Zelda prayed for Mommy to be safe, and for Daddy to like his wings, and for Chase to be her new friend, and for me not to be mad at her for throwing up, and for Mr. Wriggles to not have a headache.
We said amen after she did, and I told the boys to brush their teeth and get into their pajamas. Zander complained about not finishing his homework, and I was tempted to tell him it was his fault for waiting so long, but instead I said he could finish it in his room and then go to bed. Which led to Zane whining about the light being on and my telling them to knock it off and just go.
I marched them down the hallway, stopping by the girls’ room to grab some pajamas and a Good-Nite diaper for Zelda. After I got the boys brushing their teeth, I came back and helped Zelda change, feeling Chase’s gaze on me the whole time. Figuring she’d already brushed her teeth after the puking episode, I sent her off to her room.
“Come on, Zia,” I said, offering my hand.
She shook her head adamantly. “No! Cheese put me bed!”
“I’d be happy to,” he offered. I told him her bedroom was the third door on the left, down the hallway.
He picked up Zia, and on his way out of the living room, he came to a halt way too close to me. I could feel his warm breath on the side of my neck. “Is there anyone else you want me to put to bed?”
It sounded innocent, but I caught his unspoken meaning. That made me suck in a huge gulp of air as I ordered my legs to keep me vertical. He chuckled like he knew exactly what he had done to me. I reminded myself that it wasn’t a big deal for him to say stuff like that. He probably said a lot more explicit things to a lot more experienced women. But it made me all flustered and nervous. Like a junior high school girl at her first dance.
So I did what any self-respecting, awkward junior high girl would do. I hid in the bathroom.
And I brushed my teeth.
Just in case.
When I had collected myself enough that I felt like I could face him again, I heard his voice in the girls’ room. He was singing to them. Which was so sweet it made me put my hand over my heart. If I could have bottled up that feeling and sold it, I would have been a billionaire.
Not wanting him to catch me eavesdropping, I returned to the living room. Which I suddenly realized was an absolute pigsty. It was one of those things where you get accustomed to a mess because you live with it all the time and it seems like no big deal, but when you realize how it must look to an outsider, you’re embarrassed.
“I hope you’re not doing that on my account.” Chase leaned against the living room wall, hands in his pockets, looking so utterly delicious that I froze. “I’ve already seen it.”
Yep, totally humiliating. I sank onto the couch and put down the basket of clean laundry I had planned on stowing in another room. I started folding it to give my hands something to do. “My mom’s got a lot on her plate. I try to help out when I can. She has this ongoing to-do list. Or as I call it, the Ta-Da List. Because it would be magic if we actually accomplished anything on it. But when you have this many small kids, it’s like continually cleaning up by yourself after a raging party you didn’t attend that happens every night. Which means my mother’s housekeeping style can best be described as ‘There appears to have been a struggle.’”
He let out another laugh as he took in his surroundings. He looked at all the pictures on the walls, the knickknacks, and the books on the shelves. He didn’t seem to notice I was nervously babbling. Or else he was polite enough not to comment on it.
“What about the giant ones?”
What the what? “Giant ones?”
He picked up one of the wooden toys my grandfather had carved for me when I was little. “Groups of giant squids. What are they called?”
“Oh, schools. Like fish. And a group of little kids is called a migraine.”
Chase laughed, that same real laugh, and I felt it in the lower part of my stomach. “I love that you know random stuff like that.”
“It’s Alex Trebek’s fault.”
He put the wooden horse on the shelf. “Why? Did he hold you down and force you to learn things?”
“I always wanted to meet him and be on Jeopardy!. I used to read trivia books all the time.” It occurred to me that I hadn’t picked up a book like that in years.
His fingers drifted across my grandma’s old Bible. “The prayer was nice. My grandmother was religious.”
Not like mine. “I’ll see your religious grandmother and raise you an Amish one.”
“Really?”
“Really. It’s a long story, though. I’ll have to tell you about it another time.” Because didn’t he need to leave? I needed him to leave. I was running out of clothes to fold. “I didn’t ask you before, but how did you know where my mother lives?”
“It was on those forms you filled out for One-F.” Right. I’d had to provide previous addresses and emergency contacts. He could have put two and two together. That seemed like a lot of effort, though. He must have really loved that tuxedo.
He found a photo album and held it aloft. “May I?”
“Sure, stalker.”
He grinned and settled onto the couch next to me. “Trust me, this is a new experience for me, too. Usually it’s the other way around.” He opened the album to the back page and saw a baby picture of Zia with her name on it. “Your parents seem pretty committed to this ‘Z’ thing.”
Parents? Another can of worms not worth opening just then. “My grandpa’s name was Zev, and my mom’s name is Zerah. She carried on the theme.”
He flipped a page. “I bet that gets confusing.”
“It does. You should hear her when she’s trying to yell at someone. She will run through every name except for the kid she’s mad at.”
I finished folding the laundry in the basket. Which made me all fidgety and not sure what to do with my hands. I figured I should probably run and get more, but I wondered if that would seem pathetic. I mean, I was sure he was super impressed with my glamorous lifestyle of staying in and doing laundry and watching small children. Would getting another load make it worse?
Chase perused the pictures, sometimes turning the album slightly to better see the photo. He had really nice hands. Long, tapered fingers. I thought of earlier when he’d held my hand during Zelda’s prayer. I’d really liked it.
But sitting in that silence, not sure what to do or say next, it suddenly dawned on me.
I was alone in my childhood home with Chase Covington.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I took the only escape I could think of. “Can I get you something to drink? We have water, milk, and possibly apple juice in boxes.”
“I’d love some water.”
As I hopped up and hurried into the kitchen, I wondered if he knew the water would be from our tap. No bubbles, nothing sparkling, and nothing infused with any kind of fruit. When I walked in, I realized I hadn’t cleaned up the remainder of Zelda’s version of sharing.
“Did you need help?”
Chase so startled me I nearly dropped the Swiffer mop. “I’m fine. I just realized there’s some mess. From earlier. That I need to clean.” I must have been seriously impressing him with my mastery of the English language.
“I can get the drinks. Where are the glasses?”
“In that cabinet there. Left of the sink. You’ll find them behind the sippy cups and bottles.”
He wasn’t anywhere near me, and I was still shaking. Shivers skated up and down my spine. Like someone was dripping ice water on my bare back, a single drop at a time. Would I ever feel totally calm around him?
Part of me whispered that I wouldn’t want that. I liked the physical sensations he caused.
“What kind of sorcery is this?” he muttered, and I turned to see him struggling with the cabinet lock.
“The whole house is childproofed. But somehow they keep managing to get in.” It was one of my mother’s favorite jokes, so it just sort of slipped out. It did make him smile, though.
It was
too late when I realized what I was doing. He stayed put, and I leaned in close to undo the latch. I should have moved back.
I didn’t.
“Thanks,” he murmured, feeling his breath against my still-wet hair.
“You’re welcome,” I whispered. We weren’t touching, but it felt like we were. All I had to do was take one step back and I’d be flush against him. Or just turn my head and we’d practically be kissing.
Instead, I reached inside the cabinet. I almost exploded in flames when he put his hand on my wrist. “I said I could get it.” His voice was low, gruff. Exciting.
“I’m supposed to be the hostess.” He didn’t respond, and he didn’t let go of my arm. My skin pulsated underneath his touch. Gulping, I extricated myself, pulling my arm free. Even though I didn’t want to.
Which was surprising.
“You could mop. If you want to help,” I said when I could speak again.
“Selfishly, I’m happy to let you clean up the kid puke.” I heard him put the glasses on the counter, open the freezer to look for ice, and break out cubes from a tray. Then he opened the refrigerator. “Where’s the water?”
“In the faucet.” I sneaked a glance at him, sure he would be grossed out or surprised. He was neither. He just lifted the tap and filled the glasses.
“So is this a new service you’re offering all your fans? Free babysitting?”
He let out a short bark of laughter. “Um, no. I don’t even take pictures when I’m asked.”
“Really? Why not?” That seemed harmless as far as fan interactions went.
“A couple of reasons.” He leaned against the counter, his drink in hand. “When I’m filming, on a typical day almost every minute is scheduled. And if I’m stopping thirty times to take selfies, that adds up and puts me behind. Which isn’t fair to the people who are waiting for me, and it isn’t very professional. Plus, when you take a picture with a fan, they immediately upload it to social media, and then there’s electronic evidence of where you are right that minute. I don’t want people to know that. Especially not tabloids.”
“I have to tell you that I was surprised when you showed up without a trail of paparazzi behind you.”
“They’re easy to avoid. There’s some places it can’t be helped—big events, award ceremonies, movie premieres. There’s certain restaurants they stake out. Which is why celebrities go there. They want to be photographed. Those actors and singers you see complaining about their lack of privacy? Those are the ones who have a paparazzo on their payroll, and they pay them to show up and take pictures everywhere they go. You can absolutely avoid them and have real privacy.”
“What about the airport? They always have pictures of celebrities going there.”
“Again, that’s on purpose. The airlines offer private entrances and will make elaborate arrangements to get you out of the airport so no one even knows you were there.”
That wasn’t what I had thought. I thought stars like him couldn’t even walk outside the door without being accosted.
“I’m usually fine in big cities like Los Angeles or New York. The people there generally leave you alone. The problem is when I go to small towns. But wear a hat, put on some sunglasses, and people overlook you.”
“I doubt that,” I said. Because there was something special about Chase. I had seen it earlier when he’d had my siblings eating out of his hand. Most people were just average. You didn’t notice them when you were in a store or walking down a street. But Chase was different. It was like he gave off a special glow. I couldn’t stop looking at him or being drawn to him, and I’d witnessed him having that effect on every person on set yesterday. He was larger than life. I couldn’t imagine any scenario where he’d be out in public and wouldn’t draw the eye of every woman in the vicinity.
Finally finished, I threw away the pad and returned the rest of the mop to the pantry. I washed my hands and grabbed a paper towel to dry them off. Then Chase handed me my glass.
“To new beginnings,” he said, holding his glass aloft. Would I ever get used to looking at him? To not having my breath catch every time our eyes met?
I nodded and clinked my glass against his. My mouth had gone so dry that I was parched. Like I’d just spent a week crossing the Sahara.
If there was a seductive way to drink a glass of water, my mouth decided to do the opposite.
I tipped my drink back too quickly and almost choked. I put the glass on the counter, and Chase patted me on the back a couple of times. I waved him off. “I’m okay.” Mortified and wanting to run into the bathroom to hide, but okay.
“Yeah, I hate when I’m drinking and the ice just attacks my face,” he teased.
He was funny. Why did he have to be funny?
“Yesterday when I assured you I was normal, I may have exaggerated slightly.” I was obviously an insecure freak who should be kept away from regular people.
“I think you’re kind of amazing,” Chase said, reaching out with his hand like he was going to touch my face. I backed up until I hit the sink. I braced my arms behind me, trying not to collapse in a heap. Because even though he hadn’t made contact, my skin felt like he had.
He put his hand down, his expression puzzled. A few beats passed before he said, “I make you nervous, don’t I?”
Uh, understatement of the year. But his movie-star ego didn’t need to hear it. “I’m . . . I’m not nervous.”
He inched fractionally closer to me, one small movement with each loud, slow thud of my heart. “I don’t normally make girls nervous. Excited, yes. Overwhelmed. Shocked. Up for anything, usually. But not nervous.” This time he did touch me. His fingers tucked some stray hairs behind my ears. I closed my eyes and dragged in a sharp breath. All those sensations . . . I totally got the overwhelmed reaction. And the excited and shocked thing.
And possibly even the up-for-anything impulse.
I opened my eyes and tried to deny it, but now Chase stood directly in front of me, his heat warming me, pulling me in. He put his hands against the counter on either side of me.
He’d trapped me.
“I think I know why I make you nervous.”
“I told you, I’m not nervous.”
A playful smile lit up his entire face. “Like I said, you’re a terrible liar.” He focused his gaze on my lips. He ducked his head toward mine. We were almost touching. So close, but not enough. I put my right hand on his chest, but whether it was to stop him or pull him closer, I didn’t know.
It was like a scene out of my favorite movie, complete with my favorite movie star.
His lips hovered above mine, his slow, steady breaths a huge contrast to my short, shallow ones. “Zoe.” Chase whispered my name, and it sounded like both a question and a promise. It made my knees buckle, my stomach tighten, and my pulse explode.
“Wait,” I told him, pushing at his chest. “Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?” he asked.
“The garage door,” I hissed, breaking the spell he’d cast over me. “My mom is home. You have to go. Right now.”
Although my mother had matured over the last eleven years since she’d married Duncan, I didn’t want her to meet Chase and get all fangirlie and weird or talk about her own brush with fame. It was humiliating enough in school; the last thing I wanted was for him to find out.
But he wasn’t budging. I pushed against him again, and it was like trying to move a brick wall. A hot, muscular, well-defined brick wall, but still. “I’m serious. You have to go.”
“Are you embarrassed by me?” he asked in a voice that was both bewildered and amused. But at least he finally took a step back. I grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him into the living room. I grabbed his jacket off the couch and shoved him toward my mom’s bedroom at the back of the house.
“That’s not it. It’s . . . difficult to explain.”
“Aren’t you a little old to be in trouble for having a boy over while you’re babysitting?”
“You ju
st need to leave.” I opened a window, pulled out the screen, and dropped it on the ground. I’d put it back later. I indicated that Chase should use the exit I’d just provided.
“Do you seriously want me to climb out a window?”
I heard the door from the garage to the kitchen open and shut. My mom called out, “Zoe?”
Frantic, I started pushing him, trying to force him out. He laughed quietly but gave in. “I’m going, I’m going. But you have a lot of explaining to do.”
“Whatever,” I said.
He sat on the windowsill, hanging one leg over the ledge. His attention was drawn to the massive poster that hung over my mother’s bed. It hadn’t occurred to me to try and block his view or take it down. “Is that your mom?”
That stupid picture had made my life miserable for years. I would have kept it from him if I could have.
My mother called my name again. It sounded like she was coming down the hall.
I was about ready to throw all my weight against him. “Yes, it’s my mom. Now go!”
Laughing, he swung both legs through the open window and jumped the three feet to the ground, landing easily. Then he made a dramatic Shakespearean-type bow. “Till next we meet, my lady.”
Okay, it was sweet. But I still rolled my eyes and closed the window. I had just finished lowering the blinds when my mom opened the door. “Oh, there you are.”
The shock of her entering the room made my stomach clench and my heart freeze. “Sorry, I didn’t answer because I didn’t want to wake anybody up.”
She didn’t seem to buy it. She came over and yanked the blinds up. Part of me was afraid Chase would still be standing there, waiting for his chance to go all Romeo on me. Fortunately, he was gone.
And it was dark, so she didn’t notice the missing screen.
“Mama? Mama!” Zia’s voice crackled over the baby monitor. Like she’d been awake this entire time, waiting.
“Looks like your plan didn’t work,” my mom said, taking off her purse and jacket and laying them on her bed. I followed her to the girls’ room, where Zia was standing with her arms held out. My mother picked her up and rested her cheek on Zia’s corn-silk-blonde curls.
#Starstruck Page 7
