Cash (Hawthorne Brothers Romance) Read online

  “You’ll love this place. Ian took me here last week and it was amazing,” Malia said as we pulled into the parking lot of a cheap Mexican restaurant.

  “Pretty packed,” I said as we drove through the lot.

  “It isn’t fancy by any means, but the food is to die for. They have quite the cult following,” she said.

  People were spilled outside drinking beers and having a good time while we slipped inside and told the woman we had just the two of us. She said one table was available, and as she led us to it I could see why. Shoved in the corner, likely just for an extra table in the restaurant, the two-top we had was quite small and very cramped. We were below a flickering light, the table wobbled a bit, and the people next to us were so drunk that I was sure they’d need a stretcher to get out of here.

  “What are you having?” the waitress asked when she came over. She was clad in a tied-off wife beater with her black bra showing through and a canvas of tattoos inked all over her arms and midsection. Malia told her two margaritas on the rocks before she took off as quickly as she’d come.

  “This place is kind of rough,” I said.

  “Yeah,” she said, smiling, acknowledging it without adding anything else.

  The woman came back about ten minutes later, after we’d looked through the laminated, slightly sticky menus. “What are you having?” she asked with her notepad and pen out.

  “I’ll have the three taco special with chicken,” Malia said.

  “I’ll have the fajita tacos with chicken,” I said.

  “Great, I’ll get that in. Holler if you need anything,” she said, taking the menus.

  “I’m not sure she’d hear us if we screamed,” I said.

  “It wasn’t this busy when I came with Ian. Still busy, but this is insane. I wonder if there’s some event or something happening tonight,” she said.

  “So how have things been going there?” I asked.

  “They’ve been going well. He’s a breath of fresh air compared to Neil, that’s for sure. I’ve been single for so long that I almost forgot what it’s like to have somebody to talk to and be with,” she said.

  “That’s how it was with Cash at first. I think you guys will make a great couple,” I said.

  “Hopefully it gets that far. He’s leaving for like two months in the summer to go work in Mexico at some orphanage or something,” she said.

  “Two months? Wow, that would be hard,” I replied.

  “Tell me about it. It’s the type of thing that can make or break a relationship. If we could get through it, then I think we could get through anything. If we can’t, though, I’d rather break up before he leaves than have to do it while he’s down there. I couldn’t imagine breaking up and not doing it face to face,” she said.

  “At least you’ll have a little while together before that happens. It might be enough to cement the relationship,” I said. “Also, maybe you could visit him? Get some beach time in or something,”

  “We’ll see,” she said, her tone telling me she wanted me to drop the subject.

  “So you and Cash are doing well?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I’m going with him soon to an event. It’s for charity—for kids with cancer,” I said.

  “So no problems going public?” she asked.

  “Eh, it is what it is. This isn’t red carpet or anything, so maybe not too many photographers will be around? Maybe I should just ride the wave and see what happens,” I said.

  “You might as well. Who cares if people talk about you or write something about his new mystery woman. What, you’re never going to have a fulfilling, loving relationship because you can’t be seen in public together? You aren’t Quasimodo in the bell tower, you know,” she said.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right in that sense. It would be nice to actually be able to go out and not worry what people are going to say. I guess this event will dictate how the rest of the relationship will go. Hopefully it will go well,” I said.

  The tacos came out relatively fast, traditional in style and definitely not from a drive-thru. The ingredients were fresh, the cilantro perfectly cut; the fragrance made me wonder if they’d just picked it from the ground before serving it. Los Angeles was an amazing place to get Latin food of all backgrounds, with a taco stand on virtually every block in the city.

  “How are yours?” she asked as a caramelized onion fell out of my taco.

  “Amazing,” I said, my mouth still full.

  “I knew you’d like it. Aren’t you glad I made you come out?” she asked.

  “Maybe,” I said with a wink. I couldn’t just let her know she was right. She’d never let me live it down.

  The bar only got fuller and we finished our meals and quickly got out of there before the fire marshal came and shut the place down. “What now?” I asked as we walked to the car.

  “Our favorite pastime, and one you definitely know well, being from the Midwest,” she said.

  “Bowling?” I asked.

  “Bowling,” she said with a grin.

  Bowling in the Midwest was essentially the sport to play, other than high school football. My area alone had four bowling alleys, most of them likely filled with asbestos, they were so old, but they were charming nonetheless. Everybody bowled, from young to old, and nobody over the age of five needed bumpers. I even had my own ball back home. I should have it shipped here.

  Bowling here was a little different than it was back home, though. Bowling alleys were fresh, modern, with mood lighting and expensive bars that served apple-tinis and ten-dollar draft beers. Gone were the days of fifty-cent games on Tuesday nights and free shoe rental on Fridays. Man, I kind of missed home now.

  “How many games do you want to play?” she asked as we walked up to the counter.

  “Two?” I asked.

  “Two games and shoe rental, please,” she told the woman behind the counter.

  “That will be fifteen dollars each,” she said.

  My eyes widened as I produced the money and handed it over with a smile, almost coughing on my own spit. Back home I could rent a lane for the night with that kind of money. Big city living really was expensive.

  We were assigned lane ten, my lucky number, and were sandwiched between two other groups, as all the lanes were taken. They were loud, drunk, and stupid, and one of them dropped a ball on their foot while trying to get it out of the ball return. I had a feeling they weren’t going to follow etiquette and rules.

  “You’re first,” Malia said, and I looked up to see my name and a blinking cursor on the first frame.

  I got my ball, lined myself up on the dots, and let it rip. The ball curved on the lane and struck the pins from the side. Strike. “Haven’t lost it,” I said as I walked back.

  “Lucky bitch,” Malia said, shaking her head.

  She got three pins on her first throw and two on her second, her skills not nearly as refined as mine, before she let out a sigh and said maybe this was a mistake. “You should’ve known you couldn’t beat me. I’m just too good,” I teased.

  Our two games took about twenty minutes, as we began to pick up the pace the longer we were between the two groups. I ended my first game with a one-hundred and forty, and my second game with a one-hundred and fifty-five, while Malia didn’t even come close to breaking a hundred either game. I wasn’t the best bowler in the world, but I thought I could hustle some people if they played anything like her.

  “Good games,” I said, shaking her hand.

  “You’re so polite about this,” she said, laughing.

  “Hey, it’s in the culture. I’ll never be a sore winner when it comes to any sport,” I said.

  “Bowling’s a sport? Okay,” she said.

  “Hey! You better not come to my house with that attitude, or they might toss you in with the hogs for the night,” I said.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time I slept with a pig,” she said, looking back at me and laughing.

  We stopped at Dairy Queen and got Oreo bliz
zards before heading home to our lowly townhome. “I’m going to head upstairs for bed,” she said, stretching her arms and yawning.

  “Yeah, I’m going to soon. Goodnight,” I said.

  “Night,” she replied, walking upstairs.

  I sat on the couch and gingerly ate the rest of my ice cream while flipping through my phone and texting Cash. He told me that he told his publicist about us and she wanted to have clothes picked out for me for this charity event, but I politely declined, since I was a big girl and could dress myself. It wasn’t like I was going to wear a leopard print bikini and embarrass him. I did know how to dress conservatively and nicely—I did it almost every day of my life.

  He sent me a few photos, just of him in bed, saying he wished I were there. I almost thought about rushing over there so I could be there with him. I didn’t, though, instead opting to do the same thing by sending him back some photos, one of them a little dirty. He liked it, a lot, and told me he was in the mood and wished even more that I were there. I told him I would be soon, and it would be fantastic.

  We parted ways, deciding we couldn’t stay up and sext all night. I turned my alarm on and put my phone on “do not disturb” before lying back and feeling the cool inside of my comforter wrap around my slightly stubbly legs.

  Goodnight, world.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Cash

  My eyes were beginning to get bloodshot, the copious amount of coffee I was drinking just barely keeping them open. “These early set times are horrible,” my makeup artist said.

  “Tell me about it. I’m so close to falling asleep,” I replied.

  “It’ll get better as the day wears on. It always does,” she said while she brushed powder all over my face.

  I never thought in a million years I would be wearing makeup for my job when I was a kid, but I also never knew that actors had to wear it. I thought only women did in real life and in movies, but boy, was I wrong. I hated the stuff, but it was part of the career I picked. Sometimes in life you just have to deal with things you don’t exactly enjoy.

  I was picking up Jenna tonight and she was going to stay over before the charity event in the morning. We found it would be easier to have her there, and besides, I needed to get laid. While I very much loved the random dirty pics she sometimes sent me, I needed the real thing instead of just looking at a picture of it.

  “We need you on set,” one of the production assistants said as he peeped into the makeup trailer.

  “That’s my cue,” I said, getting up from the chair.

  I yawned, walking with the stainless steel thermos my mom got me last Christmas, before going on set and talking to David. “You’ve got a few scenes we need to get in while the outside lighting is good,” he said. These scenes weren’t in the sound studio, but rather outside with natural lighting.

  “Got it,” I said, looking over my script again.

  The crew set up and I swished water around my mouth to get any residual coffee off my teeth and gums. I walked onto set, was handed my prop gun, and got into position as terrorists guarded the door that I had to get into.

  “And…action!” David yelled.

  I picked each one of them off, assassin style, before a rogue one popped up and started to fight me in hand-to-hand combat. It wasn’t all that exciting, the camera tricks making the shot, as he didn’t really hit me and was rather slow in his execution. I took out a knife from around my ankle and stabbed him in the gut and he went down. All the while the door remained unguarded and unlocked. I went inside, then David yelled cut and I came back out.

  “Beautiful, Cash, just beautiful. I think we’ll run it again for good measure, but I loved it,” he said.

  I ran through it again, the choreographed fight sequences fairly easy to remember, before David yelled cut and said we had what we needed.

  •••

  After gaining a few bruises on set, I packed up my things and headed home for a relaxing night with my girlfriend. I’d showered in my trailer, the tiny camper-sized bathroom not big enough to do much, but I couldn’t sit in my car, in traffic, in filth. Besides, Jenna wanted to meet me at my place so that I didn’t have to pick her up, and the last thing I needed was to have her smell me after a hard day at work.

  The cackling roar of my car engine went off as I pulled out of the lot, waving to the security guard in the shack. I loved driving this beast of a supercar, and I did so at every chance I could. I even let my dad drive it around when my parents were here, and he just about had an orgasm when he revved the engine for the first time. This car was a wet dream for a mechanic.

  Traffic was horrible, but I passed the time by flipping through my satellite radio stations and finding one that was dedicated to music from the early 2000s, which I listened to a lot of growing up, between Bentley and the popular stuff of the day. I started singing, getting really into it, but my voice cracked and I was sure the people in the car next to me thought a crazy man was yelling at nobody in his car. I quickly stopped, clearing my throat while looking the other way and hoping they’d passed me.

  Jenna texted me that she was a few minutes away as I pulled through my gate and into the garage. I decided to wait outside for her, so I leaned against the rear of my car, arms crossed, like I was some kind of greaser or something. I think I thought I looked cooler than I probably did.

  She buzzed the gate and I let her in. I saw a giant smile on her face when she pulled up to me. I smiled, and she waved and put her car into park before getting out and pulling out a bag with her. “Let me get that,” I said, grabbing it from her.

  “You don’t have to carry my bags,” she said, grabbing my arm and holding onto it.

  “I want to. You’re at my place, so I should treat you. It’s what a good boyfriend does,” I said.

  “You’re so sweet,” she said, kissing my cheek as I unlocked the garage door.

  “What do you want to eat? I’m starved and need to get something in me soon,” I said.

  “Anything you want is fine,” she said.

  “Well, I have stuff here, if you want to cook with me,” I said.

  “Cook with you? You’re a big chef now?” she asked, smiling.

  “Hey, I can do…things,” I said, laughing.

  “I’d love to make something with you. Probably a better option than going out again. I think all the sodium is making me bloat,” she said.

  “Well, I have fresh vegetables, some marinated chicken, brown rice, and a lot of herbs. I asked my shopper to get a lot of those things. I have to start cutting back a little for the movie. I think they’re worried I’m going to get overweight,” I said.

  “They’d monitor it that closely?” she asked.

  “My contract lists the acceptable weight range I can be. It’s that strict. They wanted me to have a private chef or meal delivery service or something for all my meals, but that’s too much. My tastes change too much for that shit,” I said, pulling things out of the refrigerator.

  “I’m the same way,” she said.

  “So, how about something Asian inspired? Maybe some rice bowls with grilled vegetables and this pineapple teriyaki marinated chicken?” I asked.

  “You had me at rice bowl. Give me those carbs, and give me them now,” she said.

  “You’re such a weirdo. Here, cut these veggies and I’ll get the rice started in the cooker. Might take like half an hour for that to cook,” I said, getting a cutting board and knife out for her.

  “I’m getting excited for tomorrow,” she said as I pulled out the rice cooker.

  “Me, too. I think it’s going to be a fun time all around. Those kids are so cheerful and positive, even though some of them are terminal. It really puts life into perspective. I think I changed a bit last year when I did it, and I’m sure I will again,” I said.

  “You changed? How so?” she asked while chopping an onion.

  “Just the way you look at your own life. Sometimes you get mad or sad because something happens, like you mi
ss a movie, you get takeout and they get your order wrong, or a parking spot is taken. There are so many trivial things in life that happen and you get mad at, but when you think that these kids are so happy and still have hope even though they’re dying, you just realize that your complaints are petty. It’s not to say that you can never be upset about anything, because everybody’s situation is unique, but sometimes it’s good to step back and realize that many people out there have it so much worse. That guy might have cut you off and stolen your parking spot, but at least you’ll live to see tomorrow,” I said.

  Jenna started to sniffle, wiping her eyes with her forearm, so I walked over and rubbed her back. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” I said.

  “You didn’t, it’s the onion,” she said, laughing a little. “What you said was beautiful, though. You’re right, I sometimes do get angry at little things when in the end at least I’m healthy.”

  “I think the event will be good. Who knows, maybe you’ll even make a new friend or decide to volunteer there. I donate money and have volunteered a couple times, though with my schedule it isn’t always the easiest thing to do,” I said.

  I took the chicken out of the fridge and let it rest before helping Jenna and taking some of the prepping responsibilities off her. We worked in sync, laughing and talking the entire time, like a real couple. This was exactly what I’d always wanted when I dreamt of my perfect relationship, and now I had it.

  Things could only get better from here.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jenna

  I sometimes wondered what my life would be like if I hadn’t given Cash my number that night in the restaurant. It probably wouldn’t be much different than it had been, with me sulking through work, school, and an absent social life that made me so jaded it wasn’t even funny. With him, though, I became more open, happier, and overall just a better person. Things hadn’t been a cakewalk since we started dating, but the positives far outweighed the negatives.