turning the handle and stepping inside.
Lennox steps up onto the first stair, sounding more like an elephant than a human, and follows me in.
Turns out, I was wrong.
It is even smaller on the inside than it looks from the outside.
There’s a petite fireplace at the far end of the wall, opposite the door. A small kitchen with a two person high table to my right, and the living room—if you could call it that—is about the size of a standard bedroom donning a loveseat, coffee table, and small bookshelf.
A guitar sits next to the bookshelf, which I assume was strategically placed so that I can continue to practice for the role. The entire cabin is one large open area and there isn’t a private space from any corner of the house.
“Where’s the telly?” Lennox asks as he steps beside me, his eyes bouncing around the room, taking everything in.
“There isn’t one,” Raymond replies as he steps into the only doorway in the house. There’s no actual door, it's a threshold into a divided space in the house.
Lennox and I look at each other sideways, silent expressions that say nothing and everything.
“Are we being punked right now?” he whispers to me and I can’t help but snort out a laugh. Because I think he’s right. “Our Director doesn’t even own a television?”
He says that part louder and Raymond calls from the room. “Mr. Martin comes here to write his screenplays. There’s internet access he uses for research but no, no TV.”
I palm my face as I huff out a long breath realizing I’m truly stuck here for a week sharing a tiny house with a guy I hardly know. I hate sharing space with well…anyone.
Lennox peers over at me with an expression I can’t quite read. But it seems to be filled with more sorrow than misery.
Raymond rounds the corner, handing us a small piece of paper with emergency numbers and the WiFi code. “Is there anything else I can do for you before I head back?”
Take me with you.
Somehow I manage to keep that little thought to myself, giving time for Lennox to answer. “No, thank you Raymond,” he says, holding out his hand. “We’ll see you in a week.”
I mimic my co-star, holding my hand out and Raymond shakes it then nods. He steps between the two of us, walking through the front door, shutting it behind him, making the quick exit I wish I could make.
The immediate silence is deafening and the awkwardness from when we first met sets in.
“I’m going to unpack,” I spit out, more angrily than I wanted but the alcohol buzz is wearing off and my anxiety is speaking for me now.
I round the corner with the wall that separates the main room from the bedroom and my jaw drops.
There’s one petite queen bed tucked in the corner of the room, a three-tiered dresser with a small lamp, and one chair in the opposite corner.
I do a full 360 degree spin taking everything in, looking for other sleeping options and nothing. The loveseat is nanoscopic like everything else is in this place.
“Jesus Christ. You’ve got to be shitting me.” I can’t help but blurt out loud. Lennox rounds the corner, peeking his head through the threshold with concern.
“Oh.” He steps in, his eyes bouncing at the three pieces of furniture in the room then back to me. “I—I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
“The loveseat, you mean? No.” I shake my head. “You’re like what 6 '2? You can’t sleep on that thing.”
His lips squeeze into a tight line as he glances back at me. “6’3.” He winks like he’s proud. “I slept on something like that for half of my life. It’s fine.” He pats my shoulder then steps back, disappearing into the bathroom.
What the hell did he mean by that?
I know nothing about him or his history, only the amateur videos he’s posted on social media and they’re all of him acting wild and crazy.
Talking to random people on the streets, daring them to do strange things with him.
Exploring places he shouldn’t be or doing extreme sports that he has claimed to have never done before.
What I assumed was his natural behavior just seems to be a persona for his followers and something about that bothers me. I don’t know why. It's just him acting, like I do, but it’s less of a production and just more candid.
I finish unpacking, loading all of my clothes into the dresser. My clothes barely fit and the shirts that I usually hang up are shoved into one of the small drawers, and I hate that because they're going to wrinkle.
Not like anyone is going to see me here anyway, so I guess it doesn’t matter. But, still, I hate it.
A week, I tell myself. One week.