Ollie let out a groan. “Gabe and his damn games,” he said.

I wondered belatedly if that was code for sex games. That I’d unwittingly accepted an invitation to a Hollywood orgy.

No. I was being ridiculous. If there wasn’t cocaine, there probably wasn’t any free love. Despite the house—with its raunchy seventies vibes—practically begging for it.

“What kind of games?” I asked.

“He’ll explain it to you,” Ollie said.

And then, like it was an actual movie, not just a living fantasy with a movie star, the crowd seemed to part and there he was.

Gabe.

He was holding court at one end of his living room, his still-unnamed puppy sitting at his feet. He was barefoot and every time the dog licked his toes, he’d give her something off the little round paper plate he was holding.

“You’re spoiling her,” Ollie said as we approached.

But Gabe wasn’t paying attention—he was looking at me. Staring, in fact.

“It’s you,” he said.

“Hi,” I said.

Ollie patted my shoulder.

“I’ll leave you two to discuss Running Pyramid.”

Then he was gone.

Even though the living room was full of people and there was music and talking and laughing, all of that seemed to mellow into a quiet kind of hush. The expression on Gabe’s face wasn’t much different from the one he’d worn when I met him on the red carpet.

Only I wasn’t wearing a beautiful, glittering dress, I didn’t have a full face of makeup, and my hair was wavy and frizzy and messy the way it usually was.

Still.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” I said again.

The puppy let out a little, short bark. We both looked down at her, and she looked up innocently, as if she had no idea why we were suddenly paying attention to her.

“Ollie is right,” Gabe told her. “I am spoiling you.”

He handed me the plate and knelt down, hefting her up into his arms. She was little now, but it was easy to tell from her catcher’s mitt paws that she was going to be a big dog. She licked his face.

“Feel free to spoil her too,” Gabe said, nodding at the plate in my hand. “It’s just cheese.”

I fed her a few crumbles, which she ate eagerly, her soft tongue cleaning my fingers.

“She likes you,” Gabe said.

“I think she likes anyone with food,” I said.

“Just like her master.” He nuzzled the dog with his nose and she sniffed his face. “Good girl.”

“Good girl,” I echoed.

Gabe grinned. “Let’s get you a drink,” he said.

THE RUMOR MILL

GABE PARKER:
WITHOUT A FATHER FIGURE
[EXCERPT]

BY NOW, WE’VE ALL SEEN the picture—Of Gabe Parker, who drew the world’s attention in the steamy, rustic drama Cold Creek Mountain, attending the movie premiere with his mother.