This Is How We Do It // Montell Jordan

I'm late.

Not so late I missed the meal, but late enough that when I walk in, everyone's going to look up at the asshole. Me. Even for an LA party where no one's on time, this is pushing it.

I whip my car around the corner, miraculously without losing a hubcap. This hunk of metal is a piece of shit, but I can't complain. It gets me from point A to point B—usually. There was the one time I got stranded in Pasadena. Zack showed up in his equally shitty truck to pick my ass up. We went back the next day with a spark plug or something. I have no idea. The guy grew up on a ranch fixing all kinds of shit with his dad. I don't have those skills. But damn, I miss those days. Now he's practically wifed up, and I'm missing my wingman.

I gun the motor, hoping like hell my clunker makes it up the hill toward Zack and Brianna's place. My former roomie blew right past the "starving artist" stage of his career when he landed a music video with a pop star. He and Brianna gelled right away, and now he's living in her Hollywood Hills mansion. If I hadn't seen their entire relationship develop before my eyes, I'd think they're full of it. Nothing in Hollyweird is real. It's called La La Land for a reason. But those two are as real as it gets.

By some miracle of God, my car makes it to the top of the hill and all the way along Bree's street. I'm sure I'm not allowed to call her Bree, but unless Zack has the power to read minds like a glittery vampire, my thoughts should be safe. I wouldn't dare call her Bree to her face. Zack may be my friend, but I've never seen someone so protective over a person as he is over Brianna. It's almost like keeping her safe is his job. He's a whipped cream pie. Which is something I would say to his face.

I park my car on the street, not bothering to lock it. Who in their right mind would steal this piece of crap on a street lined with homes to the stars? Even if they did, I couldn't care less. I actually have insurance, unlike more than a few other wannabe-actor boneheads I know. If someone stole it, the creep would be doing me a favor. In fact . . .

I sprint back to my car and drop the keys right on the driver's seat. There. Maybe my day will start looking up.

Feeling hella good about myself, I stride toward the stairs leading up to Brianna's place. Zack may have been living here for a while, but I can't bring myself to think of her house as theirs. It's too posh for a guy who used to teach karate to little kids for a living. This place is a mini-mansion overlooking Tinseltown. Plus, the house is mostly windows. It's like living in a fishbowl, if you ask me. No, thanks.

Brianna insists she share her life with Zack, though, which includes all her material possessions. But I'm no dummy. He's a karate instructor, not a Hollywood hottie. Even though half the town knows his name and he's stalked by the paparazzo wherever he goes, it's only because he's with America's sweetheart. The second they break up, he'll be as well-known as Kevin Federline. I've had to tell more people than I can count to google that guy's name. Proof that being attached to a pop star, even having kids with her, won't make you famous for long.

I give myself a pep talk as I step up to the door. I shouldn't think so negatively about my buddy's relationship. Just because I'm a jaded jerk doesn't mean his love life will eventually crash and burn. He's a nice guy. She's a nice girl. They're so sweet together it gives me a stomachache.

I admit that may be jealousy talking, but I'm also realistic. We live in a town where six months is considered a long-term relationship. Zack's been with Bree for a year. They're about to hit their shelf life.

So much for the pep talk.

Dumping on them has become a bad habit. I slap my cheeks, both sides, and plaster a Hollywood smile on my face. It's go time.

I shove open the door—unlocked because it's a party—and step through the portal into another land.

"Party boy has arrived. The games can commence," I announce to the partygoers. No one will ever say I lack confidence.

The faces in the living room turn to look at me, but no one I'm interested in is in here. Staring back at me is the bingo brigade—the older crowd of people Brianna knows from . . . wherever. Could be industry people, could be her cleaning crew. You never can tell with this girl. She loves everyone.

I stride across the floor and into the enormous kitchen built for a chef. No one but Zack cooks here, as far as I know, and that's only kale and low-carb stuff, a.k.a. air. He's the most boring eater I've ever met. And, lucky me, I've had to adopt his lifestyle for the past few months while I've been working up for a potential role. The audition for said role is the reason I'm so late.

I scan the kitchen and over to the sitting area beyond it, looking for Zack, but I don't see him or anyone else in his posse. They must be on the roof deck. That's where I'd be if this were my place. I step onto the back patio and over to the spiral staircase leading up to the roof, catching a glimpse of the pool on the other side of the yard—surprisingly large considering it's a house nestled into the hills. People are swimming and lounging in chairs. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a girl in a red bikini dive in at the deep end. I force myself to focus on the stairs and not the hot chick showing most of her skin. That's not why I'm here.

Instead I climb the stairs two at a time and emerge rooftop to a sea of faces milling about with drinks, noshing on barbecue. I spot Zack standing near a table full of . . . nothing tempting. Definitely not barbecue. Only a health-food spread. Great. I've been eating keto and working out four times a day forever. But this role will be worth it. Could make my career.

At least, that's what I tell myself every time Zack makes me eat kale.

"Yo!" I shout as I step onto the roof. I make a beeline to Zack smoother than my clunker. Wonder if anyone's stolen it yet. "Sorry I'm late," I say, clapping Zack on the shoulder while grabbing a carrot stick with my other hand. "Been moving and shaking on the old casting couch." I wink.

No, I didn't do the casting agent. That's not exactly a myth, but I've avoided it so far.

Gotta love Hollyweird.

"Jacob. How'd it go?" Zack smirks. He's probably thinking of all the ways he's going to torture me in his home gym later.

I shrug. "Pretty freaking good, if you ask me." I nosh on another carrot. Damn, I wish these were chocolate-coated cookies instead.

"I knew it would." He nods, fist-bumping me in celebration. Brianna slides right up to him. His arm automatically goes around her waist, pulling her close.

Barf. Their love gives me hives.

"Glad you could make it, Jacob." Brianna smiles, handing me a glass with clear liquid.

"This had better be vodka." I don't usually drink it straight, but I need to unwind, and I'm desperate, so I'll take it.

"It's water," she says.

"Water? What, are you trying to kill me?" I put the glass down on the table.

"Dude, she's trying to help you stay fit. That was the deal, right? I'd help you get in shape for the part, and you'd be less of a . . ." Zack rubs a hand over his face.

"Say it," I dare him with the stink eye. I know what he was going to say. He wants me to dial down my complaints about everything, and I can't exactly argue with him. I'm obnoxious. I'm loud. I say what everyone's thinking. Until a few months ago, I gave Zack so much crap over his healthy eating and working out he almost passed out when I asked him to make me Zack 2.0.

"You're supposed to be less of a shithead, Jake."

I turn at the grating voice coming from behind me. Char saunters up to us from the stairs, dripping wet in the teeny, tiny red bikini I saw down by the pool. I look back at Zack rather than letting my retinas burn at the sight of her.

She's hot.

The second I met Char a year ago, I knew she'd be the death of me. Long, wavy red hair and green eyes that punctured my lungs with their sharpness. The woman is a goddess. Legs for days, delicate fingers, a sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks. I was a goner. But my mouth got in the way, and I said something that pissed her off. I don't even remember what it was. Now I look into her eyes and see nothing but fire aimed right at me.

Why does the woman who loathes me with her entire soul have to be so drop-dead gorgeous? I swear, she could be the woman of my dreams . . . if she didn't hate me so damn much.

"I don't work for State Farm. Don't call me Jake." I give her a side eye, catching her looking right at me. Feels like squirrels square-dancing in my stomach.

"Sure thing, Jakey." Char smirks, her green eyes sparkling with a challenge, and pops a cherry tomato into her mouth.

"Jacob." Irritated even more, I look away from that mouth.

"So formal." She tilts her head to the side, water dripping from her red locks all over the ground as she scrunches her curls. "I guess that could give you a leg up for the next audition."

I pick up the water I wish were vodka and pound the hell out of it, downing it in three gulps.

"Impressive," she says with a raised brow before hopping over to the real food. I salivate watching her go, and that's got nothing to do with the burning desire I have for the barbecue wings and coleslaw at the other table.

That's all her.

What the hell is wrong with me? How did this happen? I have a massive boner for this chick. She hates my guts. Has since first sight, when she knocked on my door with a bag of warm clothes for Brianna. She and Zack had been lying low at my place.

Long damn story about what went down with the two of them. All I know is, I opened the door, and a redheaded hurricane blew in. I lost the ability to speak. I lost my damn appetite. That's never happened to me before.

"Dude." Zack punches me in the arm.

I look at him, finding him rolling his eyes.

"What? I can't look? She's single. I'm single. She's hot. What am I supposed to do—avert my eyes?" I roll them instead, matching Zack's energy, before reaching for a kale-and-cashew salad.

Yum.

Not.

"Just be less obvious. I don't want to have to clean up your blood from the floor when she claws your eyes out." He makes a big show of checking out my plate. "Good choices. You've learned well, my young padawan."

Nerd.

"Blech. I hate this crap so much. You lied. I thought after thirty days, it was supposed to become a habit, and I wouldn't dread this stuff as much as I do."

"It does become a habit. You're standing over here, aren't you? You didn't follow the trail of barbecue drippings." He points toward the holy grail. The good stuff. The food worth dying for. And directly at Char.

I look over just in time to catch her looking at me, a smirk on her face. I'm sure she's listening. I let my gaze drop to her shoulders, smooth and glistening in the sunlight. Further down, past her chest, barely covered by the scraps of red fabric. Her waist, where I picture gripping either side with my fingers. Her hips, her long legs, even her toes. Hot damn, this woman makes me want. I'm not hiding it. I'm not pretending I don't think she's as hot as sin. So when my eyes rise to meet hers once again, I'm not shocked to see she's narrowed them at me. I can read her thoughts instantly.

Asshole.

That's what she's thinking. And honestly, I haven't given her a reason to think otherwise. I'm playing the long game in this town. Be the unaffected, distant bastard until my name's in lights. Don't let them break you. Don't let them see you fall. I have to be that guy in all areas of life. In Hollywood, no one likes a softie playing the big roles. So I'm tough. I'm distant. I'm unbreakable.

My phone vibrates repeatedly in my pocket. I pull it out to see my agent's name onscreen.

"That was fast." I'm shocked, but this could be it. My big break. I knew I'd nailed that audition. I slide the notification open to read her congratulations.

But I'm crushed instead.

Estelle: Hey babe. Heard back from the casting director.

Estelle: It's a no.

Estelle: They liked your look but want to go with a bigger name.

Estelle: Might have a supporting role for you, but it won't be confirmed until they start filming in a month.

Estelle: I'll let you know.

I turn my phone off, dump the kale salad in the trash, and march directly to the real food. Fuck it. I grab a handful of wings and start sucking the meat right off the bone.

"Zack, gonna need that vodka ASAP."

My day is ruined. Might as well ruin my diet. Zack can forget kicking my butt in his gym later too.

"Let's fucking go—don't have all day." I snap my fingers, feeling drunk with rage. Or depression. Honestly, I'm too messed up right now to know the difference.

I'm already aware this moment will be marked. I'll remember this day, this spot on the earth, for the rest of my life. I feel it in my bones. The second I read those texts, my direction shifted. Question is, for the better or worse?

"I could have told you they'd go with someone else, but would you listen to me? No. No, you wouldn't."

Char's grating voice, no matter how hot it is, answers my question.

Worse.

Much, much worse.

Read in KindleUnlimited starting June 24, 2025!

https://youtu.be/0hiUuL5uTKc