SLEAZE: A Hollywood Comeback Story (Book #1)

Chapter 32

I could hear my phone ringing over the sound of the running water while I showered later that day. I was battered and bruised from our hike but, true to her word, Melanie had taken me to get lunch afterwards. Although as I scrubbed vigorously behind my ears, I couldn't help but feel a bit conned. I still wasn't convinced that anything organic, vegan, and gluten-free could really be called food but Mel had assured me that the ultra-healthy restaurant she'd taken me to was one of her favorites. If I'd been paying, I probably would've protested but anything free automatically earned a four-star rating in my book.

My phone rang again as I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my waist. The mirror had fogged up and droplets fell from the ends of my hair, coursing their way down my face and body until a pool of water had gathered around my feet. I wiped the glass with the back of my hand and thought about letting the call go to voice mail when an optimistic thought crossed my mind.

Maybe...

I dashed from the bathroom, slipping on a puddle and tripping over the running shoes I'd kicked off the moment I'd gotten home. I flailed as I pitched forward, clutching at my towel with one hand and grabbing for the door handle with the other to stop myself from landing on my face. I righted myself once I came to a stop and, convinced I'd escaped death, cursed whoever had chosen to call at such an inconvenient time.

Moving slightly slower than I had been, I made my way towards the jingle that chimed from somewhere in the folds of my bed's blankets and plopped down onto the mattress, feeling for my phone's thin plastic casing. My heart pounded wildly when I saw the name that flashed on the screen and I blinked twice to make sure I wasn't seeing things.

"Hello?" I said. Silence greeted me. I tried again. "Sophie?"

"I hate you, Parker." The words were drawn out and so heavily slurred that I could barely understand her when she spoke. "You're the worst person I've ever met."

"Sophie, are you drunk?"

Giggles came over the receiver. "Of course not," she said, hiccups punctuating each lazy syllable. "Why haven't you called me?"

I lowered my phone for a moment and stared at it, torn between a desire to chuck it at the wall and scream that I had called her almost every single day for weeks. Instead, I counted to ten and said, "Sophie, it's five o'clock. Where are you? Are you okay?"

Her laughter had dissolved into a mixture of sniffs and gasps and I realized she was crying. "No," she said, the word no more than a whimper.

"Are you at home?"

"Why didn't you call?" she asked again, her sobs and hiccups intertwined.

"I'm sorry, Soph," I said, not bothering to argue with her. I grabbed a rumpled shirt from the floor and pulled it over my head. Then, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear, I rummaged through my dresser for underwear and socks before finally stepping into a pair of passably clean jeans. "Where are you? Are you out? I'll come pick you up."

"Out?" she echoed, as if the concept were foreign. "I'm at home."

I winced when I heard a thump followed by something shattering in the background. I was moving then, grabbing my keys from the kitchen counter and stuffing my wallet into my back pocket as I sailed through the room. "Are you hurt?"

That made her laugh. "Why do you care?"

"Sophie, cut it out. You're definitely at home?"

"Yes... I-I'm not -- don't come."

"I'm coming," I said, wriggling my feet into my shoes and racing out the door. "Can you just stay where you are? Please?"

"Okay," she said. Her voice sounded far away and her breathing deepened, almost like she was about to fall asleep.