I look at the address on my phone and then back at the insanely large mansion in front of me. Is this the right place? I’m about to call Trent when I see him open the massive front door and walk out to greet me.
“Thanks for agreeing to join me. I know it was last minute,” Trent says as I get out of my car.
“You promised me a beach bonfire. I’ll never turn that down.”
When Trent texted me last night asking if I was free today to hang out with him at the beach, I didn’t hesitate to say yes. I know his time in town is limited, and it’s been really nice reconnecting with him. We agreed to meet up after I got off work. I had recommended one of the public beaches, but he said there’d be too great a chance that he’d be recognized and we’d have a flock of paparazzi and fans hounding us. Instead he suggested his friend’s place in Malibu since he has beach access and a firepit on the back patio.
I’m a sucker for a firepit, especially one at the beach.
I’ll never forget when Lainey and I first moved to California after Will got drafted to the Wolves. We both wanted a change from life back in Texas. Lainey got a job in Laguna Beach and I got my job at VibeTV in Santa Monica so we couldn’t live together, but we made a promise to have a weekly sister beach date. We imagined beautiful sandy beaches, hot lifeguards, sexy surfers, and drinking and laughing around bonfires with other LA transplants. We quickly discovered that there’s actually only a handful of beaches that you can legally have a bonfire on. And they usually get busy early.
So, this seems perfect to me. There’s no way I could’ve gotten off work and driven to a public beach and still been able to nab a firepit. Not a chance.
I grab my oversized beach bag from my backseat and then follow Trent through the house that looks like a Thai-inspired oasis. There are teak floors, lush gardens on the property, and it has a very vacation vibe to it.
Trent points out several of the bathrooms as we make our way through the house and informs me that there are a total of fourteen bathrooms here.
What does anyone need with fourteen bathrooms? Hell, having two sometimes feels like a huge luxury. I can’t even fathom needing fourteen.
We walk through the house, and I fight hard to maintain my cool.
I live comfortably, especially by LA standards, but this is way beyond my norm or even what any of my friends are used to. Hell, even Will’s famous football friends don’t live in houses as big as this, at least not the few I’ve been to. It’s taking everything in me not to fawn over how stunning and gorgeous every detail of this house is, especially when I realize that Trent doesn’t seem all that fazed.
But then, why would he? This is the norm for him.
When Trent pushes open the double doors that lead outside, I can no longer maintain my composure.
“Holy. Fucking. Shit.”
Okay, well maybe I could’ve tried to be a little more composed than that. But for fuck’s sake, this place is insane.
Trent just laughs. “I told you it would be worth it.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “This is beyond worth it. This is breathtaking. Your friend gets to wake up to this view every day?”
“Uh, no. He only lives here a few months out of the year. He splits his time between several different residences.”
I turn to him, my jaw practically on the floor and my mind unable to process this. Does not compute is repeating in my head. How could anyone not want to live here year-round? Or at least all during the summer when it’s sunny and warm, but you’ve got the cool breeze coming off the Pacific to keep you cool.
“I…I don’t even know what to say. I can’t imagine having so many houses that you only stay in them for a couple of months a year.”
“Yeah, well, Spencer’s not great about setting down roots, and he has more money than he could ever spend in ten lifetimes, so he likes to throw it around. He lets me hang out here whenever I’m in town since he’s rarely here.”
“That’s so wild to me. You have friends who live completely different lives than the rest of us.”
The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. You’d think the bodyguard would’ve done it, but no, it’s this moment that truly cements for me how famous he is. Trent is way out of my league. I gaze at him with new eyes, seeing him for the rock star he is. His short chocolate-brown hair, his ocean-blue eyes, his rugged good looks and perfect jawline with just the right amount of stubble to look sexy instead of homeless. The tattoos that peek from beneath his shirt sleeves and spread down one of his arms. Why didn’t I realize before that he’s so different from the boy I once knew? Well, kind of knew since we stopped spending much time together after that kiss freshman year. After that, he became more Will’s friend instead of our shared one.
But still. Why didn’t I notice how much he’s changed?
“Stop looking at me like that,” he says, his voice serious and more guarded than I’ve ever heard from him.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m famous.” His gaze drops, and he looks vulnerable and sad. “I can’t stand that from you.” His gaze settles on mine, and the pleading look in his eyes nearly guts me. “Not you, Becks. Please. I’m the same guy you’ve always known, just a little older and a little more world-weary.”
I look again at his arms and his body, noticing how much he’s filled out instead of the lanky teen I remember. “I don’t remember you filling out a shirt quite like that or having all those tattoos.”
His lips quirk up with a hint of a smile. “Okay, so I got some ink and hit the gym, but deep down, I promise I’m still the guy I always was. Please don’t look at me different just because I have rich friends.”
“I don’t want to, but look around, Trent. This is not the world we grew up in. My mom worked three jobs. Your aunt and uncle worked incredibly hard too. We grew up in a small blue-collar town in Texas, which is a far cry from a mansion in Malibu with beach access no less.”
He steps forward, taking my hands in his. It’s impossible not to feel the zing of electricity that shoots through my body at his touch and proximity.
“Please, Becks. I’ll get down on my knees and beg if I have to, but please don’t look at me like everyone else does. I need you to look at me like you did when we ran into each other in the middle of a street in Santa Monica, and trivia night, and movie night. I promise you, deep down I’m still that guy you knew back in Texas. The one who threw mud at you when we were kids, who cheered for Will with you at Friday night football games, who held your hair back when you had too much to drink at Sally Ann Lincoln’s seventeenth birthday party.”
“That’s not fair! I had no idea that drink had alcohol in it. All I knew was it tasted fruity and delicious and you know it,” I say, pulling one hand from his and poking his chest. I can’t believe he remembers that. We weren’t even all that close by then, but he still was there for me, even when my date had ditched me.
He smiles, and it’s a smile I’m all too familiar with. It’s not the smile I’ve seen on posters or magazine covers. It’s not the smile he tosses out when we’ve been together in public.
This is his Texas smile. The smile he’d always give me when I did something to make him laugh, or when we’d all hang out as a group and do something our guardians would’ve had our hides for, like the time we “borrowed” Trent’s uncle’s car and drove it to Dallas for a Foo Fighters concert.
This is the smile of the boy I’ve known for damn near my entire life.
His eyes soften as he gazes down on me from his six-inch-height advantage. “Thank you,” he says softly and gives my hand a squeeze. But he doesn’t let go, and I don’t ask him to.
Instead we stand there for longer than we probably should, staring at each other. But it doesn’t feel weird or awkward.
It feels like coming home.