Mr. Misunderstood

by Sara Jane Stone

  We encounter five more prying couples eager to quietly ask about Alexandra’s story, or express their mock outrage, but the time dinner is announced.

  “They don’t know what to make of you,” Gavin mutters once we’ve escaped a pair of gossip-prone ladies at least ten years younger than us. “Or of us.”

  “We need to give them something else to talk about.” I take his hand and lead him toward the restrooms. I head for the one marked handicap. Glancing over my shoulder, I pretend to wait until I think the coast is clear. I know it’s not. I can see three known gossips coming out of the ladies’ room.

  Perfect.

  I pull Gavin into the bathroom with a forced giggle and close the door. Then I release my hold on him.

  “It worked,” I murmur. Beyond the door, I hear the evening’s host taking the stage and calling everyone to their seats.

  “This is your plan? To spend the salad course in here?”

  I nod and glance around the white tiled space. Metal bars line the wall near the toilet. Otherwise the room is spacious, ready to accommodate a wheelchair. “Of course, we’ll need to leave and abandon the plan if someone requires this restroom.”

  “I’ve never left a party to have sex in a bathroom,” he says dryly. “In fact, I’ve never had sex in a public restroom.”

  “And you’re going to have to wait a while to cross that off your list.” I lean my back against the door, wishing that I’d chosen a hiding place with comfortable seats. “We’re only pretending to have sex.”

  He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “It isn’t enough that we’re hiding in here?” he asks in a low voice. “We need to give them more evidence?”

  My body reacts to the word “evidence” as if he’d pulled me in for another kiss. But we don’t have an audience here. He has no reason to kiss me.

  “Yes, we do,” I say firmly.

  “Okay.” He nods and moves to my side. He mimics my pose, his broad shoulders nearly touching mine as he leans against the door. With his chin tucked, he gives me a sideways glance. His dark eyes sparkle with humor. “Do you have a plan?”

  CHAPTER 12

  KAYLA

  “Do I have a plan? I’ve known you for thirty years. I would never steal you away from a party without a plan.” I force myself to keep a straight face, and say, “We need to make fake sex sounds.”

  Gavin stares back at me. I keep my lips pressed tightly together. I refuse to crack first. And I win. He laughs and breaks eye contact.

  “Kayla, how the hell can you say that with a straight face?”

  “You’re not taking this seriously,” I chide. But now that he’s laughing, I can’t help but smile. Then a giggle escapes. I place my hand over my mouth.

  Gavin draws a deep breath and then turns his body to face mine. His left shoulder rests against the door, but he’s focused on me. “For the sake of argument, say that we go ahead with your crazy idea,” he says in a low voice. “Do you think anyone will hear us over the guy at the microphone?”

  “Oh yes.” I turn my head to look at him. “Three women saw us disappear in here together. At least one of them will probably find a reason to walk by again just to see if we’ve come out. She’ll probably stop in the hall and check her hair, or take a friend with her so she has an excuse to linger by the bathrooms.”

  “And you know one of those women will do this because—”

  “Intuition,” I say. He raises an eyebrow in silent challenge to this bullshit statement.

  “It’s what I would do,” I admit. “In fact, I’ve done it before. Once, about four years ago, I stood in the hall after I watched you slip away with one of your girlfriends. I pretended I was on the phone and needed a quiet place to take the call.”

  His brow furrows. “What possessed you to do that?”

  “I didn’t want anyone to accidentally stumble on you. I thought you’d be embarrassed.”

  “It’s not easy to embarrass me. Not like in high school.”

  And yet here we are, trying to trick the world into believing we’re engaged so your past doesn’t humiliate you a second time.

  I keep this thought to myself. “For the record, it was pretty simple to determine what you were doing behind the door marked employees only. You needed a guard.”

  “You’ve convinced me,” he says dryly. “But you go first with the fake sex sounds.”

  Oh, dear.

  I stare at Gavin’s chiseled jawline. Knowing what his muscular shoulders and torso looks like beneath the tux isn’t exactly helping with my stage fright. And I refuse to imitate the noises his former girlfriend made. Now that I told that little story, the audio reel from it is fresh in my mind. But I have more self-respect than that—although not by much considering our current situation.

  “Close your eyes,” I order. “I can’t do this with you watching me.”

  “Shouldn’t you close your eyes and focus on one of your top ten fantasies?”

  “No.”

  Nothing good will come from feeling as if I want to take off my skin-tight gown in a freaking bathroom in front of my best friend after I’ve discovered he can kiss. At least nothing that will keep my heart in one piece until after this charade ends, and not smashed to pieces by a man who worships at the altar of reputation.

  “Fantasies are a bad idea,” I add.

  “In general?”

  I’m not answering that. I close my eyes and let out a soft moan. It sounds forced and not at all convincing. I open my eyes again and survey my skeptical audience, or the member of the audience in this room.

  “That’s the best you’ve got?” he murmurs.

  “You’re insulting my fake sex sounds?” I keep my voice low, but there’s more fire behind those words than passion motivating my moans.

  “What is usually happening when you make that sound?” he asks.

  “In my fantasies or real life?”

  Gavin cocks his head. “Now I’m curious. Both?”

  “In real life, I’m usually trying to cover for disappointing sex,” I say. But as soon as the words are out there, suspended in the bathroom air between us, I regret them. The details of my sex life are none of Gavin’s business.

  “Mr. Mistake was a disappointment,” he says slowly. I can’t tell if he likes the idea or is horrified I married a man who failed in the sex department.

  “No, he wasn’t,” I reply. Now that I’ve tossed the subject out there, I know Gavin will insist on an explanation. “But the only guy I’ve had the courage to sleep with since was awful.”

  “So you what? Gave up?”

  “I broke up with him and moved on,” I correct. “It’s what normal adults do. We don’t wait until our girlfriend or boyfriend turns to blackmail.”

  He nods as if processing this information. “What about in your fantasies?”

  “What?” How are we back to this?

  “What happens when you make that sound in your fantasies?” he asks.

  “I’m not telling you.”

  “We don’t keep secrets.”

  “This isn’t a secret.” My voice rises above a hushed whisper. I pause and take a breath and then add, “It’s private.”

  He leans closer, until his forehead is practically touching mine. “You know everything about me.”

  I stare into his dark eyes. If I rise up on my tiptoes, I could kiss him and end this conversation.

  And start another …

  I have very little desire to debate Why I Kissed Gavin in the Bathroom over our main course tonight.

  “No, I don’t,” I say finally. “I don’t know everything about you.”

  His gaze locks with mine. I’m glad his arms are still crossed in front of his chest, otherwise I would be tempted to reach out and touch him. He leans closer still. His lips brush my ear. It’s not a kiss, but a subtle tease.

  “Gavin,” I exhale his name. This can’t happen, not here in the bathroom at Cipriani’s, or anywhere else. I can’t fall for him. I spent the pa
st three years building a life for myself, and learning to respect my own needs. And we want very, very different things out of life. I can appreciate his drive to succeed, while also realizing I don’t want to be a long-term part of his climb to the pinnacle of billionaire tech gods. I was a fool to even suggest this crazy plan.

  “I hope you know me well enough to guess that I’m disappointed I will never get to hear you make that sound in my bed.”

  My breath quickens, my chest rising and falling with each ragged inhale. He’s teasing me. I stole away his control when I dragged him in here. Now he’s reclaiming it by tossing me off balance.

  “Gavin,” I say, my voice heavy with warning. “That would be against the rules.”

  “We wrote the rules,” he murmurs again my ear. “I think we can break them.”

  “But we can’t risk our friendship,” I whisper.

  I can feel his arms move as he unfolds them. His hands find my waist. But he stops short of drawing me close. I place my palms flat against his chest, and my fingers slide under the edge of his lapels.

  What if we’ve already gone too far? Can we return to the way things were before I pretended to be his fiancée? Do I want to keep our relationship securely in the friendship space?

  “I would never hurt you,” he whispers.

  He can’t keep that promise. I’m one kiss away from falling in love with Gavin Black. But when this charade ends, I’ll return to the country alone. Another woman will take my place in this bathroom. She’ll eagerly hand over her panties to New York’s most eligible bachelor. And I’ll—

  Gavin’s lips intercept my thoughts. His mouth presses a soft kiss to my ear. Then I feel his subtle against my cheek. A trail of kisses sweep across my jawline until he reaches the corner of my mouth.

  He draws back slightly. “May I kiss you?”

  “Yes,” I whisper. For all the back and forth ping-ponging around my head, the answer is simple.

  His hands pull my hips close against him as his mouth claims mine. He deepens the kiss, his tongue dancing with mine. I sink into the sensation, trying not to think, or worry about the repercussions.

  I want this kiss. I want him.

  Wildly … Desperately …

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  “Excuse me?” A woman’s voice calls through the door. “Are you alright in there?”

  I jump back from Gavin, my eyes wide as if we were caught naked. The woman on the other side of the door can’t possibly know I just kissed my best friend for the first time. I mean really kissed him.

  “Fine,” Gavin calls back, his tone filled with the same authority he carries into a business meeting. “I will be out shortly.”

  “Yes, sir.” The voice on the other side of the door responds.

  “Go,” I say. “I’ll wait a few minutes before I follow and draw out the ruse a bit.”

  Still holding my hips, Gavin guides me away from the door. Then he releases his hold. He reaches for the lock and then pauses and turns to look back at me.

  “For the record, we just broke a rule,” he says. “I kissed you because I damn well wanted to, and the sky didn’t fall.”

  He turns the lock and opens the door. It closes behind him and I quickly slide the bolt into place. One minute and I’ll leave this bathroom. One minute and I’ll slip back into my part.

  “But damn you, Gavin, the sky might not be falling around you, but it has me surrounded,” I whisper. “And I’m not sure I want to turn back.”

  CHAPTER 13

  GAVIN

  I’m keeping a metal list of what’s changed in my life since Alexandra dropped her bombshell Friday night. I’ve kissed my best friend. And not a peck on the lips this time. I kissed her like I wanted her to imagine what my tongue would feel like on other parts of her body.

  Next on the list? I now sneak through my own apartment at four in the morning.

  Tiptoeing through my kitchen, I take one, virtually silent step into the living. I swear I don’t make a sound. But four pups lift their heads off their respective beds. I take another step and Ava is on her paws, rushing to greet me. Trailed by the pups, I move quickly through the room, and manage to slip into my office without a K-9 companion.

  I need to be alone with my fears, locked away in my office. Alexandra caught me off-guard with that picture at the party. She witnessed my old wounds opening up. I won’t let it happen again. When I read the news articles, the Twitter threads, and the Instagram posts, not a single soul will see my reaction, not even Kayla. There are parts of my life that I can’t let anyone witness. Even my best friend needs to be kept at arm’s length from my fears. It’s the only way I know to survive.

  I take a seat in the leather chair behind my desk. A framed picture sits on the edge of the otherwise uncluttered surface. In the image, a smiling twenty-four-year-old version of myself holds a college degree. By the time I’d applied to colleges, I’d sold my first piece of software. And I’d changed my name. I’d buried the boy who’d been bullied until he was afraid to eat.

  I reach for one of the granola bars in the bowl beside the picture. For the first few years after college, I kept candy on my desk. But after the modeling contracts, I switched to granola. I wasn’t granted Kayla’s wild metabolism and can’t down junk food without adding extra workouts.

  On the other side of the sliding glass door, I hear Ava bark. The woof is followed by a feline hiss and then the sound of a dog pawing at my office door. I’m tempted to let the Shepard into my office, but then the others will follow her. I can’t handle that many animals in the study.

  Focus, dammit.

  Ignoring the dog drama in the other room, I open my laptop and retrieve the email Margaret sent yesterday with a link to a long Twitter thread that Alexandra posted. My publicist also included a list of media outlets that picked up the story. One celebrity gossip site ran the headline: Gavin Black’s Traumatic Childhood, Ex-Girlfriend Has Proof.

  I click on the link, knowing this publication also claims to have “proof” of an alien invasion in Kansas. Then again, I haven’t been to Kansas lately. Maybe both articles hold elements of truth.

  Scanning through the article, I find one falsehood after another. Apparently, Alexandra’s infamous twitter thread claims she dumped me. My ex told all of her Twitter followers that she couldn’t handle all of the lies about my past. And her last tweet in the chain? A copy of the picture she showed me on the roof deck.

  I stare at the beaten fourteen-year-old huddled on the floor. If only I could remember the events leading up to this image. But the grainy snapshot of the picture on Alexandra’s twitter feed doesn’t offer a single clue. Who was in the room? Who held the camera?

  My foster parents banished me to the bathroom most days after school. I’d come home beat up and bleeding, especially in high school when I responded to the verbal abuse with my fists. Rick and Liz Masters would send me to the bathroom to clean up when I got home. I’d hide in there until dark. I wasn’t dragged out for dinner unless the useless Mrs. Galanos, the social worker from the agency was stopping by to check on me. Although, I think Sophia Galanos knew I was being abused. She just didn’t want to pull me from my placement. She would have lost her damn fee.

  I stop reading and return to my inbox. There’s a new message from Margaret with the headline, Read Celebrity Spot. With a sigh, I click on the link, expecting another image from high school. Instead the top story on the gossip rag’s homepage features Kayla with her lips pressed to mine. The accompanying article is a welcome reprieve from Alexandra’s exposé. The story details my proposal. There isn’t one word about my ex.

  I bet the Celebrity Spot reporter calls Kayla today for a comment on Alexandra’s accusations.

  When Kayla wakes up, I’ll warn her. I should also prepare her for the shit storm of pictures she’ll see online. Not just the ones from my past, but also the shots of us kissing. Staring at the image from last night’s gala, I know there is nothing “necessary” about that embrace.<
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  I raise my hands and run them through my hair. What possessed me to kiss her like that on the gala’s red carpet? Ego? I’ve worked overtime building my self-esteem up. Did I subconsciously want an image that would trump Alexandra’s news?

  Or maybe it was something closer to plain lust?

  Hell, I don’t know what drove me, but in that moment, I wanted to give Kayla a kiss that would make every other man who’s ever touched her fade into the background.

  “Last time I checked that wasn’t the definition of necessary,” I mutter.

  The dogs bark at the sound of my voice, begging to join me in my study. I glance at my watch. It’s close to five now. They’ve been up for an hour and are eager for a walk. And I’m ready to talk to Kayla about these articles without losing myself in fear.

  I escape my office without letting the dogs in the only pet-free space left. Then I lead a freaking parade to Kayla’s bedroom door. I raise my hand to knock, and Ava, in her abundant wisdom, barks.

  “I didn’t make a sound yet,” I say to the Shepard. The other dogs add their voices to the wake-up call. But Kayla’s made it pretty clear she can ignore a bark or two when sleeping. “I’m going in to wake her,” I tell the dogs. “You guys are waiting out here.”

  I consider it a small miracle that I manage to slip into her bedroom. Once inside, I grab a pair of jeans from the back of a chair and head to the queen-size bed.

  “Wake up and put on some pants.” I stand beside Kayla and hold out her jeans. “We need to walk the dogs.”

  She rolls over and the comforter slides off her shoulders. A paper-thin tank top with spaghetti straps covers her torso. I spot a hint of lace over her bare breasts. Yeah, I’ve already looked too long.

  I crossed a line last night. The situation played upon my fantasies. The idea of sex with the possibility of getting caught is an instant turn-on. Couple that scenario with Kayla’s plan, with her soft moans, and with, hell … just add Kayla to the mix and I was in over my head.

  But I would deal with the repercussions of kissing Kayla as if I wished to fuck her later. We survived the rest of the charity gala without mentioning the kiss. We made it home and walked the dogs together. It can wait a little longer. Right now, I need my best friend.