Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
I tug Shiloh close to me. He loves people and tries to greet the angry old man who recoils like Shiloh is going to attack.
“Relax, man; he didn’t hurt anyone. He just wanted to run around.”
My eyes widen, and I stare at my hero again. He’s standing up for me? I think back to a time when this situation happened with my ex, and he was too embarrassed to ever walk Shiloh with me again. Maybe the people in LA aren’t all terrible.
The older man grumbles under his breath and walks away, cursing me for daring to bring a dog to a dog-friendly park.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say.
My new friend shrugs. “He was being a jerk for no reason. You can’t help that your dog took off running. He probably saw a squirrel or something.”
“I definitely won’t be talking on the phone, drinking coffee, and walking Shiloh all at the same time ever again. Multitasking is my strong suit, but probably not the best when it comes to a dog who likes to take off running.”
“Yeah, that’s probably true, but no harm, no foul. All Shiloh did was greet a few people. I saw him running toward me for a while. I figured I’d grab him before he could get into any more trouble. We’re not far from a busy street.”
“Thank you again. You have no idea how much I appreciate it. If something happened to Shiloh … I don’t know what I would’ve done.”
He flashes me another million-dollar smile. How is it possible for someone’s teeth to be so straight? His parents must’ve spent a fortune on braces.
We stare at each other, me only seeing his sunglasses and him getting to enjoy my entire sweaty, beet-red face.
My breathing gets ragged. For the first time since I got to Los Angeles, I feel a connection with someone. Aside from being super attractive, he seems nice and funny. Maybe I’ve just made my very first friend.
And then Shiloh jumps on the stranger again, changing everything.
Chapter Two – Spencer
Leila’s dog, Shiloh, jumps up on me again and starts licking my face. He gets a little too intense this time and knocks off my hat and sunglasses.
I immediately drop down to the ground. “Crap, I need those.”
The dog jumps back, his front paw grinding over my sunglasses.
“No, bad dog!” Leila says, tugging on Shiloh’s leash. “You can’t jump on people!”
“It’s okay,” I say to the ground. “I don’t mind it; I just need my hat and glasses. Well, the glasses are toast.”
“Oh man, I am so sorry,” she says, eyeing the destroyed sunglasses. I keep my face hidden so she can’t see me. I was doing so well. The disguise is necessary. It’s the only way I can get out and do normal people things.
Of course, maybe it would be better if I got photographed walking through a park rather than the usual constant barrage of photos hitting magazines showing me getting too drunk at a club and trying to fight the bouncer.
My agent is trying to help me fix my reputation, and he’d probably love it if I had pictures now. I glance around, careful to make sure Leila doesn’t see me, but I don’t see anyone eager to take my photo.
On the ground, Shiloh continues to try and lick my face as I search for the hat. How could it have gone far? I search the ground, unable to do much with the limited view I have while trying to stay hidden. Just because I can’t see them, doesn’t mean there’s no one around, and I’d rather Leila not see my face and recognize me and alert the hidden guys surely here trying to catch a glimpse of a celebrity.
They’d prefer someone more famous who isn’t on the down swing of his career, but they’d settle for me. And while I’m torn between getting my pictures taken to get my agent off my ass and talking to the cute girl in the park who has no idea who I am right now, which is a relief I don’t get often, I think I’d rather they didn’t get my photo.
“My hat,” I say to Leila, still not looking at her. She starts to shuffle away from me, either helping me search or deciding I’m no longer worth her time and leaving me in the dust. Either would be understandable.
“Oh! It’s over here!” Leila says.
I crawl over to where I can see her hand pointing and reach for it. While I’m reaching, Leila does the same, and our hands touch in an electric embrace. We both pull back, laughing, and then reach again, touching once more.
“I’ll get it,” I finally say, picking up the hat, slipping it on my head, and stuffing my long, dark hair into the cap. I sigh. The hat isn’t enough, so I don’t know why I bothered. Without the glasses, I’ll be recognized for sure. Hiding my hair is good, though, because I’ve become known for the unruly haircut my parents hate. All the more reason to keep it, even when it drives me crazy in the summer.