Vegas, Baby

Clint Eastwood

If you think all Hollywood actors live in mansions in Beverley Hills, with sprawling, manicured gardens with glistening swimming pools, you'd be wrong. Some Hollywood actors live in mansions overlooking the Pacific Ocean in Malibu, with golden beaches as their backyard.

James' house was such and let me tell you, it is insane. Just from the outside, you can tell, this place is utterly beautiful. The front door was made of glass, through which you could see all the way out to the ocean, with spectacular views from every room on the entrance floor. The second I stepped inside, I was awed by the home James lived in. The lobby was two storeys tall, with an ornate crystal chandelier light dominating the space, as well as a twisting glass and metal staircase taking you either up to the top floor or down to the lower floor.

On the wall, there was countless framed artwork in keeping with the minimalistic, clean-lined aesthetic of the property. Hardwood flooring ran through the house, leading to the dining area right in front of us, the kitchen to the left and living room to the right. Laughing, James grabbed my hand and pulled me through the living room and out onto the balcony, where I watched the ebb and flow of the tide. I breathed in the sea air, closing my eyes so that I could listen to the calming sound of the sea. Opening my eyes, I have to pinch myself that this isn't all a dream.  

"This is home to you?" I asked, my voice breathless as I tried to comprehend what was happening. Just a few days ago, I was staying in a hostel in Argentina. Now I'm here, in a Malibu sea-front mansion. This is too surreal. "James, just how big a Hollywood star are you?"

"First of all, home is actually West Roxbury, Boston, but my family now live in Belle Haven, Connecticut," he replies, his tone nostalgic. Motioning his hand over the view in front of us, he sighs and shakes his head. "This place is just part of being a star. Which I'm not. I'm not in the same league as, I don't know, Leo DiCaprio. This is a rental that my management team pay for. They're hoping Spymaster will turn into this huge thing, spawn a series of movies, become as big as Bond, and whatever else. They're pinning a lot of hopes on me."

I turn, leaning against the metal barrier of the balcony and surveying James' face. He looked worried about the burden that was put upon him, a frown line appearing between his brows. Lifting my hand, I softly caress my thumb over the line and watch as James starts to smile. "That's a lot of pressure to be putting on someone's shoulders, especially someone as young as you. You're only nineteen, James. You have to have a life to live. It can't all be about being a cog in this Hollywood machine."

Nodding solemly in agreement, James turns and starts walking back into the house, telling me that he would show me the rest. We ventured down to the lower floor first, where a home gym and a cinema room took up most of the space. There was a second living area, too, as well as a bedroom, a small lawn area and an outdoor seating space. Heading back upstairs, James quickly showed me a study room that I'd missed when I entered the house and then lead me up to the top floor, where there was another bedroom, a family bathroom, and a master suite. 

While the bedroom and separate bathroom looked stunning, it was the master bedroom that I was most jealous of. Not only was there a huge en-suite bathroom, but there was a his-and-hers walk-in-closet, a super king size bed, and a bathtub that was placed near the balcony doors. You could literally take a bath while overlooking the Pacific Ocean. 

"Um, so, you can have any bedroom in the house," James offered, his voice clearly nervous. I think he was embarrassed to broach the subject of maybe sharing a room with me but I didn't care. I wanted to share with him. "It's not like I'll, uh, end up sleeping on the couch. Your pick."

"I want this one," I answer, smiling at the thought of sleeping in the master bedroom. "I want the right side of the bed though."

James frowned. "What?"

"I want the right, you take the left," I reply, hoping that he gets the gist of what I'm saying. When it seems like it's really going over his head, I decide to put it simply, "You, me, the same bed. Me, right. You left."

"Oh."

Honestly, he could be so dense. I wonder what he'd act like if I told him that I wanted to have sex with him, too. After his opening night speech to me about not wanting to ruin things by being so forward, I knew I'd have to be the one to make the first move but there's no way I'm brave enough to outright say 'we should have sex.' I'm British, for Christ's sake. We don't say things like that. Plus, there's that other thing hanging over my head. 

"I think my manager said that the housekeeper had stocked the refrigerator so I should be able to rustle something up for us," James announced. "Unless you want to hit the beach first?"

Nodding, I get all excited about dipping my feet in the Pacific. James brings my backpack up and throws it on the bed, telling me he'd give me space so I could get changed. I rolled my eyes at that but at the same time, I wanted to wow him when he first saw me in my bikini. It was a simple one, red and quite provocative. It was the one Lena made me buy before I left London. She guaranteed me that if a boy saw me wearing this, I wouldn't be wearing it for long. 

"Ready?" I asked as I walked out onto the living room terrace and saw James waiting for me. He turned and stumbled backwards, eyes bulging from their sockets as his gaze swept up from my feet, over my bikini and finally fixed against my stare. "Do you like what you see?"

Tilting his head sideways, he leaned back against the balcony and gave me real Clint Eastwood, sultry eyes, gorgeous smirk vibes. "Yeah," he nods. "I like."