by Marie Force
“I’m not going to sue you,” he says, chuckling. “I wouldn’t mind some coffee, though. If you have time—and if you tell me your name.”
“You… you want to have coffee. With me.”
“If you have time, and if you tell me your name.”
I’m stunned speechless, and people who know me will tell you that happens well… never. They call me Chatty Cathy at school because I like to talk to my colleagues at lunch when most of them would prefer a few minutes of quiet.
“You do have a name, don’t you?”
“It’s, um, Natalie.”
“Natalie. That’s a good name. Does it come with a last name?”
“Bryant.” Sometimes my new name still feels funny coming off my lips, but the old name… The old name belongs to the old life, and neither has any place here in my perfect new life that’s just gotten a lot more perfect.
“Natalie Bryant. And Fluff.” He raises his hand as if to pet Fluff, but her growl makes him think better of it.
“Fluff-o-Nutter.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s her full name. Fluff is her nickname.” I don’t know why I tell him that, but when he laughs—hard—my stomach feels all fluttery and strange. I made Flynn Godfrey laugh. As he wipes a laughter tear from the corner of his eye, I discover I quite like making Flynn Godfrey laugh.
Well, isn’t this turning out to be a rather interesting day?
Chapter 2
She’s beautiful in the effortless, guileless manner of truly beautiful people who don’t know they’re beautiful. Her hair is a mass of dark curls, spilling from under a knit cap that looks homemade. The cold and the embarrassment of our encounter have heightened the color on her cheeks and make her full, lush mouth as red as a ripe strawberry.
I couldn’t let her leave without at least knowing her name.
Hayden was apoplectic when I told him I needed half an hour. “We’re all fucking freezing out here, Flynn. You’re going to make us wait half an hour while you chase after a skirt?”
Only because we are the best of friends—most of the time—did I resist the urge to punch my director and business partner in the face. We’ve been grating on each other’s nerves for weeks as this interminable shoot comes to an end with these final shots in Greenwich Village.
A half hour isn’t going to make or break our budget, and Hayden’s cozy trailer is nearby to keep everyone warm. That is, if the selfish bastard chooses to share it with the crew. In case he doesn’t, I gave the key to my trailer to one of the grips, with orders to invite the crew inside for a break.
The dog named Fluff-o-Nutter growls at me as I contemplate her stunning owner, Natalie Bryant. “So, coffee? Yes?”
Her deep brown eyes take an assessing glance at the neighborhood. “We can go to Gorman’s. They’ll let me bring Fluff in.”
I’ve never heard of Gorman’s, but it’s fine with me if it means I get to spend a few more minutes with her. “Lead the way.”
We walk the short distance in awkward silence and step into a coffee shop where Natalie and Fluff are clearly regulars. The owner, a big woman named Cleo, makes a fuss over Fluff, who wriggles with delight at the chin scratch.
“How’s school going?” Cleo asks Natalie as she serves up what looks to be a skinny latte with skim milk.
I’m guessing, because Natalie doesn’t actually place an order.
I can feel Natalie’s gaze darting between me and Cleo and can sense her trepidation as she carries on a conversation with Cleo, who either hasn’t noticed me or hasn’t recognized me. Yet.
“It’s good,” Natalie says. “I got the best possible class for my first year. I love them all, and even the parents are great.”
“You’re lucky. My daughter is a teacher uptown and got the exact opposite this year. Bunch a brats, and the parents are worse.”
“Yikes. That’s got to be tough.”
“Does Fluff want a biscuit?”
“No, she’s been naughty this morning. No treats today.”
Fluff whines in protest.
“That’s three twenty-five, honey.”
“I’ve got this.” I step up to the counter before Natalie can pull out her wallet. I invited her. I’m paying.
Cleo’s eyes widen, and her mouth falls open. “You. You’re. You’re…”
“Flynn Godfrey. Nice to meet you.”
She screams. Loudly. So loudly that Fluff starts barking frantically while squirming in Natalie’s arms.
Cleo’s scream brings the entire staff to the counter along with some of the patrons. By the time I sign autographs, kiss Cleo’s quivering cheek while one of the staffers takes pictures, and get around to ordering a coffee for myself that she won’t let me pay for, I’ve used up a big chunk of my precious thirty minutes.
Looking at Natalie, I point to a table in the corner. “Join me for a minute?”
She glances around at the prying eyes fixed on us, and I hate how uncomfortable she seems. “Um, sure, for a second.” She settles into the chair I hold for her, adeptly managing the squiggling dog and her coffee.
This is the part of fame I absolutely hate. I’ve met a woman I find interesting, but I can’t take her for coffee without causing a three-ring circus. In fact, I rarely go out in public anymore without security, but I’ve decided to risk it for a chance to talk to Natalie. By now she’s probably convinced I’m far more interested in myself than I am in her.
I walk a fine line—how do I deny Cleo and her staff a few autographs and a couple of pictures without looking like a jerk? On the other hand, how do I indulge them without appearing self-centered to Natalie?
“Sorry about all that.” I tip my head toward the counter where Cleo leans, her rapt attention fixed on us.
“Probably happens all the time, huh?”
I shrug, not wanting to talk about myself. I’m sick of myself and far more interested in her. “So you’re a teacher?”
She seems surprised by the question. “That’s right. Third grade at the Emerson School, one of the top charter schools in the city.”
“Impressive.”
“Sure, it is,” she says with a laugh that makes my gut clench with desire. She is stunning. Fresh-faced and full of life and exuberance and passion.
“It’s very impressive. I give you so much credit. I’d go crazy spending seven hours a day with seven-year-olds.”
“My kids are eight, and it’s six hours a day.”
“I stand corrected,” and captivated, which I don’t share with her. She’s young, I think, as I take a sip of my coffee. Far too young and fresh for me, and yet… I’m captivated. “Are you from the city?”
She shakes her head. “Nebraska. I applied for a special program that brings first-year teachers to the city. They help us find housing and roommates and get settled in exchange for a two-year commitment to the program. They also help with our student loans.”
“You’re a long way from home.”
“And loving every minute of it.”
Young and vanilla and from the heartland and so far removed from the kind of woman I normally pursue… I need to get out of here and get back to work before Hayden has me killed, but I can’t bring myself to move. Not while the young and stunning Natalie Bryant sits across from me, looking slightly shell-shocked to be sharing coffee with me. I hate that part of fame, too. Right now, I wish to be just a man having coffee with a gorgeous woman, but I’m always Flynn Godfrey, Movie Star. It’s as if the words “movie star” are part of my name, like Junior or Senior or Roman numerals.
She regards me with a glint of humor in her eyes that I find wildly attractive. “I’d ask you what you do, but I already know. Movie star. I’d ask where you’re from, but I know that, too. Beverly Hills. I’d ask how old you are, but I know you’re thirty-two—”
“Thirty-three,” I say, amused by her recitation. “I’m surprised you don’t know about the Christmas birthday.”
“I know that superstar actor Max Godfrey
married superstar singer Estelle Flynn, and when their son was born on Christmas Day, Flynn Godfrey was anointed Hollywood royalty. I could ask if you have siblings, but I know there’re three sisters, all of them older. So what else should we talk about?” As she poses the question, she props her chin on her upturned hand and gives me a cheeky little smile that slays me.
I’m slain. I’m enchanted. And I’m late. “We could talk about dinner,” I say before I give myself even two seconds to think about what I’m doing. I can’t let her get away without knowing I’ll see her again. I need to see her again.
“Dinner.”
“Are you familiar with the third—and often final—meal of the day?”
“I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never had it with the biggest movie star in the world.”
I grimace, because at this moment, I hate that I’m the biggest movie star in the world, especially if it’s going to cost me the chance to spend more time with this incredible woman. “Is that a major turnoff?”
“Not a turnoff, per se, but you have to admit that for a school teacher from Nebraska spending her first year in New York City, this has been a rather surreal morning.”
“I can see how it would be from your perspective, but from mine, it’s been a rather refreshing kind of morning. I was hoping it could also be a refreshing sort of evening, too.”
“I won’t sleep with you.”
I’m stunned speechless, which almost never happens. I can’t recall the last time someone has surprised me so profoundly.
Her face flushes with color that only adds to her beauty. I want to feel the heat of her cheeks under my lips, and my cock stirs to life as that thought makes it to my addled brain.
“I’m sorry. That was rude. You weren’t asking me to go to bed with you.”
“No, I wasn’t.” I smile at her flustered state. “Not yet, anyway. I thought we could begin with dinner and go from there.”
“As long as ‘going from there’ doesn’t involve a bedroom, I’d consider having dinner with you.”
I’m far more relieved than I should be to know I’ll get to see her again. “I promise there’ll be no mention of bedrooms.”
“Or sofas or backseats or any other horizontal surfaces.”
“You forgot walls, stairwells and shower stalls. I do some of my best work vertically.”
Her eyes widen and her mouth forms an adorable O that makes me want her fiercely. “You’re rather experienced at these things.”
“It’s more about imagination than experience.”
“I, um, I should go and let you get back to work.”
I want to kick myself for taking our flirtation a step too far and unsettling her to the point that she wants to get away from me. “I apologize for being forward. I was only teasing. You have my word I’ll behave as a perfect gentleman while in your presence, and I’d be extremely honored if you would have dinner with me tonight.”
“You… you’d be honored.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Why?” She seems genuinely curious. “You could go out with any woman in the world. Why me? My dog bit you, made you bleed. I’d think you’d be furious with me, not asking me out.”
Does she not have the first clue how adorable she is? “Why not you? I told you. It’s just a scratch. I’ve already forgiven Fluff.”
At the sound of her name, Fluff bares her teeth at me.
“That’s nice of you. I haven’t forgiven her yet.”
“Could I have your address?” I withdraw my phone from my coat pocket so I can type it in as she hesitantly shares the information. “How about your phone number so I can call you if I’m running late?”
The area code is one I don’t recognize, so I assume it’s a Nebraska phone number. “Got it.” I stand, reluctantly. “I’ll text you so you’ll have my number if you need to reach me.” I wish I had nowhere to be on this cold-ass day. I’d like to spend more time with her. “Sorry to drink and run.”
“Thank you for the coffee.”
I don’t mention that she should be thanking Cleo, who wouldn’t accept payment for either drink. “I’ll pick you up at seven?”
She rolls her plump bottom lip between her teeth. I’m instantly hard and grateful for the coat that covers the evidence of my arousal. Nodding, she says, “What should I wear?”
I think about that for a second. “A dress. Maybe a black dress. You’re a New Yorker now. I assume you have a black dress?”
“I have a black dress,” she says with a small, shy smile.
“Excellent. I’ll see you soon. Fluff, it’s been a pleasure. Take good care of your mom and behave on the way home.”
Fluff again bares her tiny—and very sharp—teeth and growls.
“I’m so sorry. I don’t know why she’s behaving this way. It’s not like her.”
I wink at Natalie. “Not to worry. At least she didn’t ask me for an autograph.”
I leave her laughing, pleased with myself and with her and looking forward to this evening with far too much anticipation as I jog back to the park and Hayden’s wrath, sending the text I promised her on the way.
He’s pacing the length of the playground when I return. “What the fuck, Flynn? Are you all done seeing to your personal agenda? Can we get back to work?”
I ignore the first two questions. “Yep.”
“What’s the deal with the girl?”
“No deal.” It’s none of his fucking business, but unfortunately, he’s known me forever and can tell I’m lying to his face.
“Dude… Seriously? She’s an infant. You’ve got no business dragging a sweet girl like that into your world.”
The sad part is, he’s totally right. There’s no place at all for a nice girl like Natalie in my world. No place at all. But I’m fascinated nonetheless and counting the hours until I can see her again.
Chapter 3
Flynn Godfrey asked me to dinner. The sentence runs through my mind over and over and over again on the walk home. I’ve put Fluff down to walk because my arms are aching from holding her for so long. She’s got a new pep to her step, probably because she thinks she’s succeeded in running off Flynn.
It also occurs to me on the walk home that preparing for this evening is going to occupy my entire day. By the time I reach the three-story brownstone where I live with my roommate, Leah, I’m wishing I never agreed to go.
Fluff and I dash up the stairs to the front door and up one flight to our second-floor apartment. Inside, it takes me a full five minutes to remove all the layers I’ve worn for my walk. By then, Fluff is dancing around my feet, wanting her lunch.
I feed her and stand in the kitchen for a minute, feeling stunned and numb as I relive the events of the last hour. Reaching for my phone, I read and reread his text: So nice to meet you, Natalie. Look forward to seeing you later. Flynn.
Leah comes in, carrying a huge basket of laundry and bitching about the stink in the laundry room that seems to get worse with every passing day. She is tall and stick thin with long brown hair and blue eyes. I envy her ability to eat anything she wants. She envies my curves. Except for a couple of fundamental differences in philosophy, we get along well.
“Tell me the truth,” she says, dropping the basket and coming over to me. “Do I smell like the laundry room?”
I lean in and take a whiff of her hair, but all I smell is the salon shampoo she’s gotten me addicted to, even though neither of us can afford it. “You smell fine.”
“Remember that episode of Seinfeld? When he picks up his car from the detailer and it smells like BO? Then he starts to smell like BO, and Elaine starts to smell, too, because she’s been in the car?”
I wasn’t allowed to watch TV growing up and I was too busy trying to survive in college, so I’ve gorged on television since moving to the city. Leah’s obsession with Seinfeld reruns has worn off on me. “I love that episode.”
“That’s going to be us if they don’t figure out what the fuck stinks in that lau
ndry room. No one will want to be around us.”
She swears like a sailor when she’s home, getting it out of her system, she says, after a week on best behavior in the classroom with fourth-graders. She encourages me to swear, too, but the few times I tried resulted in hilarity on both our parts. Leah says if I live with her long enough, she’ll eventually wear off on me.
“How was the walk?” she asks from the sofa where she’s set up shop to fold the mountain of clean clothes.
“It was… You won’t believe what happened.” The story bursts out of me in a flurry of words and hand motions. When I’m done, Leah stares at me as if I’ve just told her I saw aliens in the park.
“You’re making this up. You’re fucking with me.”
“No, I’m not. I swear to God it’s true.”
“You smashed into Flynn Godfrey in the park, Fluff bit his arm, you had coffee with him, and he asked you to dinner?”
“Yep.”
“You’re fucking lying.”
“Leah,” I say, beginning to feel exasperated, “why would I make that up?”
“You really met Flynn Godfrey.”
“I really met Flynn Godfrey.”
“Holymotherfuckingshit!” She’s off the sofa and grabbing me. “Tell me everything. Don’t leave out one single detail.”
I go through the whole thing again, slowly this time, with as many details as I can recall—which is all of them, of course—and she hangs on my every word.
“And he’s coming here? Tonight?”
I show her the text he sent me. “Seven o’clock.”
“I’m calling in sick to work.” She moonlights at a bar down the street and makes almost as much working Saturday night as she does in a full week at school.
“No, you’re not. You can’t afford to call in sick.” I tutor nearly every day after school to supplement my income. Since Leah can’t stand to spend one extra minute with her kids, she works at the bar on weekends.
