12. Ashton
ASHTON
T he following weekend, my ancient Camry squeals to a stop at the gated entrance to Griffin’s neighborhood.
A guard emerges from the guard house. He’s hulking with a wide frame and bulky thighs beneath tight tactical pants.
He steps off the curb, approaches my car, and scans it up and down.
Judging by his squinted eyes, he’s wondering if I made a wrong turn somewhere. You and me both, buddy.
I roll down my window. “Hello, sir.”
He tips his gray guard hat with a company logo on the front. “Ma’am. I need to see some identification, please.”
“Right. Of course.” I lean toward the floorboard, fumbling for my purse. “Just give me a sec. I have it here somewhere.”
He bends his knees and peers into the passenger seat. “Nice dog you have there.” He rests his thumbs on his belt; strapped to it are a gun and pepper spray.
I hand him my identification. “Thank you. He’s been with me for several years. He’s a great companion.”
He raises his eyebrows. “I bet.”
He takes my license into the guard house. From a small window, I can see him looking up and down as keys clack on a computer. He pops his head out the open door. “You’re headed to the Ford residence?”
I swallow, feeling like I’m being questioned in the principal’s office. “Yes sir.”
He types for another minute before returning to my car door and handing back my license. “Mr. Ford notified us of your arrival. I’ve got you entered in the system, as well as your car and license number. Next time, just verify your name and we’ll buzz you in. You have unlimited access.”
I nod, mouth ajar, not quite sure what “unlimited access” might entail. Should I tell him this very well could be a one-time event should things progress as poorly as they did last time? Probably not.
“Thanks, Mr.…” I prompt, hoping to learn his name.
“Jimmy, ma’am.” He lifts his hat and tugs it back down.
“Thanks Jimmy, I appreciate it. Have a great day.”
I slip my wallet into my purse and drive into the community.
The houses are the size of private museums—each McMansion bigger than the next.
A prickling sensation crawls across my skin as if I’m driving into my past, his street reminding me of my childhood neighborhood.
My stomach pinches at the sight of a group of kids racing down the hill on their bikes—a skill I never mastered due to being too busy with tight filming schedules.
It’s a wonder Mom even let us attend school.
I turn to Teddy. “We’re a team today, okay? You going to help me through this?”
Teddy hangs his head out the window, tongue lolling out as he catches the breeze—completely oblivious to my inner turmoil.
I snap my fingers, snagging his attention. “Hey. Hey, I’m going to need you in there. You help me whip Roxy into shape so we can take care of this uncomfortable celebrity business and be done with it. Got it?”
His head tilts, and his ears perk the way they do when he’s really considering my words, making me at least feel like he somewhat understands. I scratch his head between his pointed ears. He leans into my touch.
“You’re the best friend a girl could have, you know that?” He’s the reason I’m doing this. He saved me that night. Gave me purpose. And now it’s my chance to be an advocate for dogs just like him—to be a voice when they have none, just like I never did.
He nuzzles my hand with his nose, begging for more touches.
I laugh. “Greedy today, aren’t you? Probably because you know you’ve got to share my attention today, huh?
It’s just for a few hours, and then it’s back to you and me.
Well, and the two fosters.” I pray they keep their destructive tendencies to a minimum while I’m gone.
Since Teddy’s with me, I at least left them in his crate.
We approach the house number Griffin gave me.
I pull through the modern metal-and-frosted-glass gate and into the circular drive.
My jaw hits my lap. His home is a stunning two-story white house with clay tiles, accented with palm trees and manicured flowerbeds across the front of the whole house and surrounding property line.
Surely one man doesn’t need such a huge space.
My thoughts drift to my childhood “home” and how cold, vast, and empty it felt.
I shove the car into park and grip the keys, gathering my courage. Too soon, Griffin steps onto the porch and leans against his doorframe. He takes a sip from a plain white coffee mug.
Lord have mercy.
The man makes everyday occurrences look like a modeling ad. He’s dressed in a form-fitting, long-sleeved navy shirt and gray sweatpants. He lifts his mug in the air in greeting. His face has more stubble than the last time I saw him, but his hair still possesses its perfected swoop to the side.
My pulse thrums in my throat.
This meeting feels different. More personal.
More intimate. It’s been a week since our last training session, but throughout the week, we’ve exchanged texts almost every day.
Our conversations usually pertained to Roxy or various dog training tips, but sometimes it’s just simple ones like, Hey, how are you?
What are you up to tonight? Those were the most confusing, because I couldn’t help the flutter in my chest every time I got them.
Casual texts outside of tips definitely did not feel like they fell within the lines of professional .
As I study him standing there on his front porch, he doesn’t need fancy attire or some stylist perfecting his look. This right here? This confident, domestic look is the most confusing, the most tempting, the most dangerous, and therefore, the most troubling.
So, so much trouble.
I need a flashing sign attached to his shirt saying: Warning! Off limits! Has a girlfriend! I can think of any number of phrases that would work sufficiently.
He steps off the porch and walks toward my car.
“I guess we’re doing this, Teddy.”
My hands shake as I grab Teddy’s leash. “Lord, give me strength.”
My car door creaks as I shut it, breaking the beautiful, idyllic trance of this perfect environment. To avoid looking in Griffin’s direction, I grab a bucket of toys and treats from my backseat.
“Morning,” he says cheerfully. “Need any help?”
I look over the top of my car at him. Straightening my posture, I balance the basket on my hip and guide Teddy around my car. “No, all good.” My tone is casual and thankfully, without a hint of shakiness.
A slow, sexy smile spreads across his face.
Does he have no care for my well-being? How am I supposed to work in these conditions? He’s too attractive for his own good.
I clear my throat. “Ready to get to work?”
His smile widens. “Absolutely. Let me grab that for you.”
He steps next to me and grabs the basket from my arms before I can protest. His cedar scent envelops me, testing my strength.
“And you brought gifts. How thoughtful.” He peeks inside the basket. “Although I love bacon, I’m not sure these treats are what I had in mind.”
“They’re for Roxy.”
Have a sense of humor, Ashton! Drum up those long-forgotten people skills you have hidden somewhere.
“I figured.” His lips tilt, and he opens the door. “Go ahead.”
I walk across the threshold into one of the most pristine houses I’ve ever seen. And I grew up in the Hills! “Do you actually live here?”
His living room is a mix of plush black leather chairs and cream couches. The place is so spotless I could eat off the floor. The polished white marble tiles glisten in the morning sun. I don’t dare leave the foyer rug, fearful of messing up a single tile.
I glance at his feet. He’s sporting some kind of masculine houseshoe.
I step back outside the door. “Actually, I’ll go around back. Do you have a front gate to the backyard?”
“You’re fine. Come in.” He walks further into the house toward the kitchen, and places the basket on a black leather barstool in front of a gigantic, white marble kitchen island.
He turns around, probably assuming I followed him.
His face lights with humor. “It’s just flooring, not hot lava. You can walk on it.”
“I don’t want to get it dirty. What if I get footprints on your floor? Here, I’ll take my shoes off.” I bend to remove my sandals.
He laughs. “Seriously, stop it. I’ll be offended if you take off your shoes.”
I straighten. Teddy’s paws are probably filthy.
“We should just go to your backyard.” Mom never allowed street shoes to be worn in the house.
She’d have died if I let a dog inside. Memories of all the furniture I wasn’t allowed to use or rooms I couldn’t walk in as a child come unbidden.
Everything had to be in perfect condition for filming.
Heaven forbid our house actually looked like we lived in it.
Griffin steps closer. “I’m serious. It’s fine.” He bends and unhooks Teddy’s leash from his harness. “Go nuts, boy.”
Teddy stays right next to my side, just as he’s trained to do.
Griffin laughs. “You guys are killing me. It’s just a house.”
A near-perfect house. One of my nightmares. People say it’s just stuff until it isn’t. Mom once gave me a half-hour lecture, at the age of six, after I accidentally broke her favorite vase—one I was merely dusting to surprise her.
I gulp, frozen in my discomfort.
Griffin eyes me with a head tilt. “Don’t make me pick you up and carry you. It’s not normally how I like to sweep a woman off her feet, but I’m willing to change it up.” He smirks.
“Ha-ha,” is the only response I can manage because my brain short-circuits on such a visual.
He starts walking backward. “Seriously, make yourself at home. I’m going to run to the guesthouse and let Luke know you’re here. I fully expect to see footprints all over the house when I come back. Feel free to call out for Roxy. I believe she’s hiding in her favorite spot.”