SLEAZE: A Hollywood Comeback Story (Book #1)

Chapter 1

I could picture it perfectly.

Los Angeles, California. Camera pans over the city's greatest sites: hikers laughing as they make their way to the Hollywood sign; bikini-clad girls on roller blades skating alongside Santa Monica's pier; tourists posing in front of shops as they make their way up and down Rodeo Drive.

Cut to an irresistibly suave, dark-haired young man seated on the patio of LA's self-proclaimed trendiest new café. It's a hot day and the sun beats down on him; you'd never guess it's the middle of October by the amount of sweat pooling around his brow and each droplet that gathers marks another minute that he's been waiting. Dark sunglasses cover his eyes as he lazily watches the crowds go by, wondering where each person is headed...

"Hey, douchebag," a joking voice rang out, jerking me from my daydream. I turned towards my offender with a smile.

"What happened to meeting at noon, man?" I teased, as I greeted my best friend with a series of brisk claps to his upper back that only two guys would ever instinctively recognize as a hug.

Stepping back, Scott shrugged as he pulled out one of the chairs at the table that I'd claimed. "Traffic," he sighed dramatically as he sat down, and I nodded. No further explanation was necessary.

Everyone's heard the jokes about LA's traffic but the truth is that it isn't as bad as they make it out to seem—it's infinitely worse. Yet, as awful as being stuck at a standstill, staring out over a sea of never ending red brake lights is, the constant and real threat of traffic does have its perks. Namely, it's a citywide excuse for being anywhere from fifteen minutes to two hours behind schedule. Late to dinner with grandma? No big deal, just blame it on traffic. Unlike other excuses, no one will bother to check if it's true or not. Sure, they might be skeptical, but that just gives them a pass to be late the next time around. It's a vicious cycle, really, but I can't help but make a mental note to take my time in meeting up with him the next time we hang out.

"I see you ate without me," Scott said, as he greedily eyed the few fries on my plate that survived my lunchtime ravaging.

"I had to do something to kill the time." I pushed my leftovers towards him.

"Thanks." He leaned forward to grab a fry and drag it through the last drops of ketchup. "Got anymore of that?" he asked, gesturing towards the pale red sheen that coated my plate. I shook my head as he bit into the cold bit of potato. "Damn."

"There's more inside," I suggested. Scott looked wistfully towards the door of the café, clearly debating if it was worth it to get up again.

"Nah, too lazy," he said after a moment, and I watched silently as he inhaled the rest of my scraps.

When Scott had finished, he sat back with a contented grunt and put his hands behind his head. "So, how've you been, Parker?" he asked casually, his hazel eyes trained on my face as he waited for my answer. Although I was wearing sunglasses, I purposefully averted my gaze from his in case he could somehow see past the reflective lenses to the tired shadows that had taken up residence on my face.

"Fine," I replied automatically, crossing my arms over my chest.

Scott's eyebrows shot so far up his face that they grazed his hairline. "Really?"

I raised one shoulder noncommittally. "People have it worse," I replied, trying to keep my tone even.

"I guess." Scott paused before continuing, "How's your dad doing?"

"Better. My mom said he's started tinkering with stuff around the house again, which means she's probably only a few weeks away from having a heart attack of her own," I chuckled mirthlessly.