The Pop Star Next Door

by Aleah Barley

  “Then why didn’t you visit?”

  “Because I was too busy conquering the world.” The joke was delivered with Anna’s usual confidence and aplomb, every syllable annunciated. It should have been funny, but there was no laughter.

  Anna took her lemonade glass back, finishing off the liquid in two quick gulps. She wiped her mouth clean on the back of her hand. “You said her name was Julia?”

  Julia. Tall and capable, dressed in one of her smart black suits. “We fought for our marriage. We really did, but eventually there was nothing else we could do. Julia couldn’t live here, and by then, I already owned my own business. We divorced.” Short sentences, simple phrases, pressed together. “She left. I stayed.”

  “Did you love her?”

  “No, I think that I might have… someday… But we never got to someday. We couldn’t make it work though.” Nick’s breath caught in his throat, thinking of a woman in his bed, masses of tawny blonde hair flowing across the sheets, blue eyes shining.

  That was wrong.

  Julia’s hair was a deep auburn, tight curls clipped short. Her eyes were hazel. That didn’t stop the picture developing in his head. Anna. Naked. Calling his name.

  “Love’s a funny thing.” He slipped an arm around Anna’s shoulders, squeezing her tight. Overhead an owl flew by, searching the night for bats. They weren’t going to fix everything tonight. They couldn’t even if they tried. The most that they could hope for at the moment was peace and happiness.

  There was a crash from somewhere in the house. Adam.

  Anna flinched her entire body shaking.

  Nick’s eyes squeezed shut. He took one deep breath then another. The house was quiet. If Adam needed anything then, he’d scream.

  “How did things go tonight? Did you have fun?”

  “It was hell on earth,” Anna’s voice wavered slightly.

  “What did he do?” Nick loved his son, but he had no illusions. Adam could be a holy terror when he wanted.

  “He didn’t do anything. I was the one who couldn’t handle a stupid babysitting job. One freaking kid.” Anna’s head was shaking, long hair brushing against Nick’s cheek. She leaned into him, her body suddenly soft and pliant. “Everyone can handle one kid, but I freaked out after twenty minutes.”

  That was nice and vague. What had happened? He’d only left Adam and Anna together for a couple of hours, just long enough for them to eat some sugar, dance around the kitchen, and watch some inappropriate television. They should have been fine.

  “What happened?”

  “I just wanted everything to be perfect. I tried to do everything for him.”

  Nick’s gut tightened. He took a deep breath, sucking air into her lungs, and struggling to keep from laughing. That was the first mistake.

  Adam was an active boy. An energetic six-year-old he was always getting into trouble, putting his hands where they didn’t belong. Tactile experiences and independence that was what he liked. Sitting there while someone else did everything for him would be the most perfect form of torture.

  Now he was laughing. It was damn funny. Since coming to Mill City, Anna had been fighting like hell to do everything herself—fixing the house, driving his car—to prove her independence. And then she hadn’t let Adam do a damn thing.

  Nick’s hand reached up, grasping her chin. His lips pressed against hers. Kissing on the front step like they were teenagers again, only this time they didn’t have to worry about being caught by her grandfather. His free hand wrapped around her waist, long fingers splayed across her narrow belly. He bent forward—kissing her harder now—tasting her.

  The lemonade she’d been drinking was sour, but there was a hint of sugar on her lips.

  Another crash came from inside the house making Nick pull away. They weren’t teenagers anymore. He was an adult with responsibilities; his business and a son who’d already run Anna ragged enough for one night.

  “I should take him to his sleepover,” He said. His thumb ran across the curve of Anna’s jaw, feeling her silky skin. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said, struggling to reassure her. “Adam’s an active kid. He likes to do things for himself.”

  “What if he’d made a mistake? What if he’d gotten hurt? Anything could have happened.”

  “He’s a kid. Anything probably will happen.” He bent forward, allowing her to rest her head on his shoulder. “You’ll get better at this. I promise.”

  “Better—” She gulped. “No, no way. I’m not doing this again. You’d have to be crazy to let me do this again. I don’t know anything about taking care of children. I’ve never taken care of anything. Not even a hamster.”

  That didn’t mean she couldn’t learn. Anna was a smart woman. She was warm, loving, with a great sense of humor and a way of looking at Nick that made him feel like she could see straight into his mind. Just because she wasn’t sticking around, didn’t mean that he couldn’t appreciate everything that she had to offer.

  Nick stretched out a hand, trying to reassure her, but she just flinched away. Tired knees screamed as he forced himself onto his feet. A moment later, he was inside the house, retrieving a six-year-old boy who’d had way too much lemonade for one night.

  Walking outside—hand in hand with his son—he was ready to stop on the porch again, to reassure Anna that she was a capable woman, fun and friendly, who would spend many happy afternoons playing with Adam in the sunlight.

  The porch was empty. She was already gone, whether she’d run upstairs to her bedroom or chosen to walk around the block was a mystery.

  Nick just hoped that she’d be there when he got back.

  His perfectly ordered life was spinning out of control, and for some reason it all had to do with the girl next door—the woman next door who he’d sworn that he’d forgotten—Anna had been back for less than a day, but every time he closed his eyes he could see her smiling up at him with dirt on her nose and a stubborn turn of her lips.

  Chapter Ten

  Forty-five minutes later Nick was back, standing on Anna’s front porch with a bag in each hand. He knocked on the front door once, twice. Nothing happened. Taking in a deep breath, he shifted both bags into one hand and reached for the doorknob, unsure whether he wanted it to be locked or unlocked. Locked could mean that she wasn’t at home, or worse, she just didn’t want to see him. Unlocked could mean that something bad had opened. The knob was cold against his hand.

  Turning it quickly, He pushed his way into the house, bags held aloft. Hail the conquering hero. “Anna!”

  “What do you want?” She finally materialized at the top of the stairs. Still wearing the long button down and those ridiculous shorts.

  His heart pounded faster. Damn, if he lived to be a hundred the sight of those shorts molded to her body would stick with him until his final day. “Adam said that you guys hadn’t eaten dinner. I thought I’d remedy that fact. Ooey, gooey, fall off the bone barbecued ribs.”

  “I don’t eat barbecue,” She objected, wandering down the sweeping staircase to follow him into the kitchen.

  She’d worked hard cleaning the living room, but there was still a layer of dust on the walls and a pile of trash in the corner. The kitchen gleamed. All the dirt and decay of the last few months was gone, swept away into the mammoth trash bags that neatly lined one corner of the big room. One cabinet was open, revealing a variety of different packaged foods. Anna had obviously tried to figure out dinner and failed.

  Good, it was nice to know that he’d rescued her from a meal of Ramen Noodles and canned beets.

  He put the bags down on the table and pulled out two heavy styrofoam containers of ribs. The bags were still half-full when he moved them onto the floor.

  “Do you want something to drink? I could run next door for something harder than lemonade.”

  “Don’t bother.” She walked over to open the refrigerator door, grabbing two cans of off-brand cola off the bottom shelf. Those damn shorts pulling tight across her wonderful
heart shaped ass. The refrigerator door swung shut. The cola was placed carefully on the table then she retreated, heading towards the breakfast nook where Bill’s old double bed had been the previous day.

  The bed was gone, most of it anyway. She must have taken the frame apart because there was no way she could have gotten it out of the kitchen otherwise. The mattress was leaning against the wall. A double, nothing like the king-sized monstrosity in his bedroom, but no less inviting.

  He cleared his throat, forcing himself to look down at the cartons of food that he was opening. The ribs looked delicious. They smelled sinful. Anna bent forward, hungry. She walked over slowly, sitting in the chair furthest from him. Fine, it was a start.

  “You do good work.” He gestured around the living room. “Let me guess, you’re working as a maid until that singing career takes off?”

  “Not quite.” She stuck a finger into the carton of food, staining her pale skin with dark red sauce. Then she lifted the finger upwards, her tongue darted out, licking it, making Nick wonder what else she could lick.

  Watching Anna eat ribs was a thoroughly enjoyable experience. She was completely focused. Tearing the meat apart with perfect teeth, licking her fingers, nibbling on the bones. Sauce splattered across her face, and she didn’t care. It was dark, primal, hungry. Every few seconds she made a soft moaning noise, like it was the best thing she’d tasted in years.

  “You don’t eat ribs much?”

  “I don’t eat ribs ever,” she corrected. “They’re too messy.”

  He didn’t mind the mess. In fact, he thought it was kind of cute. He ate his food slowly, carefully. Years of practice allowing him to pick apart the meat without getting any sauce in his face, but there was definitely something to be said about Anna’s method of enjoyment. Did she make the same kinds of noises in bed?

  “You should eat whatever the hell you want.”

  “You’ve obviously never been to Los Angeles.”

  Big cities weren’t his thing. “Los Angeles isn’t the world, Anna.”

  “It’s my world.” Anna stopped eating. She stared down at her plate for a long moment then sighed. One hand reached out, grabbing a paper towel to wipe her fingers clean. “Thanks for the food, thanks for the help last night, but I’m all right now. You should probably get back to Adam.”

  “I told you. He’s at a sleepover—” Nick’s words broke off. Adam was just an excuse. Anna wanted him gone. Somewhere along the line, he’d said the wrong thing, and now it was too late to recover. They’d had a good time the day before. If he’d been more careful then, they might have been friends. But any chance at neighborly consideration—any hope of a night spent burying himself inside her, listening to her call out his name in the throes of passion—was gone.

  Ten years earlier, he’d been head over heels in love with her. Things had changed. He still wanted her, he still liked her, but he had a son.

  Any relationship that he had would eventually affect Adam.

  She was clearly hiding something. Starting something with her would be a mistake. Walking in the door—looking at those damn shorts—it was a mistake he’d been willing to make, but only if she wanted him.

  “Look in the bags.” He stood, leaning forward across the table to give her a kiss on the cheek. “I brought you some presents.” She tilted her head up as if to object, then swallowed, hard. She closed her mouth, turning away.

  Walking to the door, he could hear the rustling of plastic bags being opened. He’d brought her heavy duty gloves made out of hot pink rubber, pastel sponges, and a couple of different cleansers. There had been other things too, lemons to make her own fresh lemonade and a dozen other tiny things that he’d bought on a whim at the supermarket.

  His hand was on the kitchen door when he heard a squeak.

  “Wait,” she said quietly.

  There was another squeak.

  Chapter Eleven

  A rubber ducky. Nick had bought her a rubber ducky. It was bright yellow, with red lips and blue eyes. It was the dumbest looking ducky that Anna had ever seen. Clearly a reject from the toy bin. When she squeezed the thing around the middle, it went squeak.

  “Wait,” she said, squeezing the ducky again. Squeak, squeak, squeak. A laugh. “I love it.”

  Nick was standing at the door, preparing to leave.

  “Wait,” she said a second time.

  Over the years, she’d been given diamonds set in a variety of precious metals, rare orchids that could only be purchased overseas, and clothing worth thousands of dollars. But nothing had ever made her as happy as the yellow rubber duck.

  It was so damn cheerful and unexpected.

  “I’m sorry.” She’d been rash, mean, and he’d been right. “Can you stay awhile?”

  “I can stay as long as you want.” His voice was calming. Offering her more than she’d expected.

  As long as she wanted?

  Anna didn’t know if she was ready for that kind of commitment. A little neighborly consideration. That was all they were talking about. A passionate night spent in each other’s arms.

  But, a small voice murmured in the back of her mind, what if she wanted more? What if she wanted a few days? Months even? Time enough to explore the tingling she felt in her heart every time he smiled. She took a deep breath, suddenly afraid of the possibilities. “Would you stay the night?”

  “Hell, yes.”

  “Stay,” A single word, but it spoke more than volumes of clever lyrics. The word was quiet, almost too quiet to hear.

  “Stay,” The second time was louder. Too loud. She laughed quietly to herself. If the tabloids knew that all it took to make her melt was a damn rubber ducky, she’d never hear the end of it.

  “I never had one of these things, not even when I was a kid.” She’d been a lousy kid. “You ever get your boy a rubber ducky, Nick?”

  “Adam?” His mouth twisted up into a wry smile. “Nope, can’t say that I have.” His smile faltered. “You always do that. It’s always ‘the kid’ or ‘your boy.’ He’s his own person. Adam. Just call him by his name.”

  “Really?” Her laughter was fast, nervous. What the hell was he talking about? “I hadn’t realized.”

  “Uh huh.” He raised her eyebrow in her general direction. “You don’t like kids?”

  “It’s not that.” What a horrible thing to say. If word ever got out that she didn’t like kids that she’d even been accused of disliking kids, then she’d be a dead woman. Her entire world would disintegrate around her. Fame, fortune, it would all disappear in an instant, but that wasn’t the only reason that her voice jumped an octave in response to Nick’s question.

  Nick had been a wild teenager, rough around the edges and ready for anything. When he’d wanted something, nothing had gotten in his way. The night before, listening to him ask his son about the day’s events at school, it had become clear that he applied the same intensity to parenting that he had to everything else. The smile that graced his lips every time he looked at the boy said that he loved his son.

  Adam.

  He loved Adam.

  Anna wasn’t about to say anything to offend Nick as a parent.

  “I like kids. They just make me nervous.”

  “Nervous?” He shook his head. “Kids are great. They’re a whole lot of fun. You just need a little more experience.”

  “People say the same things about dogs, but I’ve never had one of those either.” That was probably the wrong thing to say. Anna sighed, desperate to change the subject. “Never mind.”

  One last squeak and she put the rubber ducky down on the table. She’d worked hard all day, it was time to relax. Standing up, she walked over to the stereo system in the breakfast nook. The stereo had been a Christmas present for Papa Billy five years earlier, she’d chosen it herself then sent her assistant to pick up the collected work of Frank Sinatra. She’d been switching CDs out all day, singing along to famous crooners of the past.

  Punching play, she allowed her h
ips to swing in time to the voice of old blue eyes himself. ‘My Way.’

  She shimmied across the room. “Want to dance?”

  A laugh. “I don’t know if I’d call what you’re doing dancing.”

  “Really?” Her body moved rapidly back and forth, completing one intricate dance move after another. “I’ll have you know that I get complimented on my choreography all the time.”

  “Maybe so, but that’s not what I call dancing.”

  “What do you call dancing?”

  “This.” Nick moved fast, catching her mid-step. His arms dropped around her middle, holding her tight. With her body pressed against his, desire washed over her in waves, filling her with a desperate need to be held and to be loved. A hand crept up, moving her long hair off her shoulder. He bent, kissing her on the side of her neck. “This is dancing.”

  “Hmm,” Anna’s laughter was forced, awkward. “It’s not exactly the Charleston.”

  “No?” His hands moved down across her body. The brief touch of his palms on her back, his fingers running across her bare thighs, making her shudder and moan.

  She leaned into him wanting more, wanting to be touched in every intimate way possible, but he was already stepping back.

  His hands shifted position, one clasped on her waist, the other coming to rest easily on her shoulder. He led her around the room in a perfectly serviceable waltz that satisfied her artistic desires but did nothing to satiate her physical cravings.

  When Sinatra started singing about ‘Mack the Knife,’ Anna couldn’t stand it anymore. She lunged forward, kissing him softly. For a moment, nothing happened. She’d made a mistake. All the signals that she thought she’d been getting had been just friendly admiration. He didn’t want her, not the same way she wanted him.

  Then he lowered his lips to hers. This time when he squeezed her tight, she could feel his physical response to her presence.