by L. P. Dover
“Hey,” I answer.
“Hey, beautiful. I thought you’d call me last night, but then I remembered you telling me about working extra shifts.”
“Yeah, I did last night,” I reply, tightening up my jacket. It’s freezing outside. “Just got off work a few minutes ago. I’m on my way to Emerson’s for breakfast.”
“Nice. What all have you been doing besides work? I feel like we haven’t really spoken much the past week and a half. I’ve missed you.”
And that right there is what gives me misguided hope. Maybe it’s just words for him, but I really do miss him. “Well,” I start, “when I’m not working, I’m usually shopping or doing something with Emerson. My life isn’t as exciting as yours.”
Brennan snorts. “Trust me, Nat, I’d give anything to be normal, to have privacy.”
“I understand that. So, what all have you been up to?” I ask, wondering if he’ll tell me the truth about being with Halle Fulton.
He groans. “Oh, Nat, you won’t believe this shit. I go to record a new song yesterday and it’s the worst fucking thing I’ve ever heard. I’m talking career suicide.”
“I thought you wrote your own music.”
“I do. It’s a long story, but I walked out of the studio.”
I cross the street to Emerson’s apartment building. “Are you going to get in trouble?”
He huffs. “Honestly, I don’t care. I can’t do it. It’s not me.”
“Good for you.”
The line goes silent and I bite my lip. There’s so much I want to say, but I’m afraid. I love the time I had with him, but maybe that’s all it’s ever going to be … memories. I hate myself for wanting more.
“Nat, are you okay? You don’t sound right.”
Shivering, I hurry inside the building and sit down on one of the couches in the lobby. “I’m sorry,” I murmur, “it’s been a long night. What else did you do yesterday besides walk away from a song?”
He chuckles. “I went to the Lakers and Celtics game. Had to root for my hometown.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say, waiting for his reaction. There’s only dead silence and I hate it. “I saw you.”
“So, that’s why you’re being short with me. You saw me with Halle Fulton.”
I shrug even though he can’t see me. “It’s okay. I get it.”
“Obviously, you don’t. You’re pissed at me.”
Taking a deep breath, I glance quickly around the lobby to make sure no one’s around. “No, I’m not. You’re Brennan McLean. If you’re not going to be seen with Rayna, it has to be someone else, right?”
“It’s not like that, Natalie. She’s with the agency and my manager wanted my help to get her more exposure.”
“And you got it. You’re all over the internet together. You two looked mighty cozy.” He sighs, but I laugh and brush it off. “It’s okay, Bren. You have to keep up an image. Our time together isn’t going to change that, and I understand.” It just hurts, but I can’t tell him how much. It’s best to end this before I really get hurt. I can’t pretend that everything’s okay when I see him on TV with countless other women.
“What are you saying, Natalie?” Brennan asks, his voice tense.
Eyes burning, I stand and walk slowly over to the elevators, making sure my voice remains upbeat. “Nothing at all,” I say, laughing to lighten the mood. I press the elevator button. “I’m about to get on the elevator, but hopefully, we can talk soon. Good luck with the whole song fiasco. I hope you don’t get into too much trouble.”
“Natalie, wait. Don’t hang up.”
The elevator doors open, and I step inside. “Bren, I have to go. I’m in the elevator. Be safe out there, okay?” With those final words, I hang up and the tears come falling down. I shut off my phone and shove it into my purse. He’s probably not going to call back anyway.
It’s undoubtedly for the best.
Nine
Brennan
My plan was to talk to Natalie for a bit and then fall asleep. There’s nothing like sleeping during the day and avoiding the sun like the plague, and now that I’m off the phone with her, sleep is going to evade me completely because I know she’s upset. This is exactly why I don’t do relationships. There’s too much drama. Too much distance. Too many chances for people to make assumptions that aren’t there. Much like Natalie and the way she was on the phone. She thinks I’m with Halle because we went to the game last night. She doesn’t understand, it’s a job, a favor. I’m helping Halle out and someday she’ll return the favor. It’s all business, nothing personal. But Natalie doesn’t totally understand all this, and now I can easily see why as I scroll through the barrage of photos of Halle and me. Most of them we didn’t even pose for. I click on a couple and expand, marveling at the photoshop work by whoever uploaded the images. According to the internet, Halle and I have been carrying on a relationship for some time now, long before she was discovered in the coffee shop, and it seems she’s to thank me for her career now.
“Wonderful.” I throw my phone down onto my bed and scrub my hands over my face. No good deed ever goes unpunished, at least not for me. It always seems I’m put in a sticky situation I have no intentions of ever getting into.
None of this would even matter if I wasn’t hung up on Natalie. No, hung up isn’t the right word, I’m certain that what I’m feeling is love. I loved her once and when I lost her, it took me a while to get over her. A clean break was what we said we’d do, and for a year or longer I regretted it. When I moved to Los Angeles, I would’ve given anything to have her by my side, traversing the muddy waters of fame. She had dreams though, and hers were as important as mine.
I pick up my phone and my thumb hovers over her name. I want to call her back, to tell her how and feel, and remind her that not everything she sees on the internet is the truth, but she’s not going to listen. I could sense it in her tone, the way she spoke. There was a finality there, an ending. One I don’t want to happen, but I’m left with limited options. I decide to text her. She’ll be done eating breakfast with Emerson soon enough, she can call me on her way home.
Natalie O’Brien: Nat, can we talk when you get home?
I wait for the message to be delivered, but the blue bubble sits there, which means she’s shut her phone off.
“Fucking great,” I mutter aloud. I put my phone down and bang my head against my headboard before giving up and trying to get some sleep. But even as I close my eyes, I only see Natalie. Normally, thoughts of her help me rest, but I see her crying and being consoled by someone who isn’t me.
It doesn’t matter what I do to try to clear my thoughts, my mind is focused on Natalie and the tone of her voice. I hurt her, even though it was never my intention. I would never do anything to hurt Nat, not in a million years. I search for my phone and bring it to life. No notifications, and the text bubble is still there, lingering somewhere in cyber space, waiting for her phone to acknowledge the message.
Rolling over onto my back I put my hands behind my head and stare at the ceiling, almost as if it holds all the answers. It doesn’t. It’s white, non-descript, and boring. If I owned my apartment, I’d paint it. Maybe navy blue or something equally as bold. Anything but white.
After a restless nap, I finally give up. I get out of bed and start to pace. I ask myself, is Natalie worth this? Is she worth being this upset over? Is she worth feeling the pang in my heart?
I know she is.
Am I worth it to her? That’s the big question. Does her future include someone like me? She’s already been down the path of being cheated on and I hope she’d know I would never do anything of the sort to her. But does she? Or does she battle with trust issues? I go back to my bed and grab my phone. The battery is low, and I can’t have my phone dying, not while I’m trying to figure out my life. I plug it in and check my messages even though I know she hasn’t responded and by now, she’s sleeping. I could try to call her, but I’d feel even worse for waking her up.
Is Natalie worth it?
Yeah, she is.
I press Vance’s number and put him on speakerphone. It’s early, he’s likely still sleeping, but I don’t care.
“Hello,” he grumbles. Honestly, he’s used to all hours of the night calls because his clients can’t be trusted not to get into trouble. As much as he probably wished for a nine to five job, he doesn’t have one. Besides, what a boring job that would be.
“Vance, I need help.”
“Oh, God. What did you do?”
“Nothing. I’m at home. By myself,” I say before he gets any ideas.
“Can’t this wait, until like noon?”
“No, I won’t be here. I need to take some time off.”
“Hold on.” Vance is moving around and there’s a female voice in the background, complaining about the hour. “What is going on, Brennan?”
“There’s some business I need to take care of back home.”
“Can it wait until after the album is done?”
“No,” I tell him. “I can record in Boston. There’s a studio there or down in NYC, it’s only a three-hour drive or so, but I need to be home for a bit. I need the time off to figure some shit out.”
“Are you in some sort of trouble?”
“No, Vance. I promise, everything is on the up and up.”
He sighs heavily. “This isn’t ideal, Bren. You’re in the middle of recording an album. You walked out of your session yesterday. The label isn’t going to be happy.”
He’s right, bailing now wouldn’t be wise, but cutting an album doesn’t happen overnight either. It could be months in the making, especially when I’m forced to sing songs about bubble gum.
“I’ll work while I’m there,” I reiterate my earlier statement. “I’m just asking for a couple of months. I need to get some affairs in order.”
“Ah, shit, Bren. Did you knock a groupie up or something?”
His question gives me pause. The only possible person would be Natalie and the thought of her pregnant makes me smile, but if she was, I think she would tell me. “No, Vance. Nothing like that.”
He groans. “Do what you need, but don’t be surprised if the label throws a fit.”
“Thanks, man. I owe you.” I hang up and head for my closet to grab my suitcase. I’m pulling clothes off the hanger without paying attention to what I’m packing. Same with my socks and boxers, and this time, I make sure to have a couple sweatshirts. I pack my charger, laptop, notebooks of lyrics, and message my housekeeper, telling her I’m going to be gone for a bit and to make sure everything stays in working order at my apartment.
Instead of driving to the airport, I order a car and wait not so patiently outside for it to arrive. I know what I’m doing is right, it’s the best thing. I’m also leery my plan will backfire. When I come face to face with Natalie, she could tell me to go pound sand. Thing is, if she told me to go away, I would. I wouldn’t bother her with my life anymore because she deserves better.
I’m able to book a last-minute flight. As much as I would prefer to sit in first class where no one will bother me, I’m regulated to the last row of a very cramped airplane. Before I board, I put on a toque and pull the hood of my sweatshirt up over my head, hoping to give of a vibe that would keep people from talking to me.
At my seat, I stare out the window and keep my body angled away from the two people sitting next to me. There’s an older lady in the middle who’s unlikely to know who I am, same goes for the man sitting in the aisle seat. But the people around us, they’re young and could possibly recognize me. I want to remain incognito for as long as I can.
Once the flight is in the air, I pull my hat down and close my eyes. I’ve never been able to sleep on a plane, but if I can get an hour or something, I’ll be good. I’ll take anything at this point.
I startle and look around. There are a few people moving around the cabin and the flight attendants are walking the aisles, collecting garbage. I rub my hand over my face and clear my eyes. The pilot comes on and tell us we’re about to land. Six hours, that’s how long I was out, and I feel like I could sleep another ten.
As the plane touches down, my heart starts to race. I didn’t call my parents because I’m hoping Natalie wants me to stay with her. If not, I’ll tuck tail and head back to Los Angeles. The plane pulls up to the gate, and while I’m usually one of the first to deplane, this time it takes forever. I’m literally the last person.
When I get into the terminal, I head toward baggage claim where I know I can hail a cab. I walk with my head down and mumble an apology when I bump into someone. Before I head outside, I stop at one of the gift stores and buy a dozen roses.
Outside, the wind blows, forcing me to pull my jacket tighter around me. “Where to?”
“Mass General, emergency room.” I’m lucky in the sense she had already given me schedule for the week.
The cab driver speeds off and I feel like a weight has been lifted off me now that I’m back home. I never realized how much I loved this city until Natalie showed me what was missing. It wasn’t like we went out, but being with her, reminded me what I gave up when I moved to California.
Thankfully, traffic is minimal and before I know it, I’m standing outside the emergency room. I go in, take off my hat, and ask the woman at the desk where I can find Natalie. She points to the hall and tells me to stand over there and wait.
Waiting, I can do.
I get myself situated and pull out my phone. I can see my text message was delivered but she hasn’t responded. I call her, and her phone goes to voicemail. I call her again. And again. And by the fourth time, I’ve reached stalker level.
“Hello?” she says, completely exasperated.
“Hey, Nat.”
She sighs. “Now isn’t a good time.”
“Oh, sorry, babe. Want me to call back?” I’m smiling because the sound of her voice makes me happy, and I have a feeling I’m about to see come through the door any second now.
“No, Brennan. Listen, New Year’s was fun. We had a good time, but I really think—”
Natalie comes through the double doors but doesn’t see me.
“Nat don’t finish that sentence without looking behind you.”
“What? That doesn’t even make sense. What are you . . .” she turns around and her phone slowly drops from her ear, “Brennan?”
I walk toward with her. When I reach her, my arm goes around her shoulders and I lean in to kiss her by her ear. “I’m so sorry if you thought you weren’t a priority in my life because you are, Nat. You’re my only priority. I still have to work but I can do it from here or New York. I can stay for a few months until we figure out what’s next.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m here to see if I can take you out on a proper date, at least enough of them to last a lifetime?”
Natalie launches herself into my arms, smashing the flowers between our chests. Our lips meet and it’s like I’m a teenager all over again, kissing her for the first time. When we part, I waste no time in telling her exactly how I feel.
“I’m so in love with you Natalie O’Brien.”
“I love you, Brennan. So, so much.”
Something tells me the songs I’m about to write, especially the one to replace the teeny bopper bubble gum song, are going to be hits, because my muse is back in my life and now everything is perfect.
THE END!
Praise for A Date with an Admirer
In less than 100 pages, theses 2 authors have made me laugh, blush and fall in love with their characters.
—Yoneidis Martín Martínez
Sophie and Tanner will take you on a whirlwind romance filled with friendship, sweetness, intense chemistry and finding someone you never thought you needed!
—Michelle McMullen
Fantastic! Short, cute, and full of laughs. I love how Tanner and Soph are together.
—Jennifer Millaway
This was such a cute novella!
—Jessica, Goodreads
A Date with an Admirer had me laughing from beginning to end.
—Nadia, Goodreads
One
Sophie
Out of all the things that can happen in life, the last thing a person wants is to get cheated on, especially the week before Valentine’s Day. Well … that’s my horrible luck. Five years down the drain. That’s five years of my life wasted on an insufferable douchebag. I thought things were perfect. The sex was pretty good and we were having plenty of it. Usually, in a cheating situation, you’d think the other person would pull away since they’re involving themselves with someone else, but with Warren … that wasn’t the case. I rip his phone charger out of the socket and throw it into the box with all his other crap. I want to burn it all, but I’m better than that. I refuse to let that bastard ruin my life.
Taking a deep breath, I sit on the bed and push his box of shit to the floor. It tips over and his things scatter out but I don’t care. I see his favorite bright green Oakley T-shirt and all I want to do is send it back to him in shreds.
“Sophie!” Ellie calls out my name and I can hear the front door slam shut.
“Back here,” I shout back, “just getting rid of turd burger’s shit.” I stand up and walk over to my mirror. I feel stronger now that Warren’s gone. Who would’ve thought it’d take a breakup to open my eyes?
“Oh, dear God,” Ellie laughs as she comes into my room. She tucks her blonde hair behind her ears and looks down at Warren’s things on the floor. “Is it bad I’d really love to wipe my ass on his favorite T-shirt.”
I burst out laughing. That’s not such a bad idea, but … “Only you would think to do something like that.”
