by Anna Brooks
None of the men in my life were like the men on the television. When my mom and I’d sneak in a show, the men didn’t do the things to the women on the screen that were being done to me and my mom.
So as I was growing up, any time I’d start to get that feeling in my chest, the soft and fuzzies, I’d force it to go away and put my armor back on. It became so natural to me that I trained my body not to even allow it in the first place.
Which is why I’m confused as to why I’m remembering what went through my mind when Tommy gave me half of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich over ten years ago. This is not third grade, and I’m not that girl. I’m smarter now.
Doing what I do best, I force all the things that I’m feeling into the back of my mind where they belong and grab a couple of bowls. My entire collection of glassware is mismatched. I find plates, bowls, and glasses that I like and buy them from thrift shops. I scoop a very large portion of my macaroni and cheese for Carter because I assume with a body as big as his, he needs a lot of sustenance. My bowl only has about a quarter of what’s in his.
I already have placemats on the round wooden table, so I set the dishes and silverware on top and then pour a couple of glasses of milk. He knocks and opens the door at the same time.
“Hi.” I set the glasses on the table and hold out my arms, like I’m presenting a masterpiece. “Dinner’s ready.”
“It smells awesome. What’d you make?”
He flips the deadbolt and walks over to the table, then pulls out a chair. I stand here, waiting for him to sit, when he motions for me to do just that. Oops. I’ve never had anyone pull out my chair. “Thank you.” I scoot in, and when he’s across from me, I answer his question. “Mac and cheese. It’s my mom’s recipe.”
He takes a bite and moans as his eyes widen.
“Good?”
Nodding, he wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Honey, it’s phenomenal.”
Nothing warms my heart like hearing that. “Good.” I haven’t cooked for many people—Reginald, the old lady who lived next door before she passed, the mailman—but they all liked my cooking, so it makes me happy Carter feels the same way. I got that from my mom. Even if the men she was serving were trashy and disgusting, she liked cooking for whoever would eat it.
“Do you always cook like this?” He takes another bite, and it’s not even weird that he’s here. It’s almost as if we’re old friends catching up on life. Natural, I suppose, is what it feels like.
“Always? No. Often? Yes.” Even if it’s just me, I still enjoy good food. But I really enjoy it with another person.
“I’m impressed.”
I smile between bites. “Good. I’m glad.”
“So tell me about yourself, Billie.”
I raise my shoulders. “Not much to tell.”
“That’s just not true.”
“The reason I was locked out was because I got a phone call from the producer of a soap opera reality show.”
He lifts his head, raising a thick eyebrow. “You’re gonna be on a reality show?”
“I want to, but only because my dream is to be an actress on a soap opera. I know it sounds silly, and soap operas aren’t that popular anymore. I mean, most wannabe actresses salivate over the movie screen and have those big aspirations. It’s just that soap operas mean something to me and… sorry, I’m rambling.”
He sets his fork down and angles his head, contemplating me.
“What?” I wipe my mouth with my napkin. “Do I have something on my face?”
“Nothing but pretty, honey.”
I tuck some hair behind my ears and look at my lap.
“Well, if you need help with anything, like practicing lines or interviews or whatever, I volunteer.”
“Really?”
“Fuck, yeah. You’ve just gotta feed me as payment.”
I giggle. “I can totally do that, thank you.”
He takes another bite and holds his finger up as he chews. “Trust me, I’m the one who should be thanking you. If you let me, I’ll thank you more than once.”
Chapter 4
Billie
After his implication, which my thighs totally clenched together for when he said it, we continue eating.
I talk about a couple of recipes that I like to make, and he listens. I babble about how I’m glad he’s here because otherwise, I’d have eaten the entire dish, and he laughs. I joke that I’m gonna make him fat now that I know he likes my food, and he smiles, telling me how much he likes to cook, too. It’s nice to have someone to chat with even if he couldn’t care less about what I’m saying. I got so used to being alone that I almost forgot how not to be, and I like being with him.
Our bowls have long since emptied, and we’re just sitting at the table when he suddenly stands and says, “Find your cute little ass something to watch and I’ll join you in a minute.”
The statement shocks me in more ways than one. “You will?”
“I will. I’ll sit with you for a little while, then kiss you good night before I leave.”
My heart skips a beat. “You will?”
“Unless you don’t want me to.”
It takes me a second to think clearly. “No, I do.” It sounds nice to curl up to a big, strong man.
“Good. Get in there.” He points at the living room. Carter insists on doing the dishes since I cooked. He opens the bottle of wine he brought over, pours me a glass, and then demands I relax. While he’s doing that, I change into a pair of sweat shorts and a long-sleeved t-shirt. I also stop in the bathroom and apply a little lip gloss.
“I don’t have cable, but I do have a lot of movies if you want to stay and watch one.” I grab my wine glass and take a small sip.
“That sounds good. My TV’s broken anyway.”
“What happened?”
He turns his back to me and continues with the dishes. “Go ahead and pick a movie. I’m almost done.”
Since so many people stream movies nowadays, I’m able to purchase DVDs for super cheap. The only kinds I have are chick flicks, though. A lot of damsel in distress movies just like the old paperbacks I have in my bedroom, but I still stand firm that I am not one. “Hey, I don’t have any action movies or anything, so unless you wanna go back to your place to get something else, you’re gonna be stuck watching a roman-”
He stands directly behind me, so when I turn around, we’re chest to chest. “I lied.”
“You, uh… what?” I stutter, unable to form words when he’s this close.
“Do you have any idea how goddamn beautiful you are?” He doesn’t give me the opportunity to respond, which I suppose is good because I don’t know what the heck to say. “And you’re sweet, and you can cook. Your apartment looks like one of those makeover shows. You’re smart, so damn smart, and I don’t give a crap what I have to watch as long as you’ll be sitting next to me while I watch it. I don’t know what this is. I tried to tell myself it’s a hundred different things, but all I know is it feels good, and I want it more than I deserve.”
If I could talk, I’d tell him that I feel the same way.
One of his hands comes up, and even though it’s slowly, I still flinch when it enters my vision. His brows draw together, and he drops his arm. “Someone hurt you.”
“My dad used to hit me. I’m sorry, it’s just a reflex.” I have no clue why I just spat that out.
“Oh no, baby. Don’t apologize to me.”
“I’ve never told anyone that.”
He lifts his arm again, and this time, I barely flinch. His hand cradles my face in his large palm and I close my eyes, soaking up his touch. The gentle touch of a man, something foreign but fabulous. “Where is he?”
A rush of warmth flows through me when I take a deep breath. “Not here.”
“Hmm.” His thumb slides across my cheek. “So I lied because I’m not gonna kiss you good night.”
“You’re not?”
“Nope. I’m gonna kiss you right now.”
&nbs
p; Then he tilts my face up and brings his down. His lips mold against mine, and I melt. Soft and slow, he kisses me. No tongue, but by far the best kiss I’ve ever had. It’s like he actually cares if I’m enjoying it, too. But he’s also so good he knows I love it. He pulls back, looks into my eyes, then does it again. This time, with a swipe of his smooth tongue across the seam of my lips, before breaking away with a sigh.
It should be weird. Or at least I should feel scared. But the only thing I can think about is how much I liked it. And him. I really like him.
“Jesus,” he breathes. “You are… this is crazy, honey, but tell me you feel it, too. That I’m not the only one.”
He’s so right. It is crazy. “You’re not the only one.” Because I feel it too.
He takes a step away and almost looks regretful as his hands fall away. “Pick a movie.” Then he turns, and I stare at his back as he walks away.
Spinning around myself, I clear my throat and try to remain impassive. “How about this one?” I grab one of my favorites, a newer release starring Hunter Dean, and hold up the case.
He sits on the end of the couch and shrugs. “Sure.”
I pop it in my combination TV/DVD player and sit next to him but also close enough where it wouldn’t seem like I’m trying to get away from him. When the movie starts, he reaches down and grabs my wine glass. I go to take it, but he lifts it up. “You’re too far away.”
I scoot over so my leg is against his strong thigh, and he hands me the glass.
“Thank you.” I take a sip and hold it in my lap. “Are you trying to get me tipsy, Carter?”
“I’m not trying anything with you quite yet, beautiful girl, but I’ll be sure to let you know before I do.” He rests his arm on the back of the couch, and he twirls my hair in his finger. That definitely does the trick and relaxes me. His touch is magic. I wonder what it would feel like to have that same attention in other places.
I try not to think about that, but for an hour and forty-seven minutes, Carter’s hands on my hair drive me crazy. Being this close and not touching him? Torture. When the end comes and the girl gets her happily ever after, I fight away the burn in the back of my eyes. Part of that is the wine, I’m sure, but the other part is the reality that, even though I had the best kiss of my life with an amazing guy, I feel like I won’t ever have someone to swoop in and save me, then ride me off into the sunset.
“I love that movie.” I sigh.
“I can tell.”
“I mean…” I lift the case and point at the star of the film, giggling. “Hunter Dean.”
His hand tightens a little on my hair, and a sharp sting shuts me up. “Hunter Dean is a piece of shit.”
“What? How do you know that?”
“It’s my job, remember?”
I had no idea he was a bodyguard to celebrities like that. I thought like a bouncer at a club or something. “Really?”
“Yeah, really.” He shrugs. “It’s just my job. I was working the first time I saw you, security for a senator.”
“Oh, yeah. Duh. But, uh, Hunter seems so nice. Well, aside from the sex tape scandal.” My voice lowers to a hushed whisper.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone go so cold so fast. “That motherfucker’s stupidity put one of my friends and one of the best bodyguards I’ve ever met at risk. He’s a goddamned spoiled punk, and one of the biggest assholes I’ve ever met in my life.”
My brows crawl into my forehead, and the room spins. “Tell me how you really feel.”
His lips tilt up, and I feel mine mimicking.
“Why’d you sit through it with me, then? I would have watched something else.”
“You wanted to watch it.” He shrugs. “I like it when you smile, so if that means I have to sit through some lame-ass movie with a piece of shit overpaid actor, I have no problem with that.”
“Why do you want to see me smile so much? You don’t even know me,” I argue, my head becoming lighter.
He slowly shakes his head. “No, but I want to.”
I swallow loudly in the quiet room and slam the rest of my wine, which is my third glass, before setting it back on the table and standing. When I sway, he’s on his feet to steady me.
Looking up at him, I giggle. “Wanna know something about me, Carter?”
“Tell me.”
“I’m a total lightweight.” I giggle again, and he smiles. “I like to see you smile, too. You’re really handsome.”
“You’re really pretty.”
“I’m really tipsy.” I fall into him more, the effects of the alcohol hitting me all at once now that I’m on my feet. “You shouldn’t keep giving me drinks. I don’t drink a lot, but you kept giving me more. Are you trying to get me drunk to advantage me? I mean, take advantage of me?”
One arm holds me up around my back, and he bends to scoop me up.
“Wee.” I laugh, resting my head on his chest. “Where are we going?”
“I’m putting you to bed.”
“Just don’t make me watch, okay?” I mumble, the lightheadedness spinning faster, making my head heavy and my tongue tight. “It hurts the most if I have to watch.”
Carter
I sit on her couch listening for her to wake up. I didn’t get any sleep last night but I’m wide awake.
It hurts the most if I have to watch.
What the fuck kind of sick shit is she talking about? Throughout the night, I checked on her and fought the urge to wake her up and ask her what the hell she meant by that.
Made her watch what?
My mind immediately jumps to the worst-case scenario, and until I know what the hell happened to her, I won’t be able to calm down.
The vibration from my phone pulls my thoughts away, and I respond to Gio’s text asking me where the hell I am.
Shit. Sorry, I totally forgot.
I was supposed to meet him this morning for a sparring session, but with what Billie told me last night, I couldn’t think of anything else.
Better be because you got laid
I hear her door creak open and stand, sliding my cell back into my pocket. I don’t want to scare her. “Morning.”
She jumps, and her hands fly to her mouth. “Oh, my God. What are you still doing here?”
Taking a step back, I hold my hands up. “I wasn’t about to leave you here alone, drunk, and passed out.” Her head shakes back and forth, more fearful of me now than ever, and it pisses me off. “I’d never hurt you, Billie.”
“I don’t know you enough to believe that.”
“Then let me prove it.”
In the hallway, in the same clothes she had on last night, with her hair disheveled and makeup smeared on her face, she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And that’s saying something because I work with Hollywood’s elite.
“Why?”
“Why not?” I answer immediately.
Her eyes dart to the couch, and she rests one of her hands at her throat. “I’m not a charity case.”
“Never said you were, honey.” Her face softens at the nickname, and I make a mental note of it to use it as often as I can. “I like you. And if I wanted to, just sayin’, I had the perfect opportunity to fuck you over last night.”
She watches me a minute, and I let her do what she needs to reassure herself. “I like you, too.”
“I’m glad.” I walk backward toward the kitchen. “Now let me make you breakfast. Go grab a shower and I’ll make you an omelet.”
“You don’t have to do that. I—”
“I want to.”
It takes a moment for her to decide, but when she comes to a decision, she doesn’t say anything, just simply walks away.
She has an organized kitchen, so it makes finding everything really easy. I have limited my life to three things. Working, working out, or cooking, which runs in my family. I’m just sliding the eggs off the pan when she comes back in with wet hair in a braid falling over her shoulder.
“Perfect timing.
” I smile, trying to assure her everything is okay.
“This looks great. Thank you.” She sits across from me and pours us some juice while I plate up our breakfast.
“My pleasure.”
She giggles, and I love seeing the return of the more laid-back side of her that I got to experience last night.
“So tell me, what brought you to the West Coast?”
After a dramatic sigh, she says, “It’s a long story, but the short of it is that I did it to make something of myself, but that hasn’t happened.”
“That the acting thing?”
Swallowing her food, she laughs. “Yeah. But it’s been like three years, and I haven’t gotten anything but a couple of callbacks. I’m not saying I’m going to quit, but it’s getting harder and harder to keep hope alive.”
“You work at Savoring, right?” Where I saw her the first time.
“Yeah, I have for a couple of years now.”
I know she probably makes good money in tips there, but the owner, Paxton Ray, is a sleaze ball. He just opened his fourth location here last year. His reputation throughout the industry is not good at all. I did security at an event where he was attending one time, and I couldn’t get over how much of a prick that guy was.
Plus, with my parents being in the restaurant industry, I know more than I probably should about his bitch ass.
It’s so difficult to break into acting, and I’d hate to see her throw in the towel after only a few years. “Don’t stop trying. If it’s your dream, then you should never give up. Losing out on your dream is something you’ll never get to take back.”
She studies me a minute, obviously picking up on my own personal insight. I said more in that sentence than I have in years, and she understands it; she understands me on a level I’m not sure I like. “No, I know. And there’s… it’s just kind of complicated.”
“Isn’t everything?”
