by Steph Nuss
“You look beautiful,” he stated, waving me into his place. “Please, come on in.”
“Thank you.” He closed the door behind us and led me down the small foyer into the kitchen. “Manny could have had the night off and made this date a little more normal.”
I turned around to face him and his brow perked up in amusement.
“You know,” I continued with a laugh, “where I nervously walk a few blocks, psyching myself up for the date.”
A chuckle left him as he took my purse from my hand and hung it on the back of a kitchen island barstool. “What kind of margarita do you prefer: on the rocks or frozen?”
I noticed all the ingredients on the island and my smile widened. “Frozen, preferably with—”
“A salted rim?” He interjected, holding up a glass with the rim already salted.
“Yes,” I said, impressed. “And mango if you have it.”
He masterfully made me my favorite drink and then handed it over to me. He clinked his margarita on the rocks with my frozen one and smiled. “Now, let’s get something straight. There’s nothing normal about dating me. And I don’t mean that in a cocky, narcissistic way. I just mean, if I want to take precautionary measures to make sure you’re safe, please don’t argue with me about it.”
Damn, I thought. When he put it like that, in his sexy baritone voice, it was hard to dispute.
“So, we’re dating already?” I teased, brows raised, grinning over the rim of my glass. “Not even finished with my drink and you’ve already determined we’re dating.”
“Well, yeah. I didn’t plan on this being a one and done.” He grabbed my drink-free hand and led me into his large living room. Glancing back at me over his shoulder, confidence radiated from him. “I’m sorry you didn’t get your nervous walk in, though.”
“Hush,” I said, shoving him in the shoulder.
He laughed and led us to the plush sectional couch. The scent of my favorite meal hit me like a slap in the face, and the sight of the dinner he’d made for us was like a shiny beacon in the night. Laid out before us on the coffee table was a shrimp taco bar, and it made my mouth water. The smell of warm, soft taco shells and grilled shrimp greeted me, and my stomach growled. There were bowls filled with different toppings for the tacos. Chopped avocados and tomatoes, corn, rice, coleslaw, sour cream, guacamole and what appeared to be a chipotle sauce. The setup was more than anyone had ever done for me, and I didn’t know which I wanted more, to kiss him for it or to devour the amazing spread of food.
He laughed lightly, breaking me out of my hunger-induced spell. “I wasn’t sure what you might like on your tacos, so I tried to do a little bit of everything. The rice is a cilantro lime rice recipe I found on Pinterest.”
“How—” I shook my head and peered back at him, astonished. “How did you know that shrimp tacos are my favorite?”
“I really didn’t,” he admitted honestly with a shrug. “But I may have asked Justin what type of food you favored. He mentioned you liked shrimp.”
“Liked is a total understatement,” I said, taking a drink. “Shrimp tacos and I are in a serious relationship. There might not be room for you.”
He laughed wholeheartedly and handed me a plate. “I know I have that big, fancy dining table just off from the kitchen, but I thought eating in the living room would make this more fun and less formal.”
“I love it,” I said, setting my drink down. And I really did. I loved how one of the most famous guys in the world didn’t hire a fancy chef to make us dinner, and that he didn’t have us seated at his formal dining table set with his nicest china. Simple and easy impressed me more than any expensive meal or furnishings.
“Dig in,” he said, lining his plate with three taco shells.
Both of us filled our plates with food and then relaxed back into the couch, facing one another as we ate.
A moan fell out of me after finishing my first taco. “Seriously, this has to be one of the best meals anyone has ever made for me.”
Maybe that made me sound pathetic, but I really didn’t care. He’d done something nice and he deserved to know it.
“I’m glad,” he said, before taking a drink of his margarita. “So, tell me about you. I want to know everything. Where you grew up, what your parents did, and how you’ve gotten to where you are today.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” I teased, shaking my head. “You’re going first on the telling of our life stories.”
He scoffed and pointed to the coffee table. “But I just slaved over a meal for you for most of the afternoon.”
“I am impressed you didn’t hire a chef to make us dinner tonight,” I admitted.
“What?” he said, pretending to be offended. “You didn’t think I could cook?”
With a shrug of my shoulders, I pressed my lips together and smiled.
“You didn’t,” he mused, shaking his head. “I’ll have you know that I was raised in a big household where we all had to help with dinner and cleanup and whatnot. We had chores, and we didn’t get an allowance for doing them.”
“Tell me more,” I said, hoping he’d delve deeper. “How many siblings do you have?”
“Well, none, actually,” he stated. “I had a ton of different siblings, but none of them were biological. I was put into the foster care system when I was five.”
Resting my hand on top of his, I sighed. “I’m sorry.”
He tangled his fingers through mine and smiled. “I’m not. I ended up with really great foster parents, Gordon and Annette Barrs, who I consider my real parents to this day. I haven’t seen my biological parents since I was taken from them. I probably wouldn’t be alive if I hadn’t been removed. They were just two people who shouldn’t’ve had a kid.”
“It’s awful how that works, right?” I said in agreement. “There are couples out there who shouldn’t have children and couples who physically can’t, wishing they could.”
“I know.” He brought our entwined hands up to his mouth, kissed the top of mine, and then continued. “Anyway, I grew up in the Bay Area, and lived a pretty normal childhood. I did sports but found out I enjoyed theater more. I enrolled in an arts college here in New York, where I studied acting.”
“How’d you become a model then?” I asked curiously.
He chuckled softly. “I have a talent agent to thank for that. She spotted me on campus one day and asked if I’d want to try modeling. It was for an underwear ad. Did I really want to do it? Not really, but it helped me get my foot in the door to one day become an actor. That’s why I took the job, to hopefully help launch my acting career. I ended up modeling for a few famous fashion designers before landing some auditions for commercials, soap operas, TV shows, and eventually movies.”
“You modeled underwear?” I asked incredulously, my cheeks flushed with heat. “I didn’t know that!”
“Hey …” he stated defensively. “It was for Calvin Klein, so it wasn’t like it was some unknown weirdo putting me in tighty-whities and taking a bunch of pictures of me. It was professional.”
“Like Marky Mark!” I cheered, tightening my grip on his hand. “You were once the face of Calvin Klein just like Mark Wahlberg. That’s so hot.”
He rolled his eyes and playfully pouted. “Everyone remembers Marky Mark’s pictures but not mine.”
“Oh whatever,” I said, dropping his hand. “You’re the Sexiest Man Alive. I think you’ve made a name for yourself.”
He ate the last of his remaining taco and swallowed. “I guess so. It all comes at a price though.”
Taking our empty plates, I set them on the coffee table and curled back into his open arm with my drink in my hand, my legs tucked underneath my body. “What do you mean by that? It’s not everything you ever wanted?”
“At first, I thought it was,” he started, taking a sip of his drink. “The notoriety and fame really went to my head. I had an agent and a publicist who taught me that even bad publicity was good publicity, and I’ve learned that’s
not the case at all. I’ve done some stupid things that have landed in the press, and I’m not proud of them. They put my friends and family in danger, and I really didn’t take the threats serious until something bad actually happened.”
He didn’t look at me as he spoke.
“Harper was attacked because I kissed her in Paris. She’d always been a friend, nothing more. But I thought maybe once I hit it big with my acting career that we’d become this powerhouse couple. Her with her fashion, me with my acting. She’d just started dating Maverick when we went to the Paris premiere of my movie together, and I admit, when I first saw them together, I was jealous of him. I wanted to make her forget about him, so I kissed her in a public restaurant, and all hell broke loose from there. She’d started receiving more threats to stay away from me, but I didn’t take them seriously. Her security team did, but I didn’t enforce mine or have them look into it further. She made it clear that she wasn’t interested in being any more than friends, and she was upset that I didn’t respect her relationship with Maverick. She had every right to be pissed at me.
“It’s been over a year since she was attacked, but sometimes I still can’t look at her without seeing the bruises and cuts she received at the hands of a psychotic fan of mine. If I’d just taken the threats more seriously, maybe I wouldn’t have put my best friend and her baby at risk of losing their lives.”
“Max,” I said, resting my arm on his forearm. “They’re both okay. Harper never blamed you for her attack.”
“I know,” he said with a nod. “But I blame me. If I’d been less selfish and more cautious about the dangers that come along with a career like mine, maybe it wouldn’t have happened. But it did and it changed me. At first, not in a good way, but now, I have a new agent and publicist, and I’ve beefed up my security for not only my friends and family, but myself as well. It’s just another reason I made Manny pick you up tonight. The other residents in this building have signed non-disclosure agreements, so they can’t talk to the press about me, but also for their own protection. When the media knows they’re not going to get any info from anyone here, they don’t come around as often. Same goes for fans.”
I nodded silently.
He finally looked me in the eyes, and it was evident how much guilt he still carried. “I want you to know that I don’t have feelings for Harper anymore. I don’t think I ever really did. I think I liked the idea of us more so than the reality. We’re too good of friends to be anything more. I hope you know that because I want this.”
He tangled his hand with mine again and squeezed.
“I want you. I want what Harper has with Maverick. I’ve never been the guy to serial date, jumping from woman to woman like they don’t matter. I’ve had four girlfriends my whole life and never once treated them badly. We just grew apart and ended up breaking up. I love being in a relationship. I love spoiling my woman with the things she likes. And I want that woman to be you.”
His words made me feel like the ice melting in my frozen margarita. Hell, I’d dreamed of hearing something similar most of my life, from a man who was truly good. And now, here he was, right next to me, and I couldn’t find the words to respond to him.
Instead, I brushed my fingertips along his rough jaw and gave him a weak smile. “Maybe you should hear my life story first.”
“Your past isn’t going to change the way I feel.” He turned his face into my palm and pressed his lips to my skin.
Resting my head against his shoulder, I felt relaxed and safe with my body curled up next to him. So, I opened up.
“My parents are not good people,” I started, tracing the stitching on his shorts. “They sold drugs and trafficked women regularly. That was how they put food on the table and kept a roof over my head. It wasn’t until I overheard my dad talking about using me to help their operations once I became an adult that I really became scared. They had people working for them who were scary and mean, but they’d never threatened me. I was the boss’ daughter, so I was off limits in a way. But the night before my birthday, I heard Dad and Mom arguing about me working for them. Mom was against it, and Dad was for it. What they would have me do, I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t want any part of it. I knew what they were doing was illegal. So, I packed up as much as I could and ran away on my eighteenth birthday.”
“And ended up in a homeless shelter,” Max stated for me.
“Yes,” I said, nodding. “I went to the first homeless shelter I could find near Brooklyn Heights, but it was mostly for men. They offered to let me stay one night, but I didn’t feel comfortable around a bunch of male strangers.”
Max’s grip tightened on me.
“But I eventually found a shelter that made me feel safe. They helped me get a part-time job waitressing at a nearby restaurant, as well as my GED since I’d dropped out of high school. They prepared me for adulthood more than my parents ever did. And it was the shelter that introduced me to Adam Eichler. He was a high school senior who volunteered regularly at the shelter. All the other volunteers and residents teased us both about liking each other. He eventually asked me out on a date, which turned into a relationship.”
I took a deep, shaky breath and exhaled it. It was hard talking about Adam with someone who didn’t know him. He’d made the wrong decision the night he died, even though most deemed him a hero after I recounted the story of his death.
Max rubbed my arm, consoling me. “Hey, you don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do,” I said in a strong voice, blinking back tears. “It was a few months before his graduation when I found out I was pregnant. I was so scared to tell him; all I could think about were the different reactions he could have. But I had nothing to be afraid of. He was ecstatic about becoming a father. He didn’t care how young we were or the fact that I was living in a homeless shelter. He talked about us getting our own place after he graduated. He had such big dreams for us. But God took him from us much sooner than any of us expected.”
“What happened?” he asked.
I peeked up at him and then went back to staring down at my lap. “It happened just the way Zane told you. Adam was in a mom-and-pop store one night when a man came in to rob the place. The older woman who owned the store hid behind the counter because the man had a gun. Adam tried to stop the robbery from happening by trying to offer the guy his own wallet and talk some sense into him. The woman told us that Adam pretended to be a worker of the store and distracted him long enough for her to dial 9-1-1, but when the guy heard the sirens in the distance, he turned to run. Adam tackled the guy, but he pulled the trigger, putting three bullets into Adam’s chest. The cops arrested him, and he’s in jail for second-degree murder and attempted robbery. But Adam died, and he never got to meet his son.”
Max sighed. “I’m so sorry, Whitley.”
“Me too,” I said, allowing the weight of his death to once again roll off my shoulders. “He died doing what he did best though, helping someone in need. We’ll always miss him, but Zane never had the opportunity to know him. So, we—Adam’s parents and myself—do talk about Adam a lot around Zane.”
“As you should,” he said, nodding. “Have your parents met Zane?”
“No,” I answered curtly. “And they won’t. I left and they never came looking for me. The cops found me right after I’d had Zane and told me my parents had been arrested. I ended up testifying against both of them as a witness of their illegal activities. They’re doing time in Rikers now.”
“God,” he said, shaking his head. “Parents are the worst sometimes.”
“I know,” I agreed, nodding. “But Adam’s parents are two of the best. I’d never met them until his funeral. Simon and Julia are two of the most generous people I know. When they found out I was pregnant, they immediately took me into their home and helped me get my nursing degree and raise Zane. They own the shelter and renamed it in honor of Adam. I had no idea that Adam came from a wealthy family until after he died. They ended up giving me Adam’s trust fun
d he would have gotten once he graduated. Zane and I mostly live off of that and my income. I don’t know what I would have done without them. We live in a nice home, and I have a job I love because of them. I used to be a nurse before taking over Julia’s job as volunteer services director after she retired. I still volunteer as a nurse when needed. My son is happy and comfortable. I’m very grateful for Adam and them. I really didn’t know what good truly was until they showed it to me. Now, I just try to give back as much as possible because I know how it can change someone’s life because it changed mine.”
Max tilted my chin up so that I’d look at him. Pride radiated from his beautiful eyes, and I knew my story had affected him in a good way. Some heard my story and couldn’t believe the baggage I carried as a single mother, but I didn’t think of it as baggage. Sure, life hadn’t been easy at times, but I couldn’t change what had happened. I could be Zane’s mom—a greater parent than either of my own. I could give back just as much as Adam, helping those whose shoes I once wore. I could be anything I wanted to be, because I had learned a long time ago that my past didn’t define me.
I am woman, hear me do more than roar.
And here I was, being Max’s woman.
Max’s hands cupped my face and slid down to my neck. The longer we went without saying anything, the more awkward the silence became.
“Say something,” I whispered, smiling.
He leaned his forehead against mine and sighed. “I think your story is way better than mine.”
Laughter burst from my lungs and I threw my head back laughing so hard tears welled in my eyes. “I didn’t know it was a competition.”
“Well, it’s not,” Max laughed, tugging on the end of my ponytail. “I just think your story is beautiful, like you.”
