Page 4 of Try Me

No Fun at All

Almost Two YearsLater

Huntington Beach, California

Declan

Lights flashedin Declan’s face as he stepped out of the limousine. Everyone yelled his name at once. His head pounded. His heart thudded. Sweat broke out on his brow and dampened his palms.

“Declan Bishop!”

“It’s him!”

“Over here!”

Flashbulbs popped, blinding him. He wiped his hands on his pants and reached into the car to help Claudia. She took his hand and leaned forward into the view of the reporters. This was the moment they’d been waiting for. The cameras flashed, and questions filled the air. Everyone cared more about Declan’s latest relationship than what contest he’d won.

As Claudia Montgomery, Hollywood’s latest blonde bombshell, exited the limousine on Declan’s arm the reporters cheered.

“They love us,” Claudia said, wiggling her fingers in a flirty wave.

But it was Declan’s name they were calling. It was his photograph they fought to take. His fans were ravenous for him. Mostly teenage girls, Declan’s fans spent all their allowance on the rag mags that touted his latest exploits. Reporters followed Declan everywhere, trying to capture an exclusive photograph that would sell magazines.

“Are you two an item?” one of the reporters shouted.

“Give her a kiss!” shouted another.

Declan looked down at Claudia. “Do you mind?” he asked, keeping his voice low so that only she could hear. He’d resigned himself to faking it for the camera a long time ago, but this was his first date with Claudia. They were supposed to be an item, but they’d only just met tonight.

Claudia turned her face to his and curled her hand around his neck. “That’s why I’m here,” she said. “I’m pretty good at acting.”

Declan blinked down at her. Golden-haired, blue-eyed and more curvaceous than the Pali Highway, Claudia was every teen-age boy’s dream. Declan mustered up the energy to kiss her, wishing he had a drink to take the edge off his nerves. He touched his lips to hers, lingering long enough to make it good for the cameras. He thought of all the women he’d kissed in the past two years since he’d signed with McKenna. There’d been an endless string of them, each more beautiful than the last, all hired to play the role of his love interest in order to hype up his image as a playboy. None of them had been real. Declan had gotten good at faking. He angled his mouth to deepen the kiss, giving the reporters what they’d come for.

“Wow,” Claudia said when they parted, staring up at him with wide eyes. “That was some kiss.”

“I’m pretty good at acting, too,” he said, throwing the reporters a wave.

The door to the private club opened, and Declan escorted Claudia inside. As soon as the doors closed on the clamoring reporters, Declan dropped Claudia’s hand. He glanced around the crowded club, his eyes bouncing over the familiar faces of his competitors. It was a safe bet that every one of the other surfers hated him. Declan had just won his second contest of the year, and it was only January.

Scanning their faces, Declan searched for McKenna and was relieved to not see his agent. He couldn’t deal with him right now. All he wanted was a drink.

“I’m going to the bar,” he told Claudia.

“Aren’t you gonna ask what I want?”

“What do you want?” Declan asked, his voice bored, but his heart racing. If she said whiskey, he was going to flip out. He didn’t think he could handle hearing the word.

“White wine,” Claudia told him.

Declan’s shoulders relaxed an inch. Now, all he had to get through was standing at the bar and ordering.

“White wine and a soda water,” Declan told the bartender. If the big man pouring the drinks behind the bar could read Declan’s mind, he would have poured him a double shot of Jameson Irish Whiskey straight up.

“Ice?” The bartender asked.

“Sure,” Declan confirmed. “And three olives, stuffed if you have them.”

It had been two hundred and forty-seven days since Declan’s last sip of alcohol. Two hundred and forty-seven days since he’d been released from his second stint at a rehabilitation center. This time, it seemed it had stuck. In three more days he would make it to two hundred and fifty. A milestone. Each day was a milestone. Some days were easy — he barely thought about drinking at all.

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