Adrift

  Adrift

  Piper Rayne

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  © 2018 by Piper Rayne

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  Cover design: Perfect Pear Creative Covers

  Line Editor: Shawna Gavas, Behind The Writer

  Contents

  Free Download

  Chapter One

  Chapter two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  About the Author

  Also by Piper & Rayne

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  Chapter One

  Vance

  You’d think I had a pair of red sequin shoes and I was skipping down the yellow brick road when my truck tires leave the highway, far away from my small town of Climax Cove where I grew up between the ocean and the mountains of Oregon.

  My pickup rolls up next to a Bentley with the window half rolled down. A business man is behind the steering wheel smoking a cigar. Once the white puff of smoke clears, he winks at me. It isn’t until the car pulls forward that I see a pile of blonde hair bobbing up and down on his crotch.

  “I’m definitely not in Climax Cove anymore and hell if I want to go back,” I mumble to myself. My truck backfires as I press down on the gas trying to pay attention to the road and not all the hot ass strutting down the sidewalk.

  Not that the hot ass is giving me a second look. Especially when the cloud of smoke coming out of my car isn’t from a thousand-dollar cigar, but my exhaust.

  I read the next line on my MapQuest directions my sister, Charlie, printed out for me. According to this piece of paper I should be at my new apartment within ten minutes.

  Deciding to leave the safety and security of a town where everyone thought I was the golden egg that’s only laid every fifty years wasn’t easy. To leave my parents, my sister, my best friend, Garrett...was a tough call, but I had to find out if I could make my dream of being a screenwriter happen. I’ve given myself one year to make it.

  “Watch where you’re going!” A guy honks his horn and flips me off, the tires of his sports car squealing as he rounds the corner.

  I chuckle at the idiocy of some people and turn into the parking lot of the row of apartments I’ll now call home. Spotting an empty space, I back in to make it easier to unload all my crap.

  I step out of my truck and inhale deeply. I’m not making bank—yet—and so the complex isn’t near the ocean, but that doesn’t matter to me. I got enough salt water air to last a lifetime at home. The sound of traffic in the distance and the general hum of the city welcomes me to the place I was desperate to call home ever since I can remember.

  Stretching my arms overhead, a car full of girls drive up, all of their eyes zoomed in on every inch of my body. I’m not new to girl’s enamored eyes, but these girls are like the ones I see in magazines and commercials. They’re a whole new level.

  I wave, and they giggle. Shit, just as easy as at the Happy Daze Tavern back home. I’m about to approach them when I realize my truck is running, so I turn back around and grab the keys out of the ignition. Swinging them around my finger I head back to the wonderland of girls, but they’re mouths are open, disgust in their eyes now that they’ve seen my truck.

  Instead of approaching them as planned, I turn up the walkway of the apartment number the guy I’m rooming with gave me.

  The complex isn’t bad, but it’s not super nice either. Definitely doable. Now I just hope my roommate is as cool as he sounded on the phone.

  I head up to the third floor, taking the stairs since there’s no elevator, and knock on door 356. One plus is that I’ll be that much closer to ripped abs from the cardio of three floors.

  There’s no answer so I knock again.

  No answer.

  I dig into my pocket to retrieve the key my new roommate, Leo, mailed me. I feel awkward using it even if he’s not home regardless of the fact that I’ve already paid my security deposit and first month’s rent.

  Inserting the key, the lock clicks open, and I peek my head inside. No one’s around. The small television in the corner is dark. No music playing. No talking. I push the door open to the place I’ll be calling home until I can snag a job that pays me enough to live on my own.

  The first thing I notice is stacks of fabric on the kitchen table. Not manly fabric either—lace, sheer, and that tutu material. Other than that, the tiny space is spotless. A What’s up, L.A. magazine sits on the coffee table in front of the couch but there’s nothing else displayed that gives me any information as to what this guy’s about.

  I guess my fear about the place being a bachelor pad full of empty beer cans and pizza boxes because Leo is single was all for naught.

  I’m halfway down the hall to check out my bedroom when I hear a soft knock on the door.

  “Leo,” a feminine voice sing-songs.

  I turn, and a redhead is standing in the doorway, her eyes glittering with appreciation before I even introduce myself.

  She’s wearing—or practically not wearing—a tight t-shirt that exposes her flat stomach and short shorts that show off her long, tanned legs and pink painted toes in a pair of flip-flops.

  My dick twitches. The bastard never can keep his opinions to himself.

  She tilts her head, bites her lip and eye fucks me for a second.

  Damn, I’m really going to enjoy L.A.

  “Are you the new roommate?” she asks, not crossing over the threshold.

  “Vance.” I step forward with my hand held out, forgetting my bedroom. The caveman in me wishes I could carry this piece of eye candy in there, so she can initiate me into the L.A. Club of Bachelors.

  She shakes my hand. “Ashley.” Her hand is soft and gentle. “I live downstairs. Leo made this outfit for…” Her eyes scour the apartment and then she nibbles on her cheek.

  “I don’t think he’s here.”

  Her shoulders deflate and a small pout rests on her lickable lips. “I saw him leaving with his board, but I thought maybe he’d be back by now.”

  “I’m sorry. Did you want to come in?” I step to the side.

  “No. Can you just tell Leo to come down when he returns? It’s kind of important.”

  “Sure.”

  She smiles a perfectly straight pearl-white smile and her eyes peruse my body once again. “Welcome to L.A. Vance.”

  She waves her hand and then descends the stairs before I can say thank you. Peeking out to the hallway, I watch her ass sway back and forth down the stairs.

  Oh, I’m definitely going to like L.A.

  Chapter two

  Vance

  I head down to my truck at the same time a Bronco squeals around the corner and flies into the parking lot, turning and stopping abruptly at the spot five down from mine.

  A blond-haired guy steps out, a wetsuit unzipped and hanging from his waist. “Vance?” he asks when he spots me.

  Not hard to spot the guy wearing a flannel shirt and jeans in ninety-degree weather I guess.

  “Leo?” I ask.

  A welcoming smile envelops his entire face and he has his hand outstretched while he makes his way over to me. “I’m sorry, man, I lost track of time.”

  His handshake is a lot firmer than Ashley’s.

  “It’s okay. I wasn’t expecting the Welcome Wagon.”

  He laughs. “The least I can do is help you with your shit.” Without blinking he grabs a box from the back of my truck and starts walking up the sidewalk.

  I follow suit with my own box.

  “So, Oregon huh?” he asks while we climb the flights of stairs.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m from Chicago. We’re both transplants.” He glances over his shoulder, his big smile still on display.

  “How long have you been here?” I reposition the box as we start on the second flight of stairs.

  “Six months. My last roommate moved back to Kansas.” At the door of our apartment, he heads down the hall and drops the box on the floor of my new room. “He’s a reminder of how many dreams tinsel town crushes.”

  I nod, placing my box beside his.

  “What’s your fame and fortune?” He heads back down the hall, but heads to the kitchen instead of the door, opening the fridge and taking out two beers. Opening it with a dishtowel, he hands one over to me.

  “Fame and fortune?”

  He sits on the counter. “Yeah, what are you here to make happen?” He smiles and points to the corkboard on the kitchen wall. “Those are my headshots. Acting.” He points to himself.

  My head falls back in understanding. “Gotcha. Script writer,” I say and point to myself.

  He nods, no judgement in his expression, unlike my family and friends back in Climax Cove. I swear they all think I’ll be back in a year. I’ll do everything to prove them wrong no matter what it takes.

  “TV or movies?” He tips the beer bottle and downs a good amount.

  “Movies.”

  “Cool.” He slides down from the counter. “Let’s get you moved in. I’ll take you to see some sights. You surf?” he asks before setting his beer on the counter and leaving the room.

  The man never stops moving.

&n
bsp; “No.”

  “Yet. You’ll be surfing soon. I’m still kind of new to it, but I’m learning and it’s addicting man.”

  He practically runs down the stairs and I hurry to keep up.

  Another hour of non-stop questions from Leo and he could be my closest friend with how much he knows about me. All my shit is in the apartment and I’ve changed from my jeans and flannel to shorts and a t-shirt.

  “Oh, Ashley came by for you.” I walk into the kitchen, on my third beer.

  Leo’s on the couch, his feet stretched out on the table. Grabbing his cell phone off the side table, he thumbs a bunch of buttons.

  “She wants me to make her some lingerie.” He rolls his eyes.

  “I saw all that fabric piled up. I thought you were an actor?”

  He laughs, placing his phone in his lap. “I am, but I fixed one of her blouses this one night we went out. She found out I could sew—”

  “Wait, you sew?” I ask. This guy does not look like a sewer. I don’t really know what a sewer looks like, but it’s not him.

  The look on his face tells me I’m not the only one who’s ever asked. “Long story short, my mom used to work on Broadway back home and I spent a lot of time at the theatre so she put me to work.”

  I nod. “Got it.”

  “Anyway, Ashley got me to make her dog an outfit and now she’s pushing me to make lingerie. I think she just wants me to measure her.”

  “I don’t see a problem with that. She’s smokin’.” I flop down in the chair adjacent to the couch.

  “She’s hot for sure, but Ashley is kind of…let’s just say she has a fear of being alone.”

  I nod in understanding. “Clinger?”

  “Yeah, stage five.”

  The rest of the afternoon we drink beer, order pizza and watch some show about a biker gang that Leo says he’s become addicted to called, Sons of Anarchy. He even started at the first episode for me after I asked so many questions.

  With a start like this, I have a feeling L.A. is going to be really good to me.

  It’s been two months since I moved to Los Angeles and I might not be selling my script, but I got a job as an assistant to a producer on American Idol—aka a glorified coffee runner. Leo said it’s all about getting your foot in the door in order to get your start.

  It’s Wednesday and Leo and I are watching another episode of Sons of Anarchy when a huge bang sounds from outside. We both spring up to check it out and when we open the door we find two movers in the hallway with a giant couch propped up on its side. Although they’re arguing in Spanish and I don’t speak a word of the language, it’s clear they’re figuring out how to fit it through the door.

  Seeing our door open, they politely ask to use the opening to guide the couch into the apartment directly across from ours. We agree because really, what do we care? And, also because our interest is piqued. I know we’re both wondering whether it’s another Ashley type moving into the building. We watch for a minute while the movers pivot and turn to make the couch fit, but the owner doesn’t show so we assume our previous positions.

  “I’d hoped I’d be able to afford the place across the way.” I admit to Leo.

  He nods.

  We get along great as roommates, but I think we’d both prefer to live alone.

  “I had the same hope when Decker moved out that I’d be able to handle the rent myself. I guess not until I land that acting job.”

  “Or you sell enough of these.” I hold up a cute tutu skirt for a dog.

  Ashley might want in both of our pants along with any male that will give her the attention she craves, but she shared the tutu Leo made her Chihuahua on her Facebook page and Leo has been bombarded with requests to make more.

  I joke that he’ll be designing dog clothes for the rest of his life and he busts my balls by saying that the script I spend hours on will never been seen by an audience. It’s all in good fun and keeps our eyes on the reason why we left our families behind to pursue our dreams.

  “It’s a nice side business.” He shrugs.

  “I figured as much since I got woken up by the sound of the sewing machine again this morning.” I crack open a bottle of water.

  “I’m thinking of making up boxes to put the outfits in. Make it seem really high end so I can charge more.” He tosses me a piece of paper of what he’s drawn up.

  Leo might want to be an actor, but he’s so ambitious I could see this becoming his career no matter how much he denies it.

  “Careful, I see a career shift in your future.” I nod and toss it back to him. “Looks fancy.”

  He tosses it to the side of him. “It’s just until I star in your blockbuster movie.” He smirks.

  In our dreams. Dreams I know will see the light of day at some point.

  “You’re fucking kidding me!” The sound of a man screaming sounds from outside the door.

  Leo and I both run to the door, nudging the other out of the way. I peek through the peephole first to find a tall man in an expensive suit standing in the doorway of the apartment across the way.

  “It’s the fucking size of my bedroom,” he says to no one.

  His head is shaking. Leo pushes me out of the way, the door slams shut, and we exchange a look.

  “Interesting,” I mumble as we make our way back to the living room.

  We don’t have time to say more because there’s a knock on our door a minute later.

  Leo opens it and there stands the man in the suit. I’d say he’s close to our age but that’s where the similarity ends. Where we’re laid back, this guy is obviously high strung. And we’re in shorts and T-shirts, while he’s wearing an expensive suit with his tie loose around his neck, his vest unbuttoned.

  “Do you have the landlord’s number?” he asks.

  No hello. No hey, I’m your new neighbor. What’s with this guy?

  “My apartment is a fucking shit hole and my shower head is trickling water,” he goes on to say and walks past us into our apartment without an invitation.

  I eye Leo behind his back with a what-the-fuck look.

  “Your place is nicer. I have to actually shit where I eat.” He runs a hand through his hair and blows out a frustrated breath. “My son of a bitch father and his learn your lesson crap.”

  I open the fridge, cracking a beer open and sliding it over to him on the counter. “I’m Vance and this is Leo.”

  He looks between us. “Jagger. Jagger Kale.” He says his name like James Bond. Like it’s a name that should register something with us.

  Leo shrugs.

  I’m with him.

  Jagger walks around the small apartment, as though he’s a guest and we invited him over for a party.

  “Oh, I get it now.” He picks up a tutu off the table and then looks to each of us. “I hope I don’t cause any strife between you two.” He winks and smiles.

  Again, I glance at Leo and his eyebrows are raised in a who-the-fuck-is-this-guy way.

  I take the bait. “Why would you?”

  He shakes the tutu in front of him. “Cause, I’m hot.”

  Finally, our crinkled brows and confused expressions must register to him. “You’re gay, right?”

  “No!” We both say in unison.

  “What’s with the tutu then?” He drops it on the table. Leo runs over and moves it away from him like he might ruin his work somehow.

  “Leo makes those for dogs,” I say as if that proves our point.

  The guy takes a long pull on his beer, swallows and then his gaze volleys between us. “And you’re really not gay?” He places his beer on the table. “I’m totally cool if you are.”

  “We’re not,” Leo says.

  He shrugs like it doesn’t really matter.

  Leo moves to a drawer, scribbles something down on a piece of paper and hands it to Jagger. “Here’s the landlords number.”

  Jagger stuffs it in the inside pocket of his jacket. “Cool, thanks.” He eyes the two surf boards propped against the wall in the corner of our apartment. “You guys surf?”