Until Then

4. Hayley

FOUR

Hayley

I sneak down the hallway, hair a tangled mess, sleep still crusted over in my eyes. Somewhere in this mammoth of a condo, my phone is blaring again, and again.

Gray dawn streaks through the glass panes of the door to the balcony. There’s enough light to find my deep purse. It’s more a satchel than anything, but there are endless pockets, and my head is bogged down from sleeping like a corpse, the phone stops ringing and starts again by the time I find it.

A soft curse slips over my lips when I read Greer’s name.

“G?” My voice cracks when I answer.

“Hayley Mae Foster! Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling and texting you all night. I’m two seconds from selling my blood to cast a tracking spell or something like that.”

I rub my brow. “Greer, I sent you a text with the license of the guy and told you I was going out.”

“With Noah The-Ab-Gods-Adore-Him Hayden! Pretty sure he dated your model bestie once. How are you so calm? Where are you? Were you drunk? Coerced? Swept up by a moment of starstruckness? Mostly I can’t decide if I’m totally in awe of your grit, or if I need to ask what you’ve done with my flannel- obsessed, introverted friend? I didn’t even know you were a fan of the TV show. Thought you were a die-hard crime show girlie.”

TV Show? Calm? Starstruck?

My stomach starts to swirl. “Okay, I need you to speak to me like I’m new to life. One, how do you know Noah has abs? Two, why do you think I should be freaking out?”

Greer says no less than half a dozen swears, all focused on my obliviousness. “Haze, I love you, I really do, but you live in L.A. You know that, right? You know there are these things like billboards, advertisements, god-like people who have this lucrative career called actors.”

No. No. Look, I know I rarely go to downtown L.A. I know I don’t keep up with the TV. I prefer to read—it’s book releases I stalk, not TV and movies. Nan prefers black and white Cary Grant films, and Mom will take Robert Redford over Tom Hardy any day.

I only check one Facebook and Instagram account, and it’s for my therapy services, not me.

My hand squeezes the phone and my voice is nothing more than a rough whisper. “Is Noah famous? Tell me straight.”

“Girl.” Greer sighs. “Yes. The man is in the show Wicked Darlings . Nay, I recant—he’s the freaking lead. Has been for the seven seasons! Oh, and his brother—get this—is a rockstar. Deliciously hot, but also . . . married. I’ll look but not touch, you know? Girl code.”

I’m going to be sick.

How reckless can I be? I stayed over at a man’s house, a man I didn’t know. And he’s apparently utterly recognizable by the female population.

Except sheltered, na?ve me .

“Noah is known in all the major circles,” Greer goes on. “Always has a new model on his arm, you know? Girl, this is . . . I mean, go you, Haze. Go. You. I’m speechless. Well, speechless for me. Wait, you’re all right, aren’t you?” Greer takes a long breath in, cutting off her rambling for a moment before she barrels on with more panic. “He didn’t like, roofie you, right? Sometimes these famous guys get busted for being perverts. He doesn’t seem the type, has that innocent look, you know, but . . . sometimes it’s the sweet ones. Where are you? Can you get out? Do you want to get out? Speak to me !”

“Greer,” I whisper. “I’m fine. Noah was . . . well, it was the perfect day. But, um, go back to the models on his arm part.”

Greer takes a loud breath. “Sweetie, he’s Noah Hayden. A beautiful, philandering philanthropist. Or so they say. He does seem to have a lot of luck with a lot of different women. But I mean, he gives back to be sure. I can’t tell you details, but the firm knows his name well.”

Greer works for a public interest law firm and helps those who run non-profits all the time.

Noah’s theater kids are likely real.

I smile, but my chin trembles. He didn’t lie to me, but he clearly omitted a massive detail. Such an omission that took a choice out of my hands. I refuse to step into the light of the rich and famous, and I keep my reasons for it close to my heart.

Jasper was a new writer, hardly making a living when we met. I was supportive, thinking he would move into talk shows or radio until he got his big break with a showrunner for a streaming service.

The poison of the limelight took him just like it always did. Sex, parties, not caring he had a faithful fiancée who’d stood with him from the beginning back at home.

For all I know, Noah Hayden saw a new conquest. A woman who didn’t know about his status, and one he could manipulate.

“Haze.”

“I think I should go before he wakes up.”

“Or live your life on the wild side for a few more hours,” Greer said.

“I feel lied to,” I admit.

“Maybe he thought you knew who he was and assumed you didn’t care.”

“I asked him what he did for a living and he told me he teaches kids about acting. He intentionally left out the part where he’s on a massive TV Show.”

“ Wicked Darlings is huge. It was trending at number one for basically five weeks last season. I need you to know something, don’t hold it against me. I’ve seen your future husband’s naked butt. Way more than once. And it’s perfect.”

“ Greer .” I scrub a hand down my face. I did not need to know the guy who clawed into my bloodstream yesterday films graphic love scenes with beautiful actresses. “He’s an actor and . . . I thought it was real.”

“Haze.” There is sympathy in her voice. “Who says it wasn’t?”

“Be honest, am I really his type?”

She pauses again. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Exactly. I was someone easy, someone a little desperate after a breakup. The perfect chance to practice being exactly what the viewer wanted. It’s what he does for a living, to be someone else. To play a role.”

Hot tears burn behind my eyes.

“Let me come get you,” Greer says, softer than before.

“No.” I swallow through the emotion. “I’ll just leave and take a car.”

“Hayley,” she says. “You might be wrong here. You might not be his typical type, but . . . maybe that’s exactly why you caught his eye.”

“I caught his eye because I was feral for a scone.” I’m such an idiot, but I refuse to be hurt by men who live the life of Noah again. It’s like a curse for me, and I plan to end the cycle.

Today.

Even if it hurts.

A door squeaks on the hinges down the hall.

“Greer,” I say through a hiss, “I think he’s coming.”

“Haze, don’t hang up, tell me where you?—”

“I’ll text you.” I disconnect the phone the moment Noah steps into the rising sunlight.

Gosh, he’s edible. His messy hair stands on end and his stubble is darker. As promised, he wears the cowboy pajama pants but he opted out of a shirt. Truly, I should thank him for the show of his flat stomach, the V-shape carving down below his waist line, and those divots of abs Greer talked about.

Noah flashes me a bright grin and rubs the sleep from his eyes. “Morning.”

“Hi.” My voice is rough.

“Want some coffee?” He strides over to me, looking like he might kiss me.

I turn my head and let his lips graze my cheek in a way that doesn’t seem intentional.

“Um, I actually just got a call that one of our horses is sick. I, uh, I better get going.”

Noah leans against the edge of his countertop. “That sucks. Do they think the horse’ll be okay?”

Why does he have to seem like he cares?

Maybe he does.

I blow out a slow breath. Someday I’m going to learn not to trust so easily. Today ought to be that day. He’s famous. High profile. I’m not his type. I’m a simple, no-strings attached conquest.

And I’m wholly ashamed of my own stupidity for thinking my life was about to change last night.

“I’m sure she’ll be all right,” I say. “But my grandma, she can’t handle it on her own, and I’m the one who usually deals with all this stuff, you know?”

He dips his chin in understanding. “Well, let me drive you.”

Drive me? Not call a car. Not a simple, ‘okay, see you later’? He wants to drive me.

He’s either very, very good at his job, or he’s genuine and I’m about to walk out on something awesome because I can’t stomach the idea of having my heart crushed all over again.

“No, that’s okay. I’ve already called a car,” I lie. I take a step toward the hallway that leads to the front door. “Well, um, thank you. For yesterday. It was great.”

Noah smirks, the same delicious smirk that ensnared me before. He runs his knuckles down my arm. “I agree. We’re doing this all out of order, but can I get your number?”

“You going to ask me out to one of those productions put on by those theater kids?”

He chuckles. “Maybe. Or maybe I just want to call you, too.”

My heart cracks. For a moment, I thought he might give up a bit more about himself. But he seems content to keep the truth of it locked up.

Perhaps he has his reasons, just like I have mine, to be so heartily against immersing myself into the lifestyle of Hollywood.

I don’t know how to get out of the question, so I slide my phone over and say, “How about you just put your number in, and I’ll call you.”

Noah takes up my phone. “As you say, Wildfire.”

“Wildfire?”

He flicks a lock of my red hair. “Reminds me of a flame, and your eyes sort of blaze when you talk. You’re a wildfire that burned through me yesterday.”

What a line.

No really, it was a stupidly good line.

I clench my fists at my sides while he enters his number, battling with my own frantic mind over if I should trust him, or if I’ll stumble face first all over again when I’m left unwanted and never enough.

Noah hands me back my phone and walks me to the door.

I freeze when he kisses me slowly, tenderly, like he’s worshiping my mouth. For a moment, I even let myself fall into it.

A beautiful goodbye.

“Well, thanks,” I say with an awkward shift back and forth on my feet. “Talk to you later.”

Noah’s hands catch the top of his front door and he leans forward, the bulge of his biceps heating the blood low in my belly. He smiles and says, “Until then, Wildfire.”

Outside, around the corner, out of sight from Noah’s condo, I stare at the new contact in my phone through blurry tears.

He put his name as Wildfire’s.

I got a nickname and he let me claim him all in five minutes. Like he belongs to me.

I don’t know if I’m making the biggest mistake of my life, but I swear I hear the snap of my heart falling apart when I delete the name from my phone.