Hollyweird by Terri Clark Read Free Book Online Page B

know.
    â€œAh,” Jameson said, as if he were Sherlock Holmes deducing a clue. “You’re one of those. You have to see to believe?”
    I gave a firm nod and took a sizeable sip of my champagne before saying, “Yessir. Takes the guesswork right out.”
    â€œMaybe you have seen … something, but didn’t recognize it.”
    I gave an indelicate giggle with a bubbly burp. Slapping a hand over my mouth, I sucked in a deep breath to stave off the sillies. Composure intact, I said, “Please tell me you’re not like Des, that you don’t believe ‘they are among us.’ ”
    â€œThey?”
    I peered over my shoulder to where Des was holding a low, intimate— was there any space between them? —conversation with Dakota. Maybe I should—
    â€œThey?” Jameson repeated.
    I shifted my attention back to him but felt tension return to my neck. “ They being everything and everyone. Say what you will, but my girl—” I elevated my voice, hoping she might drag her attention away from Dakota, but no such luck. “My girl does not discriminate. Not only does she believe the usual creature-feature monsters are”—I made air quotes—“ ‘among us,’ but she thinks aliens and angels are just as likely to walk alongside us as vampires and werewolves.”
    â€œHad this convo a few times, have you?” he asked with a sly smile.
    â€œTry a trillion.” In exasperation, I plunked my empty glass down on a marble side table. “She’s intent on making me a believer.” Again.
    Yes, once upon a time I’d entertained the idea of everything from chupacabras to wendigos, but I’d lost faith in everything when Mom died. Now I struggled to believe in the good (although how could I when the best thing I knew had been taken away?) without throwing silly urban legends into the mix.
    Jameson gave me a long, considering look while he handed me his glass to set next to mine. The silence started to grow uncomfortable and I fidgeted under his frown. Then he said, “I never would’ve pegged you as closed-minded.”
    â€œClose-minded,” I squeaked. “I am no such thing.”
    He cocked an eyebrow. “’K, short-sighted.”
    I narrowed my eyes at him. Did he mean to get a rise out of me? I wasn’t short-sighted or close-minded. I just knew the brutality of reality. “You think I’m short-sighted because I want tangible proof of something before I choose to believe in it?”
    â€œYup,” he said, with no little smugness. “Do you believe in love?”
    My breath hitched. “Oh, well, of course.”
    He smirked at my answer. “Can you touch it?”
    â€œNot the same thing,” I argued, shaking my head wildly. “Love is an emotion. You’re talking about physical—well unless it’s a ghost—beings. Totally different.”
    Head tilted, he contemplated my argument before saying, “Point to you.”
    I smiled at my win and noticed that his eyes, despite his concession, were alight with the challenge of our debate.
    â€œWhat of God?” he asked with hushed seriousness. “Believer or not?”
    I squirmed. I always hated it when this particular thread came up, and it always did. “I’m not sure anymore,” I said, and my heart ached with the admission.
    â€œAnymore?” he prompted.
    â€œI used to believe,” I confessed, with quiet discomfort, as I broke eye contact and threaded my fingernail through the lace holes on my dress. “Then my mom died two years ago and—”
    â€œAnd your faith was shaken,” he finished gently.
    I locked my gaze to his. “Shattered.”
    He nodded his understanding. “What happened?”
    His asking didn’t bother me. In self defense, I’d quickly learned how to answer in a very matter-of-fact manner. “She was coming home late from