“It really was. The worst RomCom ever. But, horrible, none the less. They didn’t even get a happy ending.”
“Yeah.” I laugh. “I’d say ours is going much better.”
Whitley’s eyes twinkle in the candlelight, and she gives me a wink.
“Ready to head home?” I ask. The restaurant is about to close up and I think they are going to kick us out at any minute.
Drinking the last bit of beer, she sets the bottle down and picks up her purse. “Yes, Sir.”
I give her a wicked smile; the one I know works like a damn shock to the girl parts. “I kinda like it when you call me Sir.”
Her chair scoots across the floor. “You would, perv.”
“Come on, Pretty Girl.” I offer my arm to her and she hooks hers in it.
“You think we can do this again? You know, when you get back?” Whitley asks, cautious.
“Absolute—.” I’m stopped mid-sentence by the blinding flash of cameras when we step outside.
My arm immediately goes around Whit’s shoulder, and I shield my eyes. She does the same as her arm reaches across my abdomen, holding on.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath. “Whitley,” I whisper. “Don’t let go of me, okay?”
The shutterbugs yell and scream at us as we walk purposefully to the Mustang, but Whit subtly nods her head.
“Who is your mystery girl, Jennings?”
“She’s hot!” another shouts.
“Jennings, look over here!”
Walking Whitley to the passenger side, I swiftly unlock the door and usher her in. It doesn’t matter if we’re being hounded by photogs, I’m still a damn gentleman.
Looking down, I watch my feet as I walk to the other side of the car.
Like ants feeding on a piece of food, they hound me, moving synchronized and snapping pictures. I struggle to get the key in the lock, but between the spots in my vision, I see Whitley reach her hand and open the door for me.
Slipping on her sunglasses, she puts the visor down and looks to her lap, avoiding the lenses of the cameras on her side of the car.
They take picture after picture by the time I get the car started, and I wince every time another obscenity is yelled.
“I’m sorry, Whit.”
Despite the circus outside, she looks to me, and smiles. “Let’s just get out of here.”
“Aye, aye, boss. Let’s go.”
Inching the car forward, we make it out of the parking lot, going full speed on the freeway.
IN THE BACK OF MY subconscious I hear music. It’s high pitched, and annoying¸ so I cover my face with a pillow and burrow further into my bed.
When the music finally stops, I breathe a sigh of relief and drift back off.
I’m asleep maybe a minute when the music starts again.
Cracking my eyes open, I fish for my phone in my purse beside my bed. Sliding the screen with my finger, I groan into the receiver.
“Well, good morning, Sunshine,” Holli chirps, bright.
Her cheery tone makes me want to punch her.
“Ugh, Holli. It’s—” I pull my phone away from my face to look at the screen. “Christ, Holls, it’s four in the morning. On a Sunday. What’s wrong with you?”
Holli snickers. She’s so evil. “Hush, missy. I’m calling to make sure you’re okay.”
Rolling on my side, I huff. “Why wouldn’t I be okay? Seriously, it’s too damn early. Can you call me back in like—ten hours?”
“Sure,” she quips. “But, I saw your ass all over the news this morning. Thought you’d like to know.”
Sitting straight up, I’m promptly awake. Super awake. Shit, I could run a marathon right now. And not for the good reasons. Sort of like I’m already worked up and I know I’m going to get my ass kicked because I didn’t stretch.
“What?”
“You, Whitley Hayes, were all over the news this morning with Jennings.”
I scrub my hand down my face. “Shit.”
“You guys look great, though.”
“Yeah, well, thanks.”
“You going to be alright?” Holli asks.
I hate the spotlight. It could get me noticed. I really don’t need to be noticed.
“I’ll be fine, Holli.” I brush her off. “Where did you see it?”
“God, The Today Show reported it.”
I fall back into my bed. “Fuck me, Holls. That means it’s going to be on every outlet by eight.”
“Honey,” she laughs. “It’s already world-wide news.”
“Fantastic.”
“Don’t sweat it. You’ll need to get used to it if you’re going to date Jennings.”
I look up to the ceiling fan, willing my eyes not to leak. I’ve somehow dodged being found for more than six years. I can’t be found out now.
“I’m not dating Jennings.”
“Sure you’re not.”
“How old are you?” I can’t help but laugh.
“Shut up.”
“Thanks for the heads up.”
“You got it, best friend.”
She tells me about the demanding schedule in Vancouver, and we hang up.
I immediately pull out my laptop and type JENNINGS COHEN into the search engine and watch as the articles load.
Clicking on the first one I see pictures of last night flood the main page.
“Unknown Blonde Girl?” I scoff. “Original.”
At least they didn’t get a clear shot of my face. I could be anyone.
I don’t think he’ll recognize me. If he’s even still looking for me. God, I hope not.
I clear my throat, and click on the next article. The previous one wasn’t very nice. Here’s hoping…
I exit from the Internet and close my laptop.
Alright, so he is accused of cheating.
Great.
Why did I look for an article like this? Why am I a masochist and made myself keep reading? Why am I jealous of a supposed relationship he had months ago? Why am I thinking about this shit when I should really be worried if he can find me?
It’s not possible. I know it’s not. But, that nagging voice in the back of my head is apprehensive.
He can’t find me.
Again, my phone rings.
Jesus, what is it with people calling me at the ass-crack of dawn?
“What?” I snap.
“Um, Whit?”
Jennings…shit.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” he replies, sheepish.
Silence.
I breathe. I don’t know what to say. You’d think after all of the bullshit tabloids I’ve read over the years, I’d know not to believe everything I read, but it’s not the easiest when I want to believe Jennings has no past.
“Did you see?” he asks.
“Did I see us all over the news? No,” I say sarcastically.
He exhales. “Good.”
“But, I saw us on the Internet.”
“Shit, I’m sorry, Whitley.”
“Why?” I laugh. “Jennings, you’re in the limelight, I already know this is part of the deal.”
“So, you’re cool? But, that night we went to Bradley’s, you—you were worried about being in pubic with me.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
That’s because I was flipping out. Scared for my life.
My past has to stay in the past.
Don’t break and tell him your biggest secret, Whitley. He’ll never understand. No one will.
“It’s not that I don’t want to be seen in public. It’s just, I don’t want to be exploited for the sake of your career.”
Christ, that sounded a lot harsher than I intended.
“You think I want to exploit you?”
I deflate. “No, I know you don’t want to. But, that’s what I’m afraid of.”
Okay—that’s not true. I just want to stay camouflaged for my entire life. Is that so crazy?
“I’d never use you to further my career.”
“I know, Jenns. That’s not what I meant.”
“Then, what do you mean?”
“It’s a long story. One I don’t want to get into. I’m sorry.”
“You’re allowed to have your secrets, Whit. God knows I have my own. But, I don’t want you to think I’ll use you. You’re important to me.”
He’s letting this go? But, he had to sneak that little doubt in there. He’s keeping secrets? I mean—I guess I can’t expect him to divulge all of his secrets when I have some pretty bad ones of my own.
“You’re important to me, too.”
“Good. I leave tomorrow. Spend the day with me.”
It’s not even five yet. “Jenns, it’s five in the morning. It’s too early to function, let alone hang out.”
“Fine. Go back to bed. Waste the day sleeping when you can be with me, having fun. I have a surprise, and you’ll miss it. It’s okay, though. You probably wouldn’t have had fun anyway.”
I perk up. “A surprise?”
“Maybe.” I can hear his sideways smile.
“I could get up for a surprise.”
“Perfect. Get dressed.”
“Jennings. You’ve got to be kidding.”
He looks over from the driver’s side, visibly bouncing in his seat.
It’s still dark outside, but the cab light illuminates his face. His blue eyes shine bright and awake.
The black leather jacket and white shirt make him look dangerous, but his smile squashes that thought. Someone with eyes like his can’t be bad.
“You afraid of heights, Pretty Girl?”
“No,” I say as I watch the fire outside light up the dark field.
He leans over the console and laces our fingers together. “If you don’t want to do this, we can leave. Go have breakfast.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I want to, it’s just—this is all new to me.”
“What is?”
I look down at our hands. His are calloused and smooth all at once, and mine are dainty and tiny compared to massive one. “This. Whatever we’re doing.”
“Dating?”
My heart stops in my chest and I feel the rest of my insides screaming at it to start beating, again.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Whitley.” He caresses my face with his free hand and I lean into it. “You’ve gotta know I like you…a lot. Probably more than I should.”
I close my eyes and fight a smile.
“And, you’ve gotta know that you deserve to be old-fashion wooed.”
I cock my head. “Old-fashion wooed?”
“I don’t know who told you that you don’t deserve the best, but that person is wrong.”
My eyes water and I look away. Before I moved to California, I was plagued by the possibility that I was worthless.
Maybe that’s why I couldn’t settle down.
I put on a smile because despite the fact that I’m internally struggling with my nasty past, Jennings eyes can’t be ignored. He’s happy, and I don’t want to take that away.
Not now.
Not ever.
“Let’s get going, yeah?”
“Sure.” He smiles. “But, first.” He pulls me to him and kisses me. Not the, ‘I-want-to-make-out-with-you-in-a-car-and-grope-you,’ kind of kiss. It’s just a kiss. A sweet, tender, emotion evoking kiss and I melt into him.
When we pull away, I blink up at him and blush. Biting my lip, I try to move my eyes from him, but he brings his thumb to the apple of my cheek and strokes ever so gently.
“Let’s have some fun.”
“Okay,” I say as I adjust my Camford hoodie. In the midst of Jennings’ kiss, he wrapped his hand around the drawstrings and they are askew.
Walking hand-in-hand, we approach the basket.
“Good morning, Mr. Cohen,” the gentleman in front of opening says. “Ms. Hayes,” greeting me.
I give a small wave and look up at Jennings. He winks and squeezes my hand.
“Step inside, Miss.” The man offers his hand and I let go of Jennings to take it. “You next, Sir. My name is Harold.”
Jennings moves next to me as the man closes the latch and pulls at the string in the middle of the balloon.
“Ever been hot air ballooning?”
Both Jennings and I shake our heads no.
“It’ll be an experience,” the man beams. “The stars are still out. It’ll be a beautiful sunrise.”
Jennings lowers his mouth to my ear. “It already is.”
Moving my head to his chest, I watch as Harold pulls at the cord and flames light up the balloon. The fan turns on and we lift off the ground.
Jennings wraps his hand around my shoulders and kisses the top of my head.
When we’re a couple thousand feet in the air, the fan turns off and we coast along with the wind.
“You know,” Harold says. “Couples get engaged up here all of the time.”
Jennings and I both sputter “no” in unison.
I laugh.
“Thanks for the information.” Jennings chuckles, avoiding Harold’s penetrating gaze.
Shaking my head, I take out my phone and open the camera app.
“Smile, movie star.”
Jennings, with his dimple, he gleams at the screen.
Letting my head fall against the side of his face, I snap the picture.
“Another one?” Jennings suggests.
“Okay.”
This time, Jennings kisses the side of my head and I close my eyes, letting my finger twitch over the red button slightly so I can capture this moment forever.
“Now what, O’ Captain of Fun?”
The chase crew from the hot air balloon company just dropped us off at the original launch site and we’re drinking mimosas and eating cheese. It’s eight in the morning, so it seems—appropriate?
Who cares?
I just had the time of my life soaring over Los Angeles and I don’t think I’ll come down from my high for a while.
“Want to go eat breakfast?” he asks as he eyes the piece of cheese in my hand.
I pop the last bit of it in my mouth and take a drink of mimosa. “Sure.”
“I know a great place.” He grabs my hand and escorts me back to the car. It’s the orange Mustang again, and I think he drove it again because he knows I love it.
“So, this ‘great place’ that you know of—is your house?” I snicker as I close the door.
He places his arms on the top of the car and wiggles his eyebrows, struggling to keep his smile contained. “I make a mean scrambled egg.”
“Hmm, I like eggs.”
I sit in the kitchen while his dog, Lucy, sleeps by my feet. Watching him move effortlessly around, cracking eggs and greasing the pan, is more entertaining than watching the cooking channel. He licks his fingers after he adds a bit of butter and I squirm in my seat.
A heaping mound of eggs appears before me and Jennings sits on the other side of the island, giving me a wink as he digs into his breakfast.
I’ve never been domesticated. I mean—unless you count Holli and me, and that doesn’t really count. I cook her dinner and clean the house when it’s dirty, but I’m nowhere near a housewife. But, being here with Jennings, doing something as simple as having breakfast together, creates uninvited visualizations of me doing this all the time with someone.
“So, whatever happened to that Lark guy?”
My belly rolls at the mention of Lark and I swallow the eggs in my mouth. “He’s still a dick.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. He’s just not someone I really want to be around, you know? He’s just—a dick.”
Jennings laughs under his breath. “That seems fairly simple.”
“Let’s hope.”
“You think he’ll give up?”
I shrug my shoulders. “You mean give me up? I don’t know. He’s pretty persistent. He doesn’t bother me, though.”
“Good. I don’t like competition.”
“You don’
t have any, Jennings.” But, as I say the words, I don’t know if they are one hundred percent true. Oliver’s eyes flash through my mind and I wonder what he’s doing. I don’t know exactly what it is about him, but I feel drawn to him. His cocky personality, moody eyes and somewhat arrogant persona makes me want to crack him open like—well, an egg and dissect his brain. I want to know what makes him tick. Why is he the way he is? So confident and self-assured.
I want to learn from him.
When we’re finished with breakfast, we move to the couch and turn the TV on.
Jennings sits down first and I plop down next to him. Opening his arm, I lay down on his side, cuddling his middle. Pulling the blanket from the back of the couch, he covers us up and before I know it, my eyelids shut.
I don’t know what it’s like to wake up to someone I care for. I’ve always woken up alone or with guys I’m sleeping with.
I know how that sounds.
Slutty.
I don’t mean it like that. I just didn’t really ever care for anyone I was sleeping with. They were simply toys and waking up to them didn’t mean anything.
I haven’t been in a good, solid relationship in years. And when I was involved with someone I cared for, I wasn’t old enough to stay the night.
Waking up to Jennings sort of set a flame in my belly that I didn’t know could spark. His clean scent refreshes me more than any nap and I will myself not to wake him up so I can stay here, lying on his torso, listening to his soft, even breathing.
It feels good to want, again. Even if it scares the crap out of me. I want to want. I want to be normal and get over my shit. I just haven’t ever found a reason to.
Clouds and rain moved onto the shore as we slept and the only noises in the house are the forceful lapping of the ocean and the drip-drops of rain on his back porch.
“Hey, Pretty Girl,” Jennings whispers, groggy.
I move my head and rest my chin on his pec. “Hi, Sleepy.”
“How long have we been out?”
I force myself to lift off of Jennings’ body and look to the oven in the kitchen. “Believe it or not, four hours.”
Jennings eyes widen, “Really?”
“Really, really.”
“Wow,” he breathes, rubbing the hand that’s on my back in a smooth, soothing motion.
Anyone but Him Page 16
