Page 7 of Saving Ian Pope

“Actually, yeah, the fourth and last book of the series. Book three is already done.” I pushed up from the bench and eyed the tree behind us, on the lookout for that rogue squirrel. “What did you have in mind?”

He quirked his eyebrows up and down. “Surprise me.”

***

An hour later, I wheeled my compact SUV up to the curb in front of a small group of one-story, fifties-era bungalows. I loved my little place in Santa Monica, just north of Wilshire Boulevard, a detached house built on a large lot with three other houses. I’d bought it just over a year ago with my share of the life insurance money and still needed a roommate to make my mortgage payments, but it beat renting.

Ian tapped the window with his knuckle. “You brought me back to your place? Bold move, ain’t it.”

I poked him in the arm. “Just for a minute. I’m going to change out of this skirt and these shoes. I-I thought we’d go down to the pier...if that’s okay with you.”

“That’s a great idea. Never been there.”

I did a double take before grasping the door handle. He’d lived in LA and hadn’t been to the Santa Monica Pier? “You can wait in the car, if you like. I’ll be right back.”

“I’d rather come in, unless you don’t want me to.” He took off his hat, and ran a hand through his wavy hair, longer than I’d remembered from the last pictures I’d seen of him.

WhenhadI last seen pictures or video of Ian Pope? I couldn’t recall, but his hair had decidedly been shorter and more styled. I liked his messy brown mop that brushed his collarbone and framed his handsome face. Yikes! The cute boy had become a hot man with a hot body.

“Sure, c’mon.” I stumbled out of the car, suddenly nervous. Had I cleaned up the kitchen before I left? Put away my vibrator? Made my bed? Not that he’d be in my bed—or anywhere near it—unless some magical transfer of romance power had occurred when we’d both wrestled Fabio.

I practically skipped down the walkway that led to my snug bungalow that had once been part of a small single-story apartment complex of four detached units. I’d snapped up the last unit shortly after the conversion to single-family.

I waved to Janet, my elderly neighbor across from me, watering her potted plants that separated her unit from the shared courtyard. No chance Janet would recognize Ian, even without his hat and sunglasses. Jim Morrison of The Doors, maybe, whom she’d claimed to have seen—and blown—at the Whiskey-A-Go-Go on Sunset back in the day, but not Ian Pope.

On the way to my place, I led Ian between two rows of plants and flowering bushes that culminated in a riot of pink bougainvillea climbing a trellis next to my door. The jasmine in the pot on the other side of the door provided the sweet fragrance, but the bougainvillea provided the color and Southern California vibe.

It didn’t escape Ian’s notice, as he closed his eyes and made a show of inhaling the scent. “That’s sweet.”

Despite my trembling fingers, I unlocked the front door on the first try. “C’mon in. I’ll just be a minute.”

I dropped my bag on the floor and tossed my keys into the basket on the small table in the entryway.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Ian strolled into my living room. “Cozy.”

“Yeah, I know that’s another word for small, but it’s big enough for us.”

“Us?” He spun around.

“My roommate, Chloe, and I. She rents from me and helps me pay my mortgage.” I waved my hands. “Oh, she’s not here right now. Her boyfriend lives in San Diego, and she spends a lot of time down there. I don’t know why she doesn’t just move in with him, but she’s also my best friend, and she vowed to stay with me.”

He picked up Loki’s dog tags from the basket and jingled them. “You have a dog?”

“I did have a dog—a Great Dane named Loki.” I rubbed my nose. “He died a few years ago, but I keep his tags.”

His face softened, and he dropped the tags. “Aw, I’m sorry. That always hurts.”

I took a deep breath, dizzy from all the personal information I was revealing to a stranger—one known the world over, but still a stranger. “I’ll be right back. Do you want something to drink? I have some bottles of water in the fridge, no beer, I’m afraid, but Chloe loves her wine, so I’m sure there’s an open bottle of white in there.”

“Uh, water’s good.”

“Help yourself.” I traipsed down the short hallway and ducked into my bedroom. I shut the door behind me and leaned against it, placing one hand against my chest, measuring my galloping heart.

Was I just imagining this electricity between us? Did he feel it too, or was he just bored? Hard to believe he didn’t have celebrity friends in LA he could hang with.

I sat on the edge of my bed and slipped off my high, wedge sandals. Then I unbuttoned my floral skirt and stood up, letting it fall in a heap around my legs. I stepped out of it and grabbed a pair of denim cut-offs from my dresser. I shoved my feet into a pair of flipflops, traded my pink blouse for a green T-shirt and yanked a striped hoodie from a hanger in the closet.

A little out of breath, I emerged from the hallway to find Ian with a framed photo in his hands. My heart skipped a beat when I recognized the picture.

---