Page 7 of Where the Little Birds Go (Little Bird Duet 1)

Not knowing what to say to make this better, we just stand there staring at each other until she chooses to walk away. It’s symbolic. She’s making the decision now that I made ten years ago.

Dropping my plate onto the table and wincing at the carbs I loaded up on, I kick my feet back and stare over at Kinley’s retreating figure. She smiles and waves at someone who calls her name before disappearing around the corner.

“That went well,” I murmur to myself.

Lena Dasani is a black-haired, blue-eyed powerhouse I never expected to meet. We met through a mutual friend four years ago, when I was invited to a New Year’s Eve party. It took one little look, the slightest batting of eyelashes, and a simple brush of the hand before we became attached at the hip.

Being with Lena gave me hope. Despite the press capturing pictures of me with random women before her, I rarely went out or hooked up more than a few times a year. Nothing ever compared to the feeling I got when I was a teenager, no matter how hard I chased to find it again.

I’m getting ready to head to the car that’s waiting to take me back to my condo on the outskirts of the city when my phone goes off. Swiping the tip of my tongue across my bottom lip when I see Lena’s name on the screen, I clear my throat and pause by my designated trailer.

Holding up a finger at the driver waiting for me by the black Escalade, I press the cell against my ear. “Hey, Lena.”

Her soft Greek accent greets me, as I lean back against the cool metal siding. “I haven’t heard from you all day. I figured you’d call me during your lunch break like usual.”

She’s visiting her family in Greece while I spend time filming. It’s typical for a quick Skype call while cast gets a meal break since there’s a ten-hour time difference between us.

“I didn’t have time,” I lie, glancing at the clock on my phone. “Isn’t it early there? I figured I’d text you before I went to bed that way I didn’t wake you.”

There’s murmuring in the background, her response to whomever soft before she focuses back on me. “I was up early with a friend. And surely you know I’d want more than a text from my husband.”

The implication of phone sex that our conversations usually lead to is heavy in her lust-ridden words. It makes my cock twitch in the jeans I changed into right after reshooting the last scene since Buchannan insisted it wasn’t up to par with the others. Normally, it’d piss me off to be told my work isn’t good enough. Despite the reputation I’m labeled with, I can admit when I’m sucking ass at work. Kinley watching my every move put me on edge, especially following the little one-on-one we had at lunch.

Nothing about what I sent her last night was mentioned all day, and part of me wondered if she even got it. But the persisting avoidance in her lingering gaze every time her eyes found mine between scenes told me she received everything. Her impressive quickness in looking away when I’d catch her watching me told me what I needed to know.

“Callum?” The name snaps me from driving down that dangerous path, making me cringe at the way my own wife refers to me by my last name like the industry does.

“Sorry.” I straighten my spine, rolling my shoulders back and try refocusing. “I miss you. I hope you know that.”

Marriage never used to be in my scope of vision when I was younger. Having a thriving career and traveling were the only two things my one-tracked mind could focus on. Every time an opportunity would arise to go out, I’d find excuses to stay in. Work would get me out of most situations where friends would try setting me up, but there were a few women I let in as welcome distractions.

By the time I met Lena, I’d made a name for myself across the world. No longer was I Corbin Callum from small town New York. My year spent in Lincoln only cemented my drive that got me to become Callum—America’s leading bad boy. Honestly, the title is laughable. Minus an altercation I’d gotten into with some paparazzi outside a hotel I’d been staying at who accused me of buying my way into a role I’d worked my ass off to get, I’d stayed clean in the media. I was known to drink a little too much depending on my moods, but besides pictures of me drinking at parties or smoking on sets if I have a shitty day, there’s not much else people can get from me.

I never stop people from calling me Callum because it beats them highlighting my real name for research purposes. I’m sure plenty of people have dug up pieces of my past with a basic Google search, but I made sure to clean up anything involving Lincoln so my new life wouldn’t intercept with my old one.

“I miss you too, baby.” She purrs the words that would undoubtedly lead to phone sex on any other day. The premise has me semi-hard, yet my mood is anything but ready to jerk off in the back of the car, much less in the condo we occasionally share.

Rubbing my neck, I say, “Listen, Len, I need to get back home and try getting some rest. It’s an early call tomorrow morning. We’ll be shooting pretty late too.”

There’s a pregnant pause between us that makes me flinch. “Okay.”

“I love you.”

Someone speaks to her from the other end of the line—a cousin probably. One of her best friends growing up was Silas, who’s only a year older than her. He was the one person I could talk to and understand without Lena having to translate when I visited her family on the island.

“Call me when you have time,” is her monotone response before the line cuts off.

Clicking my tongue and staring at the call ended message on the screen, I shove the cell into my pocket and make my way to the car. There are only a few vehicles in the lot compared to the packed spaces earlier.

Olivia left after talking to a few of our co-stars who seemed excited to begin filming more of their parts tomorrow. Today was a few essential scenes between Olivia and I, including a racier make out session that will lead to the first sex scene we’re expected to shoot bright and early tomorrow morning.

Her departing words for me were, try not to get too hard for me. I don’t need you poking an eye out.

Snorting as I settle into the backseat, I pull out my phone while we start out of the lot onto the busy street. I know it’ll take time getting home because the nightlife rush hour is insane. My fingers scroll through a few messages from friends before I find myself on Facebook typing the last name I should be interested in searching.

Kinley blocked me on social media months after I left Lincoln. I don’t blame her after I promised to keep in touch and never followed through. It was never intentional to hurt her, but life got busy when the jobs started picking up. My time became limited to filming, working out, and resting like my new manager and trainer suggested. I began doing everything in my power to be the actor that people wanted to hire without a second thought. Lincoln became a distant memory, but Kinley never did even if she thought so. How could she not? By the time I worked up the guts to reach out, her number didn’t work.

It was around a year ago when news broke about the film that I found a mutual friend’s post congratulating her on an interview she did with Entertainment Daily. Temptation had me clicking her name before spending hours going through the life she cut me off from. Everything she posted since shutting me out became my addiction in the little free time I had. Dating updates made me scowl, book accomplishments made me smile, and pictures made my heart tug a little tighter in my chest like it did back in high school.

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