by J. C. Grant
“I'm going to go take a shower,” I told Fergus as I placed my purse and phone on the kitchen island. “Do you mind letting Chance out?”
“Of course.” He headed across the room toward the patio doors.
After a long hot shower, I dressed in one of David's T-shirts and the baggiest sweatpants I owned, then headed into the living room, intending to feed Chance. We’d just recently switched him to raw food, I was still adjusting to it.
I stopped short when I found Chance in the kitchen, already eating his dinner.
“Oh, thanks, Fergus. Did you—” I stopped short when Fergus pointed at the refrigerator.
My pink stationary was taped to the fridge, with explicit instructions on how to feed Chance scrawled across it in David's handwriting.
As stupid as it was, it was little things like that that made it so hard to believe that David would fuck me over, cheat.
Padding back to the living room, I tucked into the corner of our couch, turning on the TV, flipping through channels, and finally settling on a movie. I stared at the screen unseeingly, debating what to do.
I didn't want to play games. I wanted to call David and find out what the fuck was going on, but my pride prevented me from doing anything at all. Afraid of looking needy, desperate, or worse, finding out my fears were true. It felt like déjà vu.
Deciding to go all in, I grabbed my laptop.
Twenty minutes later, I sat stunned and sickened, re-watching a video of Dawn throwing herself at David, wrapping herself around him.
But that's not what bothered me most.
Why would he go to such a public place?
He knew it would be crowded, packed with fans and groupies. And if he hadn't known before, he certainly knew when he pulled up.
He avoided crowded places here at home—with me. In fact, we barely went out because of it.
And I still haven't heard from his ass all fucking day long.
I didn’t know how long it was before I finally spoke. “When was this?” My voice was unrecognizable to me, dull and hollow.
“An hour ago,” Fergus answered from behind me.
Looking over my shoulder, I found him standing right behind me, apparently watching the entire time.
An hour ago...
But David hadn't called.
Then another clip of David got my attention.
“Is this now?” I questioned.
After a brief pause, Fergus said, “Fifteen minutes ago... almost.”
I didn't respond.
I felt like I was back in the grocery store. Back to that first week.
My gut twisted viciously as I watched a woman slide her hand up David's thigh, another leaning in, nearly grazing her breasts against his arm.
A blonde on one side, a brunette on the other. The image they created... I couldn't help but wonder if David had ever had a threesome. Maybe with them.
My stomach plummeted, humiliation and betrayal crawling through me. Then anger bubbled up, hot and fierce, eating through my insides like acid.
Was I scared? Sick?
Fuck that, I was pissed.
Was this how he acted? Was this his norm during the baseball season?
I couldn't imagine it, but I also couldn't imagine him going all day and not calling me or texting me.
Repeatedly.
I couldn't understand how he could go from needing to know where I was every second of every day to no contact for twelve hours. Not after what happened last time.
“You're hurt he didn't call,” Fergus stated.
I ignored him. Now, was not the time for his insightfulness.
Shutting the laptop, I turned to him. “You hungry?” I asked a little too aggressively.
“Sure, as long as you're not cooking,” he hedged.
Ignoring the jab, I asked, “You ever been to Mr. Chow?”
“Yes.”
“Feel like going tonight?” I pushed.
“Sounds good.” He seemed to understand I needed a distraction.
Grabbing my laptop, I stood, going to my room and hiding it in my nightstand. That's what it felt like, hiding, like I was trying to hide from the videos, from the reality of what David was doing.
Turning away from the offending item, I headed into our massive walk-in closet, purposefully avoiding David's side as I surveyed my wardrobe.
I wanted to feel sexy and attractive to counteract how ugly I felt inside.
Did I want to flirt? Absolutely.
Was I going to? Fuck no.
I'd finally hit the point of not wanting to hurt David when he hurt me.
A little voice in my head kept screaming, Doormat!
Once I settled on the perfect outfit, I started getting ready, going through my normal routine for a night out.
“You mind driving?” I asked Fergus thirty minutes later, when I emerged from the bedroom.
“Of—” He stopped short, his eyes raking over me.
From his surprised expression, it seemed my ensemble was having the desired effect. I'd chosen black skinny jeans, the really tight ones that gave my ass a little lift—I didn’t know how I was going to get them off later, but I'd cross that bridge when I got there. I paired them with a black tank, a light gray biker jacket, and my black Louboutin booties. I accessorized with a diamond-encrusted skull necklace and thin diamond hoops.
“Do you care which car we take?” he asked, still staring at my face.
Despite having seen me with much more makeup on at shoots, he seemed shocked by my smoky eyes, heavy black eyeliner, and neutral lipstick.
“Nope.”
Grabbing my purse off the island, he led me outside, opening the passenger door of his car for me. After I climbed in, he handed my purse to me, formal, with a bit of a flourish, like a real gentleman.
“Thank you,” I murmured, impressed.
“Sorry you're unhappy,” Fergus murmured as he folded gracefully into the driver’s seat.
“I’m fine,” I lied, not wanting to discuss it.
He gave me a side-eyed glance that told me he knew better. Then he started the car and backed out of the garage.
“So, I guess spying on people pays well. This car is nice.” I tried to lighten up the mood, or at least shift it to something more shallow, as he drove us through the neighborhood.
“Your car is much nicer,” he countered soberly.
“What?” I asked, thrown by his response.
“Well... it’s more expensive, almost double.”
“What?” I asked, genuinely confused.
“David loves you. He'd do anything for you. Give you anything you wanted.” His voice was sincere, serious even.
That was why the conversation had gone in such a bizarre direction. He was pumping David up to me.
I tried to smile, but failed.
“He never looks at other women,” he added.
I knew he didn't when he was with me, but people’s circumstances and environment changed their behavior. That's what I'd been dreading all along, because I'd never known him as David Taylor the professional athlete. When we met, he was in a “transition” phase, free to spend all his time with me.
Who was he with thousands of screaming fans, women throwing themselves at his feet?
Whether I liked it or not, I was about to found out.
We fell silent for the remaining drive to Beverly Hills.
As soon as Fergus pulled up to the valet, my door was opened and an older man was holding out his hand for me, helping me out.
Heading toward the entrance, the first thing I noticed was Fergus' demeanor. It wasn't the normal keeping my distance Fergus. Nope. His hand was hovering at the small of my back, fingers pressing, directing me through the flashes of the paparazzi.
Once inside, Fergus stepped forward, the hand at my back pulling me along as he spoke to the hostess. Moments later, we were seated. I didn't know if he'd had time to make a reservation, but with how crowded the restaurant was, I doubted it.
F
ergus must know everyone in this town.
I was still taking in the almost Alice in Wonderland atmosphere (all that was missing was a few well placed hearts) when the waiter approached the table.
Fergus ordered without opening his menu.
Never having been there before, I ordered several things; something I'd learned from David—never stick yourself with only one option when you don't know what you like.
Once the waiter left, I sipped my water, glancing around the room, taking in the familiar faces—and there were many.
After a few uncomfortable moments of silence, I excused myself to the restroom, but not before awkwardly asking Fergus where the restroom was.
Ugh... should've just walked around aimlessly until I found it.
I quickly took care my business and washed my hands. Staring at myself in the mirror, I wondered what I was really doing. What was my real motivation for being with Fergus at Mr. Chow?
Taking in my appearance, my long, loose waves, the sultry makeup—my just fucked look—I wondered if I was falling into old habits. I certainly looked the part.
Except, I didn't feel any of those self-destructive desires I used to.
Was I being flirtatious?
Was I trying to hurt David?
No. I just wanted to escape my life for a minute. Pretend everything was fine. Pretend like David was at a late photo shoot. Or at dinner with his manager.
Despite all that pretending, I couldn't resist checking my phone before I left the bathroom.
I found one missed call from David.
One.
After what I saw, all I had was one missed call from David? My anger came back with a vengeance. Turning my phone off, I shoved it deep in my purse, like that somehow was going to make things better. As I exited the bathroom, a tall rocker-type guy bumped into me.
“Hey, sorry.”
“Yeah, sure, no problem.” My voice was casual if not bored, expertly hiding the anger I felt inside.
“Hey, no wait.” He stepped in front of me. “What's your name?”
“Austin,” I answered, my annoyance coming through.
“Austin, it's nice to meet you. I'm Corey,” he said, blocking me as I tried to sidestep him.
“That's good.” I started to move past him again.
Patience was not something I possessed at the moment, and my ability to hide my anger was quickly wearing thin.
“So wait.” His hand wrapped around my upper arm, stopping me.
My eyes narrowed as I looked at him over my shoulder, then pointedly at his restraining hand.
“Get off me.” My voice dripped with venom.
He pulled back. “Geez, calm down. I just want to talk to you.”
Still holding his gaze, I considered our location and the number of witnesses. Despite my unhealthy desire to put him in his place, I turned away, not wanting to cause a scene.
“Hey, no, seriously. Wait, I'm sorry. You got a boyfriend?”
“No,” I tossed over my shoulder as I headed back to the table, because technically that was true. I didn't have a boyfriend; I had a husband. And nothing about me was gangly rocker dude's business.
To my dismay, he followed me.
“Are you serious?” My voice rose with my irritation.
“If you'd stop being a bitch for five seconds and let me talk to you—”
Before I could respond, Fergus stood, speaking for me, “Can I help you?”
“You have a bodyguard? What are you? Like a playmate?”
“Stripper,” I deadpanned.
“No shit?” he asked excitedly.
“Austin,” Fergus warned. Whether it was for telling the guy I was a stripper or talking to him in general, I couldn't tell.
“I'm fine,” I grumbled as I sat down.
Fergus remained standing, along with gangly rocker dude.
“Seriously, I wanna call you. What’s your number?” He had an heir of entitlement about him, as if it was a given I would give him my number.
“No.” My tone was bored as my eyes drifted toward the ceiling.
“Last name?” he tried again, completely undeterred.
When Corey leaned on the table, Fergus moved closer. It was subtle, but I noticed.
“Dude, what the fuck are you doing?” I heard a vaguely familiar voice say.
“Fuck off, Liam,” Corey barked.
“Fergus, hey, man. How’s it going?” Liam asked just as he came into view. “Oh shit,” he muttered under his breath as his gaze landed on me. “Hey.”
I couldn't help but smile at Liam’s nervous expression. “Hey.”
“So... David's at spring training?” Liam asked. Though, I was pretty sure it was for his friend’s benefit, not an actual question.
Regardless, his words hit hard, bringing all David's activities and potential activities of the day rushing back in.
“Yeah.”
The word fell flat as a new wave of pain came in, abrupt and sharp, as graphic images of him with those girls, inside those girls, flashed through my mind. My heart twisted violently, making it hard to breath.
“It's his first night there,” I managed to say, despite the growing knot in my stomach.
“Do you know her?” Corey asked Liam.
I was grateful their attention was distracted, giving me a moment to recover from the crippling pain in my chest.
“Tell me you're not hitting on her, dumbass.” Liam voice was a mixture of pleading and accusation.
Tall gangly dude, aka Corey, just looked at him.
“Corey,” Liam spoke slowly, as if talking to a small child, “she's married to David Taylor.”
“David Taylor married a stripper?” Corey looked impressed. Too impressed.
Ewww, he's really into this whole stripper thing.
“No, she's an actress, stupid. An actress who married David Taylor—can't you see the fucking diamond on her finger?” Liam pointed at the ten-carat diamond in question.
“Jesus, you gotta polish that thing?” Corey was taken aback at first. Then he smirked and winked at me. “Bet that's not the only thing you polish.”
That was the type of behavior I was used to from men. That I could deal with, happily. Much easier than dealing with the potential heartbreak from loving David.
I bit my lip with a practiced seduction, then using the sexiest voice I could muster, I taunted, “It's definitely not the only thing I polish.”
Liam and Fergus' face were priceless. At their slack-jawed expressions, I couldn't resist... Looking at Corey, I leaned on the table, my upper arms pushing my breasts obscenely up as I ran a finger casually over my bottom lip and added, “From what I understand, I'm fucking amazing at polishing.”
Liam ducked his head, muttering, “Oh fuck.”
It was then I realized David would be getting a play-by-play of this interaction, and judging from Liam's expression, he knew it too.
Liam grabbed Corey's arm, pulling him away, whispering harshly, “Dude, come on. David's gonna beat the fuck outta you.”
Glaring at their retreating forms, I leaned back in my chair.
Once they were gone, Fergus reclaimed his seat, asking, “Why did you act like that?”
I shrugged, steadfastly avoiding looking at him, then finally muttered, “Just in a mood, and he pissed me off.”
I never would've done that if I'd been with a girlfriend... Well, probably not.
“Who pissed you off? David?”
“No.” Yes. “That fucking pain in the ass, what's his name? Corey?” I pointed in the general direction they left, as I studied my napkin, worrying the edge between my fingers.
“That's how you deal with a guy that pisses you off?” he asked, genuinely curious.
I shrugged.
“I understand why David is the way he is about you.”
At his knowing tone, I finally turned to him and questioned, “What's that supposed to mean?”
It never occurred to me that Fergus would think there was
anything wrong with how David treated me. I didn't—before today anyway.
“You're the female version of him in many ways. I understand why he's so overprotective of you.” His accusation was clear.
“Whatever,” I muttered.
As hard as I tried, I couldn't ignore what he was implying. It was the same thing Elaine had said.
David and I were the same.
I didn't feel like I was anything like him. Hell, after today, I didn't even feel like I knew him. The David.
Finally, the waiter arrived with our food, giving me a moment to reset and retreat into my David’s-just-at-a-work-thing delusion.
Whether it was that awkward beginning to dinner or Fergus feeling like he'd finally figured me out, I didn't know, but the ice had been broken. Fergus was more relaxed with me than he'd ever been before, making dinner and the ride home go more smoothly than I'd hoped.
And once we were back at home, he took over David’s routine, letting Chance out while I headed to the bedroom to go through my nightly ritual, comfortable as could be. It was nice. I didn’t feel as alone.
As I entered the bedroom, I paused, staring at our king-sized bed. Something inside me shifted, my self-preserving delusion crumbling as a heavy weight settle over me. I couldn't pretend anymore.
I quickly changed back into my baggy sweats and a tee. Then washed my face and brushed my teeth, trying to decide how to deal with my emotions, deal with my current situation—being married to The David.
When I entered the living room, I found Fergus stretched out on the couch, wearing sweatpants and nothing else. I wouldn’t deny, it was tempting. The possibility of curling up with him, taking comfort in someone else—platonically—to distract myself.
“Hey,” I muttered. “I’m kinda exhausted, I’m gonna crash.”
“If you want to talk, you know where I am.” His voice was soft and sympathetic.
I did feel like I could talk to him, though.
Maybe later... Let’s try being a grown up first.
“Thanks, and thank you for dinner,” I added. He had refused to let me pay.
“Anytime.”
With Chance in tow, I headed to my room and
closed the door behind me. Grabbing my phone from my purse, I crawled under the covers. The ache in my chest flared to life as I stared at the screen, debating turning it back on.