by J. C. Grant
"That's because it was Xanax," he murmured.
“Really? I've never taken it before.”
“Good. And you're not gonna start.” His voice was gentle as eyes paced between mine, looking at me with an appreciation that made my heart flutter.
Once I recovered, I checked, “You didn't hit anyone, did you?”
He blew out a harsh breath and grumbled, “No.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“No,” he answered soberly. "Look, Xanax or something similar is really common at these house parties, especially if you don't drink alcohol. And I should've told you that sooner."
I didn't want to tell him that I knew that. Out of the five Hollywood house parties I had attended, I had been slipped something at four of them. Although, I had never been given Xanax before. But because I didn't drink, I was able to tell what was going on and leave before I was knocked out. I had naïvely thought, since I worked with these people for two weeks, it would be different.
“Promise me, no house parties without me.”
“I promise.”
He studied my face as his fingers traced along my cheekbone and jaw. “You're in a really good mood.”
“I am. I have the sexiest husband on the planet and he takes such good care of me. Why wouldn't I be in a good mood?”
"Mmm," the soft rumble poured out of him, warming my insides. “You save me any dessert?”
“All of it.”
A deep “hmmm” vibrated from him as he stood and picked me up. “Let's go get it. I'm hungry.”
His eyes and his tone let me know it wasn't the dessert he was hungry for.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
“Do you have anything special you want for your birthday?” David's deep voice broke the long silence.
He’d woken me up in his usual way, breakfast in bed. We’d been sitting in peaceful silence watching TV while cuddled up and drinking coffee.
“Honestly,” I responded thoughtfully, “the only thing I want is to spend the day with you.”
A satisfied rumble vibrated through his chest as his arm tightened around me, pulling me closer.
“I wanted to throw you a big party,” he explained, sounding disappointed. “But got a game the night before, the night of, and the following afternoon.”
“No. No big parties for me. Not for a while anyway. After that impromptu bachelorette party and Friday night... Let's just keep our guest list to us for a while.”
He made a sound that was part apology, part annoyance.
“I'm sorry,” he murmured, his lips and nose ghosting over my hairline. “If I hadn't been such an asshole all week, you would've listened to me. It's my fault.”
“Everything that happens to me is not your fault,” I argued. “That night was—”
“My fault,” he finished. “You are my responsibility. And don't fucking argue with me about it.”
“Fine.” Then mumbled, “But you're wrong.”
“Stop it,” he grumbled, but I could hear a tiny bit of amusement in his voice.
Cuddling deeper into his side, I sipped my coffee, letting it go. We’d never agree on that point.
“Can I go to your game today?” I asked, hopeful.
“Mmm.” He considered it.
After my first game and the negative fan response, he wasn’t too thrilled to have me back out there.
“Please, I want to see you break a bat, baby,” I pleaded.
He chuckled. “Only if Fergus is with you at all times,” he conceded.
“Of course.”
David had to leave for the stadium several hours before us for practice, so Fergus and I hung around the house. David had arranged a deep tissue massage therapist to come over to fill my time and help relieve me of the residual tension from the chaotic and stressful previous two weeks.
And it worked. I felt like I would melt into the table. After a long, hot, indulgent shower I started getting ready.
I kept it simple—too relaxed to dress up and not wanting to draw attention to myself—opting for black leggings, David’s faded Metallica tee, and tennis shoes. I loved the way his tee’s fit me, hitting just below my butt, and they were so old and worn. The fabric was buttery soft, draping over my curves perfectly. They made me look bigger, but I was hoping the leggings would counteract that.
I grabbed my oversized gray Balenciaga purse, made sure Chance had everything he needed, and then we headed out.
When we arrived at the stadium, David had tickets waiting for us. We made it to our seats at first base without incident. No fans’ taunting comments, no one seemed to notice me at all. And I was grateful.
“Austin, I need to use the facilities,” Fergus mentioned not too long after David had come over to say hi. He actually said, “I love the fuck outta your ass,” but same thing. Kinda.
Confused by what facilities he was referring too, I responded, “Okay?”
“You need to come with me,” he said, as if it was obvious. “Wait for me.”
“What?” Then I finally understood. “You mean the bathroom?”
“Yes.”
I laughed incredulously. “Not happening. There is no way I’m hanging outside a men’s restroom.”
“Austin—”
“Fergus, that’s gross, for one. Two... just ewww... and no, I’m not. But can you grab me a water on the way back?” At his annoyed expression, I added, “I’ll be fine. There’s hardly anyone sitting over here.” And there wasn’t. I had a feeling it was an area they reserved for the players’ family. “Please.”
I couldn’t bear the thought of sitting outside a men’s bathroom like a child. And the smells that might emanate from there... No way.
As I watched him, I realized he really had to go. Like emergency had to go. “Don’t go anywhere. Don’t talk to anyone.” He stood abruptly and left.
I scanned the field, realizing something had happened. David wasn’t where he’d been only seconds before. I finally spotted him in the dugout. I watched him take his hat off, fanning himself a little before putting it back on. In my opinion, that was the only reason to come to these games, to watch David move around. I could watch him all day, and did frequently.
“Hey, that's my seat,” a man's voice startled me from my David appreciation. His tone was rude and condescending. And he was drunk as fuck in his head-to-toe Dodger apparel.
It took a moment for his words to register, but when they did, I knew there was no way in hell I was sitting next to a drunk asshole. And why the hell did he need to sit next to me when there were plenty of empty seats?
“Really? Where's your ticket?” I challenged, my natural reaction to aggressive men kicking in. I was already calculating what was nearby to aid in injuring him. I quickly settled on the railing behind him. It was low, and if I could hit him in the right spot, with enough force, he would end up with a concussion.
“Move your bougie bag, bitch,” he slurred.
My anger flared as he loomed above me. My eyes narrowed and my jaw clenched as my heart rate sped up, adrenaline pounding through me.
“Touch my bag and you'll be on your ass.” My voice was level, but cold as I stood, my anger taking over.
I wanted to hurt him.
That's how I always felt toward aggressive men. And out in the open, there was no panic, just years of suppressed rage boiling up.
He stepped forward, getting in my face. His beer breath was nauseating, making my stomach turn.
“You uppity, white bitch.”
White bitch?
The asshole was pretty fucking white himself.
White trash.
“You would say that, you ignorant piece of shit.”
He shoved me, and we both stumbled back. When I recovered, I pushed him with everything I had.
And I hated touching people.
His chest was soft under my hands, the feeling so foreign I almost recoiled from the contact. But his ass met the ground. That seemed to have sobered him up some, because he st
ood up surprisingly fast. His face red and splotchy, his drunk glare was pure hate as he advanced. I was distantly aware of the crowd growing louder. Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw David hopping the rail, taking the stairs two at a time in a dead sprint. I had no idea David could move that fast.
Next thing I knew, David’s broad back was in front of me. Taylor in big white print, the number twenty-three larger-than-life so close up.
My fingers itched to tuck into the back of his pants, but I resisted.
David bumped into the drunk fan, using his body to push him away from me. David said something, but his voice was too low for me to hear.
“Oh, come on, I haven’t even hit her yet,” the drunk guy taunted David.
Then David’s hand was around the fan’s throat, squeezing or holding him, I couldn't tell.
Part of me wanted to stop David. Another part of me felt a deep satisfaction from the damage David could inflict, while another part of me was jealous of it.
I wanted to be able to hurt the drunk asshole as effortlessly as David could. I wanted that strength, that physical power over anyone who threatened me.
“You stick your dick in that fat bitch’s ass?” he egged David on.
David swung.
Everything was a blur after that.
Fergus and several more Dodgers uniforms swarmed us, breaking them apart. It felt like an eternity, but it must've only been seconds, judging by the crowd’s startled reaction and recovery.
My chest pounded, my fear for David overshadowing any need for vengeance. The thought of him getting into trouble because of me was gut-wrenching.
“Get off me,” David snarled at the men restraining him. “Get the fuck off me.” He thrashed hard once, shaking them off, then turned to me. “Are you okay?” His hands gusted over my neck and shoulders.
“Yeah.” My voice was breathless. “I'm fine.”
“Are you sure?”
I nodded, suddenly realizing my issues had gotten us into this, the same ones I needed to overcome for the auditions. “I'm so sorry.”
He ducked down, eye level with me, his hands on my shoulders, conveying his seriousness through his touch. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I should've controlled myself—my mouth.”
“You can say whatever you want,” he insisted. “No one has the right to touch you like that. That drunk asshole was gonna fight a girl.”
When he put it that way...
“Get her outta here,” he muttered, still looking at me. “Take her back to the house.”
Fergus appeared next to me, holding my purse and water.
“Hey.” David’s soft voice pulled my attention back to him. “I love you. I’ll see you in a little bit.” He pressed his lips to my forehead. “Stay right by Fergus, okay?”
I gave a small, jerky nod, taking Fergus’ job more seriously than before.
When David finally turned away. I noticed several of his teammates were still surrounding us, as well as the drunk guy.
As Fergus led me away, he leaned in close and muttered, “You need to file a report before that guy tries to sue David.”
As his words sank in, I could feel the color draining from my face as my stomach dropped. I’d been so caught up in my anger, it never occurred to me it was intentional, baiting David into assault.
“Let’s do it now.”
“Come on.” He grabbed my arm, keeping me right next to him.
****
When Wednesday morning dawned, David and I were both ready to go home. David hadn’t allowed me to attend any more games since the incident on Sunday, so I’d filled my time with massages, facials, a mani pedi, and hanging out with Chance.
Fergus had been right; the guy had filed a law suit against David first thing Monday. Fortunately, Fergus and I had followed through with filing assault charges against him, and Fergus had found three videos of the incident, proving my claim that David had not randomly attacked the man. The league wasn’t penalizing him, but still. And the fan response had been mixed. Some saw a knight in shining armor, others saw a bully, while others saw a trouble-making wife.
Despite all that, David and I had done our best to ignore everyone else and make the most of the time we had together, whether working out, watching TV, breakfast in bed, or just having kinkier sex.
I’d also been having daily phone sessions with Dr. Vaughn, David sat through a couple of them with me. He wanted to help me any way he could.
He was a fucking angel as far as I was concerned. My tall, dark, sexy angel, always watching over me.
“Do you like it?” David asked, referring to his attempt at making Blueberry French toast. The past few days, he’d been cooking different breakfast foods, trying to switch it up a bit.
I nodded. “It’s awesome.”
We were sitting in the living room, cuddled up on the couch, watching TV. Fergus was sitting on the opposite side, wearing sweats and a tee. Fergus had become much more relaxed the past few days. I couldn’t be sure, and I wasn’t about to ask, but I had a feeling David had been the cause of Fergus’ cold demeanor toward me. It felt like we were friends again.
“Good,” David rasped softly behind my ear.
“I like it too, in case you’re interested,” Fergus added.
“I’m not,” David deadpanned.
“Well, I’m going to tell you all about it,” Fergus retorted. “They’re fluffy and—”
Fucking hot ass angel that cooks.
David gave me teasing side-eyed look and a mischievous smirk. “Did you just call me angel?”
Oh shit.
“Well, it’s better than safety net,” I admitted, realizing they were one in the same—as far as I was concerned.
He laughed, “Yeah.” But the intensity in his eyes... It meant something to him.
Safety net, angel, it was a lot of responsibility to put on someone, responsibility he wanted. Craved.
“Angel, are you listening?” Fergus goaded. “I’m critiquing—”
All three of our phones chimed, alerting us to a text.
Elaine: Have you seen this?
7:39 AM
Clicking on the link, I saw a crudely edited video of David attacking the guy, making it appear to be completely unprovoked.
Apparently, at least one gossip site was spinning the confrontation at the game into me flaunting an affair in front of David.
“Call Alec,” David muttered, gruffly. “Tell him, we’ll be home at eight, and to pick you up at our house tonight at nine. He's taking you to the Château. We’re taking control of this shit.”
*****
The next morning as we ate breakfast out on the patio of our penthouse suite above Sunset Boulevard, I looked over, noticing what David was reading on his phone.
It was a gossip site. I couldn’t help but smirk. The media had taken the bait, just like David and Alec said.
“Alec and Austin James” was the headline over a photo of me and Alec entering the Chateau the night before.
The caption underneath read:
“She never changed her name and she already has Alec's. Looks like you're out David.”
David grumbled, “Motherfuckers.”
“David, this was your idea,” I reminded him.
When David told me to call Alec and make arrangements, I did. And an hour before Alec picked me up, Fergus had dropped David and Chance off in Chateau Marmont’s garage, allowing them to enter unnoticed. David and I spent the night in the penthouse, while Alec hooked up with an unnamed boy toy in another suite.
I was sure, with how easy it’d been and how perfectly it worked, that would become our go-to. Because the Chateau was the only place we could be sure we’d have absolute privacy—aside from staying home.
“I fucking know. I can still be pissed.”
I tried to muffle my laughter.
“Yeah, it's really funny. Everyone thinks you're fucking him and me.”
“Ohhh. Now, that's a thought.” I
pretended to seriously consider it.
“Don't you dare,” he warned sullenly. “Don't even think it.”
I couldn't hide my smirk as I looked at him. My gaze slowly raked down his bare chest and back up, teasing him, as I crawled in his lap.
“Alec in front, you behind me...”
“Stop it,” he demanded.
A laugh finally bubbled up out of me as I buried my face in his chest.
*****
Monday morning we arrived on set at seven a.m. And just like David had promised, there was a chef already making omelets for the crew.
Today we were shooting the first sex scene between Alec’s character and mine. David was sticking to his guns about standing in, which I was torn about. I was relieved it was David I'd be naked with, but the reality of it could really freak him out.
We got our breakfast and coffee and headed to the trailer.
“What's that?” David asked, pointing to the two thick white robes laying on the couch and the two small items next to them: “The Sock” and “The Patch.”
“It's for us to wear. The sock is for your dick. The patch is for me,” I explained in my sleep-rough voice.
“Seriously?” He picked up the two-by-four adhesive patch. “This is all that's covering your pussy?” When I nodded, he muttered, “Fucking bullshit.”
“We need to change before we eat.”
“Since when?”
David had been on set most mornings during filming the pilot, but filming the pilot had been a slower, more meticulous process, and we hadn’t been working around David's schedule.
“Since you have to be at the airport at one, we don't have any time to waste.”
“It's seven a.m.,” he said incredulously.
“Yeah, and the scene will probably take three hours to film.”
“Damn,” he muttered.
Following my lead, he set his breakfast down on the coffee table and proceeded to strip, then put on the oversized white fluffy robe. We'd deal with the other items later, before leaving the trailer.
We were only halfway through our breakfast when there was a knock on the door.
