Chapter 3

chapter

three

Mills

Run.

Run upstairs and call your brother.

This guy is definitely going to murder you.

That's what my brain is telling me.

But another part of me—and I don't think it's my heart—is fascinated by that jawline that's so chiseled it could be the murder weapon. Or I could die of thirst just from staring at his obnoxiously huge, veiny hand that rests on the driver-side window ledge as he leans out to talk to me.

Besides, my brother Owen is in Kentucky dealing with his own set of problems. He does not have the wherewithal or the finances to drop everything to chase down his sister's stalker. My neighbor Peter? He would freeze like a deer in headlights in front of a guy like… what's his name?

"I'm sorry," I say, "I must have misheard you say you followed me home. That's a joke, right?"

He tilts his head to the side, giving the same boy-next-door energy as the last time we met. "I wanted to make sure you got home safe."

Why would I not get home safely? And why would he care?

I let my smart mouth answer before my brain catches up. "Shouldn't you be going to the bank to get a new debit card or something?"

He gives a boyish shrug. "I could, but the bank teller's not half as nice as you are."

This should not put me at ease as much as it does.

At the same time that all the red flags are flying, I take a step closer.

"Do you always follow strange women home from the airport?"

"Only the ones who have cars that need fixing."

Oh. That. I did mention something about getting my car fixed.

"It's just the A/C that doesn't work," I clarify. "Not a life-threatening situation."

The man tugs on the front of his shirt. "In this heat? You sure about that?" he says.

"I've already scheduled an appointment with my mechanic for next week."

"Good," he says. "My new bank card is on the way."

"Awesome. We're both safe now," I say, watching him expectantly, waiting for him to drive away but secretly hoping he doesn't.

An awkward silence, both of us waiting for what happens next. Hell if I know what that is. I'm in uncharted territory.

I break the silence first. "Well, Monster here needs to go inside and get a nap. And so do I," I say, petting my dog's head, provoking a little piggy noise from the animal.

The Range Rover driver lifts his eyebrows, and for the first time, I can see how absolutely exhausted he is. "A nap sounds amazing."

"You should go get one, then."

That masculine hand I've been mentally measuring goes to his hair, combing through his gentle waves. "I'm pretty hungry, though; I might go get some food."

What is wrong with this man? "What are you waiting for? Tired, hungry, three hundred dollars poorer, and a shitty bank card. You really ought to go now and practice your self-care."

He laughs and then hits me with what he really wants. "Do you want to get some food with me?"

Unbelievable.

And yet I'm actually considering it.

But no. It won't work for me.

"I've got an early audition tomorrow, but thanks."

He beams. "For a movie?"

Using the tired Monster to hide my face, I admit, "No, it's a commercial for lube." Monster replies to this with a lick to my nose. Pete must have brushed Monster's teeth because his doggy breath isn't as bad as usual.

"With the way you're blushing, I don't think you mean Jiffy Lube."

"Yeah…no. More like a local sex toy chain that's trying to go viral."

He doesn't scoff, laugh, or say something gross and expected from a guy who is probably hitting on me. "Sounds sketchy to me. Are you sure you want to waste your talent on Jo-Jo's House of Dildos?"

Even I can't bite back the laughter.

"I've read the script. It's tasteful. You've heard of that store, Violet Sin."

"Let's just say they know me over there."

I roll my eyes. "Anyway, they hired my friend Susan to direct it, and she guaranteed me the main part. She wants me there tomorrow to read with the guys who are auditioning." Why am I telling him all this information?

"One more step to stardom," he says unironically.

I correct him, "I don't care about stardom. I just want to make enough money to live comfortably. And I'm excited for my friend's directorial debut, so there's that."

He nods, ceding the argument. Finally, a man who listens.

"You sure I can't buy you dinner?"

"Nope," I insist, not in the mood for a date. Even if he insists this isn't a date, that's exactly what it would feel like to me. I don't want to be "on" tonight. "I'm going to go upstairs, order Chinese, and then Monster and I are gonna have a VanderPump Rules marathon and pass out on the sofa."

When I mention my favorite reality show, the face he pulls tells me everything I need to know. He might be hot AF but he thinks I have terrible taste in television. He might claim to know about Violet Sin, but look at him. There's no way he's a freak in the bedroom.

"At least you'll have good company," he says, gesturing to Monster.

I suggest, "The rescue groups are overrun with animals. You should go adopt one if you need companionship."

The man in the Range Rover nods. "I'll do that right now."

I squint at him. "Are you fucking with me?"

He shoves a hand through his tousled hair once again. "Maybe tomorrow. After I've had some food and some sleep, and I'm thinking more rationally."

"Great, see you later."

I turn and walk to the stairs.

"Have a good night, Mills Mosley."

I spin around in outrage. "How did you know that?"

"Bank card!" he calls out over the engine's purr.

The man shifts his car into gear, cranks the wheel, and then leans out the window. "Hayden McAllister, in case you want to stalk me on socials tonight, too."

I shake my head at the audacity, then head up to my apartment.

Unable to stop myself, I turn when I reach my door and watch his car disappear around the corner.

I put the key in the lock, muttering, "What's wrong with me, Monster?"

Inside, I find my suitcase sitting on my sofa. It was nice of Peter to bring it upstairs for me.

I set Monster down and he scampers off to get a drink of water while I begin unpacking.

I unzip the case and remove the bag of dirty clothes. As I dump the contents into the washing machine in the hallway closet, I notice my black underwear is missing. I thought I had packed it in case I got my period while on the road, which I hadn't. But maybe I didn't pack it after all. Or maybe the TSA has a weirdo on staff who likes to steal underwear. Who knows. I'm too tired to complain about it now.

Monster trots over to his bed. He makes three turns and lies down with a satisfied grunt.

I make an online food order and hit the shower while I wait for my General Tso's chicken.

While in the shower I can't help but wonder what it would be like to have some human company for dinner and TV time.

But no, this is better. With my luck, that Hayden guy would want to watch sports, and then I'd have to kick him out of my apartment because I am not giving up control of my remote.

With his forearm tattoos, leather bracelet, and white shirt sleeves rolled up, I'll bet he watches hockey at upscale bars with his friends and tosses back overpriced craft beer like it's going out of style. He'd probably also be weirdly jealous about what I have to do for the commercial tomorrow. And he'd probably want me to quit comedy. I conclude this for no other reason than that's what most of my exes wanted. I have a terrible habit of attracting men who are deeply ill-suited for me.

But I've grown since the last relationship. I'm in a much better place and strong enough to set boundaries and claim what I want. I refuse to lose my passion and my personality for a man. Someone as forward as Hayden McAllister is definitely the "my way or the highway" kind of guy. I just know it.

Being alone is far better. Besides, my stock is rising, and I don't want anyone holding me back—not a guy who judges me for the gigs I accept. I need to be well rested, on my game, and free of anyone getting judgy or weird about it.

I don't need that.

Being alone and free to do what I want is much better.

My food arrives, and I don my favorite sweatpants and spread out on the sofa. Monster sniffs the air and goes back to sleep.

Clicking on the TV, I am bummed when I realize what day it is and there aren't any new episodes of VPR. Dammit. A Jax Brittany Take Kentucky rewatch it is. God… it's so bad, it's wonderful.

I pick up my phone and text my brother.

Me: Guess what I'm watching.

Owen: Turn that crap off. Not everyone from Kentucky is like that.

Me: How did you guess?

Owen: Let's see. You just did a bunch of shows in a row, and now you're home on the sofa with Monster.

Me: You are scary.

Owen: Then stop sharing your location with me.

Me: Aww, you still check my location?

Owen: Not as often as I used to, but yeah.

Me: You're the sweetest big brother.

Owen: I know.

I roll my eyes at my brother trying to be arrogant. He's only like that with the women in our family because he loves to push our buttons. He has a lot less time to give us all shit now that he's got Graham, a five-month-old baby that is the result of a very brief "situationship" with a woman who disappeared off the face of the earth.

Me: How's Graham?

Owen: Angry.

Me: Oh, god. Well, stop pinching him.

Owen: Is that the secret to parenting?

Me: I've been told I have all the answers.

Owen: You know we were being sarcastic when we would tell you that.

By "we," he means him and our two younger sisters, Summer and Harmony. The four of us are so close that our sarcasm often doesn't make sense to anyone outside the family.

Me: Maybe Graham's colicky. Is that the word? What does the doctor say?

Owen: The ‘doctor' here says the baby could be teething and to put whiskey on his gums. So, no help there.

Me: You're not supporting your case about Kentucky stereotypes, brother.

Owen: The good news is this quack doctor is about to retire, and we're getting someone new. So there's hope.

Me: As long as the baby's eating and pooping and putting on weight, you're doing great, Owen.

Owen: I'd be doing a lot better if I'd worn a condom.

At this, I wince. I feel bad for my brother, especially after everything that happened, which wasn't entirely his fault. But the wound is fresh, and so is the baby. I haven't even met my nephew yet—in fact, we all just learned about him a couple of months ago—but I know Owen will be a great father. I just wish that the baby's mother had some scruples.

Me: What about Summer and Harmony?

Owen: They're busy setting up the frozen yogurt shop; I don't want to bother them. Mom's already taking Graham a couple of days a week, so I can keep working, but I feel bad about cutting into her retirement. She's supposed to be traveling, not raising a kid.

I hardly think Mom sees it that way. Owen's still the golden child, and even more so now because he surprised Mom with a grandbaby.

Me: I can reschedule some shows and come help you.

Owen: Don't do that. It's not really that bad. You're already coming out for Summer and Harmony's grand opening and staying for a month. I can't handle my sister losing income because of me.

Me: Ugh, don't be such a martyr. FaceTime me right now.

Owen is too tired to resist when I boss him around. Within a few seconds, I'm singing a song to my beautiful five-month-old nephew. Like magic, the baby coos and smiles.

"Thanks, sis."

"You owe me six bucks."

"That was the flat rate for babysitting back in the day," he says.

"You remembered!"

We say our goodbyes, and that strange lump forms in my throat once again.

I bottle up that feeling and go back to watching TV. With that semi-wholesome content running in the background, I scarf down some spicy chicken while scrolling through my phone.

And what do I do? Search for "Hayden McAllister" on social media. Just like the man said I would.

That's when I nearly choke on my General Tso's.

"Excuse you?" I shriek, gawking at what I see on my screen.

Monster's head pops up, and he gives one high-pitched bark, then goes back to snoring like a piglet.

With my chopsticks and takeout container set aside, I scroll with both thumbs because this is important, and I need to focus.

I scroll up and down on the man's profile just to make sure it's him that I'm looking at.

Hayden McAllister is the founder and CEO of Conquest Sports.

I'm so blown away that I throw my phone down on the cushion. I can't decide how I feel about the fact that I was wondering what those long fingers could do.

And why is my world so upside down now? Unless you've been living under a rock, you know that Conquest is only the biggest sporting equipment company in the country. Maybe in the world. I think there are two of his stores in Hollywood alone.

He sponsors the fucking Olympics.

Just then, a follow request comes through on my social page. And it's from the same verified account that I'm looking at.

And then another notification pops up. And then another.

Hayden McAllister wants to follow me literally everywhere. For real.

I am being stalked by someone with Super Bowl commercial money.

Barely able to stand myself, I look down at the logo on the hip of my sweatpants, and there it is: Conquest Sports.

Breathe, Mills.

The next thing I do is turn off the TV and pick up my dog. Monster protests with a yowl.

"Knock it off, little man. You're my emotional support dog now."

Soon enough the dog settles down on the sofa cushion, warming my leg as I scroll. And scroll. And fucking scroll.