Aced (11 page)

“Mmm…I was going to say tall like me. But how about Ace Locke’s height. Know him?”

I couldn’t stop the grin that curved my mouth then,
flirt.
“Yeah, I think I might.”

Dylan’s laugh was carefree as it filtered through the phone, and I envied the ease with which he could just be who he was.

“Then yes, if you were all of those things, then you would be the right person I could get inappropriate with.”

“Well, thank God, considering I’m the one whose dick you sucked on Saturday night,” I said without even thinking about it.

“Oh hello, there’s the Ace I met at his birthday party up in his bedroom. You know, I was wondering when he’d show up again. Or at least call me. Speaking of
calling
me…how exactly are you calling me? If I recall, I didn’t give you my number, and as you so graciously pointed out, my mouth was kind of busy the last opportunity I had to tell you in private.”

I dropped my hand from the back of my neck and rearranged the erection I could feel stiffening inside my jeans. “I…uhh…”
Fuck, am I really about to admit this?
“I may have seen it on Amy’s call sheet.”

There was a pause, and I wondered if Dylan was about to flip out about privacy and how I’d just invaded his, but instead he chuckled.

“I’m trying to decide if it’s crossing a line or kind of hot that you stole my number from the production assistant’s contact sheet.”

I could tell Dylan was having a great time with this, poking at me a little after I’d been, admittedly, an ass to him earlier today.

“You know, you could’ve just asked me,” Dylan said, and I could picture his smiling mouth as he flashed a smirk my way.

“I
did
ask you,” I reminded him, “but you were busy playing hard to get that day.”

“Ha! You’re joking, right?”

I was enjoying myself immensely as I walked to my plush, oversized couch and took a seat. Then I kicked off my shoes as Dylan kept talking in my ear.
 

“I haven’t played hard to get since I’ve met you. But… If you want to talk about how hard I’ve
been
since I’ve met you, that’s a whole other story.”

There was that freedom, that lack of filter, and once again I found myself wishing that I could say whatever I wanted without overthinking every detail that came out of my mouth.

“Uh oh. Did I go too far?” Dylan asked. “Sorry, nasty habit.”

I shook my head, hating that I was so conscious of myself that I was now making
him
conscious of his damn self. “No, no. Don’t apologize,” I told him, and let out a frustrated sigh. Why couldn’t this be easy?
It should be easy, right?
 

“Ace?”

“Yeah, sorry. I spaced for a minute there.”

“That’s okay. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I was just joking. But I
was
being serious about the nasty habit. My family is very…different, much more open about things than most families would be. I guess you could say I’m a byproduct of that.”

That caught my attention in an instant. It was the first time Dylan had offered up any kind of personal information to me, and I was greedy for anything I could possibly learn about him.
 

“What do you mean they’re different? You seem pretty normal to me.”

“Please, stop with the compliments. You’ll make my head swell.”

I rolled my eyes at his deliberate misunderstanding of my words. “You know what I mean. You’re not—”

“A world-famous celebrity who gets hounded by hundreds of people wherever I go?”

“Okay, smartass. I meant you are very…comfortable in yourself. You’re kind and friendly, happy—”

“Ace?” Dylan interrupted.

“Yeah?”

“Stop talking. You’re making me sound like a ten-year-old.”

I heard another round of clanging, and instead of trying to rectify my apparent lack of flirtatious skill, I asked, “What are you doing?”

“I’m cooking,” he grumbled. “Or trying to. I can’t find the damn pot for my pasta.”

At the word
pasta
, my stomach growled in protest. “That was cruel. You know what I eat over here, and now you’re going to rub in my face the fact that you’re about to eat pasta? You’re a cruel, cruel man, Dylan Prescott. I’m fucking starving.”

“Ah, there it is,” he said in triumph. “And you’re right, that was kind of cruel. But just so I’m clear, because I seem to have a one-track mind when it comes to you. You meant you were starving for food or…?”

“Food.” But fuck if my dick wasn’t interested in the
or
option. “I meant food.”

“Oh, well, don’t you dare complain about that, hotshot. I offered to make you a meal. And honestly, if I was there you wouldn’t be starving for food or the other thing we are
not
talking about.”

No shit.
I doubted he’d even get around to cooking if he was here. And that thought had me slouching down into the cushion and pressing down on the semi in my pants.
 

“Ace? Where’d you go?” Dylan asked. “Try not to freak out over there. I only wanted to come over to use your insane kitchen, not to use your cock.”

I let out a breath and laughed. “Liar.”

“If you don’t believe me, try me.”
 

I clamped my mouth shut before I told him exactly how much I’d like to do just that. Stroking over the rigid length between my legs, I said, “That’s not a good idea.”

“I heard you the first time, but I seem to have short-term memory loss. Care to explain why it’s not a good idea again?”

After glancing up at the clock, I scooted forward and put my elbows on my thighs, ignoring the ache in my dick. “Look, it’s getting late, so I’ll let you go.”

“It’s eight o’clock.”
 

“And we’ve got a four-thirty call.”

“Yeah, okay, old man,” he said. “So, do I get your number? It’s showing you as unlisted on my cell.”

“No.”

“No?” He chuckled. “Well, then are you gonna call me again?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

Yeah, considering my lack of self-control when it came to the guy, he was probably right. Not that I wanted him to know the effect he had on me. “Enjoy your pasta while I waste away over here.”

“I plan to savor every single bite. Maybe lick the plate after. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m really good with my tongue.”

“Jesus. Go cook your fucking food.”

“See you tomorrow, Ace.”

“Yeah, yeah.” And before he could say anything else tempting, I hit the end button.
 

8

KEEP YOUR HANDS TO YOURSELF

“HEY, DYLAN, WAIT up,” Russ called out after filming was done a couple days later as I headed down the steps of the wardrobe trailer.
 

I squinted at him and held up my hand to block the sun from my eyes as he headed in my direction. His hair and face were freshly washed, all trace of makeup and styling products gone, and I had to admire the guy’s youthful good looks. We hadn’t had much of a chance to hang out outside of the short lunch breaks, and though my cock didn’t jump to attention when he was around, I still enjoyed his company.
 

There were a handful of guys I’d bonded with since I’d been in California, but the problem with living in a city so large was that you could count on being about two hours in traffic away from anyone at any given time. And with the schedule I was on now, there was just no time for a social life.

“Russ—hey, man,” I said when he’d jogged over to me. “Nice right hook today.”

“Shit, I had to pretend to hit that guy, like, forty-five times. I can’t lift my arm.” He laughed and tried to raise his arm before letting it drop to his side.
 

“Epsom salt in a hot bath should knock that out.”

“I guess I know what I’ll be doing tonight. Say, you wanna grab something to eat first? I heard some of the guys say there’s a killer steakhouse across the street.”

“Oh yeah?” I considered his offer. On one hand, steak and conversation sounded great, but the last thing I wanted to do was lead this guy on. I looked down and ran a hand through my hair, trying to decide the best way to broach the subject.
 

Ah hell.
Best just to be out with it. I looked him in the eye as I said, “Listen, Russ… I’d love to do that, but I’ve gotta be straight up with you. I’m not really looking to start something right now, and it would be wrong for me to not be upfront with you before this goes any further.”

Russ blinked at me, and then swept his hand, as if brushing the comment aside. “Nah, that’s cool. I guess that leaves me open to the main star of the movie,” he said with a wink, and then laughed. “Kidding. Seriously, though, a friendly dinner with no expectations. We can do that.”

Relief swept over me. At least shit wouldn’t be awkward between us now, which was more than I could say for where I stood with Ace. After the unexpected phone call the other night, I hadn’t heard a word, and though he’d been friendly when I’d seen him on set, he was always surrounded by others, so I could never get too close. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’d planned it that way, but I wasn’t about to overthink things. He had my number, and if he wanted to get in touch with me, he could use it.
 

As if reading my thoughts, my phone vibrated in my pocket, and as I looked at the caller ID, I held up a finger to Russ. “Give me just a sec and then we can head out.” When he nodded, I hit a button and my Florida roommate and friend Derek Pearson came over the line.
 

“Hey, pretty boy, you ever gonna call and give me fucking details on working with Ace Locke every day, or are you back to being a stingy, private motherfucker?”

“Hello to you, too. How’s Jordan?”

“Don’t try to change the subject. I’ve been trying to get a hold of your ass all week.”

“My ass has been otherwise occupied, thank you very much.”

“I fucking knew it. You seduced the poor bastard, didn’t you? One look at that pretty-boy face and he probably came in his five-thousand-dollar jeans.”

As if on cue, the door to Ace’s trailer swung open, and he jogged down the steps, a workout bag over his shoulder. He glanced over and caught my eye, and then his gaze went past me to where Russ stood and he quickened his pace toward his parking space.
 

“Yo, Prescott. You sleeping with Ace Locke or what?”

I watched Ace’s broad back as he unlocked his car and threw his bag in the trunk. When he slammed it shut, his eyes caught mine again.
 

“No,” I answered. “No, it’s not like that at all. Just been busy working, is all, and I get shit for reception out here.”

Derek scoffed. “You’re a lying sack of shit, but if that’s your story…”

“It is.”

“Fair enough. Feel free to call me when you’re ready to eat your words. Or after you’ve eaten—”

“Okay, you dirty fucker. Go and find Jordan to use that mouth on.”

Derek’s booming laugh rumbled through the phone, and as the call ended I turned to see Russ raise an eyebrow.

“Boyfriend…? Ex?” he asked.

I slid the phone into the back pocket of my jeans and chuckled, thinking of mine and Derek’s one failed attempt at getting hot and heavy. To this day it was still entertaining to rib Derek about his inability to…perform.
 

“Nah. Roommate, friend, trainer from hell, but that’s where it ends.”

“Gotcha.” Russ nodded. “So then, you ready to get going?”

“Yeah. A steak sounds great right about now. Lead the way.”

As we headed in the direction of the parking garage, the unmistakable sound of Ace’s Lamborghini roared to life, but I was done talking about Mr. Locke for the evening. I was ready to go out, knock back a couple of drinks with a friend, and relax.
Anyway,
I thought, as Ace’s car crawled past us and he glanced out his open window at Russ and I with a stoic expression, like I’d thought before—he had my number if he wanted to use it.

* * *

I WAS BEING irrational and I fucking knew it. All night I’d obsessed over where Dylan had been going with Russ the day before, and as I now watched blondie’s hand land on Dylan’s arm one more time, I could’ve sworn daggers were about to shoot from my eyes. I wanted to walk right over there and peel his damn fingers off one by one, but considering we were surrounded by a room full of cast and crew, it probably wasn’t the best idea.
 

As we waited for the next shot, Dylan laughed at something Russ said, and I finally had to force myself to turn around so I wouldn’t be tempted to look in their direction.
 

If I was honest, this little interaction hadn’t been what set me off in the first place. No, that honor belonged to driving past them yesterday on the way out of the lot and knowing Dylan was most likely leaving with the skinny fucker.

First, the party at
my
house, then, what, dinners together? Overnights? PDA on the set?
 

Ugh, and what pissed me off even more was that I had no claim on him whatsoever. No reason to be upset, not when I’d rebuffed Dylan at every turn. And that was what it boiled down to, wasn’t it? I was angry that I didn’t have the freedom to pursue the man who’d caught my interest. It was my fault, and there was shit I could do about it but play witness to their little love fest.

This is such bullshit. Dylan could do so much better.
The thought made me snort, and when several heads turned in my direction, I coughed to cover it. I really was a pompous asshole if I thought the “better” that Dylan could do was in reference to myself. Hell, I couldn’t even take him out to dinner if I wanted to. Not without the flash of a hundred fucking cameras, and then they’d start following
him
everywhere he went too, and yeah…I wasn’t about to lay that hell on anyone else.
 

Dylan’s laughter rang out again, and the sound of it was like a stab in the gut. Because it hadn’t been me eliciting that sound from him.

Jesus Christ, hurry up with the damn lights already.

There was a loud crash, followed by curses, and a few minutes later the assistant director got on the bullhorn.