Breaking Stars Read online

  I huffed out a quick laugh. “First of all, that is not how the song goes. At all. Second of all, no. But being around him is like being surrounded by so much color. So much feeling.”

  “So much red…he makes you angry?”

  I shook my head, not sure if she was teasing or seriously confused. “No. Damn it, Quinn! He makes me feel like I’ve never felt before. It’s intense. He’s intense. But it’s like everything around me bursts into the most vibrant glow when he’s around. He makes me feel red.”

  “I still have no clue what you’re talking about, but I like it. Did you ever feel red with Colin?” she asked, mimicking me.

  “No. Not like this. Not even close. This makes everything with Colin feel so superficial. I can’t explain it.” I blew out a breath and sank deeper into the cushions on the couch.

  “Well, try to explain it in color then. How did Colin make you feel?”

  I laughed and blurted out the first color that came to mind. “Pink. Colin made me feel pink. He was light and fluffy, but nowhere near as serious or intense as he’d like to think he is.”

  “That’s ’cause Colin’s a pussy,” Quinn blurted out, and I slapped a hand across my own mouth as if I were the one who’d said it.

  “Quinn!” I yelled through my fingers.

  “What?” She laughed. “He is. You even said it. He makes you feel pink. What kind of man makes you feel pink?” she said pointedly.

  “The metrosexual kind, I guess? I don’t know. Think about Ryson.” I paused and she moaned. “See? Ryson makes you feel in color. And I’m sure it’s not pink either.”

  “He does make me feel in color. Horny colors. He makes me green! Like an M&M!” she said with a moan.

  “Gross.”

  “You’re gross.”

  “No, you’re gross. Now, stop thinking about green M&Ms and help me!”

  “Help you what? Sounds like you’ve got a good thing over there in wherever the hell you are again.”

  “It has been a nice break from reality.”

  “But you have to come back,” she said, and the truth hit my stomach like a boulder crashing off a cliff.

  “I know,” I said sadly as I hugged a throw pillow and tucked it under my chin.

  “But not yet. You don’t have to come back right now, Paige.”

  “I know that too. But I can’t stay here forever. And then what?”

  “Then what, what?” she asked, and I could picture the face she was making in my head. I knew her face was pinched as she tried to read my mind and guess what I was about to say before I said it.

  “I mean, what do I do about Tatum? I really like him.”

  “Then you enjoy him. Enjoy every cotton-picking minute you have with him. Do they say that there? Cotton-picking?” Quinn amused herself as she continued. “You’ll enjoy him. And you’ll take some damn photos of him for your best friend!”

  “You really are no help.”

  “Eh. Apparently my superpowers don’t work on you when you’re in another state. Who knew?” A loudspeaker blared in the background and I tensed as I heard Quinn’s name being paged. “I’ve gotta go. Call me later, okay? I love you. Take pictures!”

  The line went dead. Quinn was on the set of her newest movie, and I must have caught her during a break in filming her scenes. Thankful that I’d caught her at all, I placed the phone down and brought the pillow to my nose. It smelled like Tatum, and I breathed it in for a moment. Feeling a little foolish, I set it down and got up. I hung up the phone and made my way back to the main house, where Mrs. Montgomery waited for me to make the pie.

  On the way back to the house, I stopped on the porch and daydreamed about kissing Tatum. If I thought Tatum had consumed my thoughts before, I was wrong. Every moment I wasn’t around him, I wanted to be. A giant had awakened inside of me. A giant who wanted one thing…Tatum’s mouth.

  “Girl, get in here. What are you doing out there?” Mrs. Montgomery called out from the side window, and I coughed, startled by her shouting.

  “Be right in,” I called back before heading inside.

  Tatum’s mom walked me through the motions of making a pie crust from scratch. She showed me tips and tricks to getting the edges just right, and how to make it perfectly flaky without being dry.

  I really enjoyed the process of creating something in this way. It relaxed me. I didn’t cook much back in LA because I didn’t have the time and besides, I rarely ate at home. Doing this forced me to realize just how many meals I ate in restaurants and out of craft service trucks on set.

  When I got back, I’d be adding that to the list of things in my life that needed to be changed.

  Reliving Old Memories

  Tatum

  I couldn’t wait to get home from the shop and see Paige, but I didn’t want to appear overanxious or smothering, so I played it cool. Well, as cool as a guy could be called when he raced through the screen door and practically sprinted into the house.

  “Tatum, honey. Slow down,” Mama warned. “Where’s the fire?”

  I glanced at Paige, but she turned away. The fire was in my pants, my hands, my chest. It was everywhere, but I wasn’t about to tell my mother that.

  “No fire, just starving.” I stared at Paige, whose gaze had returned to mine as I licked my lips. She blushed and mouthed, Stop it.

  “Well then, get over here and help me set out the food,” she asked, and I obliged.

  Dinner was pure torture. Having to keep my distance from Paige when all I wanted to do was reach out and touch her…well, it damn near killed me. She sat across from me, her hair up in a sexy ponytail, and the width of the dinner table put her too far away from me.

  I willed the wood to disappear into thin air so nothing separated us. This girl had me feeling so many things that I’d pushed aside for too long, I didn’t even mind it.

  As soon as I’d swallowed my last bite of food, I tossed down my napkin and said, “I’m gonna take Paige over to my place to watch a movie. That okay?” Paige’s mouth fell open slightly, but Mama couldn’t wipe the smile off her face.

  “I don’t know what you’re asking me for. Paige is a grown woman,” Mama said gruffly, still trying not to smile.

  I turned to Paige. “That okay with you?”

  “Sure. You sure you don’t mind?” she turned to ask Mama.

  “Of course not, dear. Why in heaven would I mind?”

  “I feel like we’re ditching you,” Paige said with a frown, and I wanted to grab her and kiss her for being so damned sweet.

  “Don’t be silly. You two go have fun. Don’t worry about me.” Mama waved us off before heading down the hall before we could say another word to her.

  I leaned close to Paige and whispered, “I’ve thought about kissing you all day.” She bit her bottom lip and smiled, then I pulled her out of there as quick as I could.

  The second we stepped onto the porch, I pressed my lips against hers. She tried to pull away and gestured toward the house, but the porch light was off and it was dark. I knew Mama couldn’t see us at all, not that that would have stopped me anyway. This girl had bewitched me, and I didn’t care who saw me kissing her. Even Mama.

  “So, what do you want to watch?” Paige asked as she looked at the DVDs stacked on my shelf.

  “I was kidding. We’re not watching anything.”

  “Why not?” She turned around with a huff and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “If you want to keep up the charade, then pick something out for us to not watch. I’m going to kiss you, Paige. I’m not going to watch a damn movie with you.”

  “So we’re just going to spend the rest of the evening kissing each other? That’s your big plan for the night?” Her eyebrows pinched together, and I instantly wanted to fix whatever I’d said wrong.

  “I hadn’t thought past the kissing.”

  “Well, I have,” she said, and I couldn’t fight back the smile that spread across my face.

  “Let me hear it.”

&
nbsp; She grinned like a Cheshire cat before launching into my arms. “Just kidding. I can’t think about anything but kissing you either.” Her lips pressed against mine before they parted and her tongue slid inside.

  I licked her bottom lip, pulling it into my mouth as I sucked on it gently. Kissing her was like free-falling off a cliff that had no end. I floated in a world filled with nibbling and licking and sensations I’d fought off even thinking about for the last few years.

  My insides felt like they were on fire, suddenly awake after being numb. You’d think that my heart would be rusty, that it might need a few beats to get used to the idea of wanting someone after being closed for business for so long. But no, not my heart. It started beating to its own rhythm the second we saw her, instructing my body to feel, want, and need—three things I hadn’t experienced in years. This girl sitting right here called to me. I was a ship about to crash into oblivion on the rocky shore, and she was a beacon of fire, determined to save me with her light. And oh, what a beautiful light it was.

  After making out for a while, I pushed her away. She laughed while I focused on my breathing. This girl tested all my resolve. I grabbed us each a beer, and we sat across from each other on the couch in my living room.

  “So you’ll stay on your side of the couch, and I’ll stay on mine? Is that how this works?” she said playfully, pushing her toes against my feet.

  “Yep. You keep your perfect little lips over there away from mine. You’re like a temptress.”

  “A temptress, huh? Well, that’s a heck of a lot better than a princess.”

  A laugh escaped from my throat. “You like being called Princess. Admit it.”

  She shook her head vigorously. “I don’t. I really don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “’Cause it sucks!” she insisted. “It insinuates all sort of stupid things that I don’t like or relate to. I know I’m an actress, and I get way too many things for nothing, but I’m not that kind of person. I wasn’t raised that way. I work really hard.”

  “But that’s just it, Princess. You think being an actress is hard work,” I said, then instantly wished I could take back the words.

  She sat up straighter and cocked her head. “I know to someone like you it probably sounds stupid. I’m not up at the crack of dawn plowing fields or baling hay or growing corn. But I do work hard. Please don’t pretend like you know what it’s like to be me.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Feeling like a complete ass and desperate to recover, I asked, “Why don’t you tell me?”

  “I work really long hours. I have obligations to more people than I can count. I can’t leave my house without someone following me or taking my picture. I know that’s not hard work, per se, but it’s hard emotionally,” she said emphatically. “When I’m filming, we usually film all day long, from first thing in the morning until nine or so at night. And if we have a night scene to shoot, I’m there until whenever that finishes, which sometimes isn’t until two or three in the morning. There’s a lot of sitting around and waiting, but it’s not like I can go to sleep or go home. I have to sit there until they’re ready for me. And not mess up my hair or ruin my makeup in the meantime.” She stopped suddenly and growled, “Damn it.”

  “What?” I asked, and had to stop myself from pointing out to her that she just swore for the first time in front of me.

  “I’m trying to tell you that I work hard, but everything I’m saying is just stupid. None of it sounds hard. I have to memorize lines and get into character and be really good at what I do. But I know that my job is a luxury. I know how lucky I am.”

  “You do more than just act, though. I mean, you’re all over the place.”

  “I am. I have meetings constantly. I’m reading scripts all the time, deciding if I like certain parts or not. I also have to do a ton of publicity for all of my movies, as well as personal publicity. I like the image that I have, and I work hard to make sure it stays that way.”

  She took a sip of her beer before continuing. “I have to be really particular about what events I attend. I need to know who is putting on the event, what it’s about, who else is going to be there, where it’s at, and that kind of thing. I also have to pick and choose where I hang out and who I hang out with. All kinds of things that most normal people never even have to consider because they don’t wake up with their antics from the night before plastered all over the Internet and the supermarket tabloids.”

  She sighed. “I’m not complaining because I knew it was part of the deal. It’s just more work. And it never ends. I never get to walk away and say, leave the office at five p.m. and turn my work off when I get home, you know? My work and my reputation and the things that I do are a 24/7 job. It never stops. I never shut off.”

  “That would be hard,” I said slowly, realizing that only certain people could handle that sort of life.

  “Don’t make fun of me,” she snapped.

  “Shit, Paige.” I reached across the couch for her knee and squeezed. “I wasn’t. I wasn’t at all. I think it sounds like a lot of unnecessary shit to deal with. And I have no idea how you’re still such a good and kind person.”

  That got a smile out of her, a big one, and I wanted to pat myself on the back. “Thank you, Tatum. I try really hard to stay grounded. Being raised normal made all the difference, I think.”

  “Raised normal?”

  “I just mean I wasn’t raised in the business. Sure, I’ve been doing it since I was fourteen, but that also means that I had fourteen years of complete and utter normalcy, unlike my best friend, Quinn, who was raised in the business. She has no idea why I miss the things I miss, or want the things I want, because she never had that in her life and it doesn’t appeal to her.”

  “But she’s your best friend, so she can’t be all that bad,” I said, knowing exactly who she referred to. Quinn Johnson was hot as hell. Nowhere near as hot as Paige, though. Quinn was blond, and I had a thing for brunettes. At least I did now.

  “Quinn’s amazing, but she’s had hard times. She just went through them all before we found each other. If I had known her when she doing the stuff she was doing, we wouldn’t have been friends.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “No way. I don’t stay away from drugs and all that sort of stuff to be a good role model. It’s just not my scene. I’m not into it. I don’t like it, and I don’t want to be a part of it. So I stay away from the people whose lives are ruled by it.”

  “Your parents must be really proud of you.”

  “They are. I think.” She scrunched up her nose. “They don’t really treat me any differently. And they don’t play favorites between me and my sister.”

  “Wait,” I said. “You have a sister?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Younger or older?”

  “Younger. She’s graduating from high school in a few weeks.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “And here I thought you knew everything about me,” she said with a wink.

  “The only thing I really know about you is that your lips are my kryptonite.”

  “So you want to stay away from them?”

  I inched closer to her. “I never said I was Superman.”

  I crawled across the couch and hovered above her body. Reaching for her beer, I placed it on the floor and leaned my face toward hers. Closing my eyes, I crushed my lips against hers and tucked my arm under her waist, lifting her body up against mine. She wiggled her hips and rubbed herself against the hardness in my pants. I stopped myself from moaning.

  Our tongues were melding together as I nibbled and bit at her. The way her hips raised into me, I couldn’t stop myself from grinding against her. I worked myself into a frenzy with all the gentle grazing, teeth biting, wet tongues kissing, and hips rubbing.

  Pulling my mouth away from hers, my hips continued to grind into her warmth. Her mouth fell open, and I forced myself not to grab her again. I pushed up from her, smiling at the effec
t I had on her.

  “Oh good Lord, Tatum. You can’t just do that to me!”

  “But I did.” I smirked before moving back over to my side of the couch. I wasn’t sure why this thought popped into my head, and she might get mad as hell at me for asking it, but now that she was sitting here like this, I suddenly found myself wanting to know. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course,” she said as she ran a finger across her bottom lip.

  “Since you mentioned your reputation and all that, remember those tabloid reports about you and that director?”

  Her sweet expression immediately dropped and turned sad. “Remember? How could I ever forget.”

  “Was it true?”

  “Tatum!” she yelled. “I was seven-freaking-teen. And he was forty-five!”

  I shrugged. “I’m sure that kind of thing happens in Hollywood all the time.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “First of all, ew. Second of all, it might happen sometimes, but it didn’t happen with me.”

  “Not an ounce of truth to it at all?” I was pushing her and I knew it.

  “I was naive then, far more naive than I am now. But no. Nothing happened between us. And I probably would have freaked out and cried in a corner if it did.”

  “So people can just say whatever they want in the news and tabloids? It doesn’t have to even be remotely accurate?”

  She nodded. “Pretty much. As long as they say they got their information from a source,” she drew quotes in the air, “they can write whatever they want.”

  “That’s wrong. And screwed up. I don’t like it.” I found myself getting defensive of her innocence again. Imagining Paige at only seventeen years old, dealing with that kind of thing, made my blood run hot.

  “It was horrible. Those reports. Those lies. They broke up a marriage. And for what? It wasn’t even true. It wasn’t even close to true.” Her lip started to tremble, and I knew I’d lose it if she cried.

  Please don’t cry.

  “The guy’s wife didn’t believe him?”

  “No. And I even talked to her. Here I was, little teenage Paige going up to this grown woman, trying to tell her nothing happened and that I would never do something like that. You know what she said to me?”