Unwritten (Page 66)

“Does this mean you’re going to try and get her back?” He arches an eyebrow.

I nod. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Thank God,” Ash smirks. “Tegan gave me permission to beat your ass if that’s what it took. But I figured your director wouldn’t appreciate you strung up in traction.”

“You mean this was an intervention?” I exclaim. “You were never going to buy that land?”

Ash laughs. “It’s too far from home. Besides, it’s like you said, I might as well set up in Beachwood Bay. In fact, I’m looking at some land there to develop.”

“That’s great. Tegan will be happy to see you.”

“Maybe you and Zoey will want a beach house,” he adds with a knowing look. “Once you get her back.”

“Don’t say that.” I feel a twinge of anxiety. “We don’t know what she’ll say yet. I don’t know if she’ll give me the time of day again. I might be too late.”

But if I’m not?

There’s nothing in the world that can stand between us now. She’s the only one I want, and dammit, I’m ready to make her see.

I love her more than anything.

26.

Zoey

It’s hard to forget your ex-boyfriend when there are billboards of him on every street corner.

I sit in traffic on Sunset Boulevard, staring up at Blake’s face. The Judgement Day premiere is tonight, and I can’t get away from him: towering over the intersection, thirty feet in the air. He’s gripping a machine gun, sweat gleaming on his perfect tanned skin with his mud-stained T-shirt clinging to every muscle.

My heart aches.

He looks incredible, but the real kicker is, I know it’s even better in real life. I can’t help flashing back to the night in the rain, when he came to tell me how he really felt. All his emotion and pain only made me love him more; he wasn’t just pretending to be a movie hero up there on the screen, he was a real, raw human being, capable of so much love and feeling.

Until he chose that pretend world over me.

“I hope the aliens get you,” I mutter, as the lights finally change to green and I drive away.

Until his next film. And the next.

Crap! There’s really no escaping him, not even with him on the other side of the world. I change the subject every time Tegan mentions him in our phone calls; ignore his face on the newsstand, and try not to remember the time we spent together, but still, I can’t help it.

I miss him so much, even after everything.

My cellphone rings, pulling me out of my wistful misery. I hit my hands-free gadget and answer.

“Hello?”

“I’m running late.”

I laugh. “You’re always late.”

“I know, but this time I’m an hour behind. Bloody hangover,” Dash curses.

“Is it the hangover that’s making you late, or the girl who helped get you there?” I tease. After working closely with him on this new script, I know all of Dash’s many vices.

He groans. “Darlin’, I quit, I promise. Soon as we get this thing wrapped, I’m checking myself into a monastery somewhere. One of those places in the mountains where you catch fish and live a simple life. No studio execs breathing down my neck, driving me to a life of sin and debauchery.”

“I’m pretty sure Uber is doing the driving,” I laugh. “Take your time, I’ll be in the usual spot.”

“You’re a doll.”

Dash hangs up just as I pull into the parking lot of the cafe that’s become our regular workplace. It’s already full of people working on their laptops. It’s a running joke in Hollywood that you can’t walk into a Starbucks without tripping over aspiring writers working on their screenplay, but as I nab a sunny table by the window, I feel a surge of pride.

I’m really doing this.

When Dash asked me to collaborate with him on his next movie, I was excited—and scared. I’d only ever revised a few pages for him, writing a whole script was a huge challenge. But he’s been so much fun to work with, bouncing ideas around and genuinely listening to my opinions. The whole process has been a huge learning experience for me, and cemented my determination to try to make writing my chosen path.

“Iced mocha, extra whip.” The drink is set on my table with a thump. I look up, surprised.

“Sophie!” I exclaim, hugging her. “I thought you’d be in class today.”

“I had a free morning, and I figured I’d find you here,” she smiles, her hair pulled up in a casual ponytail. She’s wearing one of her vintage sundresses and red lipstick. “I’ve got a ton of studying to do. Wanna split the table?”

“Of course.” We get settled with our laptops and books. With Tegan back in Beachwood Bay, Sophie has become my closest friend in LA; I hang out with her and Austin all the time, so I know her schedule pretty well.

And visa versa, it seems. “Am I really this predictable?” I ask, as Sophie slides her plate of cookie over to share.

She laughs. “Predictable can be good. Don’t tell Austin, but I love having a routine. It helps me keep on top of all of this,” she nods to the stack of study materials with a rueful look.