And that’s exactly what I do. The day passes slowly, and I start to get nervous. I haven’t felt nervous for a date in years, not even when I was with a Sports Illustrated model. I think about it as I drive to Haley’s house, listening to the directions from the GPS. Claire’s on speakerphone almost the entire time and calls back each time I hang up on her. She’s worried I’m going to get lost or drive off a mountainside or something ridiculous like that. Plus, I refused to let the bodyguard come with tonight.

It’s not often I’m alone like this. Even in L.A., being “alone” means having people around you, having your PA, manager, and agent close enough that a taxi ride across the city is all it takes to whisk you away to safety and out of the public eye. Out here in Montana, I feel alone. Completely alone, and I kind of like it.

I know Haley lives in a white two-story house. Like a proper creep, I looked up her address on Google Maps and spent too much time using the street view to peek around. She lives on a country road that wraps around a hillside, leveling out at the top. All I was able to discern from the satellite map was a barn close to the house and a decent length of white fence.

The sun is setting, casting long shadows over the land. I slow as I go around a sharp turn and my foot lets off the gas. Grass-covered hills turn into giant stone mountains that meld into the darkening sky. The world suddenly feels so big, and I feel insignificant and unimportant. The car idles on the road as I look at the land before me. I blink and shake myself. It’s crazy to think something so wild, something so beautiful and untamed, still exists in this world.

Not long after, I arrive at Haley’s house. It’s just like it was on the map, but the grass needs cutting and the flowerbed is full of weeds. A white horse looks out at me over a half door and whinnies. I narrow my eyes, still bitter about the fall yesterday. My ankle is feeling okay, and I ignore the doctor’s advice to stay off it for another few days. If the pain gets to me, I’ll just drink. Yeah, yeah…I know. Booze isn’t the cure-all for everything, but it works for me.

I cut the engine of the Mercedes. Everything about this is so conventional it feels weird, which makes me laugh. An old-fashioned date like this isn’t my norm anymore. I’m off my home turf and feel disadvantaged. Haley made it clear my fame doesn’t sway her opinion of me. I can’t pull the usual cards and impress her and be sure she’ll come home with me, where we’d fuck and I’d pass out, physically satisfied and distracted enough to sleep through the night.

I take a breath and get out of the car. Lights are on inside the house, and I peer through the windows as I walk to the front door, but I’m unable to see anything past the sheer curtains. A wrap-around porch hugs the farmhouse, and the steps creak under my feet as I ascend the stairs. My heart thumps in my throat and I wish for a drink, more pain meds—anything—to take the edge off my anxiety.

A cat meows at me, snaking its way around the legs of a wicker chair. Flowers hang from baskets on the porch, leaves and buds dead and withering from being forgotten. Another cat sits on a white rocking chair. A dog barks from inside the house. I extend my hand to ring the doorbell and suddenly feel like I’m on set again. The farmhouse, the picture-perfect view of distant mountains. People really live like this? I take a breath and hesitate.

It might look like a set, but there’s nothing guiding me. There’s no one to give me a line and cue me along. There’s no redoing an awkward moment or saying a line over and over until it’s perfect.

Fuck real life.

The doorbell rings, reverberating inside the house. The black and white cat comes closer, tail in the air. It meows again and rubs its head on my leg. I’m not really a cat person—hell, I’m not really an animal person. It’s not that I don’t like them, it’s that I don’t have time for them. I hold out my hand, and the cat presses its cheek against my fingers, purring already.

I flick my eyes to the door, wondering if I have time to get a quick selfie in to post to Instagram. A cat and me would get lots of likes, lots of comments from fans, and looking through it would make me feel good. I’ve been advised over and over to post and ignore, but I can’t stay away. I like interacting with fans over social media. I like knowing they like me, that they approve, and they want more. Yeah…I need the validation.

I get so far as getting my phone out of my pocket when I hear someone rush down the stairs inside. I quickly put the phone back and straighten up. Claire dressed me today. I’m wearing jeans and a dark gray t-shirt under a leather jacket. Everything is designer, and I know it cost a ridiculous amount. Sometimes I think about how incredibly stupid it is to charge several hundred for a fucking t-shirt. But this is how I’m supposed to dress, so I do it.

The doorknob rattles and my heart skips a beat, knowing Haley is just inches away. Seconds tick by, and my heart begins to beat faster and faster until she finally opens it. The wooden door swings in with a squeak of the hinges.

“Hi,” I say when I see her. She’s wearing dark jeans, heels, and a flowy top that’s low cut and tight across the chest, and her tits look fantastic. I stare at them for a couple seconds before moving my eyes back to her face. Her hair falls in soft waves around her face, and her makeup is light and subtle. “You look beautiful.”

She smiles and uses her foot to hold back the dog, who’s wagging her tail to greet me. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” she says, bending over to grab the dog’s collar. I get an even better view of her breasts, and it takes all I have not to stare. “Sorry, she loves everyone.”

I bend down to the Border Collie’s level. “Is she friendly?”

“Very.” She gives the dog a few inches. “Settle down, Chrissy,” she says.

“It’s okay.” I hold out my hands and the dog goes crazy. Haley lets go, and the dog bounds forward, jumping into my arms and licking my face. I laugh and pet her for a second before pushing her back and wiping the slobber from my cheeks. “She is friendly.”

“Yeah. Some guard dog.” Haley smiles again and rolls her eyes. It’s the most I’ve seen her smile since we met. Chrissy jerks away and goes after the black and white cat. The cat lashes out and hisses, and then they take off. Haley rushes onto the porch.

“Chrissy!” she yells. “Get back here right now!” The dog disappears around the house and Haley sighs. “She’s so well trained, as you can tell.”

I laugh. “Should we go get her?”

“Nah, she’ll come back.” She’s standing right next to me, close enough for me to smell her perfume. “How’s your ankle?”

“Fine,” I say. “Doesn’t even hurt.”

“That’s good. Uh, want to come in?”

I nod and follow her inside, through the foyer and into the kitchen. Baby bottles clutter the counter. I look at them then at Haley.

“You have a kid?” I look back at the bottles. There must be dozens of them. “Or a lot of kids?”

“No,” she says. “And sorry this is a mess. Today’s been a little hectic.” She picks up a bottle that rolled off the counter and tosses it into the sink. “Where are you taking me tonight?”

“I can’t remember the name,” I confess with a smile. I actually don’t know it. But I know we have reservations two hours from now. “So you’re not going to explain why you have a million bottles?”

Her smile fades and she looks at the sea of plastic and rubber on the counter. “I have a newborn. She’s only taking milk from a bottle right now. When they dropped her off, I was given all these bottles.”

“You are talking about a horse, right?”

She nods. “Yeah. I’m trying to get her to drink out of a bucket. It’s exhausting bottle-feeding a foal.”

“How often do they eat?”

She makes face that lets me know: all the damn time. “My friend Lori, who you met last night, is taking over baby duty while we go out.”