Follow Me Back (complete first draft of the published book)

Chapter 24: Hot and Heavy

Chapter 24: Hot and Heavy

Eric steered his baby blue Ferrari around the hairpin turns of Mulholland Drive with a sense of exhilaration. It felt great to be behind the wheel again. He'd spent too many nights in the backseat of limo lately, and he missed the feeling of control that came from driving himself.

Why did he always have to leave his car at home when he traveled? He'd bought himself a Ferrari 458 Spider a little over a year ago to celebrate his latest album reaching multi-platinum status. But so far, the odometer still only registered a few thousand miles. Maybe he should bring his car along on the tour kicking off next month, he mused. Leave the tour bus to the roadies. There couldn't be anything in his contract that forbade him to drive himself, right? Why would the record label even have to know? Eric made a mental note to float the idea by Maury in the morning.

Maury.

Eric couldn't seem to get his manager's voice out of his head. He'd spent the whole Christmas special telecast mentally rehashing their conversation. All he had to do was sing a passable rendition of White Christmas, but he'd managed to flub the words to the second verse. What was the matter with him anyway?

"It's no one!"

"No one, huh? That's more serious. Don't tell me you're in love. . . ."

Maury didn't know what he was talking about, Eric reassured himself. His manager had only leapt to that conclusion because he didn't have all the facts. Maury didn't know about the fake Twitter account . . . or that the girl on the other end of the conversation was a fan. How could he be in love with a fan? A random fan girl who hadn't even told him her last name or where she lived – whose picture he'd never even seen?

"Ridiculous," Eric muttered as he pulled his car into the long, gated driveway of the house in the Hollywood Hills.

He rolled to a stop and popped the car door open, shivering slightly against the chill of the night air. He gave a silent salute to the monitored security camera, hidden in the bushes that flanked the front door. As he made his way inside, his hand went automatically toward the back pocket of his jeans.

But he stopped himself. He groped around for the living room light switch instead.

He didn't really need to look at his phone, did he? Not yet. Maybe not tonight at all. Maybe he needed to give it a rest – spend one night without pouring out his every passing thought to Tessa. It would be the first night in months that he hadn't fallen asleep reading her messages and imagining her voice, whispering him good night.

But he was perfectly capable of setting it aside, right?

"Don't kid yourself that this girl is different." That was what Maury had told him. "Special and unique, my ass."

With a sigh, Eric kicked off his sneakers and sprawled on the couch. Maybe this was what he needed, he told himself. Some solitude. A quiet evening at home. Put on some music and crack open a bottle of wine. No phone. No Twitter.

Where was the stereo again? His eyes wandering restlessly about the immaculate interior. Home, sweet home. All very tasteful . . . and very unfamiliar.

Who was he kidding? This place felt no more like home than any of the other swanky hotel suites where he laid his head most nights. Between his tour schedule and his acting and modeling duties, he barely cobbled together six weeks a year here in LA. He hadn't been exaggerating when he told Maury that he didn't have time for a girlfriend. Not unless he found one that he could cart along with him wherever he went – a handy-dandy girlfriend the size of a cellphone, who fit conveniently in the back pocket of his jeans.