"Porter," I corrected automatically, "And yes, apparently. I can't say I'm all that upset about it either. I don't want to talk about the c.l.i.t Wizard anymore. I've already decided that I'm not seeing him again. There's no way we'd work out, Becks."

"You don't know that!" she protested.

"Oh, but I do," I said coolly, "We're just too different. No amount of chemistry can bridge that gap."

"You're just determined to suck all the fun out of my life, aren't you?"

"Yes, Becks. My sole purpose in life is to not date a p.o.r.n star just so you miss out on all the dirty details. If you like him so much, you go date him!"

Her mouth snapped shut as she seemed to consider my proposition for a moment.

"You're not dating him either, Becks! I don't want him in my life! I don't want to be around him at all! He's a p.o.r.n star for Christ's sake! There is nothing outside of s.e.x and money that he can possibly offer me!"

My best friend's eyes narrowed. She stared at me long and hard before she spoke quietly, "When did you become so judgmental, Holly? When did stereotypes become an option for you?"

It was my turn to be struck speechless.

She stared at me silently for several long moments, waiting for my response.

After the silence stretched well into uncomfortable territory, I whispered the only words that came to mind, "I don't know."

"Honestly, Preston, I don't know why I even try! The woman hates me. There is no coming back from this. It's a lost cause."

"n.o.body can hate you, Porter. You're too d.a.m.n charismatic for your own good. It's literally impossible."

"Well, Holly Nash does."

I had just finished giving him the details of my miserable dinner with the beast of Hollywood. I tossed back another shot of Jack and let the burn of the alcohol chase away the last remaining traces of Holly's gentle smile and steely, sensual gaze.

"Why do you care so much?"

"Because she's my ticket out, Preston."

It was only a half-lie.

And Preston knew it. He grinned at me over his martini.

"There are dozens of other casting directors you could sleep with to get your big break, Porter."

"But none of them are Holly Nash."

The weight of the statement packed a h.e.l.l of a punch with me.

I told myself that my newfound infatuation with her was just because I wasn't accustomed to being denied. It was sound logic according to my ego, but part of me was screaming "Bulls.h.i.t!"

I did my best to school my features so that he didn't pick up on it. If Preston thought for even an instant that there was something more to my feelings for Holly, he'd turn into a dog with a bone.

That bone wasn't one I was ready to chew on just yet.

"She's the best, little brother." I reached around the bar and grabbed the bottle of Blue Label Johnny Walker that he always kept stashed out of sight. I poured a neat two fingers and raised my gla.s.s, "You know how I feel about the best."

He rolled his eyes and raised his own gla.s.s. "When you can have anything you want," he lowered his voice and did his best imitation of me, "why settle for less than the best?"

It had been my mantra for more than a decade. My father had asked me that very question once when I was nine and trying to decide on a birthday present. It just stuck.

We sipped our drinks and settled into a comfortable silence.

After several long seconds and another sip of scotch, he set his gla.s.s down with a gentle clink and leaned his elbows on the gleaming bar top.

"Cut the s.h.i.t, Porter. You like her."

The little s.h.i.t was sharp. I didn't insult him by denying it.

"You can try to pretend it's just business all you want, but I'm not stupid. I've known you better than you know yourself. I've never seen you like this over a woman, regardless of her job t.i.tle. There's a h.e.l.l of a lot more to this than you're telling me. I'm gonna guess there's a h.e.l.l of a lot more to it than you're willing to admit to yourself, too. But I'll tell you this, if there's anything going on between the two of you, it's worth pursuing. Women like her don't come along every day."

I downed the rest of my Johnny in a single gulp.

"It's been nice chatting with you, baby brother, but I have s.h.i.t to do. Say a word about any of this to Holly and I'll kick your a.s.s."

I walked out of my Preston's house without another word or a backward glance. There were a lot of things I'd talk to the kid about, but my infatuation with his friend was not one of them. He was reliable in a lot of ways, but keeping secrets for me had never really been one of his strong suits.

Especially where women were concerned.

I climbed inside my Land Rover and slammed my finger down on the ignition b.u.t.ton. The engine and the stereo roared to life in unison, the soothing sounds of Metallica's 'Fuel' came blaring out of the speakers. There was no room left in my head for Preston's words to echo around and for this, I was thankful.

I slammed my foot down on the gas pedal, shooting gravel behind me in an impressive spray of tiny projectiles.

I shot onto the street and made a right. I wasn't sure where I was going, or what I'd do when I got there, but it seemed that my foot was in a hurry to arrive.

I found myself flying south on the Five a few minutes later.

The windows were rolled down, the music was cranked up, and the faintest hint of the Pacific hung in the summer air. Only the occasional pa.s.sing car and the glow of streetlights at regular intervals punctuated the rolling darkness of the freeway in front of me.

It was just after four in the morning when I crossed into San Diego city limits. I headed southwest on Camino Del Rio and continued toward the beach on Rosecrans. Ten minutes later, I parked the Rover at the edge of the sand and changed into my board shorts.

There was no need to bother with the awkward ha.s.sle of changing inside the car. Even if there was anyone else around at four-thirty in the morning, it was hard to find someone in the state of California who didn't know my name. If they didn't recognize my face, there were other parts of my anatomy that tended to get me out of trouble.

The sand was still warm as I stepped onto it. Each tiny granule scrubbed at my feet with every step and the crash of the waves to my left took me away from the city as I walked north along the coast.

There's something about the beaches of southern California that just draws me to them like a moth to a flame. I know that hundreds, if not thousands, of deadly creatures live beneath the thunderous surf, but I'll be d.a.m.ned if I can keep myself out of the ocean. Some people are drawn to the mountains, some to the forest, and some of the most f.u.c.ked up people I know are actually drawn to the flat no-mans-land of the Bible Belt. I am not one of those people. I have to be close to the ocean. It's like a giant, wet security blanket full of killer beasts.

The sun had come up when I finally pulled myself from the hypnotic pull of the ocean to take stock of my surroundings. A few hundred yards further north, the coastline rose sharply out of the sea to form a small range of cliffs.

I had kayaked them dozens of times.

One of the main attractions of La Jolla were the caverns that wormed through the rock faces at low tide. The first of the adventure seekers were already packing their boats into the water.

I found myself walking toward the kayak rental kiosk up the sh.o.r.e a ways to join them when my phone rang.

"Yeah?"

"Where the h.e.l.l are you, Ryder?"

My manager, Ryan, sounded p.i.s.sed.

"Um, in La Jolla about to hit the caves. Why?"

"You were supposed to be on set twenty minutes ago, dude! What the f.u.c.k are you doing in La Jolla?"

"f.u.c.k!" I yelled, startling a few nearby kayak-toting pa.s.sers-by, "I s.p.a.ced it! I drove down to San Diego early this morning and just started walking. I needed to clear my head."

"You're telling me you walked all the way to La Jolla and your f.u.c.king car is in San Diego?"

"Yeah," I knew the conversation wasn't going to end well.

"Don't move a f.u.c.king inch. I'm sending a car to the cliffs."

The line went dead in my ear and I sighed; So much for a relaxing day off.

As I waited for the car to show up, I watched as dozens of boats, most of them single occupancy, marched pa.s.sed me in a colorful line of buoyant Kevlar and plastic. I felt a tinge of jealousy over the fun they were all going to have without me.

Not to mention the workout.

Even at low tide, some of the waves could get a little choppy and raise the water level in the caverns to the point where you had to lay back to avoid hitting your head on the ceiling. That also meant you had to fight the ebb and flow in both directions to keep from being swept out to sea, capsized, or shoved into the darkest arms of the ma.s.sive cave structure.

It hadn't even been ten minutes when a black sedan skidded to a stop at the edge of the sand and blasted its horn. Ryan must've threatened the poor dude within inches of his life to get someone out there so fast.

The driver stepped out of the car looking a little frazzled as I approached and opened the back door for me.

"You don't mind if I sit up front with you, do you?"

"N-n-n-o sir!" he stammered, "Not at all!"

The door he held open slammed shut with a bang and he ran around the front of the car to open the pa.s.senger side door.

"Thanks, boss," I smiled.

After I was carefully secured in the pa.s.senger seat, he jumped back behind the wheel and glanced at the clock on the dashboard. I heard him curse quietly under his breath as he slammed the car into reverse and pounded the accelerator to the floor.

We spun ninety degrees in the small parking lot and took off like a shot. I didn't even see him put it in drive. The dude had to be a stunt driver or something.

After a harrowing 50-minute drive back into Los Angeles, we skidded to a halt outside a ma.s.sive warehouse covered in corrugated siding.

He glanced down at the clock once more and let out a long, relieved sigh.

"Was it a threat or a bribe?" I asked, knowing all too well that Ryan knew how to light a fire under a person's a.s.s.

The driver grinned at me but avoided eye contact, "Bribe."

"d.a.m.n. I was betting on threat. The mood he was in when I talked to him was working against you."

The driver smiled, but didn't say anything as he nervously ran his hands over the steering wheel.

"Well, did you make it in time?"

He nodded his head, "Barely."

"Good," I smiled at him, "Anything I can do to get you to stick around for a few hours and drive me back to San Diego after the shoot?"

His face turned a brilliant color of red as his hands tightened on the black leather of the wheel in front of him. I knew the telltale signs of a fanboy moment when I saw them and braced myself.

I've heard everything from "Can I have an autograph?" to "Can I suck you off?", so I always get a little bit nervous when those situations arise.

I was not expecting what came out of his mouth.

"Can I come sit on set with you?"

After a moment of confused silence, I got my s.h.i.t together and shrugged my shoulders, "Sure! I mean, it'll probably be boring as h.e.l.l for you, but I can make that happen."

We got out of the car together and headed for the tiny steel entrance next to the sealed jumbo-sized bay door.

"Just stay with me and play along."

He nodded his understanding and we entered the rabbit hole.

"What's your name?" I whispered?

"Brandon," he hissed back.

"Brandon!" I yelled as we walked toward the dressing rooms, "I'm gonna need some coffee! Like, ten minutes ago! Get your a.s.s moving!"

He stood frozen for a moment before catching on and scurrying off to find me what I had asked for.

I had yelled in order to draw the attention of everyone on set and establish him as my personal a.s.sistant. Everyone had seen his face and wouldn't question his presence for the rest of the day. My end of the bargain had turned out to be unfairly easy to hold up.

"Ryder!" I could only a.s.sume the man stomping toward me from the other side of the set was Ken Farren, the director. I'd never worked with him before, so I wasn't sure what to expect. My name alone carried enough weight that I knew I didn't have a whole lot to worry about, but he definitely looked p.i.s.sed off enough to try something stupid.

"Ken!" I greeted him with a disarming smile, "Sorry I'm late! I had some personal errands to run and they took a bit longer than expected."

"Cut the s.h.i.t you self-absorbed little p.r.i.c.k," he jammed a finger into the center of my chest, "Going on a bender and waking up too hung-over to function isn't something I would call an errand. I've heard all about you and your brothers. I know that you're all pains in the a.s.s to work with. You think that the world revolves around you because your father was a legend. Well I've got some f.u.c.king news for you, kid! These people?" he swung his arm wildly to indicate the rest of the crew, "they all have s.h.i.t to do, too. Instead, they've been sitting here for the last two f.u.c.king hours waiting for you to sober up and decide to come to work."

My fists were clenched at my sides so tightly that my nails were digging into my palms. I clamped my teeth down on my cheek to keep myself from saying anything I'd regret. The metallic taste of blood told me that I needed to get away from the guy before I lost my s.h.i.t and my job.

With a concentrated effort, I unclenched my fists and tried to speak as calmly as possible, "I'm here now. Where's the dressing room?" The words came out as more of a snarl than I had intended, but I didn't spit in his face or break his nose, so I decided to call it a win.

He pointed to a room to my right that was barely more than a closet, "Be on set in two minutes."

Brandon returned with a steaming cup of coffee as Ken spun to return to set. The director s.n.a.t.c.hed it from his hand and threw it in his face as he screamed, "He doesn't deserve any f.u.c.king coffee!"