Hollyweird by Terri Clark Read Free Book Online Page A

experienced advances.
    Surely he just meant to be friendly, affectionate, and sweet with her?
    Turning to my right, I looked at Jameson. His face was as unreadable as ever. Damn him! If he had to plant these worms of worry in my brain, the least he could do was … I don’t know … tell me if I should freak or fuggedaboutit.
    I cupped my palm against the back of my neck, feeling a stress headache coming on. Jameson must have seen a pinch of pain on my face because his hot hand stole over mine and rubbed the muscles at my nape. My tension bled away.
    â€œBetter?”
    I nodded but didn’t meet his eyes. The feel of his skin on mine was more than a balm; it felt like bliss. What was the matter with me? One minute I was mentally chastising Des for cozying up to Dakota and the next I was doing the same thing with Jameson. Of course, Dakota was twenty-four and Jameson was only nineteen, a mere two years older than me.
    Dakota interrupted my rationalization when he mo-tioned to a waiter and ordered a bottle of Cristal.
    â€œUm,” I said, “you do know we’re not old enough to drink.”
    Dakota snickered. “Half the people here aren’t.”
    â€œReally, Aly.” Des giggled. “Lindsay, Paris, Britney. They all drank before they were legal. The rules are different here.”
    Dakota caressed Des’s shoulder and grinned. “Yeah, there are no rules.”
    You mean, you’re above the rules.
    I knew this, of course. All celebrities were. Anyone who read the tabloids or watched TV knew Hollywood was practically another planet. I really, really needed to de-priss. This trip was all about having fun. Living. Breathing.
    When the champagne arrived I decided to go with the flow, figuratively and literally. When else would I get a chance to drink a four-hundred-dollar bottle of bubbly?
    â€œTo being lucky,” Dakota toasted with a devilish twinkle in his eyes.
    â€œAly, I will love you forever for winning this contest,” Des gushed as she clinked her glass against mine.
    Smiling, I took a sip of my champagne and gave an appreciative sigh over the fizzy nirvana.
    â€œLike it?” Jameson asked.
    I licked my lips and warmed under his amused study. “I imagine stardust tastes like this,” I told him.
    He took a contemplative sip from his glass and I watched as he caressed the liquid with his tongue, allowing it to meld across the various parts of his taste buds. Unconsciously, I took a swig from my own glass and found myself mimicking his taste test. Finally, Jameson said, “It’s close”—he lifted his glass so light shone through—“but lacks sparkle.”
    I gave a breathless laugh, the bubbles and his sensuous appraisal having gone to my head.
    â€œAly … ” He said my name whisper-soft. “I like that you imagine what stardust tastes like.”
    â€œI like that you think you know.” I ducked my head at the shiver his attention gave me. “I’m really not very imaginative. Des will tell you I’m more pragmatic than fanciful.”
    â€œYet you’re a huge fan of a monster-of-the-week show,” he said with humor.
    I lifted my glass to him in touché. “Great storytelling, a hot guy, and silly scares. Pure escapism. What’s not to love?”
    â€œStill, you don’t believe in things that go bump in the night?”
    â€œWerewolves, witches, and vamps, oh my.” I shook my head. “Naw. It’s fun to imagine, but I leave the believing up to Desi.” As far as I was concerned, the real boogie monsters were the pedophiles lurking in the public library, the drug dealers making meth next door, and the drunk drivers claiming lives on the street.
    â€œWhy not just believe?” Jameson asked in all seriousness.
    â€œGet real,” I scoffed. “If Count Dracula ever flashes me some fang, then I’ll believe.” And reevaluate everything else I think I