Breaking A Bad Boy Page 23

“I heard.” Ivy shrugged and slipped into a strapless dress while standing at the sink. She began finger combing her hair and styling her dark tresses into a casual French twist. “But sex isn’t the act of a guy and girl fucking. It’s so much more. Don’t try and tell me you and Rory haven’t explored one another.”

  Sommer’s face blushed red-hot as she handed Ivy a couple of bobby pins. “We have. Things just don’t seem to settle. It’s either me…or lately him, who is hot to race toward the finish line. He asked me to marry him. Again.”

  Ivy laughed. “Sommer, how many times does that make?”

  “This time, I was ready to say yes,” she confessed and paused for a moment. “But I’ve got to take care of my finances.”

  “Holy cow!” Ivy bumped her hip against Sommer’s. “We could have a double wedding.”

  “Do those even exist?” Sommer scoffed, but smiled. This was the first time she’d admitted out loud that she was ready to tie the knot with Rory.

  “Who knows, but it would be freaking memorable.” Ivy hugged her and Sommer laughed.

  “What will be memorable is if I show up like this, while you look like that. If I didn’t say it yet, you look amazing.”

  “Thanks, Somm. I feel like this is where I belong…with Vin and out here. That’s something I always believed you and Rory had together.”

  “Then I’d better go get dressed so we’re not late.” Crap, she’d still not heard from Rory, but it was no wonder why. Her phone was dead. She stroked a hand down the soft material of the gold dress and met Ivy’s gaze in the mirror. “Can I borrow your phone? Mine is dead. I should let Rory know I made it and am not stuck in some den of iniquity.”

  “Pretty sure those are all filled by the Baptists who came through earlier this week on a half-dozen tour buses.” Ivy shook a can of hairspray and spritzed around her head.

  “Tell that to one hot-under-the-collar cowboy.”

  “My phone is on the bed. Go for it and tell him ‘howdy’ from me.”

  SOMMER called Rory’s phone but his was off. Now that was super odd. Her call went right to voice mail—and she left a long-winded message for him, trying to explain her busy schedule without sounding chaotic.

  After changing into her golden ensemble, she applied a quick coat of mascara, eyeliner, and glossed her lips. Fluffing her hair, she smiled at the expression on Ivy’s face.

  “Your cowboy should see you now,” Ivy said and took out her cell phone. “Let’s take a photograph and post it.”

  “Can’t reach him,” she said and pursed her lips. “Not like Rory.”

  “Smile.” Ivy snapped several photos of them posing near a window. “Isn’t this the cattle drive week from hell, back home?”

  “Good memory,” Sommer replied. “I guess you’re right. I’m not the center of the universe.”

  “Cynosure. And yes, you are for him,” Ivy snorted loudly.

  “Cynosure?” she repeated.

  “I have this app on my phone. Word of the day. Cynosure is like being the center of attention and for Rory, that’s what you are. But sometimes you have to shake things up.”

  “Oh, there’s no one falling asleep back in Annona,” she was quick to supply.

  “If you say so. How about a drink for the road?” Ivy offered, crooking her finger for her to follow.

  She couldn’t outright divulge how shaken up things had gotten concerning Mike, Carlo, and her dad’s finances. Or how close she’d come to spreading her legs and begging Rory, only to end up doing a complete reversal and keeping her ankles virtually crossed. And if she didn’t watch it, she’d continue spiraling and trip into disaster, all the way out here. She had to keep it together, do the tattoos, and figure out her next step.

  “Promise me this isn’t one of those parties where everyone gets plastered. Three is my limit.”

  “Is that three after this one or including?” Ivy asked, pouring a liberal finger of vodka into chilled shot glasses.

  “Umm. Including these,” Sommer said.

  Ivy nodded and splashed another semi-shot into each glass. She just knew that’s what her friend would do. Ivy could outdrink a thirsty fish, and not once had Sommer bested her.

  “To Hollywood,” Ivy sang out.

  “Cheers!” She tapped and tipped her glass, swallowing the Grey Goose, and flinching at the chill that turned into a slow burn once her throat figured out that it wasn’t a sip of ice water sliding down her chute.

  IVY’S Escalade was waiting downstairs, idling by the curb. A valet held the door for her while another came around to help Sommer into the front seat. “You sure you can drive?” she asked, strapping the seatbelt in place.

  “I’m good,” Ivy assured her. “This thing practically drives itself. See, the GPS is programmed from my phone, which is from Royce and Jimmy’s invite.”

  “But you’re still the one behind the wheel,” she said. “I’m just checking.”

  Ivy leaned across the console and peeked over the edge of her sunglasses. “Chickadee, we barely had anything to drink. You wanna drive?”

  Sommer didn’t need to glance twice toward the busy street to figure out that she’d need to study a map to just circle around the neighborhood. “I wouldn’t know which way to go, even with directions. Might need a few to get my bearings. But I’m game, if you want me to take over.”

  “Since we’re running late, no time.” Ivy straightened and snapped the seatbelt buckle. “Then it’s settled. I’ll drive and you can deal with the iPod. Pick a playlist. Something fun, like we used to listen to during one of our girls’ nights.”

  “Gotcha.” She swiped her thumb over the iPod click wheel as Ivy shifted into drive and peeled out of the condo’s parking. At night, instead of the traffic lessening around West Hollywood, it swelled—bumper-to-bumper, stop-and-go.

  Sommer scrolled through the multitude of lists and pressed one featuring Christina Perry’s “Distance.” The interior of the SUV filled with the sound of a piano, and Sommer blinked rapidly as a film of moisture clouded her eyes and vision. Ivy didn’t comment, but drummed her fingers on top of the steering wheel, keeping time with her blinking turn signal.

  “Saturday night really jumps around here,” Sommer observed.

  “This is mild. Friday’s are worse, and as we get closer to the tourist spots, it’s impossible to move. Easier to just get out and walk. But we’re not going anywhere near there, thank goodness.”

  “I thought we were headed to the studio, to meet Vince.”

  “Nope. He texted earlier. He’ll get a ride and we’ll rendezvous at the party,” Ivy said, flooring the gas.

  Sommer gripped the armrest as the forward motion of the SUV caused her head to knock back into the neck rest. They sped down street after street until they reached the foothills, and the streets turned dark and became far, far less congested in winding paths and single lanes. The GPS’s robotic voice spat out the directions, sometimes in a rapid-fire sequence. Humongous trees and vegetation grew in abundance, black shapes against the night sky. More and more homes sprawled from the confines of tall stone walls, visible between the metal spindles and rails of electronic gates.

  Up ahead, the red glare of taillights shone, getting brighter, and then headlights flashed through the rear of the SUV, as other cars crept closer behind them.

  “Is this the place?” Sommer asked, peering over at guys dressed in white shirts and dark shorts, opening doors, and exchanging places with drivers. Either they were valets, or some sort of preppy dressed gang. Sommer had heard an earful from her aunt on how gangs ran rampant in Southern California. Obviously, her aunt did not envision that Sommer would be visiting a house that cost more than a square mile of real estate where they lived in Annona. More like the social ammunition Belinda extrapolated from television shows like The Closer that her aunt and Momma watched, and probably used as reasons to remain cloistered in a neighborhood that had crumbled all around them.

  “Yep,” Ivy exclaimed and inched the SUV forwa
rd. “Get ready to tuck and roll.”

  No sooner had Ivy warned her, then the driver’s side door opened and a sweaty-faced guy smiled and had a ticket stub ready for her to take. Sommer unbuckled and grabbed her purse, opening her door, and stood back as the SUV’s tires screeched. The street rose at a serious incline, and Sommer attempted to skitter across the road, but the next driver had already started forward in the fast growing queue.

  “Hold it,” the valet hollered, jerking his palm out in front of himself, and then winked at her. “Better hurry, gorgeous.”

  “Sommer, be careful,” Ivy gasped, meeting her in the middle of the street.

  “It’s crazy to cross the street in Hollywood,” she panted, and waved at the valet. “Whew! Thanks, ya hear.”

  “Do I hear a little bit of country?” The valet grinned and followed up with a catcall.

  Both girls laughed and shook their heads. “People act so surprised when I talk out here.” Ivy shrugged. “I don’t get it, but now I have company.”

  “How long are we staying…at the party?” Sommer asked, eyeing the swarming mass of people milling about what appeared to be an exclusive property.

  A fast-moving breeze blew across the roadway, rustling over the thick bushes lining yet one more tall stone wall. And this time, the house very much deserved a wall and security gate. The residence sprawled…huge, unlike anything she’d ever seen. The gates were open and sleek cars lined the sweeping circular driveway, spilling outward in both directions, up and down the street for as far as she could see. A loud rumbling rose amidst the car horns, and she recognized a steady, threading bass beat that grew louder as they crossed the driveway.

  “Holy Moses,” Ivy shrieked when her heel got caught. She and Ivy grabbed a hold of each other, balancing on heels—not so easy, considering some of the walkway pavers rocked perilously in haphazard spots.

  Sommer bent down and freed Ivy’s heel. “We’d better watch our step.”

  “You said it,” Ivy replied, glaring at the walkway.

  Up ahead bright lights shone from within the house; the front door was perpetually opening and closing, emitting bleeps of music, laughter, and a few cheers.

  “How are we going to find Vince inside this place?” she asked, wondering how they would locate him without a GPS and a highly trained Sherpa. “Does your phone have a special app?”

  “Not to worry. A lot of these dudes roaming around are security. Once we breach the front door, things will settle down. People come and go from house parties all the time. Nothing gets too out of control.”

  She held her quip that limits probably did get pushed up here—not wanting to tempt fate that this be the night Ivy was forced to change her tune. Once they were inside, things did calm down just as Ivy had promised.

  “Phew, this is much nicer without the wind whipping our hair around,” she murmured to Ivy and enjoyed taking in the spacious white room decorated in ultra-modern furniture and all sorts of colorful artwork.

  “Don’t forget our near shoe disaster,” Ivy snorted and immediately snagged two flutes of champagne, pushing one into her hand.

  As they sipped and walked amongst the horde of guests, Ivy whispered the names of several celebrities and used her eyes to direct Sommer’s attention where to star gaze. Several well-known people passed by them. Some greeted Ivy while others looked at them with varying degrees of interest to downright ogling.

  A willowy woman with cocoa-colored skin and long bleached dreads hugged Ivy and laughed. “You’d better go catch your fiancé before his band gets going. He’s looking for you. They’re setting up outside or at least the drummer was.”

  Ivy turned to her. “Sommer, meet Bonita. Bo, this is Sommer. My best friend from back home.”

  “Well, hello. Pretty name. Is that like summer, the season?” Bo asked, speaking with a melodic accent.

  “Sort of, but spelled with an ‘O’.” Sommer nodded. “You’re not from here either.”

  “Hardly. Cuban born, but I was raised in Louisiana. We came over on a raft in the 90’s and had a choice, Nebraska or Louisiana.”

  “Do you remember crossing the sea on a raft?” Sommer asked, unable to contemplate what a small child would do in such strange circumstances.

  Bo smiled and nodded. “Only too well. I don’t enjoy bathing in the ocean. Lakes…I’m okay with, but I stay clear of the sea.”

  “Can’t say I have anything to compare,” Sommer replied.

  “Oh, I doubt that. Ink artist, right?” Bo laughed. “Enjoy the party.”

  “You’re not leaving already?” Ivy asked, her eyes had grown round.

  “Afraid so, but you know how that goes. Gotta begin saying ba-bye an hour before launch,” Bo answered. “But you just got here. Plenty to see and do. Nice to meet you, Sommer. Catch you around.”

  “Bye,” Sommer said and followed Ivy through the throng of people.

  “Go get another drink and I’ll meet you back here. I need to track down Vince.” Ivy handed Sommer her empty flute and jerked her chin sharply in the direction of the bar. Her friend leveled her shoulders as if she were preparing to go do battle outside on the patio.

  All was clearly not well in Hollywood—or that’s the feeling she’d started to get this evening from Ivy. How does she manage? I’d be a basket case in a week. She walked up to the wide bar, setting the empty glasses down on the counter, and ordered a rum and coke, glancing around and noticing several pairs of unfamiliar eyes staring back. Hard to believe that a house would have a bar this long inside, but then again, considering the wall of glass overlooking a pool and beyond…the whole of L.A. backlit the party. What did she expect?

  She inhaled and sipped her drink, stepping away from bar and idly moving with the flow of guests. She stationed herself near the doorway to the terrace, but men kept coming up to her and asking her if she was some actress. Someone she’d never heard of, and after denying it and almost getting into an argument with the last guy, she moved toward the other side of the room, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

  A pair of women knocked into her and her drink splashed down the front of her dress. “Oh my,” one of them said without apology.

  Sommer sucked in her breath and set her now empty cup on a table. Over the light hardwood floors her drink formed a puddle and she would be damned if she’d end up slipping and falling. She scooted around the mess on the floor with one plan: to find a bathroom and hopefully a hair-dryer, and maybe she could remove the stain and dry the dress, and prevent this rough night from devolving further. Glancing around the large living room, she noticed several doorways and wondered which one contained less foot traffic. After a rapid eeny, meeny, miny, moe, she selected the dimmest looking doorway.

  Walking through the living room, several people glanced at her, and then lowered their gazes down her dress. She couldn’t escape into the hallway soon enough, and practically hugged the wall, her heels clicking on the floor as she searched, more like groped her way along the hall. She ended up bumping into a life-size statute and by mistake, murmured, “Excuse me.”

  This side of house was quiet, except for some music playing somewhere, or it could be coming from outside. Inside this never-ending maze, her neck tightened into bands of tension; but finally the darkness gave way to a beam of light when the hall veered to the right abruptly and a crack of light shone from under a doorway.

  Exhaling, she stopped and pushed open the door, desperate to deal with her dress and wondering if Ivy had returned and was now looking for her.

  “Sorry!” she snapped the door shut after seeing a group of people, some naked, and not wishing to see whatever else was going on inside.

  This was L.A. after all. Stepping away from the doorway, she cleared her mind, except for her solo mission to find a bathroom. She paused in her progress, weighing if she should return to the main room and try another hall. But she’d have to brave a few hundred stares again. Gosh, she didn’t know which of the guests outside around the p
ool, or those mingling in the living room might be some of her future clients, and a soda-stained girl from Texas was all sorts of ways not cute. Who would trust their skin to someone who looked less than sophisticated? She sure wouldn’t!

  Sommer stopped her mental rant. There had to be another bathroom here. The hall grew dimmer further down. Also became much more isolated. She opened a door, feeling along the wall for a light switch until her fingers glided over a panel and she pressed a button. Soft, glowing light flooded the far wall from recessed high hats, as she stumbled inside.

  Thank goodness it’s a bedroom. A very vacant bedroom with three doorways—surely one of them of them led to a bath. Entering the room, she shut the door and stared across at the other three doors.

  Immediately she checked the far one off her list. A French door that lead outside. How convenient. She’d clean up and afterward, she’d exit the bedroom to the patio, avoiding the mad crush inside the living room. A silver lining to her dash down the hall.

  Walking a beeline to the nearest door, she twisted the knob and hallelujah. She met her reflection in the vanity mirror and flipped on the lights. With a single-minded tenacity, she opened and closed the cabinets, finding a whole lot of nothing besides a few rolls of toilet paper. Not a hairdryer in sight.

  She touched the material of the dress. It felt almost dry, and no wonder; the cloth was almost as delicate as tissue paper. If she could just blot the stain out with some soap and water, she’d consider that a score for the home team—herself. Afterward, the dress could air dry, same as before.

  Standing in front of the sink, she wondered what removed soda? Hot water or cold?

  She shimmied out the dress and wet the corner of the hand towel. With a little soap, a little water, and a little prayer, she gently scrubbed the stain. Someone upstairs must have liked her tonight. The stain began to recede in size and appearance as she rubbed. Standing there in her panties, with no bra, she blotted the dry section of the towel over the dress and wanted to squeal with joy that the stain had come out. She lifted the dress and shook it, and by chance caught sight of a pair of dark eyes in the mirror. She rapidly did a double take, meeting none other than Drew’s unwavering reflection, staring at her from the mirror.