“In fact, I kind of do mind, Fierce,” Neil said affably. “I have no comment.”
Mel slid farther down in her seat, her feet numb and her empty stomach lurching.
Fierce’s alert eyes scanned the faces at the table, looking past Neil while Mel cowered, her hand over her face. “Just a couple of questions. C’mon, Neil. Help a guy out.”
“I have nothing to say about Melina Cherkasov. Now, Fierce, I’m going to be as polite as I can when I ask you to please leave myself and the ladies alone while we enjoy our dinner.”
Mel heard the tension in his voice, knew it well from the hundreds of times they’d had to smile and nod at a critique of their work Neil didn’t necessarily agree with. She prayed Fierce would take the hint and go away.
Like praying had done her a whole lot of good lately. “Have you seen her recently? Do you know where she is? Did you know Stan’s asked Yelena to marry him? Does she know?”
Neil’s sigh was ragged and growing impatient. “Again, I’m going to ask you to move along, Mr. Parker. No comment.”
But Fierce was, after all, a reporter. If he could blow one small word out of proportion, inflate one tidbit of gossip, he’d find a way to get a quote from Neil.
Neil couldn’t afford even a whiff of bad press that might jeopardize his job on Celebrity Ballroom. Mel wouldn’t allow his reputation to be blighted defending her. “Is it true that she’s living in a homeless shelter?” Fierce pressed, his gaunt face studying Neil’s.
“No …” Mel whispered at first, but Neil waved her off from behind his back. “No!” she yelped, both in defense of her supposed homelessness and Neil’s signal to keep quiet. “No! That’s not true,” she yelled, jumping up from the booth, making the bottle of wine they’d been sharing wobble.
Shit. Hadn’t she learned anything being married to superstar Stan? Never give the press anything. Never confirm or deny.
“Melina.” Fierce, his eyes hungry, surveyed every inch of her, including her swollen eye and the rumpled clothes she hadn’t had time to change out of. “Can I ask you a couple of questions? Don’t you want everyone to hear your side of the story?”
She licked her lips, pushing a protesting Neil out of the way. “No. You can’t ask me any questions. Please leave me alone.” For all the good asking nicely would do when some cub reporter, desperate for ratings, was who she was asking.
He placed a hand on her arm to keep her from stepping around him. “But this is your opportunity to tell the world what happened,” he coaxed, a smile on his thick lips.
Mel gulped hard, her terror over being found a huge lump in her throat. “I said, please leave me alone,” she repeated, pulling her arm back, forcing herself to calm.
Yet Fierce was one tenacious bastard. As she tried to inch past him, he blocked her by shoving his sleazy face in hers and placing his hand back on her arm, faking an expression of sympathy.
At that very moment, when all good knights in shining armor should rear up on their white horses, a fist out of nowhere shot over her shoulder and landed a punch that cracked so loud, it made everyone in the diner drop their silverware.
The owner of the fist whispered in her ear, creating havoc with her already roiling belly. “What color tutu do you wear for an occasion like punching a guy out?”
Chapter 7
Dear Divorce Journal,
So there’s something to be said for having a man stand up for you, even when the man is Drew “Dancing Is Stupid” McPhee. And yes, I feel compelled to make it up to him. Maybe while he’s naked and I lick something fattening off his concrete abs. Oh, this has to stop. If it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to purge myself of this obsession with Drew like a priest at an exorcism. Off to find my Holy Water and Bible.
In the commotion, Mel was hustled out of the way, dragged to a nearby corner by Frankie and Maxine while Jasmine gave Fierce a hard crack of her purse to his head before stepping over him and heading in Mel’s direction.
“You okay, honey? Wow and wow. Who is that and where can we bioengineer three hundred more of him?”
Mel was too shocked to answer her. Instead, she made a beeline for Drew just as he was reaching down for Fierce.
“Did you hear the lady, Parker?” Drew yanked the dazed reporter to his feet. “She said to leave her alone. No means no, Fierce. Didn’t your mother teach you that?”
Mel placed a hand on his back to stop him, caught briefly by the luxurious feel of his muscles beneath her palm, before catching herself.
“Drew! Stop. Let him go.”
Fierce wiped the back of his hand across his nose with angry eyes.
“You animal! I’m just trying to do my job!”
Job? Mel’s temper flared. Since when had being an asshole become a job? Her privacy was at stake here, and she was ready to defend it at all costs.
“By trying to force me to answer your questions?” Mel hissed up in his face. “Pay close attention, Fierce. If I were answering questions, or felt like I had any reason to answer them, it definitely wouldn’t be for some loser reporter who’s on some lame morning show no one but the people who pay for basic cable watch because they don’t have a choice. Now get out of my face, or I’ll make that fist in your nose seem like a day at the spa!”
Fierce’s face distorted. “I bet the basic-cable crowd would love to hear about your new boyfriend here.”
Now it wasn’t just her privacy, but the anonymity of Drew and Nate and all the children at Westmeyer. Mel lunged for him, launching herself like her legs had springs.
She latched on to his tie and yanked his head down to her level. “If you even think my name, I swear by all that’s holy, I’ll—”
“Back off, you vulture,” Drew bit out, taking Mel by the shoulders and planting her beside him. He cornered Fierce, his stance threatening. “I think you and your threats better leave, or I might mess up your pretty suit.”
Mel intervened, putting her hand on Drew’s chest. She wouldn’t allow him to become mixed up in the mess her life had become.
“Drew! Don’t. Let it be.”
“Fine,” Drew said on a huff of angry air. He brushed off Fierce’s shoulders and handed him a napkin from a nearby table to wipe the blood from his nose. “Good as new. Now leave the lady alone, Parker, and if I ever catch you even five hundred feet near her, I’ll beat you up and take your lunch money. Got that?”
Nikos, Frankie’s husband, came up from Fierce’s rear, placing a hand on the reporter’s shoulder. “Make sure you tell all of Jersey on your show tomorrow morning you got your ass beat at the Greek Meets Eat Diner, pal. Spell it right, too. Now, leave, and don’t come back, or I won’t just take your lunch money—I’ll beat your 401K right out of you.”
The reporter’s eyes narrowed to small slits in his head as he wiped the blood from his nose. “I could press charges,” he sneered at Mel.
Drew’s fists clenched. “You definitely could, but when you’re pressing those charges or blogging about this or whatever it is you snakes do, make sure you tell everyone you put your hand on the lady first. And there are, oh, I’d say, probably thirty or so witnesses to attest to that fact, right folks?” Drew’s eyes looked to the astonished customers for acknowledgment.
Customers that began to clap and cheer in response to Drew’s request.
Fierce shoved his way past Drew and Nikos with resentful eyes and a red face, stomping his embarrassment to the door.
“Bye, Fierce,” Drew drawled. Then all of his attention was immediately on Mel. He put a hand to her cheek. “Did he do that to your eye? I came in at the back end of it, saw he had his hand on your arm and wouldn’t let you go, and reacted. My apologies for behaving like the caveman you expect me to be.”
Mel leaned into his hand, closing her eyes to fend off the sudden attack of the girlies. “No. He didn’t do this to my eye, and thank you. You have no idea how terrified I am of the press… Anyway, thank you.”
He smiled, infuriatingly handsome. “You on
your way out?”
Realizing she’d just created a scene; her appetite was suddenly gone. Frankie appeared out of nowhere with a carryout box. “I’m sorry, honey. I never saw him coming and by the look on your face, I know you just want to crawl into a hole now. But you have to eat in your hole. Take this with you, for me. Eat when you get home and you’re not so upset.”
Jasmine pushed a stray strand of Mel’s hair from her face, cupping her cheek as Maxine rubbed her arm. “Let’s have lunch on Saturday, okay? All four of us. I have a kitchen that just begs for someone to cook in it, and Simon would love nothing more than to have three gorgeous women to flirt with. I’ll call you tomorrow with directions. Now, let the nice hunk, um, man walk you to your car. You are a nice man, aren’t you?” Jasmine gave him the evil eye.
“The nicest,” Drew replied in return.
Neil draped an arm around her shoulders and leaned in to whisper, “Oh-m-gee. Mel’s got an admirer. You gonna be okay with him?”
She patted his hand and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’m fine. He’s fine. I just want to leave so everyone will stop staring. I’m sorry, Neil. I’m so sorry. Stupid me to think they wouldn’t eventually catch up to me. I’ll see you tomorrow. You know, when all humane people are still asleep?”
Neil nodded, planting a quick kiss on her cheek.
Rattled, Mel whispered her apologies to everyone, especially Frankie, whose place of business had been turned upside down then let Drew lead her out to her car.
He took her hand in his as they made the short walk to her father’s truck in silence. She backed up against the truck’s door, still holding his hand, warm and callused against her cold skin.
“What are you doing here?”
“Men who don’t dance eat, too.” His thumb caressed her palm in maddening circles.
Her laugh was nervous. “I’m sorry. I mean, I’m glad you were there. I knew I couldn’t hide forever, but I’d hoped eventually all the speculation about me would die down. But it seems the more elusive I am, the more everyone wants the dirt.”
“No kidding. Does that happen often?”
Instantly, she worried he feared for the safety of Nate and the boys at Westmeyer. “No. This is the first time since the divorce. I’m sorry you were involved.”
“I’m not. I had to find a way to show off my manhood. Knocking some cocky reporter out was as good a way as any.”
Mel laughed, gazing up at him with shy eyes. “Either way, thank you. I appreciate you running interference.” On impulse, she rose on her toes to plant a kiss of gratitude on his cheek when Drew turned his head and the side of her lips caught his.
The world did something funny then. Something it had never done before, and while she might have only been married to one man all her life, she’d kissed a lot of boys beforehand.
The world sort of fell out of focus before righting itself, making her swoon.
Swoon.
Their lips disconnected, but Drew didn’t move away. Instead, he let his mouth linger at the side of hers, achingly enticing. “Gratitude and you make a nice combination. Who knew the dancing queen doesn’t just have a smart mouth, but a kissable one, too?”
Her breath shuddered when he spoke, her body leaning into his.
She shivered and knew she couldn’t blame it on the cool evening air.
Drew revved her engine, floated her boat, and made her lady parts do handstands. “Who knew a Neanderthal could be so noble and gallant and worthy of my gratitude?”
Instantly, Mel pulled back, flattening against the truck. Who was this Flirty McFlirt? “Well, anyway, thank you. I get so tongue-tied when it comes to the press that it makes me an easy target.”
Drew let a hand rest on the doorframe of the truck, loosely pinning her in position. “Funny. You don’t seem to have that trouble with me.”
Her breathing was becoming choppy at his close proximity.
“That’s because I’m not concerned you’ll write some story that misconstrues every word I say and turn it into something ugly and completely untrue.”
“What a shitty way to live, Mel. I’m sorry.”
Was that genuine remorse or just the generic condolence everyone offered? “I managed to stay out of it for a very long time, but since my divorce…” Mel clamped her mouth shut.
“Yeah. Most of us get divorced and generally no one cares but your immediate family. Your divorce has been a circus that’s involved the entire world.”
Mel’s breath hitched when Drew’s cologne drifted to her nose.
Had he seen the reports on Hollywood Scoop? Had he watched all those undernourished female reporters, wearing designer-label dresses, speculate about her whereabouts and if she was taking her meals in a soup kitchen or living on Johnny Depp’s secluded island while she lapped up his pity?
The coy flirting she’d indulged in moments ago slipped away and was replaced by the heavy air of her humiliation. Knowing he’d probably seen more personal details about her life with Stan than she’d reveal to someone she hardly knew made her hope the ground would open and swallow her up—now.
Pity was not something you wanted from your obsession. It served as a mood killer for all those naughty thoughts.
“It was definitely a circus. Complete with elephants and a sideshow freak.” Her temple began to throb. “Look, I have to go. I have to be up early, but thanks again.” Mel slipped under his arm, turning her back to him to look through her purse for her keys.
But Drew took her arm in a light grasp. “Don’t run away. I was just making an observation. I was sympathizing. Something I’m sure you think I’m incapable of, but I was nonetheless. I’m divorced, too. It had a sort of suck-i-tude to it. Granted, it wasn’t as global in the sucky department as yours, but it sucked just the same. Even us com-moners feel pain.”
His body, sheltering her from behind, and his words, spoken with a quiet decency, struck the chords of her heart. “It did suck, and I’m sorry yours sucked. But it’s over now, and I’m really trying to move forward. Reporters like that Fierce just make it difficult.”
Drew’s breath was back in her ear, making her fight a soft sigh and the impulse to lean back against his wide chest. “I bet I can help you move forward.”
Mel hid her smile, finally locating her keys and pulling them out to beep the truck door open with shaking fingers. “Really?”
“Really. Moving forward always involves getting out and experiencing new things. At least that’s what my family told me when I got divorced. So I say you experience coffee with me—in the spirit of moving forward. Consider it therapy from one of the former walking wounded. You know, like a sponsor-type thing. Nothing serious. No commitments, just some coffee.”
Breathless, she popped the door open when something occurred to her. This was a chance to purge herself of Drew McPhee. She’d berated herself for a week now for turning him down, and since that day, he’d become the object of her desire. That couldn’t be healthy.
What she had to do was prove to herself he was no big thing.
Drew wasn’t someone she’d idolized since her childhood like Stan had been. He was just a man.
Yes, he was an amazing specimen of man, but if she’d learned one thing about her qualifications for amazing, it was that she was unqualified to make smart decisions about exactly what constituted amazing.
But she and Drew were equals, neither of them any more knowledgeable about any one thing than the other. Stan had had the upper hand because he was older and his expertise in the field of dance was respected and legendary.
Drew was just a good-looking guy. A good-looking guy she couldn’t stop thinking about.
Emotionally, she was still an insecure wreck—which could be why she couldn’t get him out of her head. It had been a long time since a man had shown any interest in her, and that included Stan. A little spark of attention from anyone of the male persuasion was bound to be something she clung to at such a vulnerable stage, when she felt fat and ugly.
Yet, Mel recognized that would only be moving from one unhealthy Stan habit to another. Drew wasn’t the only man in the world. Maybe once she’d experienced him, she would discover that, and she could do this forward motion thing everyone raved about like it was the next best thing since spray tans had been invented.
Turning around, she summoned her dancing skills—more specifically, the skills she’d used in a tango, which required her to convince the audience and judges she was hot on the hunt for her partner.
A tango was often a story of seduction, one she’d told endlessly with Neil in competition. The dance where she was the seducer, luring a man into her web with her sultry hips and smoldering eyes.
Mel tried a confident smile on for size, squaring her shoulders and holding her head up to find Drew’s eyes gazing down at her. “Okay, when?”
If he was stunned by her acceptance, he didn’t show it. “Friday?”
“Where?”
“The club for swingers. You know, in the next town over? I thought we could dabble in bondage. There’s no better way to get to know someone than when they’re tied up on one of those spiky tables, if you ask me.”
Mel laughed, her giggle floating from her lips. “If I thought we had nothing in common before, I’m sure of it now.”
“Damn. How could I have pegged you so wrong?”
“It’s those pesky assumptions. So where?” She tapped a finger on her carryout carton, waiting.
Drew’s brow furrowed like he hadn’t expected her to say yes.
Maybe he was more about the challenge than the actual coup? “How about that new café in town? Daisy’s, I think it is.”
“Time?”
“Seven?”
“Date.”
His eyebrow rose in surprise. “What—no fight? No protests? Just ‘date’?”
Mel smirked at him, tipping her jaw over her shoulder. “Should I have presented more of a challenge than I already have?”
His expression was cynical. “There’s a catch.”
Mel shrugged her shoulders, feigning indifference. “No catch. Your words of wisdom made me realize you’re right. I should begin to experience life again. It may as well be you I experience my first date with. You know, so I can oil all those rusty spots for my future dating health. I’ll work out all my awkward, insecure, haven’t-dated-in-twenty-years vulnerabilities on you. Some lucky man will thank you someday for breaking me in.”
Waltz This Way (Ex-Trophy Wives Book 3) Page 11
