Lemon Crush Read Online R.G. Alexander

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Tags Authors: R.G. Alexander Advertisement

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This place put my own mismatched living room furniture, accented by random piles of books, comfy blankets and general clutter, to shame. If I had a theme, it was absent-minded bargain hunter in shades of brown and…lighter brown. I should have let her decorate it.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I signed onto the rental site, filled out the description as well as my requirements, and uploaded the apartment for all to see.

“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

I hadn’t needed to ask for anyone’s advice or permission. This was my property and I could do what I wanted.

Say it again. Once more with actual feeling.

I grabbed the clothes I’d been moving out of every camera shot and left the apartment. Walking around the pool and into the garage, I moved like a woman on a mission when all I wanted to do was lie down and possibly curl up in a ball for the rest of the day. And not only because of my lack of sleep last night, or the chronic fatigue I’d been unable to shake despite my recovery. Still, I wasn’t quite finished yet.

This might have been a “car garage” in another life, but when Mom and I moved in, it had become a multi-purpose space. One side was a storage locker for all the things she hadn’t been able to part with when she pared down for tiny apartment living after years of marital nesting. The other was half tool-and-garden shed and half workout room, all covered with a fine layer of hasn’t-been-touched-in-a-while.

You should be in here every day to use that treadmill.

That was the trouble with the first step forward—all the shoulds and have-tos that had been accumulating came out of the woodwork all at once to overwhelm you. I should be walking on that treadmill every day. I should be eating healthier. I should be cleaning my house. I should have a better relationship with my sister. I should be working on that last book until it was finished. I should be out in the world, enjoying my life.

All of this should be easier by now.

I opened a labelled storage container and set the shirts and one jacket inside, pausing before I let the last one go. She’d only kept a handful of these from various productions over the years, and I could still see her wearing this one as she rushed around on set. When I was little and could still fit in it, I’d worn it all the time too.

I brought the fabric to my nose and inhaled deeply, wondering if I was imagining the scent of her favorite perfume. It must have faded by now, but I swore I could still smell it.

Mom had worked in the film industry. It sounded glamorous, but for most of the people who lived it, it was a business like any other. And she’d been a behind-the-scenes cog in that business until I was in my twenties.

She’d worn a lot of hats throughout her career: casting director, production assistant, second assistant director and accountant. She’d even written a script or two on spec. Most of her hats required traveling at the drop of one. It was one of her favorite perks of the job, but it made putting down roots an impossibility.

Think army brat with less discipline, fewer benefits and more random sightings of semi to fully famous people. For example, I’d met Meg Ryan once and seen Bruce Willis walking to his trailer. A couple of teamsters and I accidentally caught the original movie Buffy making out with the dad from Growing Pains in the back of a van. I also had in my possession what might be the only slightly negative story about Keanu Reeves to exist. He was young, it wasn’t that bad and I’d never tell because he’s simply too precious for this world.

None of that mattered now to anyone but me. As far as everyone else was concerned, Samantha Retta was an unfinished resume on IMDB. One of the faceless masses who’d never gotten an award or accolade for her years of tireless work to fuel the entertainment machine.

And if anyone sent me an application that was good enough to accept, she would no longer have an apartment.

Another piece of her erased.

She doesn’t need it anymore.

“I know that, damn it,” I said, laying the jacket neatly in the container and snapping the lid back on. I left the garage and closed the door behind me with a quiet snick that sounded disturbingly final.

Unable to bear being here for another second, I stopped at the apartment long enough to grab the keys and Mom’s iPod before hopping into the VW.

I backed out of the driveway with an excess of caution—I’d already had one car towed today and wasn’t looking for a repeat, but I needed to take a turn around the block to clear my head.


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