by Kate, Jiffy
My back stiffens and I grip the phone tighter.
“Think about it,” he repeats. “Get back with me.” His famous fucking line which translates into when you see things my way, call me.
After that, the phone goes dead and I wish I had a receiver to slam mine down into. I need to physically hurt something.
“What was that all about?” Casey asks, her voice low and timid. She hates it when Terry tries to interject himself into my life. If it were up to her, I’d leave this life behind. She wants to see me happy...loves that I’m following my dreams, but like me, hates the rest of this bullshit.
“Terry,” I say, knowing that one word will explain everything.
She sighs, coming into the kitchen to lean against the counter. “We missed the game.”
Glancing down at my phone that I still have a death grip on, I realize she’s right. It’s much later than I thought, which means I’ve been on the phone with Terry for over two hours.
“They lost,” Casey says.
I wonder if Bo has seen the photo.
I should call and tell him, give him a heads up while I figure this shit out, but I don’t want to add to his shitty day. Knowing Bo, he’s taking his first loss of the season hard. He doesn’t need me to add to it. Even though he’s the only person I really want to talk to right now, I can’t. I wouldn’t be able to not tell him.
If he texts me, I’ll text him back, of course.
But if he doesn’t, I’ll wait it out...give him a day before I unload this on him.
“What are you going to do?” Casey asks.
I let out a sigh and lean against the counter beside her. “I don’t know, Case. I...I think I thought for maybe the first time in my life I was going to be able to have a normal relationship outside of the public eye. But now I realize that really was naive of me…” I hate that Terry is right, but I didn’t really think there was a chance I could keep Bo all to myself. Hoped? Yes. Unfortunately, I know how this works. “Living here gives me a false sense of security sometimes. Everything has been so quiet since we moved, but then I remember that I haven’t put an album out in two years and the closer we get to the next one, the more media attention I start to get, it probably won’t be like that for long.”
We stand there in silence for a few moments, letting all of it sink in.
“Bo’s a good guy,” she says. “He really likes you.”
Biting down on my lip, I nod. I think she’s right...on both accounts. So, now I have to figure out what to do about that. Do I let him decide on whether or not he’s willing to be scrutinized by the media? Or do I make the decision for him and put an end to this before it goes too far?
“I think he’ll choose you,” Casey says quietly, already knowing where my thoughts are.
If I give him that choice, I think to myself, but don’t say out loud.
“You’ve been happier this last month or so than you’ve been in a really, really long time,” she continues, turning to face me. “And, Charlotte, you deserve to be happy. So, don’t let them steal this from you too.”
Her words sit heavy, like lead in my stomach.
Don’t let them steal this from you too.
She’s right, they—the media, the label, my management, people who profit from me and my name—have taken so much. My childhood, my youth, my freedom...choices. They’ve also given me a lot. I have a comfortable life. I get up every morning and do what I love. It just sucks that to make a living at what I do I’m forced to live out my life on the cover of every gossip magazine out there. That’s the part I didn’t ask for.
But it’s the sacrifice you make when your craft depends on the approval of the masses.
Chapter 15
Bo
“Can you take me to Charlotte’s?” I ask as Davies drives away from the stadium, taking a few side streets until he’s confident we’ve left behind any straggling paparazzi.
He lets out a stunted laugh. “You sure about that, Rook?”
“Yeah, I need to talk to her.”
He makes another turn, slowing as we enter an empty side street, free of traffic coming from either direction. Pulling over to the side, he parks his car, which is a sick, white Aston Martin. When he kills the lights, I glance over at him. “What are we doing?”
“Making sure none of those cock-sucking bastards are following us,” he says, his eyes on the side mirror of his car. “And I need a second to make sure you know what you’re doing.”
“Of course, I know what I’m doing,” I scoff, but even I know that’s a bold face lie. I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing.
“You need a publicist,” Davies says. “I know you have a good relationship with your agent, and he’s great, but you need someone who can handle this media attention and use it to your advantage.”
I groan and run a hand down my face, leaning back in the plush, leather seat.
“I know you hate this side of things,” Davies says. “I can see it on your face anytime anyone mentions endorsements and shit, but it’s part of it. Plus, you want to make all the money you can while you have a chance to make it.”
I know he’s right. My agent, Daryl, says the same thing, and I’ve been made offers. I even have a deal going right now with a clothing line and one in the works for an athletic line. But just the thought of banking off of publicity that involves Charlotte feels cheap.
“You need a publicist to watch your back, if nothing else,” he continues when I don’t comment. “Your agent can only do so much.”
Clearing my throat, I sit up a little straighter in the seat. “Do you think this thing I have going with Charlotte is a bad idea?”
Davies is quiet for a minute, thinking before he answers. “No, it’s not a bad idea, not if you really like her.” Letting out a deep breath, he rests his hands on the steering wheel. “Every relationship has challenges, so don’t let these fucking paparazzi keep you away from your girl. If you like her, she’s worth it. End of story.”
“Not everyone can have it as easy as you,” I tell him, trying to lighten to mood in the car. Ross Davies has been married to his college sweetheart for seven years. They got married at the end of his rookie season. She’s at all the home games and leads several local charity organizations. The only thing that’s missing is the two-point-five kids.
“Everything’s not always as it seems,” he murmurs, his thoughts obviously drifting from the topic at hand. I start to pry, but he turns his headlights back on and slowly pulls back out on the road. “Where to?”
I direct him to Charlotte’s house and cringe when I see a car parked about fifty feet from her gate with the lights turned off. Davies flips them the bird as we drive by and when we get to the gate, I give him the code Charlotte gave me yesterday.
Before he even has a chance to put his car in park, the side door opens and out walks Charlotte and Casey. They both look a little worse for wear and I want nothing more than to wrap Charlotte in a hug and tell her everything is going to be okay.
“Want to meet her?” I ask him. His eyes are focused on the two women who are dressed in their Revelers t-shirts and jeans, Charlotte looking a far cry from her stage persona. They were obviously planning on coming to the game, but never made it.
When he opens the door and unfolds his tall frame from the car, I do the same. Walking over to Charlotte, I hesitate for a split-second, wondering if I can just hug her anytime I want, but she answers the unspoken question by closing the gap and leaning into my chest. “Hey,” I murmur, placing my lips at the crown of her head and breathing in her sweet scent, honey and lavender hitting my nose and easing the frayed edges of the last hour.
“Sorry about the game,” she says, wrapping her arms around me. It’s the best feeling in the whole damn world. Not the losing part, but being here like this with her.
Davies clears his throat and I remember that we’re not alone.
“Sorry,” I say, taking a step back while keeping an arm around Charlotte. “This is
Ross Davies,” I start, but Casey finishes for me.
“Ace pitcher,” she says, giving him a shy smile.
“This is Casey,” I tell him, “Charlotte’s little sister.”
The look on Casey’s face says she doesn’t like something I just said, maybe the little part.
“Nice to meet you,” she says, turning her attention fully on Davies and offering him her hand to shake, which he does.
“Nice to meet you,” he replies, giving her a smile.
“And this is Charlotte,” I tell him.
“Ross Davies,” he says, dipping his chin. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Charlotte lets out an exasperated laugh. “I’m sure.”
“All good, of course,” Davies says, a wide smile growing on his face, showing his mischievous side.
The way Charlotte relaxes tells me she appreciates that he’s not going straight for the celebrity card, for either of them. Ross Davies is a household name in his own right. So, they’re probably even on that front.
“Well, I better get going,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets and taking a step back toward his car. “You good, Rook?”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
He nods and turns for his car. “Call me if you need a ride.”
When he’s halfway down the drive, Casey excuses herself back inside.
“Where’s your car?” Charlotte asks, a hint of dread in her tone.
“Back at the stadium.”
“Why?” she asks, her eyes focused down the drive to where Davies is exiting the gate. “What happened?”
“Uh, there were some...people,” I say, unsure of how much I want to tell her, knowing she’ll take all the blame and I don’t want her to.
She groans and leans her forehead onto my chest. Instinctively, my hands come up, gently stroking her hair. “I’m sorry,” she says, her hands coming up to grip the sides of my t-shirt.
“Don’t worry about it,” I soothe. “It’s not your fault.”
“You didn’t want this...a distraction,” she murmurs. “And all of this is definitely a distraction.”
I sigh, resting my chin on top of her head and hugging her to me. “That was before I knew you,” I tell her honestly. “I didn’t know what I was missing, but now I do. And I like you, Charlotte Carradine. You’re worth the distraction.”
Her body sags a little, her grip on my shirt loosening. We stand like that for a few more minutes, her leaning into me and me holding her, until she finally whispers against my chest, “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“You wanna come inside?” There’s weight in her words, not just a casual invitation, but it’s like she’s giving in to something—desires, her better judgement? I’m not sure, but I immediately take her up on the offer.
“Yeah, unless you want me to call Davies back to come get me, I’m kinda stuck here.”
Charlotte tilts her head back until our eyes meet and she gives me a slow, easy smile. “I like that,” she says, closing the short distance to my lips, kissing me fully. “Let’s get inside before we give people even more to talk about.”
As I follow her into the house, she turns and stops. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it to your game.”
I chuckle and shake my head. “That’s the least of my concerns, but I did miss seeing you up there in the seats,” I admit, my face feeling a little warm. “But it’s probably better that you don’t come until we figure out a better way to get you in. I don’t want you to have to deal with those fuckers.”
She sighs and walks the rest of the way in the house, closing the door behind us and arming the alarm. “You’re stuck here for the night,” she says with a sly grin. “Guess you’re sleeping with me.”
Those last words—with me—sound like an invitation and my dick stirs at the thought of being wrapped up in Charlotte. The night we spent on the couch was great, but I haven’t stopped thinking about what it would be to have her in my bed, or me in hers, since then.
I’m pretty sure the temperature in the room goes up about fifty degrees. I clear my throat as Charlotte walks around the island of the kitchen and reaches up into a cabinet for a glass. Her shirt pulls up, showing a stretch of creamy skin, and my fingers twitch to touch it.
I’ve kissed Charlotte.
I’ve kneaded her ass.
She’s ground herself on me.
But I’ve yet to get my first touch, something beyond what’s typically exposed.
“You really didn’t have to come over,” she says, turning around and walking to the refrigerator to pour a glass of water. “I know you have another game tomorrow.”
“Yeah, and I leave late tomorrow night for New York,” I tell her, feeling the pinch in my chest from the thought of not seeing Charlotte for days at a time, but I know that’s coming. “We’re headed to New York, then to Boston. We won’t be back home for eight days. I wanted to see you.”
“We better make the best of our time,” she says, her tone dipping. When she takes a sip of her water, her eyes stay glued to me, like she’s drinking me in instead of the cool liquid.
“It won’t get any better,” I warn, needing her to know what she’s getting herself into, like she’s always warning me. “I’ll be gone eight of the next ten days with only a small window of time when I’m back in town.”
She sighs, leaning a hip against the counter across the kitchen from me, using the island as a barrier, allowing us this time to talk and air our concerns without the temptation of touching each other and forgetting about talking all together. “Well, I have an album to finish,” she says thoughtfully. “And maybe the talk of us will die down with you out of town. Paparazzi get bored fast. When there’s no story, they usually move on to their next prey.”
“Even if they don’t,” I tell her, needing her to know I’m not going anywhere, “I don’t care. Every relationship has challenges...ours just happens to be a little unique.”
“A relationship, huh?” she asks, quirking an eyebrow, her lips turning up into a soft smile.
I stare her down. “Yeah, a relationship.”
She nods, pursing her lips like she’s rolling the idea of it around in her head, trying it on for size.
“I just have to get used to people yelling at me and asking me questions about you,” I tell her, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning my back against the wall behind me. “I’ve never dealt with that before. I don’t want to say the wrong thing.”
“No comment is the best comment,” Charlotte says. “Never give them any ammunition. You give them an inch, they’ll take a mile.”
I nod my head in agreement. “That’s what Davies was saying.”
“Davies is wise and he’s been there and done that,” Charlotte adds. “Also, don’t ever make them feel like you owe them shit...not pictures, not statements, not comments...because you don’t.”
Her words carry weight, sounding like they’re coming from her soul. She talks about Davies being wise and how he’s been there and done that, but so has she. I have an intrinsic desire to share this burden with her, take some of it off her and give her someone to lean on. I want her to know she’s not alone in this.
I want to protect her, which is crazy. She’s the one who knows this business and she’s tough as nails, but I can’t help the way I feel.
Instead of going all caveman on her, I simply tell her, “I’m here for you Charlotte...I know that it’s not going to be easy, but even when I’m not physically around, I’m still here. You can call me anytime, text me whenever. I won’t always be able to answer right away, but I’ll be better about keeping my phone on me.” Pausing for a second, I let my words sink in, not just for her, but for me. The only thing I’ve been committed to in the past five years is baseball. So, standing here, in Charlotte Carradine’s kitchen, telling her that I want a relationship with her is a lot for me.
“You’re a good person,” she whispers, setting her glass down on the counter and crossing the kitchen to
stand toe-to-toe with me. “Probably way too good for me.”
I shake my head, refusing to even acknowledge that statement. On no level in the universe am I too good for Charlotte Carradine. If I had to name one thing about her that’s a fault, it would be that she doesn’t see herself clearly. I think over the years, she’s let everyone else’s perception of her muddy the waters.
“You, Charlotte Carradine, are good,” I tell her with as much fervor as I can muster. “You’re kind and caring. You put other people above yourself all the time.” Bringing my hands up to cup the sides of her face, I tilt her head until she’s looking me square in the eyes. “You’re funny and smart and so fucking talented.”
When I pause to lean in and kiss her nose, then brush my lips over her cheek, she whispers, “I think you bring out the good in me.”
The air around us shifts as I move my lips closer to hers, our breaths becoming one.
“Have I showed you my bedroom?” she asks, her words coming out choppy.
I laugh lightly, dropping my mouth to her ear. “I don’t think so. Is there something interesting in there I should see?”
“Uh huh,” she murmurs against my lips as I begin to walk her backwards.
“Show me.”
Chapter 16
Charlotte
For the first time, since the night he brushed his lips against the corner of my mouth when we were sitting outside at the crepe truck, Bo’s walls are completely down.
Everything about him, from the way he’s looking at me to the way his touch feels, tells me he wants me and he’s not going to deny himself this time. Thank goodness for that. Not that I wanted to rush things. I’m glad we’ve progressed slowly, but I’m ready. All I think about is what it would be like to be completely owned by him—claimed by him.
With his hands on my back and his eyes glued to mine, I watch the muscles in his jaw tick as he breathes deeply through his nose. Pure, unadulterated attention from Bo Bennett is intoxicating.
There’s no time, no space.
It’s me and him and desire.
He continues to walk me backward until we reach the stairs. Like a switch has been flipped, his mouth comes down to claim mine, needy and demanding, and I realize in that split-second that this is a different Bo.