Page 3 of The Road Trip Romance

“Tate Anders!” she screams.

Now, the words make sense. I know who Tate Anders is. Hell, everyone on the planet knows who he is. My mind immediately envisions his washboard abs and those biceps that say, “Yes, I can pick you up and throw you over my shoulder with one arm.” And his icy blue eyes and chiseled jawline. I feel myself starting to grow hot just thinking about him. What did the last interviewer say to him? Oh yes, “Every woman wants you, and every man wants to be you.” I feel my eyes begin to roll at the cliché statement. But why would a man like that wantmyaddress?

“Sophia? Are you listening?” she asks, breaking me from my trance.

“I’m confused. Tate Anders? As in the movie star?” I confirm with a frown because my brain cannot compute what she’s saying.

“Yes! The one and only. Apparently, he read your last book and loved it. Maybe he wants to send you something? He’s dating Lacey Collins, right? Doesn’t her friend Camille have a book-club thing? OMG! Maybe they want to put your book in the book club?” she muses, and I can practically hear her salivating over the idea of famous actresses wanting to promote my book.

“Maybe,” I mimic as I again try to fathom why this man would want my address.

“So, I might have given her your home address,” Marti says sheepishly. I keep a post office box for my author work. Occasionally, I’ve used my home address for contracts and such, but it surprises me she’d give it out without asking.

“Marti!” I admonish.

“Sorry, but it was Tate effing Anders!” she protests. “I mean, this is a man who has won two Oscars! Two!”

“And you don’t know why he wants it?” I ask.

“Oh, I asked. But Carol, his agent, had no idea. He just asked her to get it for him,” she says as if Tate’s agent and she are on a first-name basis.

“Well, maybe he’ll send me something,” I guess.

“I mean, who knows, right? Considering everything that happened with him this week…” She trails off.

I frown. “What happened?”

“Do you live under a rock?” She pauses, but I don’t reply. “He had a meltdown at this charity thing. He got in a big fight with the director of his last film,” she explains.

I pull up my phone and search his name. Story after story appears. Photos of a very angry Tate Anders fill my screen. Well, that’s not good for him.

“Darn. He really lost his shit,” I state as I watch a video play. I click off it, deciding to listen later.

“Yeah, totally,” she agrees.

“Guess we’ll see what he sends,” I say as I run my finger over a dresser top and see the dust on it. Ugh! One more thing to clean.

“Let me know what it is,” she demands, and I know she is going to lose sleep over guessing what it could be.

“Yep. Will do,” I reply as I walk into my hallway.

“How’s the manuscript coming?” she asks about my latest work in progress.

“It’s…coming,” I lie, well, it’s a white lie because I did write a chapter three weeks ago and I was just contemplating three entire sentences today.

“I bet,” she says, and I can practically hear her smirk at her sophomoric humor.

I shake my head. Deciding not to respond to that, I look at my phone.Damn.I need to get back downstairs before Lizzie chops off her finger. “I need to go make dinner. I’ll give you a call next week,” I add as I head back to the kitchen.

“Sounds good,” she says, and I hang up and shove my phone back in my pocket.

What in the world could Hollywood’sitman possibly want with me? I look in the mirror by my front door and chuckle at myself. Nothing. He probably doesn’t want anything other than to say his latest girlfriend liked my book and wants a signed copy. Yep, that’s got to be it.

CHAPTERTWO

Tate

I keep my ballcap rim low as I walk through the airport. I stumble as I step on one of those moving conveyor belts for people. Glancing around, I check to make sure no one sees me, but everyone is consumed by their phones.Thank God for technology!

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