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After our late-night pizza, we fucked till morning until I passed out. I remember that at one point, we were on the floor. I don’t know how that happened.
Taking a deep breath, I sat up and checked my cell phone. It was almost four in the morning, and my agent was blowing up my phone with texts in all caps.
Damn, twelve missed calls?
I peeked over my shoulder to find him asleep and quietly got dressed. I didn’t enjoy doing the walk of shame, especially when there was no shame. But I had to leave, or I was sure my agent would get arrested for homicide. My murder.
Smoothing my dress, I longingly looked at the naked man on the bed. Without thinking twice, I grabbed a notepad from the coffee table and wrote my personal number.
‘If you want to play with a brat again.’
I scribbled an ‘S’ in the end and left the suite with my heart pounding between my ribs.
The party had almost ended, but a few of the patrons lingered at the bar and tables. Some of them gave me suggestive looks, but I was sore and I didn’t think my pussy would get wet without a certain man with piercing gray eyes. At least for a while.
As soon as I got in my Uber, I took off the damn mask and sighed, rubbing my face. Thankfully, the driver was a sweet old man and didn’t talk for the entire ride. I got a ding on my phone and opened the group chat of me, Emma, Mia, and her sweet neighbor, Ivy.
Mia had attached a selfie of her with a very grumpy James, her boyfriend, glaring at the camera. I chuckled at the Mickey Mouse red headband with huge ear flaps he was wearing, and at Mia wearing a similar headband in pink with a huge grin on her face and flush on her cheeks, with Disney Land on their background. They looked adorable.
‘Grumpy old man discovers Disney Land and frowns,’ read Mia’s caption.
Emma replied with a selfie. Cillian had a sheet mask on his face with a stoic expression as Emma kissed his cheek, and it looked like there were very few clothes involved. ‘Grumpy old man loves his white rice sheet masks,’ read her caption.
Summer: I wish I had a grumpy old sugar daddy as a boyfriend. You guys are slaying! xx
Emma: ty love! Cillian asked about your premiere. How was it?
Summer: I skipped it we will talk about it when we meet
Mia: uh-oh, do u wanna call? James is sleeping rn but I’m here if u want to vent xo
Emma sent tea emojis, making me smile and my heart sunk. I missed them so fucking much. I missed our sleepovers and movie nights, studying all day in the library and pulling all-nighters during exams, and spending days at the salon gossiping with the sweet old owner and getting our nails done. I missed Mia’s father Clyde’s cooking, who made the best tacos I have ever had, and, oddly enough, Damon, Emma’s older brother. Yes, he never once smiled in my presence or gave me another look, but I missed his grumpy, emotionless face.
My lips tingled at the memory of our kiss at his club when I had skipped my prom night. Did he wonder about it too? I don’t think so. He must have men and women begging to kiss him… or do other things.
I snapped out of my head when the car stopped. I thanked the driver and walked to the set of the show. Colt, one of my co-stars, invited me to his trailer, and I’d rather talk with him than go back to my place where I knew my agent would be. I didn’t feel like facing her without having three shots of espresso and a warm shower first.
Shower that Colt’s trailer had.
* * *
“Please fix your bra, Miss Hayes.”
I groaned, supporting my heavy head in my hand. The throbbing increased, and I searched around the leather seat to find a bottle of water. Thankfully, one was pushed in my hand, and I grumbled out a small thanks before downing four large gulps.
“Bra, please. Miss Hayes,” my agent, Heather, said in a stern voice and I blinked at her, my vision blurry.
Fuck. I thought. I fucked it up really badly this time.
I pushed the strap up and straightened my tank top. I looked out of the car window and winced at the shit storm that would go on in a few minutes. As predicted, both my private cell phone and Heather’s phone started blowing up. Ring after ring and bell notification sound of my social media.
I ran a hand through my hair and leaned back in the seat. This is the end of Summer Hayes.
“Are they canceling me?” I asked glumly, chugging more water and staring lifelessly at the window. It would be dawn in a few hours. “Are they kicking me out of the show?”
Heather was silent for a few seconds, which felt like minutes, and I sighed. I knew the answer to both questions. “What is canceling?” she asked.
I snickered. Of course. She was twenty-eight, only six years older than me, and yet she didn’t know what cancel culture was. I would have explained it to her like the last time she asked me what ‘Gotta Zayn’ meant when paparazzi appeared while I was buying a taco from a food truck, or the time when I said ‘it’s goat’ to the premiere dress of the show.
