by Chelle Bliss
She reaches across the front seat and grabs my wrist, stopping me. “I shouldn’t ask you to do this for me. I can go.”
I stare at her and then at her hand, where it’s latched on to me. “I’m not stopping you from going, but where you go, I go too. Jamison sounded like he’s aching for a fight, and if you think you can handle him, you can get that fine ass moving. I’m sure the people waiting to take the photos you keep talking about would love to get those shots.”
She blinks, staring at me as she pulls back her hand, settling it in her lap. “No. You go. Get in and get out as quickly as possible.”
“If he mouths off…”
“Be careful.” She glances down at her fingers, fidgeting. “Jamison is a spiteful man with connections.”
I hold back my laughter.
Connections?
We all have connections. Some better than others.
I don’t give two shits about Jamison and his people. I really don’t give one shit about her either, but I’m not about to let her walk into a potentially dangerous situation to get her things when I have two legs and a hand to grab them.
“Hang tight. Be back in twenty.”
“Room 904,” she calls out as I slide out of my seat and my feet touch the ground.
“Babe, I’m not old or stupid. You’ve told me the number five times since we left my place.”
“Go,” she snaps, waving me away and crossing her feet over each other on the dashboard. “I’ll be here.”
“Fuckin’ pain in my ass,” I mutter, shutting the door before hauling my ass toward the hotel on the next block.
The hotel is new and high-class. Nothing like the old run-down motel that stood in its place for decades. The mirrored glass façade is beautiful but looks like it belongs in LA and not Clearwater, Florida.
As I walk into the lobby, I spot a group of people all holding their cameras at the ready exactly as Jo had warned. I stalk right by them without being noticed because they are looking for the girl currently camped out in my truck, instead of me.
Since I am holding the keycard in my hand, no one stops me as I make my way to the elevators and up to the ninth floor. Two quick knocks on the door of Room 904 and no reply before I enter, finding the pink suitcase near the door.
I do a quick sweep, taking in the crazy-ass size of the room. Scratch that. This isn’t a room. It is a suite and one of the biggest ones I’ve ever seen in my life. It drips with wealth and excess. Two things I’ve never cared much for.
I have my own money. Growing up with a trust fund is something I never felt comfortable with, and I only used the money to buy my house, keeping the rest nestled away for someday when I am too old to work.
As I wrap my fingers around the pink handle, matching the very pink and over-the-top girlie suitcase, a man clears his throat behind me.
“So, she’s slumming it,” he says. “It’s official. She’s gone off the deep end.”
I turn, the suitcase in one hand, the other curled into a tight fist because I know this is Jamison, and I’ll have no problem knocking him on his ass if for nothing else than the way he talked to her.
“Man, I don’t know her, and I sure as fuck don’t know you. I’m here to get her things and get her on her way. You can either let me pass, not pulling me into your drama or bullshit, or I’m putting you on your ass and still leaving.”
He stares at me, puffing himself up like a wild animal trying to look badder than he really is. “You wouldn’t hit me,” he sneers, tipping up his chin like some rich scumbag who thinks his shit doesn’t stink.
“You inviting my fist to that man-made chin?” I ask, taking a step forward.
He steps back.
He’s a pretty boy, for sure. Totally Californian with his wavy blond surfer hair and decked out in a dress shirt with the first two buttons undone like he’s sexier that way. He’s skinny, and I’m pretty damn sure one square, well-placed hit to his jaw and he’d be kissing the carpet.
“I’ll sue you,” he taunts.
“Ahh, you’re a big man,” I reply, moving toward him with the pink suitcase, “who hides behind lawyers. Full of talk, but a complete nothing except a complete pussy.”
With every step I take toward him, he takes one back. “She’s trash, anyway. You can have her.”
“Listen, man. She’s not mine. I’m not having her. I’m here to get her shit so she can be done with you. She’s severing ties. Ending shit. You need to forget her number and pretend she never existed.”
He tips that chin again, looking like he’s begging me to strike him. “She’ll come back. She always does.”
It takes everything in me not to pop him for fun. “I heard about your issue.” I dip my gaze to his crotch, letting him know I know how small he is.
“Fuck off. I don’t have an issue.”
“Whatever, man. I got shit to do. You either move out of the doorway, or I move you myself. The carpet could use a new accessory,” I say, making my way toward him as he blocks the main hallway.
Before I’m within arm’s reach, he steps to the side. “She deserves someone classless like you. Trash begets trash.”
I stop, releasing the pink suitcase, and step up to him, backing him into the wall so he has nowhere to go. My face is inches from his, our eyes locked. “I don’t know how shit works where you’re from, but this is not how shit works here. You talk shit about me, I let that slide. I’m a man. I can take it, especially from someone like you. But when you talk about a woman, one you were supposedly in love with, and call her trash, hurling all kinds of baseless insults at her when she isn’t here to defend herself, I’m going to make damn sure it doesn’t slide.”
“Go ahead.” He eggs me on, eyes narrowed, body frozen. “Hit me.”
I lurch forward like I’m going to land a shot.
He flinches, screaming like a girl, covering his face.
The laugh that comes out of my mouth echoes through the hallway. What a freaking pansy-ass. I didn’t even have to lay a punch for him to almost piss himself.
“Jo’s gone, and so am I. But make no mistake, next time, I’m laying you out. Lawyers won’t protect you from my fist.”
“Redneck,” he yells as I walk away, fucking stupid pink suitcase trailing behind me.
“Small-dicked bastard,” I reply into the emptiness of the hallway, not even bothering to look back in his direction.
I get more than a few looks as I walk through the hotel lobby with the pink suitcase, but no one says shit to me about it because they know better. Once outside, I retract the handle, carrying the suitcase to make the trip quicker, not wanting any more attention than necessary.
“Lookin’ hot, papi,” some asshole yells out the car window as he sits at the light.
He gets my middle finger but nothing else. My truck and Jo are where I left them. She has her eyes closed, head tipped back, looking like she is waiting for me to bring her an ice cream cone and not her belongings from her weak-ass excuse of a now ex-boyfriend.
Her head tips forward and her eyes pop open as I slide back into the truck cab. “You did it?” she asks, staring at me in disbelief. “He just let you leave?”
“Babe.” I gawk at her, wondering what alternate reality she’s living in. “He’s a weak man. And I’m being kind calling that sorry excuse for a human being part of the male population.”
“I used to think he was a good person,” she admits.
“You need to find new people if you think he’s good. He’s a bully and a pussy with the way he throws around his lawyer. No real man says that shit. And no real man cheats on his girl when his girl is as pretty as you are unless he’s a shit person too.”
“Well…I…” She goes silent, staring at me as I stare at her.
“You’re welcome,” I tell her, ending the awkward pause. “Let’s get you back to your car, and you can be on your way.”
“On my way?” she asks, blinking.
“Home or wherever the fuck you’re hea
ded.”
“I was here for a vacation. I needed an escape.”
“Well, Florida’s a big state. Lots of places to run away to if you’re looking not to be found.”
“Yeah,” she mutters.
“Ready?”
She nods, not saying anything else as I put the truck in reverse, ready to get out of the city.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, seeing her twist her fingers in her lap.
“Nothing,” she snaps.
I stop the truck, letting it idle. “Talk to me.”
“I don’t have anywhere to go. You don’t understand.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Drive, and I’ll talk,” she tells me, turning toward the window on her side of the truck, staring at the world passing by.
I finish pulling out, easing into the endless traffic because it’s tourist season and the roads to get to the beach are always full. “I’m driving.”
“There’s nowhere for me to go without being tracked. I know you live a life where you move freely, but I don’t. I never have. I’m tracked by my credit cards and social media posts, always followed by photographers or people looking for something from me. Do you know what that’s like?”
“Can’t say that I do.”
“I only need a few days to get my head together before I face the cameras and my family.”
I don’t know what kind of crazy world she lives in, but it’s not anything I’ve ever experienced or am even remotely familiar with. “So, you’re saying you’re someone to people?”
“My parents are, and by default, so am I.”
“Must suck.”
“You have no idea.”
“Saw the photographers waiting for you in the hotel.”
She turns her head toward me, sadness in her eyes. “They’re always waiting for me.”
I don’t know why I’m about to say what I’m about to say, but I say it anyway. “You need an escape?” I ask her.
“I do. I need to disappear.”
“Been twelve hours and they haven’t found you yet.”
“Nope,” she replies. “Not yet.”
I sigh, scrubbing my hand quickly across my face. “You can stay at my place for a few days. I have to work so I won’t be around much, but you’re free to hang out by the pool and relax. I know it’s no swanky-ass high-class hotel, but it’s private and peaceful.” I turn my head toward her, taking in her now-wide eyes.
“You’d let me stay?”
I shrug. “Doesn’t matter much to me unless you plan to steal my shit.”
“Why would I do that?” she asks, brows drawn down.
“Fuck if I know.”
“You’re really okay with me staying and invading your space?”
“Again, I gotta work, and it’s not like you’re hard on the eyes.”
“I’m not hard on the eyes?” she asks, hissing the last word.
“Nope. Pretty damn easy to look at, and you’re sweet to be around when you’re not crying over some weak-ass jagoff who doesn’t deserve the tears.”
“Are you sure I can stay?”
“Yeah. I don’t say shit unless I mean it.”
She scoots across the bench seat and places a quick and chaste kiss on my cheek. “Thank you, Nick. You’ve saved me more than once. I’ll pay you back somehow.”
I smile, liking the way her lips felt against my skin. “Don’t need your money, babe. Don’t make a mess of my place, and we’re even.”
“Can I have the bed?” she asks, and I don’t even have to look at her to know she’s smiling too.
“Nope.”
And just like that, I have a new and very temporary roommate.
Lord help me.
5
Jo
Nick drops me off in the driveway with only a few things: his cell phone number programmed into my phone, the key to his house, the address of where he works in case of emergency, and my pink suitcase.
I don’t move as he pulls out of the driveway, taking off down the street like he is trying to break a land speed record. I stand in the driveway for about a minute, staring back and forth between the house and the road, and wonder what in the hell happened?
Never in a million years did I think he’d offer for me to stay. Not even when I laid it on pretty thick, telling him I had nowhere else to go to escape the reality that is my life.
After it is clear he isn’t coming back, I pull my heavy suitcase through the front door, drop the key on the side table along with my purse, and go right to the couch.
My ass hasn’t even hit the cushion when my phone rings.
“Josephine,” my mother screeches as soon as I tap the screen.
“Mom,” I sigh, bracing myself.
“Where are you? Jamison called and…”
“I’m fine,” I answer although she didn’t ask me how I was, only where I was.
Naturally, Jamison called her, bending over backward to kiss up to my parents, hoping their success would, somehow, rub off on him.
He isn’t unlike the other people in my life. Always looking to get something out of a relationship with me. Something more than my love and friendship, rather status and success, all the while climbing on me and over me to get it.
“Where are you?” she asks again.
“I’m safe.”
“That’s good, dear, but where?”
“I’m tapping out of reality for a while, Mom. I need a break from everything and everyone in my life. Just know I’m safe, and I’ve found a little hideaway to find my center again. But don’t worry, I’ll be back in a week or two.”
“Jamison’s at the hotel waiting for you to come back. He called in a panic, telling us you’re with some crazy ruffian and that he is worried about your safety.”
“Of course he did,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “Fuckin’ weasel and liar.”
“The man threatened him.”
“I’m sure he deserved it.”
“Josephine,” she chides me, sounding completely shocked at my response. “I’m sure the media overstated what happened. Jamison has always been kind and doesn’t deserve to have his life threatened by some—”
“Overstated?”
“We know how the paparazzi is. We’ve dealt with them our entire lives. They always blow everything way out of proportion.”
“Mom,” I snap, collapsing back on the couch, throwing my arm over my face. “I walked into the room and found Jamison with his face between the legs of the maid.”
“Well…” She pauses, clearly clutching those tarnished pearls that hang around her neck, giving her an air of innocence. “Maybe you misinterpreted what was happening?”
“Maybe I misinterpreted what was happening?” I repeat, stupefied.
“You never know. Maybe she needed help with something, and they fell over just as you walked in.”
The laughter bubbles out of my throat and right into the receiver of the phone. “Unless something fell into her vagina, Mom, there’s no way to misinterpret what I saw. The only thing she needed help with was the orgasm she was clearly in the middle of when I walked in on them.”
“Boys will be boys,” she hums, clearly dismissing his behavior like she has with my dad more times than I can remember. “If you want to be happy, you have to look the other way instead of trying to find problems.”
I bite back the scream that’s festering deep in my chest. My mom means well, but she’s been a doormat her entire life, settling for shitty relationships and becoming a pro at explaining away bad behavior.
“Do you hear yourself?” I ask her. “You are not normal. The people you surround yourself with are not normal either. I think you forgot about reality, living in your bubble way too long. Boys will be boys is not an acceptable excuse for crappy men who are willing to stick their dick in anything that moves, Mom. I get you’re willing to accept mediocrity, but I am not.”
“Maybe I should schedule you another appointment with Dr. Jones.”
“No.�
� My answer is quick, swift, and leaves no room for error.
There is no way in hell I would go back to a Hollywood psychologist who bought into the same line of thinking as my mother. The same psychologist who tried to modify my way of thinking and behavior so I’d buy into it too.
“We’ll talk about setting up an appointment with her when you get home.”
“Again, that’s a big fat no, Mom.”
“We’ll see, honey,” she says. “And what about the man who threatened Jamison?”
“You mean the man who protected me by getting my things, so I wouldn’t have to—”
“Protected you?” she laughs. “I’m sure he didn’t do it out of the goodness of his heart. Remember, boys will be boys, and nothing is ever for free. He knows who you are, Josephine.”
I roll my eyes. “I have to go. My appointment at the spa is in ten minutes,” I lie. “I’ve booked myself every treatment they have over the next week. Until then, I’d prefer to be left alone.”
“There’s nothing like a good pampering to help one find peace. I’ll check in with you in a few days,” she replies, glossing right over the fact that I wanted to be left alone for the next seven days.
“Text only. No more voice calls. I’m going to try the technique Dr. Jones taught me about silence and centering.”
“Oh yes. That’s always helpful. I’ll text you in a few days,” she amends her last statement.
The technique is total bullshit. Something I made up when I didn’t want to talk to my mother, which has been more often than not over the last few years.
I can never do anything right in her eyes. My relationship failures are always my fault, never the man’s.
I am the wild child who needs taming in her eyes, instead of the doting daughter of Hollywood elite.
“Got to run.”
“Bye, dear,” she says before the line goes dead and the room is filled with nothing but silence.
“Fucking bananas,” I mutter, staring up at the white ceiling. “Not one normal person in my life.”
The closest person I have to normal is my best friend, but her parents are bigger Hollywood movie stars than mine, and I haven’t seen her in three years. My father is more normal than my mother but spends more time away, chasing tail on movie sets all over the world. My parents haven’t gotten along in well over ten years, but instead of getting divorced, they’ve decided to lead separate lives to save face in front of the press.
