by Roxy Wynn
“Shit!” She slapped her hand on her forehead, worried the meeting was one she should have attended. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know where my brain is lately. I swear this little monster is feeding off of it while I’m sleeping.”
“No problem. It wasn’t a Ruby’s meeting. It was something else.” Even though I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong, I still felt weird telling Chrissy about the dilemma I was in. We made fun of Callahan relentlessly for facilitating green card marriages, and now here I was contemplating one.
Her perfect eyebrow arched. “I’m listening.”
“Okay, I’m going to tell you something, and I don’t want you to freak out,” I said.
Panic hit her face, and she sat up straight in her chair, a stray menu dropping to the floor. “What’s going on? Are you in trouble? Did Eli do something? I’ll castrate him…”
“Dude. No. Calm down. I’m not in trouble, I have something weird I need your input on.”
She smiled and relaxed again. “Okay, lay it on me, Smalls.”
Rolling my eyes at her nickname, I continued. “You remember how Calloway does that whole illegal marriage fraud thing?”
Chrissy winced. “Yeah…”
“She has a guy she wants me to marry.”
“What? Why?”
“I don’t know, she said she thinks we would be an excellent match.” Although, why she thought that was still an epic mystery.
Chrissy reclined in her chair and rubbed her belly, staring at me. “What’s in it for you? It better be a hell of a deal if you’re thinking of going through with something like that.”
“That’s the thing,” I said. “I get a house, right near you and Jax. I get two hundred grand, and I get a free lawyer to help make sure Eli never gets to take Bailey.”
She leaned forward and took my hands, furrowing her brow. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, you know. Jax has already offered to give you everything you need. You and Bailey can stay as long as you want.”
Offering me help was an amazing perk of having rich friends, but I couldn’t mooch off them forever. Eventually I would need to do things on my own.
“I know, and I love you guys for offering but… I can’t. You know? That’s a lot to ask of anyone.”
“Yes, but we have the money, and we love you guys. Do you even understand how stoked Jax is that he gets to hang out with Bailey?”
“I know. But I hate having to rely on everyone around me. First it was Eli, then it was mom. Now it’s you and Jax.”
Chrissy tossed her menus on the desk and stood up to find herself a snack. Our argument was one we had often. Now that she had money, she wanted to take care of me and couldn’t understand why I kept pulling away.
When she came back, she carried a cinnamon roll missing the gooey center. “I hate it.”
“The cinnamon roll?” I asked.
“No. That you are so fucking stubborn you won’t let us help you.”
“I’m not…”
“Don’t even try to argue,” she said, thrusting the used cinnamon roll in my face. “You are the most stubborn person I know.”
I took the warm bun and picked a piece off the end to nibble before tossing the rest on a paper towel.
“Who is this guy anyway? What intel do we have on him? Like, why can’t he get his citizenship without having to pay for a bride?”
“That’s the other part. The guy is that British musician I love, Alfie Lane. He’s already overstayed his visa. If he leaves now, he can’t come back.”
“That cute guy from Music Makers?”
“Yes,” I sighed. “He was cute until I showed up to meet him this morning, and he was in his underwear surrounded by women.”
“Oh my god. Were you alone?”
“No. Calloway and his agent were there.” I ripped another piece of cinnamon roll and tossed the sweet treat into my mouth. “He didn’t give off a creep vibe per se, he just seemed like a party animal.”
Chrissy turned to her computer and searched YouTube for Alfie Lane videos. The first on the list was a live performance in a park we watched hundreds of times. It was Alfie and his guitar with no backing band, and he killed it. He played ten songs, but that particular version of Station Girl was my favorite. Once all the electronic beats and back up vocals were stripped away, the song became a haunting tribute to a girl out of his league. You could almost hear the pain in his voice as he sang.
We sat in silence, drawn to the screen, and once it was over, Chrissy sighed and placed her hand over her heart. “That song is so heartbreaking…” she whimpered.
The hormones were strong today.
“Dear god, you aren’t crying are you?”
“No.” She sniffled and wiped a tear with the back of her hand. “I wonder if you could be his station girl…”
“No. Chrissy, this is hormones. I need honest friend advice right now, not a pregnant woman out of control.”
When she looked at me again, her eyeliner was smeared across her face.
“I… can’t…” she sobbed. “I just love you and Bailey and Alfie’s songs are so wonderful. What if he’s a beautiful soul, just misunderstood?”
I handed her a tri-fold paper towel, and she immediately blew her nose. “He’s not misunderstood. He had a parade of women leaving his expensive penthouse suite this morning. I understood him fine, he’s a man-whore.”
“No,” she said, wiping her nose. “You don’t. Someone obviously hurt him. Station Girl is a cry for love!”
Okay, well this was going nowhere. “I’m not going to marry the guy because Station Girl has a catchy beat.”
“You should at least give him a chance, Sarah. Spend some time with him before throwing him away like trash. Like the original Station Girl did…”
“Listen, weirdo, I know this is crazy talk coming directly from the parasite leaching off of your brain juice, so I’m not going to hold this over your head for the next ten years, but Alfie Lane is a real person. The guy on TV…”
“The cute guy on TV…”
“Yes, the attractive British guy from Music Makers is a real guy who is not all he’s cracked up to be. He’s weird. And maybe a little dirty.”
I picked up the cinnamon roll for another bite, but Chrissy snatched it away.
“Hey, that’s mine!”
“You snooze, you lose.” Suddenly her tears were gone, leaving only a puffy face and smeared makeup behind. “You told me a long time ago to give men another chance, and now I’m going to tell you the same thing.”
I scoffed. “Last time I gave a guy a chance I got pregnant and abandoned.”
“Well this time use birth control,” she said, shrugging.
Furious, I snatched the cinnamon roll back and stuffed the remainder of it in my mouth, so she couldn’t steal it again. “I used it last time,” I said through a full mouth. “It’s not like they disclose on the fucking box that violent diarrhea can make the pill leave your system too soon.”
She shuddered. “Gross. You didn’t tell me that. How did you manage to let Eli bone you when you had explosive diarrhea?”
I shrugged. “I was eighteen and in love.”
“I don’t even want to cinnamon roll anymore. That’s the worst thing I’ve heard in a long time.” She pretended to gag while I continued chewing the cinnamon roll into manageable swallows.
“If you’re here and telling me,” she said. “Then I think a small part of you might be considering it. Am I right?”
I held my hand up, the thumb and forefinger millimeters apart. “Maybe just a little.”
She nodded and sat back again. “Okay, so Bailey is your main squeeze, right? How could you pull this off so you get an awesome house and Bailey’s college fund taken care of without turning him into a brony some day?”
“Calloway said the house had separate wings. If Alfie is on one, and we would be on the other, maybe I could just call him ‘mommy’s friend’, like Uncle Jax. He doesn’t have to know about the wedding stuff at a
ll. I mean, the two of us have lived with my mom, and now we live with you. He’s used to living with other people.”
“That’s right. And having the peace of mind that you won’t have to deal with Eli ever again might make it all worthwhile.”
Thinking back to our relationship, I couldn’t imagine having ever been with someone like Eli. He was rude, stubborn, and an all around shit partner. What I saw as love when I was a teenager, I saw now was emotional manipulation, and lots of immaturity. Eli was a jerk, and I couldn’t imagine handing my son over to him to learn all of those same bad habits. I wanted Bailey to have a fresh start. If Eli wanted supervised visits on a regular basis, I could swing that. But custody? Hell to the no.
“I can’t believe I’m actually considering this,” I said.
“Don’t be. Alfie Lane is a hottie. Maybe you could even finagle a little…” She held her hands up with the thumb and forefinger of her left hand creating a circle for her forefinger of her right hand to penetrate violently.
“No…”
“Why not?” She asked. “He’s hot, you’re hot…”
“Yes, I am hot, but I’m not lowering myself to his level. He already has more women than he can handle.”
Chrissy rolled her eyes.
As God is my witness, Alfie Lane will never penetrate these panties.
Chapter Eight
Alfie
After a shower, a shave, and a verbal lashing from Oliver, I felt like a new man. I couldn’t be mad at my mate for yelling at me. In fact, I sympathized with the poor bastard. Coming out in my knickers wasn’t my finest moment by a long shot, but if I were being honest, I had done much worse.
Since he makes so much money off of me, I believe it is my duty to keep the bloke on his toes. Since L.A., Oliver had cleaned up more of my messes than I will admit to in polite conversation. The most memorable of which included a chicken suit, and a dwarf named Stuart…
I laughed softly, thinking about all the times he had bailed me out of trouble since Music Makers. All the parties, the nights in jail, and the women. But when I thought about that poor girl’s face this morning when she saw the girls filing out, I stopped. She looked so lovely with her dewy skin and wild hair, and all I did was welcome her with no trousers on.
I’m betting it wasn’t the story she wanted to tell the grand kids.
Alone in my makeshift studio, I played through some chords of existing songs, searching for inspiration to write something new. The fans loved Station Girl, but I was sick of the sound. I wanted to do something fresh, and move on from that synthetic noise. The only problem was I had no muse, nothing to inspire me.
Thinking about Sarah again, I let my hands roam the body of the guitar without my brain running the show. It was how I came up with my best songs and freed my brain up to daydream.
She was a tiny woman, but her proportions were perfect with her hourglass figure and shapely legs. Those red sandals she wore had bows that drew the eyes right to her sculpted calves. I wanted to pick her up, carry her to my bedroom, and take everything off but those sandals.
I shook my head. What the hell am I going on about? She didn’t even like me. If the way she glared at me was any indication, I would say she was on her way to straight hatred.
Before Oliver left, he gave me a copy of the unsigned contract. Each of us had one outlining the terms in the event something needed amending. I didn’t have any changes planned, but the document had her contact information. I stared down at the number on the page.
Should I call her?
She agreed when I asked her to dinner, perhaps hoping I wouldn’t really call, but maybe now that she’d had time to cool down, she would be more open to my charms.
Before I chickened out, I picked up the phone and dialed. I wanted her to answer, so I could hear that lovely husky voice, but the call went straight to voicemail.
“Hey there, Sarah. It’s me, Alfie. Listen, Love, I wanted to know if you could meet tonight, and get to know me a little better before you make your decision. No pressure or anything.” I couldn’t help the nervous laughter. “I’ll be at Hemingway’s tonight at seven. I would love to see you there, but if you can’t come, I’ll understand.”
I tossed the phone aside a little too hard, and it hit the ground with a thud.
Alfie, you tosser.
I went in hoping the bar would be quiet, but I had no clue just how dead it would be. Besides myself and the barkeep, there were only four other people in the establishment watching the live band.
Weren’t people in Louisiana fans of music?
Arriving just after six thirty, I ordered a pint, and watched the band. One thing I loved about this city was how much live music there was. Any time, day or night, someone was performing somewhere. I think that fact alone was why I hadn’t had a night of sleep since landing.
Oliver liked to blame the women, but my real vice was the music.
Truth was, I hadn’t met anyone I fancied until that small, angry woman wandered into my hotel and gave me the evil eye. Sure, there were plenty of women around smiling and telling me they were available, but I didn’t want them, I wanted her. The woman was a breath of fresh air.
As if she heard me summoning her, the door opened and in she walked, still in her outfit from this morning. Devil woman. The only change to her wardrobe was a pair of sunglasses she immediately removed so her eyes could adjust.
God, she’s beautiful.
Seeing her again made my heart race and my breath quicken. I don’t know if she jogged here or what, but her cheeks were flushed pink, and she had a faint covering of perspiration on her forehead.
I bet that’s exactly how she looks after a mid day shag.
“Sarah, over here,” I said, waving her over. Her head moved in my direction, but she still squinted, searching. Jumping up, I navigated my way through the empty tables, so I could escort her back to the table like a gentleman. It’s how Oliver would do it.
“Sarah. Hi, here I am, I have a table in the corner,” I said, pointing over my shoulder.
When her eyes found me, she smiled. It still was a more polite smile than a friendly one, but I would take what I could get. It was at that moment that my body forgot it’s manners and leaned in close to kiss her.
In the U.K., I greeted my female friends with a kiss to the cheek. It was the way mum raised me. But as I felt myself going in for the kill, I remembered two things. One is that we were not in the U.K., and the other is that I barely knew this woman.
Sensing trouble, she moved her head at the last moment, giving my lips a taste of her wild hair.
“Okay, well now that we’ve done that, let’s take a seat and talk,” I said with an enormous smile.
You idiot.
Instead of slapping me across the face, or running for the door, she tilted her head back and laughed. What on earth was I trying to do? The intention was to smooth things over, not make them worse. I couldn’t tell if it upset her at what I had done, or if she thought I was endearing.
“I would have ordered you a drink,” I said. “But to be honest, I didn’t know what American women liked to drink. I’ve heard rumors boxed white wine is popular…”
She rolled her eyes and laughed again. Either she thought I was hilarious, or she was nervous. Either way the sound was heady and beautiful. If I listened to nothing else but the sound of her laughter for the rest of my life, I would die a happy man.
“Oh, so we are going straight into stereotype territory?” She asked, wiping tears from her eyes. “That’s good to know. Maybe if that’s how we are diving into this date, we could discuss your dental health. I hear Brits can lack in that department.”
I placed my hand over my heart as if she had pierced it with an arrow. “I’m a man, not a show pony, Sarah. Everyone I know has high standards in dental care. Just because we don’t bleach them like you people, doesn’t mean we don’t take care of them.”
“You people?” She raised her eyebrows.
“Yes, you people.” I was digging myself into a hole and loved every second.
She considered my words for a moment. “Fine, you win this round. But only because I have been known to use whitening toothpaste, mouthwash, and strips.”
“I knew it!”
“Just because I want my teeth white doesn’t mean I deserve ridicule. And if you’re still offering a drink, I would love a Manhattan.”
This was good. We were off to a wonderful start.
“You got it.”
Returning to the bar, I placed her order and got a gin and tonic for myself. Do not get drunk, Alfie, that would be the wrong move. But I also didn’t want to be so nervous around her. I worried she thought I was an imbecile this morning, and tonight was my only opportunity to change that. I didn’t want to squander my last chance with her by getting pissed.
When I returned, drinks in hand, she was checking her phone.
“Bored with me already?” I asked.
“No. I was checking in with my friend, Chrissy. She and her husband are babysitting Bailey.”
“Is that your boy?”
“Yup,” she said proudly, showing me a picture of the two of them on her phone. “He is about to turn five, and he is the love of my life.”
In the photo, she had him on her lap and must have applied some kind of filter because they both had matching mustaches.
“He’s adorable. And you look fabulous with facial hair. You should let it grow out, it suits you.”
She brushed her hair off her shoulders and took a sip of her drink, leveling me with her gaze. “Why did you ask me here, Alfie? Besides bashing my American heritage and telling me I should grow a mustache.”
I shrugged. “I wanted to get to know you without the fuddy duddy business types around. And I wanted to apologize for my deplorable behavior this morning. Honestly, I spent the afternoon trying to come up with a worse first impression, but I couldn’t do it. I was a horse’s arse.”
When she nodded, the curls around her face bounced. “Yeah, that was weird…”
“We didn’t shag, they were musicians who came back to my flat to make music. I’m a respectful bloke when I’m not meeting strangers in my knickers.”
