They were laughing together, having a regular Edward-Paige moment, when the door swung open, and they stepped outside.
“Holy fuckballs,” he heard a man snicker. “If it isn’t old low-hanging Richard. How’s it going, Shaw?”
A big, beefy hand thrust into his. Johnson Wyatt. They’d hung around in the early days, after he left the Army, when he was just finding his way in Hollywood, but it had been years since their paths crossed.
“Wyatt! Jesus, man. Haven’t seen you in a dog’s age. I thought you gave Hollywood the finger and moved up to Santa Barbara.”
They did a bro hug punctuated with some hearty back slaps, separating with matching grins and a series of fake out punches.
“Dude!” Edward proclaimed. “Check out my girlfriend.” With a hand on Paige’s elbow, he did a quick introduction.
“Babe, this poser with a goatee is Johnson Wyatt. We hung out together years ago. Wyatt, this is Paige Turner.”
“Hey, I remember you,” Wyatt easily replied as he grabbed Paige’s hand and shook it. “Aren’t you that college genius who made this shithead a big time movie star?
She laughed and made a funny face. “Guilty. And I remember you, too. Didn’t Mr. Sexist Man have to borrow your bug truck to go on an audition?”
They all threw back and laughed. Shit, the woman had a great memory ‘cause he had borrowed Wyatt’s exterminator buggy when his old Chevy finally broke down.
“Low hanging, um, dick?” she asked with a grin in his direction. “Please tell me that’s not a personal observation.”
Wyatt laughed along but held on to her hand far too long for Edward’s liking. “Nah. No worries there, pretty Paige. Gideon is one hundred percent pussy magnet. We called him low hanging because he was always the last guy to show up. Not necessarily late but cutting it close.”
“Oh, for god’s sake. I’m trying to impress the lady not …” He shook his head in feigned disbelief.
“What?” Wyatt drawled. “You think she doesn’t know by now that you tell time like it’s a Sesame Street skit?”
The valet attendant from earlier, the one he thought was being a bit too friendly with his lady, approached them slowly. The guy’s face screamed tentative. Good. That meant he got the message. The last thing this situation needed was him heavy breathing some menacing Alpha shit at a poor twit who didn’t have a clue.
“Excuse me, sir.”
Edward turned slowly and regarded the clearly intimidated guy. He didn’t answer, just nodded and looked the little shit right in the eye.
“Uh, your car, Mr. Shaw.”
At his side, Wyatt snickered, and Edward realized his frigid belligerence was a bit obvious. And rude. Since there was little doubt people from the sidewalk were photographing them, he knew that dialing it back was the way to go. But still … he didn’t like anyone trying to get chummy with Paige.
“Thanks,” he muttered in what barely passed as a begrudging tone as he took the keys from the attendant. Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and clumsily shoved it in the guy’s hand. It was too much, but he’d been a dick to the poor guy.
“Star-fucker,” Wyatt mumbled. “I was here five minutes before you but look who gets his car first.”
“Dude, it was great seeing you again. Why don’t you come out to the beach house and we’ll throw some cow on the grill.” Edward pulled Wyatt’s phone out of his hand and entered his info into the contact list. “That’s my direct line, you fucking asshole, so don’t be giving it out to any strippers.”
Wyatt chuckled and gave him a side hug. “I’ll call you next time I’m around. Got an out-of-town assignment that’ll keep me busy till fall.”
“That’s cool.” Edward shrugged. “I’m on location next month for who the fuck knows how long. But let’s get together after that, for sure.”
“Pretty Paige,” Wyatt drawled as he took her hand. “Good luck, darlin’. Being with this dick can’t be fun.”
Edward was thrilled and then some when she slid her hand into the crook of his arm and held on tight. His old friend was hardly competition, but by her actions, she was letting Wyatt know where and with whom she stood. And as if that wasn’t enough, she made sure to get the last word right before he led her to the car. “Having Johnson for a first name couldn’t have been easy, huh?”
When Wyatt barked a laugh and high-fived her, Edward couldn’t have been prouder. She had a facetious and snarky sense of humor that he enjoyed—especially when directed at someone else.
As she slid carefully into the passenger seat, he noted her knees clamped together and couldn’t help teasing. “Aww. Saving those panty flashes for me? Good girl, babe.”
Through lips pinched as tight as her knees, she muttered, “Ha, ha, ha. I’d like to see you try and maneuver in a short skirt.”
Before shutting her door, he leaned down and dropped a kiss on her sweetly pouting mouth. Moving swiftly to the driver’s side, he got in and buckled up while keeping his eyes on the end of the driveway where half a dozen guys with big cameras were having a fucking field day. By tomorrow morning, shots of Paige and him joking around with Wyatt on the pavement outside Nobu would light up the entertainment and celebrity news sites. And he was pretty sure the lead pic would be of him kissing his mystery companion.
“Medieval woman,” she belted out with gusto, enthusiastically singing along to a classic rock station.
“What?” Edward chuckled. “Medieval woman? You know those aren’t the words, right?”
“Who says?” She laughed. Rolling down the window, she gave her made-up lyrics a full-throated moment to shine along with some comically goofy faces.
“Actually, sweetheart, I think E-L-O says.”
She shrugged with an exaggerated wave of dismissal. “Oh, pooh. Lyrics should be fluid so they can change depending on the situation. Especially with classic rock. Keeping songs relevant in the changing times.”
“Oh, and this situation called for something medieval?”
This was what they did really, really well. The banter. The smart, funny, clever-as-shit small talk that said so much about who they were as individuals. Not many people could keep up with her. She’d been taught well. Her mom was a second-generation smartass; a foul-mouthed country girl who knew when to play the game and when to take down whatever idiot was in her verbal crosshairs.
When Edward drove toward the road taking them back to her side of town, she bristled and before she knew what the hell she was saying, she’d whined, “But I don’t wanna go home!”
“Hmph. So what’s that mean? Where do you wanna go?”
Turning in her seat, she wiggled up and down and grabbed on to his arm. “I know! Let’s go to the beach house and get in the Jacuzzi. Please, Edward. Pretty, pretty please.”
“Sounds like a plan,” he chortled. “Only one problem. I don’t have a Jacuzzi, remember?”
“Oh.” Drat. She’d forgot. Her thoughts had drifted to another time and place when they’d gotten rambunctious in a spa. Some fabulous place up in the mountains above Santa Fe with private enclosed outdoor tubs. Another example of their unusual friendship.
That time they’d gone off adventuring during a break in filming, exploring New Mexico, and ended up at the unique resort. Having no clue what they were getting into, the pleasant woman at the front desk had signed them up for everything from the hot tub to a couple’s massage, a luxurious spa treatment, and a gourmet meal to die for. They’d talked of returning in the winter to enjoy an outdoor tub, hoping to catch a snowfall so they could experience a soft snow falling while relaxing in the warm water.
All of it had been memorable, but she’d been thinking about their playful behavior during an hour-long private tub session. First, they’d relaxed in the warm bubbling tub, but after a bit, that got old and the antics had started.