by M. E. Carter
The downside, however, is there are no guarantees I’ll be sleeping next to my girl tonight. Not in the same bed or even in the room next door. Had I known we would have gotten this close when the tour started, I would have demanded to stay in the hotel with her. Unfortunately, my lack of foresight means it’s booked now.
The drive to her hotel doesn’t take me long since I’ve bypassed the freeway for side streets. This traffic reminds me of one of the reasons I chose to build my house in Lexington and not here. Settling into the plush leather seat, I let my mind drift to my decision about the future. I haven’t talked it out with Kate like I usually do, but I’m pretty sure I know exactly what I’m going to do.
•••
“What is this?”
“Well, Agnes, this is a BMW Seven Series. Her name is Lola.”
A cross between a laugh, scoff, and cough rolls from her. “Lola?”
“Yep. I wanted to name her Lolita, but Kate said it sounded too . . . dark romance. Whatever that means.”
“It’s a subgenre.” Her response is quiet as she approaches the car cautiously.
“It’s a car, sweetheart. You don’t have to be so timid.”
“Spencer, this is a far cry from your truck.”
Shrugging, I open the passenger door and watch as she slowly lowers herself into the leather seat. A small moan of appreciation for the soft leather escapes her and sends a shot of lust below my belt. She already stole my breath when she walked out with her long brown hair in soft waves, one side pinned back while the other hangs across her chest. The dress she chose is a beautiful shade of purple that sets off her skin tone perfectly. Hitting just above the knee, it accentuates her legs and draws attention to the high heels she’s wearing with her painted toes peeking out.
As I settle behind the wheel, I look to my right as she runs her finger lightly over the console. “You look beautiful, Aggi.” Slowly, she turns her head and gives me one of her true smiles as a thank you.
For the next twenty minutes, we don’t speak. We sit in silence, each of us likely pondering the same question. What happens after tonight? I know Aggi, and she’s going to make an excuse and run away from me. She’s going to pretend what we’ve shared these past few weeks was no more than a new friendship with a few perks. She’ll lie and promise to keep in touch, and that’ll be the end of Aggi and Spencer.
As much as it pains me to think of that happening, a piece of me knows if I push the issue, I won’t draw her to me. I’ll only push her farther away. I want nothing more than to lay my feelings out for her like a buffet and welcome her to take it all, to stay with me here a little longer and work through all of this. Together we will figure out where we’re going and how we make this work. I want her nights in my bed and her days finding inspiration for her books. Yet, I know that won’t work with my girl. She needs to figure this out on her own. At her own pace.
The signing goes off without a hitch. The readers there to see Aggi are eager and over-the-top excited. You’d think the Hemsworth we met in Aspen was here. Nope, it’s just Adeline Snow. Gracious and patient as always, Aggi speaks to each reader with undivided attention and I, once again, watch in awe. Different from other events we’ve attended on this tour is the line I have for autographs and photos. As I’d hoped, a few of the fans have asked for pictures with both Aggi and me, and I’ve been able to wrap my arm around her, even if only for a few seconds. Each time my hand has slid behind her back, slower than necessary, I’ve felt the shivers and heard the small intakes of breath and every time, I’ve smiled huge for the camera. Even better, I’d gotten to catch her when she’s stumbled more than once. I’m allowing myself to be convinced her nerves are about letting me go. Gotta stroke my own ego somehow.
When the last fan hugs Aggi and thanks her for bringing the sexy back to her bedroom and into her marriage, I choke a little on my water. Aggi looks like she’s seen a ghost. An expression of horror crosses her face before she recovers like the professional she is with a simple thank you. But then a hint of Aggi instead of Adeline appears when she shouts “Godspeed” like the woman is headed out on a mission.
“Did that woman just thank you for her sex life?” I ask with a chuckle.
She furrows her brow, still tracking the woman as she walks out the front door. “I think she did. I’ve never had that happen before. Usually Donna or one of the other authors who write the sexier books gets that response.”
Taking her chin between my thumb and forefinger, I turn her to face me. “I know from personal experience you have every right to receive the thanks that woman gave, baby.”
Slowly a pink hue covers Aggi’s face and she buries her face in her hands and groans. “Spencer! You cannot say things like that.”
Shrugging I say, “It’s true, sweetheart. You’re a sexy woman and should own it.” Blinking her eyes at rapid pace, the pink hue turns a light crimson, and I laugh as I pull my keys from my pocket and toss them in the air before catching them. “Ready?”
Nodding, Aggi grabs her bag before walking to the manager and thanking her for a flawless event. As we approach my car, I contemplate asking if she wants to grab a bite to eat or a drink. I don’t want the night to end, but I also know eventually it will.
“What time is your flight in the morning?”
“Eight. I scheduled a car for five thirty. It’s going to be an early morning for me.”
“Sounds like it. I can still take you if you want, the offer stands.”
She smiles shyly, and I already know what her answer is going to be. “I appreciate it, but the car is fine. It’s too early, I’d hate for you to drive all the way back here to take me.”
“You could come home with me.” It slips out before I can stop it.
“Spencer,” she says quietly and with resolve.
I already knew what her answer would be, but hearing her say it makes me feel like I’ve been punched in the gut again.
“I know, Aggi. I know.”
The rest of the drive to the hotel is quiet. Gone is the comfortable silence I’ve been accustomed to with Aggi, and in its place is tension. Instead of pulling up to the front doors to let her out, I park in short-term parking and kill the engine. Quickly, I exit the car and run around to open her door before extending my hand to her. With only a slight hesitation, she places her tiny hand in mine and stands from the car. I don’t let go of her hand as I walk us through the large front doors of the hotel and straight to the elevators.
I spy a small group of people talking animatedly near the elevators. I slow our pace before speaking. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay a few more days?”
Shaking her head Aggi tugs her bottom lip between her teeth and looks at the ground as we continue to walk. The elevator opens and the group boards, a gentleman placing his hand on the door to hold it for us. I wave him off, needing this time with Aggi. When the doors close, I step up and push the up arrow before turning to face the woman who looks like she’s moments from losing a battle with herself.
“I hoped we’d have this conversation in a more private setting but here it goes. I like you, Aggi. You bring something out in me I haven’t felt in a long time. I want us to spend more time together, get to know each other better. Not the athlete and the author but the people we are deep down.” Cupping her face in my hands, I force her gaze up to mine hoping she can see the honesty in my words. “I want to know the girl who stumbles and apologizes to pieces of furniture. I want to listen to you tell me story after story and watch as your eyes light up because being a storyteller is your passion. Having you in my bed is a perk and seeing you in those damn footy pajamas you have in your luggage is a sight I want morning after morning.” Her eyes widen at my mention of the pajamas she probably didn’t realize I saw in her bags. “I’m not asking you to give up your life, Aggi, I just want to be part of it.”
She moves her hand quickly to brush her cheek, breaking our physical connection and forcing me to shift backward.
&n
bsp; “The thing is, I can’t make you want the same from me. I wish I could, God how I wish I could. This is me telling you I’m here. The ball is in your court.”
No longer hiding her tears, she sniffles as her hand falls from mine and she places both of her hands on my waist. Stepping forward, I place a kiss to the top of her head before turning and walking away.
Chapter 25
Aggi
I miss him.
There. I said it. I admitted to myself that I. Miss. Spencer.
To be honest, it’s not a huge surprise I feel this way. What is a surprise, however, is the intensity with which I’m feeling it. It isn’t like missing my mom because I haven’t talked to her in a while, or missing Todd because I need my friend fix.
Nope. This is like missing an arm. Or at least I assume this is what missing an arm feels like. Minus the phantom limb pain, the relearning of daily tasks, the surgeries—
Okay it’s nothing like missing an arm. No, it’s like missing a part of my soul. And that has me spooked because I think I may have fallen for him. A little. Not fully and completely, because we’ve only known each other for such a short time. Regardless of how much time we spent talking, laughing, and making love, it would be impossible to have feelings that deep for him yet.
Right?
Sighing, I push my laptop away again. For the last two days, all I’ve done is mechanically throw words on a page, hoping it sorts itself out and makes some sort of sense. I’m not holding my breath, though. Mostly my thoughts have been about the look on Spencer’s face when he walked away from me, and the expression was the opposite of romance. It was defeat. Like our happily ever after was never going to happen.
He looked so sad, yet so resolved at the same time. Like he wanted to say more. Wanted to beg me to reconsider staying with him. For a split second, I actually did. When his hands cupped my face and he made sure I could see straight inside to his soul as he bared his deepest feelings to me, I almost said yes. I almost jumped up, wrapped my legs around him, and kissed him with as much gusto as I could.
I wanted to. God, how I wanted to. But then I realized I would likely throw us off balance and we’d end up in a heap on the floor. I remembered all the people around, and the fear the fall would end up going viral overwhelmed me. The memory of that stupid article that ruined everything crossed my mind again, and I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t muster the confidence to tell him I felt the same way and I trusted him to not hurt me. Not when every nuance and similarity of him and his life were pulled out of my stories and presented to the world like factual evidence on a platter.
So I let him walk away, taking my heart with him.
I never knew my publicist paid attention to the details of my books but oh boy did she. The initial article and the posts by my readers and Spencer’s fans that followed listed them one by one, each highlighting with quotes, photos, and real-life moments as further proof of his role in my stories. It was like seeing my naked body being presented to the world and every freckle pointed out individually. Exposing every fantasy and moment for the world to see private parts of me I never chose to share with anyone.
Dramatic, much, Aggi? I guess those intense feelings and emotions are why I’m paid to do this job.
I’m not a huge crier. But that night, I sobbed. I didn’t even order room service. Just put on my favorite footie pajamas, crawled under the covers, and wept for the hurt on Spencer’s face. For the hurt in my own heart. I cried until I fell asleep, knowing my black rimmed glasses would camouflage a night of emotions anyway. The next morning, I dragged myself out of bed at five a.m., with just enough time to brush my teeth, cram everything in my suitcase, and make it to my Uber on time.
Of course, with my puffy eyes not working all that well, I ended up zipping a sock up in the teeth of the suitcase and had to fight with it to let go. Thank goodness the Uber driver was running a few minutes late like I was.
My eyes glance up at my laptop when my instant messenger dings. Donna’s trying to reach me.
Taking a deep breath, I have to decide if I want to talk to her or not. I still feel betrayed. She never should have told anyone anything about me without my permission. It’s not okay, and I’m not sure if our friendship will recover.
Clicking my fingernails on my desk a few times as I figure out what to do, I finally decide to take the bull by the horns and open the message. Even if I don’t trust Donna, she’s still a colleague and will be for the foreseeable future. I have to be able to work with her. And maybe explaining how much she hurt me will help this feeling of despair inside me start to heal.
Donna: How was the tour? You look like you had so much fun and those pictures with Spencer were adorable!
Of course she thinks so. That was the point of the article, wasn’t it? To put attention on “how cute” we were?
Me: It was nerve-wracking and did nothing to help my block. But at least it’s over.
Donna: But you’re still going to see Spencer, right? I’ve been rooting for you!
Me: No, I’m not still seeing Spencer. As you, and everyone else in the country now know, he’s my muse and nothing more.
It takes her a few minutes to respond and I know it’s because I sound snippy. I could pretend my tone is coming across wrong, but I don’t have enough emotional energy to care. Finally, a message pops up.
Donna: But you guys were smiling so hard at the X Games. And at the Skateboarding Hall of Fame.
Oh good. More pictures taken when we weren’t looking.
Donna: Did something happen?
My fingertips rub my forehead. I suddenly have a headache coming on. How does she not get it? How does no one get it?
Thinking about my answer, I finally decide to tell the honest truth, no matter how hard it is.
Me: Yes, something happened. Our publicists found out Spencer has been my muse for all these years, told the entire book/extreme sports community, and every secret fantasy and thought I’ve ever had was just handed over to the one person who hadn’t earned that information from me yet. That was *my* information to share. And because of it, anything that was or wasn’t beginning to develop imploded before it had a chance to begin.
There. I said it. For the first time, maybe ever, I let someone besides Todd and my mother feel the brunt of my anger. Maybe brunt is giving myself too much credit. More like a nudge. But it’s still more than Donna has ever seen before.
Once again, her reply isn’t immediate. But when it comes through it makes me groan.
Donna: Answer your phone. I’m calling you now.
Dropping my head on my desk, I take deep, yoga breaths as I wait. Expressing my anger over the internet is one thing. Actually making the words come from my mouth is completely different.
This is what I get for not just letting this go.
Glaring at my phone when it finally rings, I wait until the last second to answer.
“Hello?” I squeak out.
“I have two things to say and I want you to hear me out,” she demands.
This isn’t going to be good.
“First of all, I have never, ever heard you speak in such a harsh tone. I know it’s because you are hurting.” Grimacing, I open my mouth to blurt out an apology, but she cuts me off before anything comes out. “And I am so damn proud of you for speaking up.”
Errrr . . . What?
“Adeline, this is the first time you have trusted me enough to level with me about how you feel. I know sharing your feelings is hard and I feel really honored.”
Huh. I was not expecting that.
“But I also want to clear something up because I know what you were implying.”
I grimace again, that same apology once again on the tip of my tongue as I anticipate what she’s about to say: It’s not a big deal, it’s good marketing, the only one who cares is you, blah, blah, blah.
“Honey, I didn’t tell anyone your secret.”
And the soundtrack in my head screeches to a stop again. Seriou
sly. How does she keep surprising me?
Sitting up straight, I push the hair out of my face. “Donna, you’re the only one who knew. Well, you and my editor, but she doesn’t even know our publicists or work with the publisher.”
“I can see why you would assume it was me—”
“Which makes an ass out of you and me,” I interrupt with an inappropriately timed giggle.
“Stop that,” she chides. “You didn’t make an ass out of anyone. It was a valid assumption. But I’m telling you, I never breathed a word. I wouldn’t do that to you. Or anyone. You know my latest book? Tales of a Boudoir Fantasy?”
“I haven’t read it yet.”
“No worries. You’re busy. My point is, the entire book is a fantasy I’ve had for years about the guy I loved in high school. The whole thing is based on him and my deepest, darkest thoughts I have on what could have been if he hadn’t moved away the middle of our senior year. I’m still not over that, by the way.”
Her admission kind of makes me sad. “Wait. Stop. Why haven’t you tracked him down? It’s the age of social media. Maybe you can reconnect.”
She sighs. “I already did. He’s happily married with a few kids.” My heart sinks for the loss of something she never had. For a romance lover, this is not the way the story is supposed to go. “And before you say it, there is no ‘maybe someday’ about it. I loved him enough then, and maybe still do now, that I would never wish ill on him or his wife.”
Wow. Her words blow me away. To love someone enough that you wish nothing but happiness for them, even if you have to walk away because it won’t be with you, is the most selfless kind of love someone can have.
It’s what Spencer did when he walked away from me.
I know he was truthful when he said he doesn’t want to push if I don’t want him. But I also know he let me go because it’s what I needed in that moment. He knows me well enough to know that pushing me to a decision then would have caused more distress. Time alone is the only way I can sort out my thoughts and feelings even if I miss him every minute of that time to myself.