Hollywood Nights (13 page)

I pulled away. Someone had to stay in control.

“Goodnight, Tanner.”

“Wait—what?” He still sounded drunk.

“Get some sleep,” I said.

Then I walked out of the bedroom and flipped off the light before I closed the door behind me.

When I got back inside the pool house, I threw myself on the bed and tried in vain to take my own advice. Instead, I stared at the ceiling. Thoughts of Tanner Vance, his problems, his drinking, and my own confusion tumbled through my head for the rest of the night.

I
’d had quite a few monster hangovers in my day after nights of blackout drinking, but this one went straight to the top ten. I woke up the next day on top of my bed, still in my clothes, and with not much more than a vague memory of the night before. That was bad. A vague memory meant maybe I had gone too far, despite my best efforts and the demons of my past.

I rolled over in bed and cursed.

Once again, I’d been stupid. I knew it. Make this night one thousand for me when it came to idiotic behavior. I cursed again. My wristwatch read 8:49 a.m. Not bad. At least I still had most of the morning ahead of me. Maybe I’d be able to salvage the rest of the day.

After I showered, shaved, and changed into a pair of Adidas pants and a loose white T-shirt, I shuffled downstairs toward the kitchen in search of more water and a smoothie. I found Brynn sitting at the bar with a book in one hand and a tall glass of orange juice in the other.

She looked up from the pages when I walked in the room, and she had an unreadable expression on her face. “Oh, hi, Tanner.”

I stopped short. “How’d you get in here?”

“I still have your keys from last night.”

“Ugh. Last night.” I shut my eye and groaned. “Remind me to give you an extra set.” I opened my eyes again. “How are you doing today?”

Last night needed an explanation, but I had no clue what to say to this woman.

“Glad to see you’re up.” Brynn turned back to the book and flipped a page. “Martha called earlier. She’s sick.”

“She is?”

Brynn gave me a curt nod.

She was mad at me, and she had a right to be. Unlike the night when I woke up hung over and confused in her apartment, I actually remembered most of the ugly details from the night before. They rattled around in my head as I struggled to make sense of where I’d once again lost control, and after a few moments, I strung most of the night together.

It wasn’t pretty.

After the lunch with Kenneth, I met Owen for that pool party on the rooftop of Hotel Le Rose. It had been fine for a few hours, and had a few hotties in attendance, but had Lana shown up to the party after dusk.

Fucking Lana.

She had Harper on her arm, the model she dropped me for when she came out as bisexual on
LA Stands for Lana
. The night had gone pear-shaped after they arrived. Even Owen had known things would get bad.

“Dude,” he’d said to me almost as soon as they arrived. “I had no idea they were on this guest list. I wouldn’t have invited you—”

“I’m fine,” I’d lied. “But I need another drink.”

Drinking always helped me. Always. Life felt better from a constant state of haze. Owen had ordered bottle service.
Good man.

Harper and Lana wouldn’t leave each other’s side, and it had seemed like anytime I glanced over at them, they proceeded to make out so I would notice. I’d ordered more drinks to blot it all out. I’d floated in and out of reality, and things grew more distorted from there. At some point, Harper and Lana got into a loud fight, Owen had left, and Harper had stormed out with a DJ I’d met a few times from the club scene.

A few hours later, I’d woken up alone and sober in one of Le Rose’s hotel rooms, a few steps away from the entrance to the rooftop pool. It was only eleven, so I’d stopped at Polo Lounge to take the edge off before I drove back to Mulholland.

And one drink there had turned into three…

I opened the refrigerator and tried to put the rest of it out of my mind. I couldn’t. I hadn’t screwed up last night. I had fucked up. I might have done irreparable damage to whatever was happening between me and Brynn.

Goddamn it.

“There’s fresh water in the Brita,” Brynn said, while I rooted through the appliance. “You probably should drink a few glasses.”

“Thanks.”

I pulled the jug out of the fridge and turned back to her. Other memories from the previous night sharpened in my mind. We’d kissed last night, and I’d liked it. I’d liked it a lot. I wasn’t sure who’d started it, but I hadn’t wanted it to stop.

More than that, I had to admit to myself I’d been thinking about kissing her rosebud mouth on and off since the morning in her apartment. Standing there in the kitchen, I wanted to kiss her again.

Really, I wanted to do
more
than kiss her. I wanted to shove her against the refrigerator and claim her with my mouth. I wanted to hear her moan my name. And more than anything, I wanted to make her feel what I was feeling.

“About last night,” I said, struggling to stay in control. “If you think—”

“Nothing happened. Last night wasn’t a big deal.”

“Yes, it was. I remember it.” I paused. “And I’m sorry.”

“Don’t mention it.” She put the book down on the counter and narrowed her eyes at me. “You were drunk, and you lost control. You’ve got to get ahold of yourself, you know? You are your own worst enemy.”

I found a glass in the cupboard, and I poured some water into it. “People have told me before.”

“They’re trying to take care of you.”

“Pfft.” I drank from the glass. “They don’t give a fuck about me, I promise.”

She threw her book onto the counter. “Listen, I don’t know what you think this
job
between us entails, but I need to make something clear right now. If you think I’m going to babysit you when we’re not in public, you’re wrong. That’s something I won’t do.” She stood up from the barstool. “You can get someone else to do that job. It won’t be me. I don’t care how much money it is. I’m not going down this road again.”

“What do you mean, ‘down this road’?”

Her jaw hardened, and she frowned. “When I was a kid, my dad loved scotch on the rocks more than he loved me. It was just the two of us—Mom left when I was little. When I was a teenager, I had to pick him up at the bar whenever he was too far gone to drive.” She glanced down at the floor. “He made lots of attempts at AA. None of them took.”

I stood with the cup in my hand, listening.

“And so, I’ve been thinking. I won’t do this—job—unless you stop drinking.” She set her jaw. “Now. Today. Right now.”

“Or what?”

“I’ll quit. Walk out. This won’t happen, and you can keep your money. You’ll need it in order to lure someone else.” She paused. “One of those Playboy bunnies?”

“But you signed a contract.”

She shrugged. “I don’t care. You can sue me. I don’t give a fuck anymore.”

I swallowed. I must have spiraled out of control the night before. Maybe she was right. In the few months since Lana had left me, most of my life had been lived in an alcohol-aided fog. There’d been a few blackout nights and plenty more fuzzy days. Craig and Roberta had brought up the drinking too, a few weeks earlier, but I’d dismissed their concerns.

“I said I’m sorry about last night.”

“Saying you’re sorry isn’t enough. Show me.”

I braced myself against the marble counter. “Maybe you’re right. I need to quit drinking so much.”

“Oh, I know I’m right.” She walked a few steps toward the sliding glass door and the pool. “And by the way, all of this drinking isn’t helping you remake that precious reputation of yours. It’s making it worse.” Brynn rubbed her forehead. “I’m willing to give you another chance, but only one more. If I find you drunk like that again, then I’m out of here. No questions asked. You will never see me again. Ever.”

“Ever?”

“Don’t push me.”

“Okay.” I nodded at her. “Fair enough.”

“Like I said, I have more experience with drunks than I want to admit.” She sighed. “And I’m sick and tired of it. That was part of my life in Ohio, but not here. So, those are my terms. Get drunk like that one more time, and I’m out of here for good.”

She opened the glass door and left the kitchen. I watched her saunter across the pool deck and disappear into the pool house. Her ass made a small shake when she walked, but when I couldn’t see her anymore, I reminded myself of what she said. I’d been using alcohol as a crutch, and she was right. And that wasn’t the only thing that stood out to me. I liked her.

A lot.

I needed to make up for what I’d done the night before. I owed her that, and we both knew it. Resolved, I walked across the property and banged on the pool house door. “You win,” I told her when she yanked it open. “I’ll cut back on the drinking. Today.”

“Good.”

“And I’m wondering about something,” I said, halfway making this up as I spoke. “What are you doing for the rest of the day?”

“I don’t know.” She threw up a hand. “I was thinking about going for a run on the Strand. Otherwise, I don’t have any real plans.”

“Good.” I glanced down at my watch. “Plenty of time.”

“For what? Picking up your car? It should still be at the Beverly Hills Hotel.”

“After we get it. What are you doing then?”

“Nothing, I suppose.”

I grinned. “Can you be ready in forty-five minutes? And you’ll need to pack an overnight bag, because I want to take you somewhere.”

C
lose to four hours later, Tanner slowed his Acura down in front of a small gravel road and a large wooden sign reading “Avalon Winery, Lodge and Spa.” He flipped the turn signal on the car, and I put my hand on his arm.

“Is this the same winery as the label on that Pinot grigio you served me the first night you had me over for dinner?”

He nodded. “Not much gets by you, does it?”

“You said this was your favorite place outside of Solvang.”

“It is.” He grinned.

Tanner drove the car down the winding driveway and parked it on the lot in front of a large stucco building with a circular drive that overlooked a small grove of fruit trees. Wide double doors opened up to a large outdoor terrace full of people enjoying an afternoon at the winery. He turned off the car’s engine.