I’d spent way too much time this week in political discussions between the newly installed head of the county council and the production assistant from the movie crew to want to discuss that damned movie tonight. I’d left Los Angeles for a reason, and it was to get away from the bullshit surrounding celebrities and their overblown sense of entitlement.
So far, I’d discovered Tiller Raine and Gentry Waites were two exceptions to the rule, but in general, I found celebrities—actors especially—to be toxic and spoiled. And discovering how easy it had been for them to bribe their way out of any and all legal trouble back in LA, I’d been doubly glad to leave there.
But now here I was having to deal with Hollywood nonsense again anyway. In tiny Aster Valley, Colorado.
I couldn’t wait until this film shoot was done and the cast and crew fucked back off to California so the rest of us could go back to normal. Between the extra work of dealing with the upcoming production security needs and the locals losing their shit over some hotshot actor coming into town, I was seriously reconsidering accepting the promotion to temporary sheriff. But it was only for two years, and then the position would be up for re-election.
I could do anything for two years, and it would give me a chance to meet plenty of the locals and settle in. After that… well, I could simply take it one day at a time.
Sam leaned over to say something to the DJ before heading over to find Truman. He reached out a hand to shake and clapped me on the shoulder. “Glad you could make it. I’m surprised Mikey didn’t try to introduce you to every single gay man here already.”
I let out a laugh and shook my head. “Not Mikey. Pim. I think he tried auctioning me off to the highest bidder. Even offered all-you-can-eat pancake specials at the diner for anyone willing to show me a good time tonight.”
Truman giggled and tucked his head against Sam’s shoulder to try and hide his laughter. Sam wrapped his arm around Truman’s shoulders and pressed a kiss into his curls.
“Go on and laugh,” I told him. “I explained my idea of a hot date tonight was reading the new M.P. Blackfoot mystery out on the new sectional sofa I got for my screened-in porch. Heaven.”
Truman’s eyes lit up. “I’ll have to look and see if they have it at the library. I’m volunteering on Tuesday, so I can check then.”
“I heard they may have found a new permanent librarian,” I said, remembering the county council meeting where it was discussed for an abnormally long time. “She comes from over in Salt Lake, I think.”
Truman nodded. “She’s awesome. I met her when she toured the library. She has tons of ideas for getting more kids into the library, but I can see you don’t want to hear about that right now.”
My eyes had picked out the sound of tires squealing and gravel spraying from around the other side of the house. I held up a finger. “Excuse me for a moment. Sorry to cut you off.”
I jogged around to the front of the house and stopped in my tracks. There, in the middle of the tidy row of local vehicles, was a Paris Blue McLaren 720S Spider with electronic dance music blaring from its speakers and a man in mirrored sunglasses and a backward ball cap sitting in the driver’s seat nodding his head to the beat. In the passenger seat sat a fashionably petite yet scowling man with bleach-blond hair partly covered by a silk scarf.
“Is this it?” the passenger asked with a sniff. “Where’s the vodka, darling? This looks more like a beer-on-tap place, if you catch my meaning.”
Good god, the movie people were early.
As soon as he saw me, the driver lifted his head and snapped his fingers. “Hey, you. You there. Can you park this for me? I’m late, and I kind of need you to help me out here. I’ll look out for you, man, even if you’re not the valet. Feel me?”
He flashed me a million-dollar smile and waited for me to jump to do his bidding.
I stood up taller and crossed my arms in front of my chest, wishing like hell I were in uniform.
“Sorry, no. I don’t feel you.” Although, I had to admit, now that I saw the driver a little more clearly, I wouldn’t mind feeling him, as long as I could do it with my hands on his bare skin. He was on the smaller side but fit as fuck. His eyes were wide-set and flashed with an energy I could barely remember from when I was his age at least fifteen years ago, if not twenty. The kind of energy that would fare quite well in bed. Or out of it if he was the adventurous type.
And if I wasn’t the sheriff of a small town where everyone was all up in everyone else’s business.
“You’ll have to park on the street,” I suggested, lifting an eyebrow.
His mouth opened just a little. I tried not to notice how lush his lips were. I’d put big money on this being the actor everyone had been losing their minds over. In fact, he looked vaguely familiar, but I wasn’t a movie buff, so I wasn’t surprised I didn’t recognize him right off. The other man was a groupie if ever I’d seen one.
And I’d seen plenty.
“You want me to park a half-million-dollar McLaren. On the street.”
I shrugged. “Or you could park it at your hotel in town. And walk back.”
He turned off the engine with the car right there in the middle of the driveway, where it was blocking absolutely every single car already parked in front of the lodge, including mine, and got out. The man was wearing clothes that probably cost the better part of my annual salary, but he was completely barefoot.
“Safety regulations suggest driving barefoot is ill-advised,” I said, cursing myself before the ridiculous warning had finished erupting from my stupid mouth.
The corner of his lip curled up. “Is that right? Who are you, the safety patrol?”
“You could say that.” Why did I sound like such a prick?
He pulled off his mirrored lenses, revealing light blue-green eyes ringed by another line of dark blue. Freckles covered the bridge of his nose which might have explained why he looked so young to me.
The sun still hadn’t set despite the late hour, but it was low and rosy warm, and the long evening beams landed on the man like God himself knew this kid was all that.
Jesus fucking Christ, I was hard for this asshole punk.
“I’m the sheriff,” I finished in a gruff voice before pointing to my SUV which was emblazoned with all of the golden decals explaining who I was in addition to multiple light bars, bull bars, and spotlights, not to mention the laptop mounted on the dash. The SUV that was now blocked by his expensive-ass car and his little piece of man candy. “Now get your fucking car out of the way so I can leave.”
The man sauntered around the car and right up to me with the same annoying smirk on his face. He pulled off the ball cap before running his fingers through longish hair and resettling the cap on the right way around.
It said Hot as Heller.
And that’s when I recognized the little fucker.
Finn Heller. Child star from the long-running family rom-com series, Cast in Clover, and the very definition of an entitled actor.
He opened his mouth to say the words, and I winced before they even hit my ears. But when they came, they came from his groupie instead of himself.
“Do you even know who this is?”
I looked between the two of them before settling on Finn. “I sure do. He’s my next guest at county lockup if he doesn’t move his car out of my damned way.”