“You know, most people would be flattered someone was throwing them a party,” he pointed out playfully. I twisted over to my side so I could look at him.
“Well, I think I’ve had quite enough of parties for a while.”
My dad had a habit of putting together big, elaborate events. Sometimes, I thought he just plucked the why out of the air so he could have an excuse to waste a big pile of his cash on getting all his industry buddies in a room together and schmoozing them up. I had a feeling this party had more to do with a new show he was trying to get off the ground, a chance for him to get some investors plied with wine and try to convince them to sponsor his new bright idea. I didn’t want anything to do with it.
I’d just wrapped up the fifth season on the sitcom I was guest-starring in and the director said I was a shoo-in for an Emmy this year. Still, I needed a break, some time for myself. I didn’t want to be the vague excuse for a party, and I certainly didn’t want to plaster a smile on my face and answer lots of well-meaning questions about my career, my father, and my shows from the various higher-ups trying to figure out if I’d gotten where I was thanks to nepotism or to talent.
“How long are you planning to hide out here?” A deep voice came from behind us, and I flipped over to see Claude standing above us. I rolled my eyes.
“I’m pretty sure you could’ve watched us from the house,” I pointed out. He looked ridiculous in his dark suit in the middle of the sand at Sand Dollar Beach. “Why do you want to know how long I’m staying here, anyway?”
“Your father will want to know.” He shrugged, clasped his hands in front of him, and stared off into the distance.
Betsy snuffled in the sand next to us, and I rubbed my fingers together to draw her in for a cuddle. She was my baby. I’d gotten her a few years ago, when small dogs had been all the rage among the early-twenty-somethings of the TV world. When most of them had grown tired of their animals and gotten rid of them months later, I’d fallen in love with Betsy. I realized I’d never get bored with her. I named her after Betsy Palmer, an old movie actress I liked when I was a kid. She ran into my arms, sliding into my lap and looked up at me with those big brown eyes she knew I couldn’t resist.
“I haven’t decided yet,” I said with a sigh, turning my attention back to the glistening blue ocean in front of me. “What day is it today? Friday?”
“That’s right.” Claude nodded, looking pleased with himself, as though he’d delivered some vitally important information.
“Probably not until at least Monday,” I said. “Long after the party is over. I just can’t be bothered with heading back over there yet. You can tell him that, okay?”
“Your father’s going to be so mad when he realizes you’re gone.” Floundy grinned, and he sounded more amused than anything else. He understood better than anyone exactly how deep a toll this kind of thing took on me, how the Hollywood, high-intensity, fast-paced lifestyle left me feeling as though I had the air punched out from my lungs. He worked as a production assistant on a reality show across town, so he had first-hand experience with the exhaustion this kind of lifestyle could bring. He appreciated these breaks as much as I did.
“Oh, he won’t even notice.” I waved my hand. “Someone could set up a mannequin, hang my clothes on it, and it’s all he’d need to have a good time.”
Claude snorted above me, and I glanced up at him. He knew I was right. I might not have been his biggest fan, considering everything he’d done to keep me under my father’s thumb over the years, but he was just doing his job. He knew what my father was like better than anyone.
“So, what are we up to while we’re here?” Floundy sounded playful, and I turned to him.
“Sounds like you’ve got a few ideas of your own,” I said, cocking an eyebrow at him.
He reached into his bag and slowly drew out a bottle of wine.
“I’m in.” I nodded and reached over to grab it from him. This weekend might not have kicked off with the best start, but there was still plenty of time to save it.
Chapter Three
Elliott
I peeled the bedcovers down from over my head and propped up on my elbows, looking around. Damn. How’d we get home last night?
The last couple of nights had been pretty fucking crazy. And that was saying something, considering everything the Tuck and I had done over the years. I blinked a few times, squinting at the light pouring through the window of the beach house and tried to ignore the pounding in my head. It was nothing a little run and a lot of water couldn’t fix. What were we doing out here, anyway, if it wasn’t for the ocean air to chase away our hangovers?
I pulled on some sweats and headed to the kitchen to grab a coffee. I found Tucker in the kitchen. He looked a little rough around the edges but otherwise okay.
He pushed a mug of steaming hot coffee in my direction, and said, “How’s it going?” with a sleepy grunt.
I picked it up and took a swig. The bitter-sweetness of the drink spread across my tongue and made me feel a little better. “Do you remember how we got home last night?”
“Uber, dude,” he said with a grin. “I’m surprised they even let us in the car in the state we were in.”
“Yeah, it was quite a night.” A smile curled my lips as I thought back to it.
Well, the last two nights really. It had started with the night at the club when I’d fucked the owner in her office and then spent the rest of that night grinding up on some blonde chick with a great ass. And then last night we ended up at a house party thrown by a couple of rich Sand Dollar Beach chicks. It was crazy. Drinking, dancing, making out, fucking. I was just glad to have made it home in one piece. I could tell from the look on Tuck’s face he felt the same way.
The best part about being here though, well, almost better than the pussy, was not knowing anyone and not having anyone to answer to.
Back home in New York City, I’d grown up knowing every person I ran into wanted something from me, whether it was my money, influence, or access to my father, none of which I was interested in giving away.
I second-guessed every chick who came into my life, trying to figure out if she was genuine or if she just saw me as a foot in the door to a glamorous lifestyle she couldn’t wait to get her hands on.
It wasn’t a particularly good state of mind to be in, and I hated how much it had fucked me up over the years, how many women it had held me back from being with. And there had been plenty.
But now that I was here on the West Coast, I was so far away from my father and his influence. I was happy knowing every woman who hit on me was doing so because she wanted to, not because she had dollar signs in her eyes. And man, there was a lot of women here. Hot sexy women, and none of them knew anything about me or my bank account.
God knows I wasn’t about to flaunt it, either. I liked being an unknown. Pretending to be a regular middle-class guy.
I wasn’t sure what kept them coming, but it seemed at every turn, I was inundated with girls. Maybe it was just Sand Dollar Beach. I hadn’t visited before, and I’d heard from a few of my friends who made it out here over the years that it was known to be pretty damn crazy. But even the wildest of women in the most unhinged of bachelorette parties couldn’t have accounted for the amount of tail I’d landed since I arrived. It was starting to go to my head, and I was letting it. It wasn’t just my cash bringing in these women. It was me.