Connected (Connections #1)
Page 28“I didn’t say that really. I do but in the right place at the right time. Sometimes they forget artists have personal lives too.” He stops as if contemplating what to say next. “Don’t get me wrong, I love the whole signing autographs thing and meeting new people after we perform. It’s the chaos I don’t really like.”
The screaming begins to fade as he looks in the rearview mirror. “Xander says it comes with the job, and they’re harmless.” Shaking his head he continues, “I’m sure they are, but they can be aggressive.”
Pondering that comment, his melancholy tone makes me think about his choice of residence. For some reason, I hadn’t pictured River living in one of the most famous Hollywood Hills neighborhoods. But driving through the quiet winds and turns of the paved roads, I get why he does. It not only provides privacy and security, but it’s also very quiet and secluded, just like the hotel he stayed at in Las Vegas. Like me, he must prefer the quiet and tranquil side of living. Funny, Ben loved the beach, but not the quiet of it like I did.
As River drives deeper into the community, I laugh to myself thinking buses probably stop out front as part of the ‘Homes of the Rich and Famous’ Tour. This is a neighborhood Ben would have referred to as the homes of the irresponsibly rich and ass-famous. Ever since he investigated Mark Hines, the famous football player who lived somewhere up in the Hills, he was irrationally biased toward any famous person from this part of LA. Ben had been the journalist on the team that investigated the money-laundering scheme derived from illegal betting. Mark was such a douche, as Ben put it, that he never confessed to his part in the ill deed but rather pushed the blame to his agent. Because of this, he was allowed to continue to play football. Ben felt Mark used his money and fame to hide his part in the scheme. He also felt it was because of his celebrity status that it worked.
Ben’s attitude may have stemmed from a mix of his love for football, the injustice itself, or maybe a little jealousy over the power Mark held; I was never certain. Either way, whenever I mentioned any well known person who lived in the Hills, his comment was always a derivative of that f**ktard this or that f**ktard that. He was never jealous of the amount of money a person had, this I knew because both of our families were financially secure. I think he was jealous of a celebrity’s status, being recognized just by name. Even though Ben never actually told me this, I know he had hoped to be a household name one day, like Anderson Cooper.
Ben and I didn’t live extravagant lifestyles like most Hollywood Hills residents appeared to live. We grew up on the beach where there were no facades. There was never pressure to ‘keep up with the Joneses’ so to say. We lived our lives easy and carefree for the most part; it was the way of life on the beach. As I look around, I have to remember—that is not my life anymore.
I should have an open mind about being in the city where River grew up, the place where he’s actually known as a musician. Maybe not known or recognized by undaunting fans yet, but I have no doubt he will be soon. I hadn’t thought of him like that, until now, but being here brings it all home and Ben’s words reverberate through my mind.
Noticing my distraction, River asks, “What? You don’t like it?”
His voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I can’t help but laugh. “Of course I do, silly!” Then I say, “You just didn’t tell me you were one of the rich and famous.”
He chuckles and replies, “I told you, I got a great deal on this house.”
Grabbing my fingers, he continues. “The previous owners got divorced and just wanted to get rid of it. Xander is friends with the ex-husband, and he hooked me up.” He kisses my hand and sets it on his lap. “The view from my backyard is amazing, and that’s what sold me on the house the minute I saw it.”
Smiling hugely at him, I couldn’t help but think how much we really did have in common. “Funny, the first thing I do whenever I go anywhere is check out the view.” Then I couldn’t help but joke, “In fact, I think I checked out your view the first time I saw you.”
“No, I didn’t say that. Don’t get carried away,” I quip as I pinch his leg.
Passing by acres of houses, all isolated on their own plains in the Hills, I briefly look out the window, but I can’t even see most of the front doors because the houses are so well hidden. I’m not really even that interested because my view inside the car is way more appealing right now.
“You don’t even want to start that kind of game,” River says, lifting up my hand and gesturing to where I just pinched him. Then he releases my hand and reaches over to tickle me.
I shift in my seat and start squealing. I’m very ticklish but don’t want him to know this, so I try to quickly subdue myself. Grabbing his hand, I attempt to move it away, but he’s relentless and continues his tickling assault. “You’re driving! Put both hands on the wheel. Please!” I yell out with tears of laughter streaming down my face.
Braking at the stop sign, he takes his hand back to grab the wheel and hits the turn signal with his other hand. He cocks his head to look at me, and a devilish grin appears on his face. “You didn’t seem that worried about my driving ability an hour ago.”
“Actually, I was. That’s why I waited for you to park the car first,” I respond with a sly grin of my own.
“Well, I’ll stop for now but only because you asked so nicely,” he tells me in his most adorable voice.
He starts to slow down as he approaches a cul-de-sac. He indicates with his chin a house I can just barely see at the end of the street. “Here we are. Home sweet home,” he says as he pulls into a long upward sloping driveway.
The house has a smooth white stucco finish and looks to be a 1940’s style ranch. It’s suspended high above the city with a large modern circular stucco staircase leading to a beautiful pair of art deco style double doors. The landscaping is modest but neatly kept; eclectic rocks surround the palm trees. River hits a button in his car, and the large wooden door opens.
The garage is located under the house. As he pulls in, I can see a wide staircase in the back right corner, which must lead into the house. Once he puts the car in park, he switches the ignition off and shifts to face me. “Remember, I already warned you what to expect. I just moved in.”
He seems slightly nervous, so I bestow a little reassurance. “It can’t be much worse than my house, and I’ve been in transition for way longer,” I say, not explaining why but letting him know I’m cool with unsettled space.
Shaking my head and rolling my eyes at him as I reach for the door handle, I ask, “Are you trying to tell me we’ll be sleeping on the floor?”
Chuckling as he exits his door, he responds, “Pretty much.”
I get out of the car and glance over at him. “Well then Mr. Rock Star turned Boy Scout, show me the way.” I can’t help but laugh; thinking about how similar our carefree domestic attitudes are.
He points his finger at me and says, “Don’t laugh. I told you I just moved in.”
I approach him as he waits at the front of the car for me, and he takes my hand, leading me up the stairs. Once we reach another small bank of steps that lead to the landing, he ushers me forward. When we get to the top, he reaches above the door and removes a key from the ledge.
Turning around, I notice the key in his hand and quickly jest, “Hey River, first rule of a new house never let anyone know where you hide your spare key!” As I look at him, my breath catches from his close proximity and my pulse starts to race when I notice his muscles showing through his t-shirt as they flex and roll with his every movement. Unashamed, I continue to watch him as he reaches around me to unlock the door and reaches again to put the key back.
Before I can add any further words of wisdom to my already expressed thoughts, I notice his eyes drift down to my skirt. His fingertips lightly brush the hem before his hands brace the doorframe on both sides of me. The sunlight is peaking through a small round window behind him, only highlighting his extreme attractiveness.
He dips his head so we are eye-level. “Since we’ve already established you’re not a stalker, you knowing where I hide the key just makes it easier.” He laughs and thinks for a moment before slowly slipping his tongue out of his mouth and dragging it across his lower lip. Leaning in, he places his knee in between mine and kisses me hungrily. He kisses up and down my jawline and neck, almost as if trying to find my pulse. It should be easy, since it’s racing. He returns his lips to mine and we continue our kiss. This kiss isn’t just any kiss; it’s a kiss very much full of need. Not just his, but mine. It’s a kiss that leaves me breathless and wanting more.
I wonder how is it that one-minute we can be having a normal conversation and the next minute I want to strip down in his garage and f**k him right here? This need is completely new to me. My inability to control my libido around him is making me a little nervous, and I decide to escape this situation. Lowering my head, I turn around and duck under his arm, reaching for the doorknob.
“Easier how?” I finally manage. Without glancing back, I open the door and pass by his overwhelming sex appeal.
Putting his hand over my eyes as I start to walk into the house, he whispers in my ear, “I’ll explain later.” He kisses the side of my neck, and I can feel his smooth skin as he says, “After we finish what you started in the car.”
Since he vocalized his intentions, exploring his house right now doesn’t seem like a priority. Especially since he’s standing so close behind me, and I can breathe him in. I can smell his invigorating scent—clean and fresh.
Softly chuckling, he says, “Don’t play innocent. You know you did. Not that I minded in the least.” He says this as he slides one hand down my body and reaches under my skirt. Running his fingers down my garter belt he growls in my ear, “And I can’t wait to see these just as soon as I show you around.”
I roll my eyes. I really don’t need a house tour right now. I just need to tour him. “Okay, if that’s what you want to do first.”
With one hand still over my eyes, he guides me to where he wants me to stand. Then removing his hand, he says, “You’re cool to look now.”
Opening my eyes, I change my mind; I definitely need a house tour. I’m standing in what must be the most mod looking kitchen I have ever seen. There is a twelve light ultra modern fixture hanging from the ceiling that is at least eight feet long. I assume a table belongs underneath it. Stainless steel appliances grace the entire kitchen and there are thick glass shelves above the appliances where you would normally see cupboards. The floor is a mix of black and white paint swirled together, it is almost industrial looking, very chic. The counters are jet-black granite with white pearl splashed throughout. There is a high bar with curvy, black stools along it, and on the other side is the living room. It is unlike any kitchen I have ever seen.
“River, this is stunning,” I remark as I take it all in before moving toward the living room.
He follows and I can feel his eyes on me as I move. “Yeah, stunning.”
The living room is painted white and rich black walnut wood panels the wall in front of me. A large black and white picture of River and his band is on display. Underneath the picture is a long gray tufted sofa that is flanked with a few vintage guitars resting in their stands. To the left is a huge flat-screen TV that is sitting on a small stand. Surprisingly, no video gaming system is attached.