by Chelle Bliss
“His house is nice.”
“Nice as in the double-wide that isn’t too old, or nice as in it’s not a complete shithole but made out of bricks?”
I wrinkle my nose. “What in the hell are you talking about?”
“I did an internet search of the town you’re in. You know what I found?”
I lean over the counter, staring at myself in the mirror, blinking at the horrific reflection staring back at me. My mascara had streaked down my cheeks from the crying, and whatever was left on my lashes found a home under my eyes too. “What?”
“Not a goddamn fucking thing.”
“What?” I repeat, confused.
“It’s so ridiculous and small, there’s barely anything about the place online. It’s as if it doesn’t even exist, and if it does, there’s nothing notable there to even mention.”
“They have a killer taco stand,” I tell her, moving my face closer to the mirror and wiping at my eyes.
“A restaurant?”
“No. It was an old gas station or ice cream place with some wooden picnic tables, but they had really great nachos.”
“Did Jamison fuck with your head that bad? Do you even hear yourself?”
I bend down, opening the cabinet under the sink, looking for a washcloth or something to wash my face. “What are you talking about? The place I ate last night that’s just down the road a bit should have its own website.”
“Oh God. She even talks like them now.”
“Who’s them?” I snap as I stand, washcloth in hand.
Jesus. I am a mess. Crying always does weird shit to my face, and it will be a few more hours before I look like myself again. I need a shower, makeup, and a change of clothes, but all of that requires heading back to the hotel and confronting Jamison.
Not happening.
“Down the road a bit? Who says that?”
“I don’t know. I’d give you the exact GPS coordinates if I knew them, but I’m not awake. And you’re too busy giving me a hard time instead of being happy that I’m alive and well.”
Kimberly coughs. “I am happy you’re alive. I was worried, especially when you didn’t reply.”
“I took a pill and passed out. Plus, I’m still on LA time, and the jet lag is killing me.”
“How can I help?” she asks, finally doing the job I pay her for instead of mothering and chastising me.
“Nothing.” I turn my face to the right, staring at my profile, waiting for the water to warm. “I’ll head back to the hotel after I have breakfast.”
“Breakfast?”
“He’s making me eggs and toast.”
“Men do not cook for strangers without a reason.”
“Seriously, Kimberly, stop being a total weirdo. He was making himself something to eat and is being nice to me. He’s taking pity on me and nothing else.”
“Mm-hm. Trust me. He wants something. All men do.”
“Wow, girl. Who did you so wrong? I’m the one who should be hating men right now, not you.” I place my phone on the counter, putting her on speakerphone with the volume as low as possible so I can only barely hear her above the sound of the running water.
“No one. Someone in your position can never be too careful. He clearly knows who you are. Everyone in the country knows who you are unless they’re living under a rock. Don’t be stupid and fall for his bullshit.” She pauses for a second as I rub some soap between my palms. “And there’s no one who does anything for you without wanting something in return. And just so you know…”
I stop moving because nothing good ever follows that statement. Not when it comes to Kimberly. It’s her way of letting me know there’s something I need to know that I won’t like.
“Yeah?” I ask, lifting my hands to my face, ready to scrub away the remnants of last night.
“The news already broke about Jamison cheating. Somehow, probably the bitch-ass maid opened her fat yap and got paid doing it, the press got ahold of the story and has been running it on television all morning.”
“Fucking great,” I mutter with my hands covered in soap and pressed against my cheeks. “I’m sure they’re loving every juicy detail.”
“Don’t worry,” she says, drawing the second word out for more than a few seconds. “He’s the one coming off badly. He did you wrong, and all of America knows it.”
I scrub the soap into my cheeks, trying not to get too close to my mouth. “You know how much I hate tabloid news, no matter how it makes me look. It’s always wrong. Always blown way out of proportion.”
“They said you caught him with his face buried between another woman’s legs.”
I don’t even flinch at her words. “Sounds about right,” I clip, splashing water on my face.
“Babe, eggs are done, and toast is about to pop,” Nick says at the door, not knocking or caring about my privacy.
“I’ll be right there,” I call out, my face dripping with water as I reach for the washcloth I’d set down next to me.
“Babe?” Kimberly asks, sounding more than shocked. “What the fuck aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing.” I dry my face, looking no better than I did a minute ago.
“He called you babe. No man calls a stranger babe. No one.”
“He knows I hate it. So, he keeps calling me babe to piss me off.”
“You watch that one. No doubt he knows who you are and would probably be more than happy to sell a story about you to the tabloids too. Watch yourself. Get out of there as soon as possible, and call me later so I don’t worry all day.”
“I will.”
“Bye, babe,” Kimberly snickers.
“Fuck off,” I tell her, ending the phone call.
All of America knows Jamison cheated. I don’t know what’s worse. Him doing it, or everyone knowing I wasn’t good enough for him and he went elsewhere—to our hotel maid—to satisfy himself.
A glutton for punishment, I open my web browser, heading to the most popular Hollywood gossip website.
Josephine Done Dirty by Her Man.
Shit.
The headline sounds so much more salacious than it really is. Done dirty could be anything. I hate tabloids and their ability to make even the victim look horrible in any situation. Kimberly told me I looked good in this one, but based on the headline alone and the general public’s inability to read beyond the first six words, I do not, in fact, look good at all.
Before leaving the bathroom, I take a deep breath, hold it inside, and find my center.
I’m not going to let anyone see me crack, not even a complete stranger.
I can do this.
I did nothing wrong.
I hold my head high as I walk out of the bathroom in my day-old clothes, no makeup, hair not even remotely tame, and head toward the kitchen.
Nick has two plates on the island, side by side, with only a few inches separating us. My eggs are exactly as I’d asked, while his are all egg whites, along with wheat toast and enough bacon to feed an entire family.
He is sitting on the stool next to what is supposed to be mine. “I put the ketchup on the side because there was no way I was going to cover the protein with that shit,” he says, not looking up or turning around to face me.
I slide into the seat next to him, not looking his direction as I pick up the fork, digging into the cheesy scrambled eggs and dipping them in the ketchup.
He grunts, making a sound like I’ve physically wounded him.
I ignore him, adding more ketchup to my first bite to piss him off. “These look great,” I marvel, trying to sound grateful because I am, even if he thinks my food choices are subpar.
His gaze moves from my fork, which is covered mostly in ketchup compared to eggs, back to my eyes. “You cannot eat that shit and like it.”
“I can.” I smile, lifting the fork to my lips. “And I love it,” I tell him.
He stares at me, not blinking, face tight as I place the fork in my mouth.
I close my lips around
the tines, wishing I hadn’t gone so overboard with the damn ketchup. But I couldn’t help myself since he was being so damn judgy. “Mmm,” I moan, closing my eyes and pretending they are the best thing I’ve ever eaten.
“Fuckin’ unbelievable,” he mutters softly. “Beautiful chick. Grossest taste.”
My eyes fly open. “My taste isn’t gross,” I snap after I swallow down the ketchup with a dash of eggs.
“Wouldn’t know good food if it hit you in that ass, babe.”
“I have exquisite taste,” I argue, turning up my nose and going back to stabbing at my eggs and slathering them in more ketchup.
“Not in food, and based on what I heard, not in men either.”
My fork is almost to my lips when he delivers that last punch. My stomach gurgles, but not from hunger. “What did you hear?”
His blue eyes are back on me again, studying my face, forehead furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“What did you hear?” I repeat, not even blinking and barely breathing. “Who did you hear it from?”
He drops his fork on his plate and turns his body sideways, his knees touching my thigh. “I don’t know what in the hell you’re so nutty about, babe, but I was there last night when that piece of trash you call a boyfriend had words for you. I heard all the shitty things he said to you and the way he talked to you like you were nothing.” He pauses, tilts his head, and stares me straight in the eyes with no expression. “Shitty taste.”
“Oh.” I’m a little relieved and also totally embarrassed. “I thought you heard from somewhere else.”
He looks at me funny, like I have two heads. “Where would I hear? I’m pretty damn sure we have no one in common.”
This tells me two important things. He has no idea who I am, and he doesn’t watch television or care about celebrities. Maybe he’s lying, but he seems like a pretty straight shooter.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I was only asking.”
My phone vibrates between our plates, Jamison’s name flashing across the screen. I stare at it, my stomach turning like the eggs and ketchup are doing the hula dance inside.
“You gonna answer that?” he asks when I sit there too long, letting it ring three times.
“I don’t want to,” I mumble, going back to my breakfast.
“Your life,” he quips as the phone continues to move across the stone countertop.
We sit in silence, eating, him grunting almost every time I lift the ketchup-covered eggs to my mouth, until my phone starts ringing again.
“You should answer,” he says to me. “Tell him to fuck off.”
“I can’t. He’s just sooo…”
“You love him?”
I scrunch my face. “No.”
“You want him back?”
I shake my head. “He’s a dick.”
Nick nods, reaches for my phone, and taps the screen.
My eyes widen and I reach for the phone, but Nick pushes my hand away with his elbow.
“She’s busy,” Nick rumbles in that sexy deep voice of his before he pauses, his eyes moving to me. “Don’t fuckin’ worry about who I am. I know who you are, and she’s done with your sorry ass. She’s over you. Finished. You fucked up, and there’s no going back.”
I smile, watching him make faces as Jamison screams on the other end.
“Again, buddy, I don’t give a fuck. And I’m pretty sure Jo doesn’t give a fuck either.”
I giggle and immediately cover my mouth to hide the sound. I seriously don’t give a fuck about Jamison. Not after what he did.
“We’ll be there in an hour, and you can say this shit to my face.”
My laughter dies and my breathing stops. We?
“Best if you’re not there when we come for her stuff,” Nick warns, but he’s smiling, enjoying himself.
Nick looks so much more handsome with a smile. His teeth are white and straight. He’s dreamy in a rustic, blue-collar kind of way.
“If you’re there, you won’t talk to her, won’t look at her, won’t even breathe in her direction, or you’re going to deal with me. Clear out, man. Admit you fucked up. Accept defeat. We’re coming for her shit, and she’s gone.” Nick taps the screen, drops the phone, and goes back to his breakfast like none of that happened.
“Um,” I mumble, my eyes moving from him to my phone. “We’re going to the hotel?”
“Yeah, babe. Eat those shitty ketchup eggs, and I’ll help you get your things.”
“Why?” I ask, my mouth hanging open.
He runs his hand across his mouth, studying me for a second. “Why not?”
“You don’t know me.”
“I may not know you, but I’m not letting you go back there to get your shit alone. The man is a raving lunatic. If I’m there, he won’t fuck with you. You get your shit, and you’re done with him. We leave, and you live your life.”
“I live my life?”
He nods. “I’d hope so. Eat,” he commands, nudging my arm. “We leave in ten.”
“Nick.” I stare at him. “Do you know who I am?”
“Don’t care, babe.”
“I can’t go there. I can’t. People will be watching.”
He doesn’t even blink. “Want me to handle it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Eat, and we’ll talk on the way. You can explain whatever this code you’re talking in is all about.”
“Okay,” I murmur and go back to my eggs, praying this all doesn’t blow up in my face.
4
Nick
Jo has her feet up on the dashboard of the old pickup truck I spent three months restoring. Her head’s bobbing with the music, and she’s dancing in the seat, looking chill as fuck for the first time since I met her.
“You going to tell me the big secret?” I ask when we get close enough to the fancy-ass hotel she and Jamison were staying at.
“I don’t really want to kill my vibe,” she mutters. “And the information will most certainly do that.”
“Are you going in with me, then?”
She stops moving, curling forward and flattening her body against her legs in some wicked-ass yoga move. “I can’t.”
“Fine, but I need only the basics, babe. Don’t need your entire life story like I’m watching some afterschool special.”
She turns her face toward me, her body still folded like a pretzel. “Only the basics?” she repeats.
I nod. “I need to know what I’m walking into before I walk into it.”
She sighs, straightening her body again and slinking down into the passenger seat. “People are always watching me. My family is kind of well-known. There will probably be ten photographers camped somewhere outside the hotel lobby, waiting for me to show up to snap my picture to make money.”
I rub the back of my neck with one hand, the fingers of my other gripping the steering wheel. “I attract all the crazies,” I mutter into the windshield.
“I’m not crazy, Nick. You’ll see.”
I move my gaze across the road in front of me, taking in the endless row of restaurants and hotels lining the street. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to park down the street, you’re going to give me your room keycard, and you’ll wait in the truck.”
“But…”
“You want your photo taken?”
She shakes her head and crosses her arms over her chest. “No.”
“I’ll get your shit and get out. No one knows or cares who I am. You’ll be far enough away, no one will see you. No Jo. No photos.”
Even though I’m not looking at her, I can feel her eyes on me. “And if he’s there?”
“He bigger than me?” I ask her.
“No.”
“Is he known for fighting with men instead of women?”
“No.”
“You think he’ll swing at me?” I ask, not caring if he does because everything she has said about him tells me I can take him with one hand.
She tips her head back and laughs. �
��I’m pretty sure he’ll shit his pants.”
I smile and turn my face to glance her way as we sit at a red light less than a mile away from the hotel. “Then we’re good. If he’s there, I’ll grab your shit and he’ll stay quiet, and if not, I’ll make him quiet.”
“And afterward?” she asks.
“We’ll head back, and you’re free as a bird. Fly away to wherever your heart wants to go.”
“It’s that simple?”
I furrow my brows, staring at her. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“You don’t want anything for helping me?”
“Babe.” I shake my head again. “For real?”
“No one does anything without getting something out of it.”
“I don’t know what shitty people you’re around all the time, but I can say for certain, there are, in fact, people who do things only to be nice.”
“But you don’t know me.”
“I have five female cousins who live nearby, and I would hope if they were going through some shit, someone would help them without expecting something in return. My family taught me morals and also that sometimes chicks need a man to help without any questions because it’s literally our job to protect the fairer sex.”
“Fairer?” She raises an eyebrow. “You mean weaker.”
I shake my head, easing off the brake when the traffic starts to move again. “I never said weak. I’m pretty sure the females in my family could kick most guys’ asses without even breaking a sweat. You’re in need, and I’m here, willing and able to help.”
“So, you’re going to let me walk away?”
“Jesus. Do you have one decent person in your life?”
“I thought I did.”
“You need to find new people,” I tell her as I pull into a small ice cream shop next to the hotel. “Give me the keycard,” I tell her, ready to get this shit over with.
She reaches into her purse, fishing out the off-white plastic card. “I only want my clothes and makeup. It should all be in my pink suitcase. I didn’t unpack before I headed to the pool and Jamison headed to the maid.”
“Noted.” I take the keycard from her fingers as she holds it out to me, slinking farther down in her seat. “Don’t move. I’ll be back.”