Page 21 of Saving Ian Pope

“What? You want a kiss now?” She leaned forward and closed her eyes.

I kissed the smoothie from her mouth and licked my lips. “I was just telling you that you had some green sludge on your upper lip.”

Squealing, she grabbed her napkin and swiped it across her mouth. “You must think I’m a total idiot.”

“I think you’re adorable, and I wanted to kiss you, anyway.” I crunched into a piece of toast. “What are we going to do today after I pick up my bags?”

“It’s a surprise. I get the feeling you didn’t see much of LA when you were living in Calabasas, so I’m going to give you an, I love LA tour for the next few weeks. How does that sound?” She slurped some tea from her mug, her green eyes sparkling above the rim.

I didn’t need the tour. I’d decided I already loved LA.

Chapter 8

IAN

I loosened my grip from the edge of my seat as Ivy wheeled into the driveway of the Beverly Hills Hotel, toward its famous sign and beneath its iconic green and white striped awning. She’d driven like a maniac down Sunset Boulevard. Must mean she was in a hurry for me to pick up my stuff and stay with her.

She screeched to a halt several feet past the valet parking attendants. “I’ll wait here.”

“Are you sure?”

She adjusted her rearview mirror. “As long as these guys with their neat black vests and bowties let me.”

“I’ll talk to them. I won’t be long.” I pushed open the car door and stopped the two valets heading towards Ivy’s car. “She’s waiting for me. Is that okay?”

They backed off. “Of course, sir.”

I’d have to get some cash from Jack to tip them on my way out or have them add something to the room charge.Jack. Time to face the ogre. Sometimes it seemed as if Jack cared more about my career than I did—of course, that didn’t take much these days.

I sailed through the lobby, waved to a few fans some busy bellhop had herded toward the door, and punched the elevator button for my room on the fourth floor, down the hall from Jack’s room. I’d texted Jack earlier to let him know what time I’d be here, and the guy must’ve had his ear pressed against his door because the minute I stepped into my room, Jack called me from a few doors down.

“Hey, Ian.” He appeared in my doorway, his face flushed, as if he’d run a half marathon instead of twenty feet. I held the door open for him, and Jack followed me into the room.

I flipped open my suitcase on the floor with my foot. “Did you have a good time with your friends? How’d you like the book festival.”

“Yeah, yeah. It was good, mate.” Jack sliced his hand through the air to put an end to the trivial conversation. “Who’s this Ivy person?”

“Ivy Chase.” I slid several shirts from the hangers in the closet and folded them on the bed. “I told you. She’s a romance author I met at the book festival—so cheers to you for that great suggestion. We really hit it off, and I’m going to spend a few weeks with her. But don’t worry. Ever since yesterday, I’ve had lyrics running through my head and melodies thumping in my veins. I have some great ideas for some songs, and she has work to do, as well. I can get some serious writing done here.”

Jack folded his skinny arms, bunching the sleeves of his polo shirt with his hands. “You already have songs for the album, Ian.”

“They’re shit. You know it, and I know it. I’m not happy with any of it. They’re not reflective of who I am now—after rehab.” I stuffed my folded shirts into the suitcase and pivoted to the cavernous bathroom, bigger than Ivy’s kitchen.

Jack followed me. “How’s that going?”

“My recovery?” I snatched my toiletry bag from the hook on the back of the door and loaded it with products from the sink. “It’s good. I feel good. Honestly haven’t had a craving since I met Ivy.”

“Does she drink? Use?”

“She may drink. I didn’t ask her, but she didn’t drink anything around me. Drugs? I doubt it.” I shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’m feeling good.”

Jack chewed on his thumbnail, a habit he acquired when he worked for the management team overseeing Five2. “Have you been on social media lately? D-did you see...?

“I saw it, and I don’t wanna talk about it.” I slammed the bathroom door in Jack’s face and changed clothes; the sand still clinging to my jeans dusted the tiles on the floor as I shook them out.

Jack yelled through the door. “You’ve said good around five times now, even though you’ve seen what’s trending on social media. Don’t give me a load of bollocks, Ian.”

I swung open the door, and Jack scooted out of the way as I charged past him with my toiletry bag with Jack still yelling at my back. “It’s always good, mate, until it’s not. Your sobriety is too important right now to risk being around a bad influence.”

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