Roan (Hollywood Binge #2) Read online

  The only problem was that, no matter how bold his thoughts were, he’d never be able to live in the same area as Presley Adams.

  A worse fate struck. What if she married fucking Blaine Dickhead Daniels? What if they lived here in LA?

  Oh God. Fuck no.

  Roan dropped to his heels as his knees gave out. He tucked his head between his legs as he hyperventilated. No way he could live through that shit ever again. The panic ricocheted to a whole new level, and Roan jerked up, heading straight for his car with a single-minded purpose of putting as much distance between him and Presley as he could.

  Was there a way to get out of this contract? Would that be career suicide?

  No. No… No, he wasn’t a pussy like that.

  This couldn’t be happening. He could handle anyone but her. Elle was monumentally better than Presley Adams. Dammit, he was just getting his life back together. It had taken too many years and way too much alcohol to get over her.

  Roan opened the sports car’s door and dropped down into the driver’s seat. After a second or two of banging his forehead on the steering wheel, he started the engine on a roar and peeled out of the parking lot to make a fast escape from all those unwanted memories. Fuck.

  The jittery nervousness that she’d had all day wouldn’t seem to settle. Presley sat cross-legged on the twin bed in the small bedroom she shared with Kady. The students’ homework was stacked all around her, even a pile in her lap, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t concentrate for more than a minute on completing her grading. After a full twenty minutes of staring at the same page, Presley dropped the red pen she held and let out a disgusted sigh.

  “I heard that all the way in the living room,” Kady called out seconds before appearing in the doorway in her standard bed-wear of yoga pants and a T-shirt. Kady was her very best friend and had been since their first year in college. When she saw the look on Presley's face, her teasing tone changed. She tossed the hand towel in her hands over her shoulder and came toward her, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “You’ve been weird all night. What’s up?”

  “I’m dumb. That’s what’s up,” Presley said and picked up her pen again as she looked over the master list of test answers. She should have this dumb list memorized by now.

  “Okay, I already know that. Now tell me what happened?” Kady said, placing a hand over the pen, stopping her in mid-swipe.

  “You’ve worked fourteen hours today; you don’t need my messed-up head issues. How was the boy band interview?” she asked, trying to change the subject. Kady was an under-reporter and personal assistant to legendary music reporter Mit Mitchum. She was paid pennies and held all the frayed pieces of Mitchum’s life together. It took more work than imaginable, and things still slipped through the cracks of his dysfunctional life.

  Presley’s distraction tactic seemed to work, at least it appeared to as Kady’s face transformed again into something close to anger, maybe more like deep disgust, as she stretched out on the bed, disrupting all the papers in the move. “Seriously, how can that many douchebags find each other? Working with them sucks on every level. Total divas all the way from their stupidly handsome manager to their stupidly handsome roadies. I swear to God, I’m never marrying anyone who rates above a five on the hotness meter. They’re all such conceited dicks. So self-absorbed.”

  “How’d your boss handle them?” Presley asked. She started stacking piles together, giving up on grading the papers tonight. She’d have to finish in the morning.

  “Presley, you won’t believe this. He was out partying with them last night.” Kady reached for the pillow behind her, tucking it under her head. “He’s a sixty-eight-year-old stoner drunk. He could barely walk this morning. He came staggering in with them almost two hours late for the photoshoot. Can you believe that? The magazine was so mad. And he was so hungover, he looks like hell in all the pictures. No Photoshop in the world can help that.”

  “I’m sorry. You need a new job.” She’d told Kady that at least a hundred times since she’d moved in there.

  “I know.” Kady yawned loudly while she placed the stack of papers on the floor beside the bed. Kady rolled from Presley’s bed and took the two steps to her own, where she crawled on top as another yawn slipped free. They both climbed under the covers, lying down. When Kady was tucked under hers and turned on her side with her pillow just right under her head, she stared at Presley for several long seconds. The only light they had in the room came from the lamp sitting on the single nightstand between the two beds. “You diverted my attention. What’s going on with you? Maddie okay? I loved her spending that week with us. I can’t wait for summer.”

  “I’m nervous about that,” she said, tucking both hands under her cheek. Usually Presley worked so much of the time that, once she managed to lie down, sleep was instantaneous. Not now. This restlessness that had plagued her since the field trip wouldn’t go away.

  “Why?” Kady asked, rising on her elbow to get a better look at Presley. She got Kady’s confusion. Everything she did, every single day, was dedicated to getting Maddie there with her. To even suggest anything else had to come as a complete surprise.

  “Because something happened today. It was weird, and I’m being weird about it, but I’m still freaked,” Presley admitted, flipping to her back, staring up at the ceiling.

  “So tell me.”

  “It’s about him.” Since her pregnancy, Roan was no longer allowed to have a name. If they ever talked about him, they used the word him, or douche when Maddie wasn’t around.

  “Who him? Him him? You’ve got to move on from him. At some point, you’re gonna have to swipe right on someone else if for no other reason than to get over him.” Kady sat up on her bed, and all Presley could manage was nod as she continued to stare at the ceiling. When Kady came off her bed, moved into Presley’s line of vision, and stared down at her, Presley realized her friend needed more of a response from her.

  “Wait, you’re serious. Something happened. I can tell by the look on your face.”

  “It did. I haven’t been able to shake it.” Helplessly, Presley sat up, scooting to rest her back against the headboard and started using her hands to help explain all the scattered thoughts that just wouldn’t leave her alone. “I think I saw him. I’m not sure, but I think. That weird vibe thing we always shared hit me hard today, and I think he was there.”

  “What happened? Start from the beginning,” Kady said, taking a seat beside her.

  Presley could only lift her hands to her face, scrubbing her palms up and down until she tangled her fingers in her hair. The panic she’d been fighting all day settled in, making everything a little harder to put into words. But even through all the uncertainty and doubt of not actually seeing Roan, nothing else made sense. He had to have been there, and if she’d seen him, he would have seen her. They’d always had a weirdly strong connection. Dread coiled in her gut as her shoulders slumped and she looked helplessly at Kady.

  “I was on the field trip to the stadium. We were in the locker room, and that weird connection thing happened. My whole concentration had me looking over in a corner, and all I could see was two lower legs behind this partial wall, but it was that same old feeling I’d get when I caught him looking at me. I think it was him.”

  “He’s in Chicago, Pres. What would he be doing here?” Kady asked. Chicago and Los Angles were huge rivals and it was off-season. Roan wouldn’t just be hanging around all by himself in the locker room of his competitor.

  “I don’t know. I keep telling myself that, but I can’t shake that it was him.” Frustrated with herself, Presley started to gather the school papers off the floor. Sleep clearly wasn’t happening for her, and tomorrow she’d regret not finishing the grading.

  “No, don’t do that. You’re closing in on yourself,” Kady said, climbing off the bed, going for her laptop bag.

  “What if he’s here? What if he finds out about Maddie?” The words sounded a little hysterical,
even to her. That had always been her biggest fear. Roan Westfield had money and prestige. If he fought for custody, she had no way to fight back. Surely, he’d win. How could she live without Maddie in her life?

  “Don’t do that either. Even if he’s here, he made it clear he didn’t give a shit. He’s dating that stupid oil heiress. They’re getting married. He won’t want Maddie in his life. Hell, she won’t want Maddie in her life,” Kady said, crawling back on her own bed with her laptop in hand.

  “You don’t know that.” Presley started to argue. One look at Maddie and that would change everything. She was about the cutest, sweetest little girl in the world.

  “Yes, I do. He’s a douchebag. Bigger than any I met today,” Kady stated flatly and opened the screen while giving Presley a resigned look. “I’m gonna have to do it. I know we agreed, but one Google search should answer this for us.”

  “Kady…” When Roan left her, Presley had suffered greatly. She’d bought his pack of lies that night. Kady had stayed by her side from the very, very beginning. She’d been the one to drive her to the abortion clinic. Then she’d sat there with her for hours as she’d cried, debating the best thing to do. When Presley had had to drop out of college and move back home, Kady had flown to Nevada when Maddie was born. She had helped her navigate the world of financial aid and Skyped with her as she filled out the application for the local university. She’d even been the one to talk Presley into coming to LA to apply for teaching jobs and to get her gym started when one of three of Kady’s roommates had moved out. She’d never have made it without Kady’s support.

  “No, we’re not worrying unless there’s reason to worry.”

  Kady began typing, and seconds felt like hours waiting for whatever she found. One of the reasons for the absolute prohibition on saying Roan’s name aloud came from the fear of putting it out in the universe and bringing him back into their lives that way. When Kady’s expression changed, going from concentration to concern, Presley finally said, “He’s here, isn’t he?”

  “He signed a contract with the team here in LA.” Kady’s worried expression landed on Presley.

  “Of course, he did.” Presley sprawled out dejectedly on her back, absorbing that blow as her heart crumpled inside her chest. She struggled to breathe through her fear. Maddie was her whole world. What would happen if he ever found out the truth? Maybe he wouldn’t care. He’d used her and cast her aside without a second thought. He’d known he hadn’t used a condom. And she’d tried to call…

  “Presley, there’s no way he’ll hang out around here for God’s sake. He’ll move out to wherever the other football players live. He’s signed a three-year, ten-million-dollar contract. We won’t ever see him, there are four million people living here.”

  “I saw him today, Kady,” Presley stated the obvious, looking over at her.

  “Because you went on his turf.” Kady closed the laptop and came back to her bed, bumping her hip to scoot her over, sitting on the side of the bed, entwining their fingers. “Think about it like this, Pres. We’re poor. We hang out with our kind. He’s the exact opposite of that. You won’t see him. How many times do you see professional football players?”

  “What if I do?” she asked, her voice smaller now, giving a hiccup. All she wanted to do was cry.

  “You won’t. And stop. He’s not going to want Maddie. He doesn’t care about you. Remember, if he learns about Maddie, he has to start paying child support. Heck, maybe he’ll even give you money to stay hidden away from him and his fiancée,” Kady reasoned, and her face showed her pride over that argument. Kady would do anything to help make this right for her. Kady also knew Presley would never take one single dime from the guy. Any help she’d needed came from her mother and sister. That was enough.

  “I’m scared,” Presley whispered.

  “I know. I’m sorry. Maybe he’ll suck and they’ll cut him. The article said he didn’t do well in Chicago last year,” Kady offered, her voice turning angry now.

  “I shouldn’t bring Maddie here right away,” Presley said, defeated. She’d changed all her plans at the end of the gym’s tryouts in order to have Maddie here the first week school was out. Now, that seemed like a bad idea. The potential risk was too great. Roan had ruined everything again.

  “Maybe,” Kady finally said.

  They both stared at one another, neither saying a word. Kady moved, crawling under the covers beside Presley before reaching over to turn off the lamp, plunging the bedroom into darkness. Presley turned to her side, moving to give Kady room. They shared a pillow, facing each other.

  “Let me ask around. I’ll get our research department on it; say we’re doing an article on Roan. They’ll find out where he lives, what he’s doing, and how often he’s in town. Then we can make decisions.” Kady reached for her, wrapping an arm around Presley. Having Kady’s nervousness grow felt like a bad sign.

  Roan sat in a lawn chair in the middle of his living room with his feet kicked up on a Yeti cooler and a seventy-inch 4K ultra HD television professionally mounted on the wall in front of him. That had been his only purchase since he’d moved in. Well, that and an oversized California king in the master bedroom.

  Since he’d moved in, Roan had relished the quiet. The house was small, only three bedrooms, but its secluded location on the Talega golf course appealed to him. Roan got to pretend he didn’t live in a crowded city, especially at night. With the volume on the television muted, he could hear the crickets chirping right beyond the front windows, and if he craned his neck, he could see the stars shining brightly in the sky in the distance. He’d grown to love those things while living in Texas. Tonight though, they seemed to mock him as much as the bottles of beer he’d had chilling for the last several hours in the cooler under his feet. That purchase had been a knee-jerk reaction to seeing Presley this afternoon.

  Texas had come full circle. Now those damned crickets chirping seemed like they were laughing at him.

  Moving his fingers over the keyboard on the laptop sitting on his thighs, Roan ignored the thirst that begged him to open a beer bottle, proud that at least to this minute, he still hadn’t had a sip of alcohol since he’d thrown Elle out of his life. That could change at any moment. Instead of dwelling on the possibility, he googled Presley Adams. As expected, nothing came up except her college cheerleading years. He scanned those articles and photos, ignoring much of that until he realized she wasn’t in any of the school’s official cheerleading photos since his last year in college.

  Allowing himself to think of their one night together made bile churn in Roan’s stomach. He let himself have the indulgence of the pity party. It might be melodramatic to think those were the only fifteen or so hours in his life where Roan had felt satisfied, content, and whole, but it was also true. It had taken great effort and more time than he could count to turn all the love he had for that woman into raging hate. There was no denying he’d never loved anything as he’d loved Presley Adams, and nothing had ever come even marginally close to making him a whole man again. He’d had the best of the best, but he wasn’t a good enough of a man to hang on to her. That old familiar ache in his heart sliced across his chest, the blow so intense that Roan had to close his eyes and wait it out.

  When the sadness threatened to consume him, Roan stuck to his objective, pushing everything aside as he exited his alma mater’s website and went to social media. Nothing good ever came from those same ole self-destructive thoughts, and he refuse to allow himself to go there again. He typed her name into Instagram then Snapchat and found nothing there either. He even thought to type her name in with Blaine’s last name. Maybe she’d married him after he’d left.

  That thought threatened to steal his sanity. His face seemed to harden under the anxiety of those few seconds of waiting for the search to end. He’d drunk himself into oblivion more times than he could count, thinking about Presley being with Blaine. He shouldn’t care if they’d married, but possession was a damn funky thing,
and apparently, he still had it bad for Presley. Luckily, that name combination didn’t come up either. On a perverse whim, he searched Blaine and found his Instagram account. The guy was exactly what he thought he’d be. Every single picture was of Blaine partying it up in a different, extravagant location.

  Roan clicked on a video posted on his page and got a six-second clip of Blaine doing a tequila body shot. He pushed play and watched again then one more time. He squinted his eyes and pushed play another time. Something wasn’t right. Roan blew up the video on the screen and started it over again.

  Everything stopped for Roan when Blaine took the lemon from the guy’s mouth by way of an all-tongue, sensual kiss.

  Wait. What?

  He played the video again while dropping his feet to the floor, sitting up a little straighter. Shit. Roan took a much closer look at Blaine’s entire page. Had he missed the obvious?

  Damn, Blaine was clearly gay.

  Roan searched the entire page, digging through each picture until he found only one photo with Presley. They were arm in arm, smiling big. His first reaction to the picture was to be taken with Presley’s beautiful face. Age had made some subtle differences—her cheekbones were more defined, her jaw a little more pronounced, her big blue eyes still popped off the page. He scanned her body shape. Presley’s breasts were fuller, her hips rounded, and she wore a pair of tight Soffe shorts and a tank top that hugged her slender body. His dick plumped as it zeroed in on what it seemed to want most in the world.

  He clicked the screen-shot button on his keyboard to save for later and scanned the whole picture for any clue where they might be. He saw nothing before zooming in and barely making out the words on the gold faceplate attached to a large trophy on the floor between her and Blaine. With this new knowledge, it took him less than two minutes to find the cheerleading gym’s information on the competition’s website. On the gym’s website, he read Presley’s bio—she owned the gym that had won the trophy, and she was also an elementary school teacher here in Los Angeles.