by Hazel Parker
Yeah, maybe that was it.
I definitely needed to get out of the house. Now.
Tonight.
CHAPTER FOUR
GAVIN
The pact we made was surprisingly kept, something I hadn’t expected at all the moment I set eyes on Honey. I thought she would be rude and put out, thought she’d make a scene and try to find devious ways to get me to leave—something I was admittedly used to with my ex-wife, who was as manipulative as they came whenever she didn’t get what she wanted.
Of course, Honey wasn’t my ex-wife, though she reminded me a lot of Tanya—physically, at least—that it was uncanny. They had that same aura and feel around them. Perhaps it was the confidence with which she spoke and moved.
But yes, Honey didn’t break a single rule, keeping to herself and mostly hanging out in her bedroom. Sometimes she hung out in the living room and turned the television on, but only in a hushed murmur until she grew bored of it.
Even our swimming schedules were respectful of each other’s space, with me taking up the morning and her the late afternoon. With this routine, it almost made me forget that I was even living with someone in the beach house.
Almost.
The thing was, you couldn’t forget Honey even if you tried. Her presence alone demanded attention, from that bright red hair to the way she fluttered around the place. She oozed sensuality and a certain charm, one that was obvious even through the bare minimum of interactions we had. It was a charm that would make anyone drawn to her, and sometimes I couldn’t resist glancing in her direction, curious as to what brought her here in the first place. It was that charm.
But it was a dangerous charm that was better off left alone.
I thought we developed quite a nice routine until things changed.
In the span of a few days, Honey switched from practically locking herself in her room to going out all disguised in a sweater with a hood, and what had to be the most worn out jeans I’d ever seen anyone wear.
It was none of my business, of course. But curiosity got the better of me despite myself, and it was all I could not to follow her. At first, the fact that she kept going out the next few nights had me breathing a sigh of relief that I really had the house to myself now—until I began to grow bored and realized that maybe going out myself wasn’t a bad idea.
And so, a week after we started living together and she went out again, I slipped out of the house fifteen minutes later and headed to the pier, where the nightlife was just starting up.
The boardwalk was well-lit, with plenty of tourists roaming around, but not too much that it made for a too crowded area. I found myself wandering towards the food stands and indulging in a bag of popcorn and a milkshake before I wandered over to the pier. The moon was high up with some gray clouds dotting the sky. I kept watching the view, feeling content for the first time in a while.
“Are you following me?”
The familiar voice beside me didn’t sound accusing—rather, it sounded curious. I turned my gaze towards Honey, who was leaning on the pier’s wooden railings and alternating glances between me and the sea view.
“No,” I said, not elaborating.
She took that answer to heart, nodding her head. She kept watching the ocean, allowing me to study her. She was wearing the same sweater she wore the past few nights, her hoodie up and covering her hair. She was also wearing sweatpants that looked just as worn out as her jeans.
I had a feeling it was all deliberate.
“Why are you dressed like that?” I asked, unable to resist anymore.
She shrugged, then sent me a wary look. “I wanted people to not notice me.” Her voice dared me to ask why, but I kept my mouth shut this time, remembering our pact. Honey’s stance relaxed after that.
“I should be asking you the same question,” she said.
“Why am I dressed like this?” I indicated to my basic outfit of jeans and a gray shirt, and her mouth quirked.
“No. Why are you out?”
I shrugged. “It felt nice to do something different for once.”
“Hmm,” she murmured. Then she sighed. “It is, isn’t it? This place is perfect for wanting something different, especially if you live in a place that’s too crowded.”
“Yeah.” There was a story there that I could sense, but I gave her the privacy she needed and didn’t ask further. We stayed side by side in companionable silence, and I backtracked and realized something new about her—that she had an accent, one I hadn’t detected earlier because it was very faint. I tried to place it and further realized that it had that Southern belle twang, matching her cool, melodious voice perfectly. It contradicted those sultry, bold looks, though, making her more of a mystery now than she ever was.
After a while, Honey turned to me. “Have you had dinner?”
“I’ve had popcorn and milkshake.”
“That’s not dinner,” she said in a disapproving tone.
“Are you lecturing me or inviting me to dinner?” I shot back at her.
She raised a brow. “I’m offering to cook. You know, to celebrate that we actually got through our pact.”
That she offered to cook—hell, that she could cook—was yet another surprise. I stared at her. “Grilled cheese sandwiches?”
She looked offended at that, and I had to stifle a smirk.
“I cook the best fried chicken and buttermilk biscuits,” she said primly. “And everything else that’s real food.”
This time, I chuckled as my earlier suspicion of her Southern roots was confirmed by her food choices alone. I kept looking at her, considering. I could always decline.
But why should I?
It was just one night, anyway.
“I guess I’d love some real food.”
“Guess?”
I smiled. “I’d love some real food.”
*****
It took her a while to prepare everything, and I sat on the kitchen counter and just watched her move around the kitchen with the competence of someone who’d been doing it forever. She multitasked while she asked if I had any food allergies, and we began conversing about our favorite foods and arguing about which cuisine was the best. The spark that I glimpsed in her from the very beginning came out in full force now. Cooking looked like the most natural thing in the world, emphasizing that charm of hers all over again.
That dangerous charm.
Because I was an adult and had better control of my senses, I ignored it and treated her as one would an acquaintance, still keeping a certain distance and sticking to short answers. The scent of her cooking permeated, making my mouth water right until she served it up to me on a plate—her so-called famous fried chicken, some biscuits and gravy, and a tall glass of her special iced tea.
One bite was all it took for my eyes to widen. She gave me the smuggest look there was, watching as I took it all in.
“It’s delicious,” I admitted, half-reluctantly. Then I was digging in, realizing I was hungry.
Honey watched me for a while, a grin sliding up her mouth and turning those honey-brown eyes sparkling. Then she dug into her own plate, and we ate in companionable silence.
After a while, she took out one of the bottles of red wine, declaring that we needed to add it to our celebration. It amused me that she was making such a grand gesture of it all, but I decided to go with the flow. We each took a glass from the cupboard and poured ourselves the wine, then made a toast before we settled on the front balcony, where we had a perfect view of the beach and the night scenery.
I hadn’t been this relaxed in a long time, and it was another point off my bad marriage. Rather than happiness and good memories, it was filled with so many bad ones that I could only look back on it with stress. I had been stressed for such a long time that I forgot how to take the weight of it off my shoulders, even after it had been half a year since we signed those papers.
Who would have imagined it would be a complete stranger who would ease it off?
Honey kept up the conversation we had in the kitchen—and because I was in a good mood, I teased her a little bit about her weird aversion to junk food. I even took out a pack of potato chips to tempt her, though it did nothing but make her lecture me on the bad effects of it on my body. In response, I flexed my muscles at her, which had her glaring at me and telling me I was such a child.
The wine kept flowing, and surprisingly, so did the laughter. Whatever wariness I felt about her eased off along with my stress, and soon we were sitting shoulder to shoulder and just musing how it would be nice to live here for longer. The silence that followed indicated that deep inside, we both knew that was impossible, as we had reality to face once this was all done.
After a while, Honey yawned, then sighed. She stretched her arms in the air, her breasts jutting out again. She’d gotten rid of the sweater and was now wearing a tank top, showing off the cleavage that I tried not to notice before.
I was certainly noticing it now.
I dragged my gaze off her and stared up at the night sky, swallowing. Beside me, she made a move to stand up, telling me she was getting sleepy and maybe the wine helped. I stood up, too—and it seemed that I stood up just in time as Honey swayed and almost stumbled. I caught her before she could fall, her head coming up to my chest and her yelp getting muffled. Her body pressed against mine snugly, and it was the softest and warmest body I’d encountered in a while.
Something inside me stirred—my cock, for one, springing to attention at the contact. Heat filled my belly, and something else simmered there as she looked up, her drowsy honey eyes meeting mine and making fire burn slowly.
Surely.
Our faces were just inches away, and one move of my head would bring it even closer. All I needed to do was move, and I’d be tasting those lips that looked soft and juicy. My hands itched to slide across her shoulders—hell, lower—and my body was already moving in that direction.
And then Honey sighed—a soft, throaty sigh, with a tinge of something that couldn’t be denied.
Drunkenness.
It brought me out of my reverie. I abruptly pulled away, catching her off guard until she stumbled all over again. I reached out to her and steadied her but made sure my body was at a distance this time.
“We’d better get some sleep.”
Honey blinked. Something flashed in her gaze, and it might have been awareness. But it was gone too quickly, and she was murmuring goodnight and swaying towards her room. I followed her up, making sure she got there. I stayed in the hallway until she closed the bedroom door with a quiet click.
Then I practically flew to my room, locking it tight and taking a cold, cold shower that would hopefully eliminate the raging erection I had.
*****
Just before I settled into bed, my phone beeped, indicating I had an email. I clicked on it right away and read Sara’s short message, telling me to come to Florida when I was ready so we could discuss the job offer she had for me.
Perfect.
I typed in a reply: I’ll be there in two days.
No point in dilly-dallying, really.
It was time to start over.
CHAPTER FIVE
HONEY
The ride to the airport was relatively calmer than I expected it to be, easing whatever thoughts I had of anyone recognizing me and making a fuss about it. I couldn’t exactly hide my signature red hair from the world, but I managed to hide most of it under a cap.
It was better than nothing, really.
I wasn’t even supposed to be here. I was supposed to be riding in a private jet, but the place I booked it at messed up and double booked it with someone else. Since that someone else was a high-profile celebrity and infinitely more famous than me, I was given up with some beach resort compensation for the inconvenience.
I wasn’t going to lie. It plunged my mood down and added to my already throbbing headache, but I let it go and didn’t make a scene, not wanting it to add to my rapidly growing scandal.
Thankfully, I managed to get a ticket on a commercial flight and managed to get a seat at the very back, where privacy could at least be maintained. The only person in that lane with me was an old woman named Sally who looked pleasant and wanted to chat, and because I wasn’t in a sleeping mood, I responded to her attempts, and we got to talking.
The headache eventually disappeared, slowly bringing my mood up along with the old woman’s constant cheerful complaints about gadgets and how she could never get used to them. My grandma died when I was just a little kid, but I could still remember how sweet and sassy she’d been at the same time, lecturing me on the proper ways to be a Southern belle and cooking me all kinds of comfort food.
By the time the plane landed in Florida, I was shaking hands enthusiastically with Sally and warmly wishing her well. Then I was taking a taxi to the building where I parked my car, wondering what Sara had to say. I texted her my flight details and only got a text back that we needed to talk. Knowing her, there was probably a lecture coming my way, followed by sympathy and a solution to this dilemma.
Sara and I hadn’t always been this close, particularly when I was still starting in Florida and her then-secret lover, Doug “Cooper,” took me under his wing and helped me adjust to city life and the much harsher racing world there. I developed a crush on him back then for taking such good care of me, and I tried to find ways to get him to notice me. When I found out about Sara’s and Cooper’s relationship, I couldn’t deny that I resented her for a little bit. But I came to understand later on that the two were actually in love, and I decided to distance myself and let them be after I realized that Cooper would never be mine.
Sara had always been nice to me in her aloof kind of way, starting by loaning me money to buy a personal car, because I was too broke from investing in my race car. Then, when the race car driver she managed, Gray, took a hiatus a few years ago, Sara decided to invite me in, wanting to guide me further. It was a sincere offer, and I knew she was a whiz at this, which was why I found myself accepting and staying with her.
Sara was the reason the sex video was mostly deleted from the internet now, as she worked overtime with her marketing team to clear my name. It was damage control at its finest, though a little bit too late as the damage was already done to my reputation. Still, it wasn’t her fault.
The taxi ride was a short one, and I hurried to the parking lot with the thought of food and where I could grab my lunch before heading to Sara’s office. The decision to stop over at the nearby cheesecake house was already set and exciting me, which in turn had me preoccupied.
Too preoccupied to hear the footsteps until it was too late.
“Miss York! We’ve been waiting for you.”
My heart sank at the sound of the eager voice that I didn’t recognize. I contemplated ignoring it as I kept walking, but my car was still on the other end of the parking lot. A few seconds later, my path was blocked by a young blond man with another young brunet cameraman beside him. His eyes lit up as he took me in, like he’d hit the jackpot.
I sighed, trying to bite off the rude words about to come out of my mouth. “Yes?”
“Everyone’s been looking for you,” he said, shoving a recorder in front of my mouth and making me blink. “Where have you been hiding yourself?”
“I’ve been on vacation,” I muttered, then sidestepped to get away. It didn’t work because the reporter seemed to anticipate my move and sidestepped with me.
“Where? Were you with someone? We’ve gotten reports that you were with a guy. Are you meeting up with Desmond Louis, the photographer in your sex video? Are you guys back together? Is there another video coming up soon?”
The questions and the declaration had my mind reeling, as I didn’t know how they came up with this shit. There was a certain gleam in the reporter’s eyes that I didn’t like, and I also didn’t like that even with me gone and trying to get away from all of this, it just grew and grew in my absence and had now come to this.
“I wasn’t with anyone, I was just resting,” I said. Then I began to grow irritated with myself that I was even responding, and I decided to cut it short. “Have a good day.”
Sara had often emphasized how it was best to be pleasant to the press, but I wondered if they detected the impatience in my tone when I said my goodbyes. I didn’t look back, my gaze zoning in on my car. Dismay settled over me when the footsteps came again, and unconsciously, I was walking faster, already taking the key from my pocket.
A wrist settled on my hand, and the reporter’s voice came on again.
“Come on, just one interview—”
Another hand grabbed my arm and tugged me in the other direction. “Take your hand off her.”
The other familiar voice had me blinking. Then I was freezing when I realized why it was familiar, and I was swiveling my head in that direction to make sure that I wasn’t hallucinating.
The sight of him—the man who pulled me away from the reporter—confirmed that I wasn’t hallucinating. My non-reaction was replaced by shock as I stared at him now.
What was Gavin doing here?
He wasn’t looking at me. Rather, he was looking at the reporter with what could only be defined as deadly steel in his gaze, one that sent a silent message: he wasn’t to be messed with. The reporter got it right away, and even the cameraman looked at the scene uncertainly.
Then the reporter got bold, narrowing his eyes. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m a friend of Miss York’s manager. May I know what media outlet you represent and your name? If you really have questions for Miss York, we can set up an interview at a proper venue. What do you say to that?”
Gavin’s words were smooth, eloquent and just a tad bit threatening. I stared at him in amazement, then stared at the reporter who now lost the boldness. He backed off and muttered something about the company name being confidential, then that he’d see to setting up an arrangement.
“That’s great,” Gavin replied. “Now take a hike before something accidentally happens to that camera.”
Well. That was a quick turn.
