by Lisa De Jong
I chuckled and fished my keys out of my purse, handing them over. “It’s the silver Elantra that’s parked near the front.”
Chris tossed my keys out the window to one of his guys then reached for his wallet. “Take care of the Elantra, Grant.”
Grant was thin, but ripped and looked like a guy who could body slam anyone who tried to cross him. He walked up to the open window where Chris was sitting. “Yes, sir. Will do.” He gave a quick salute.
Chris handed him a Benjamin on the sly, then turned to me. “Your baby is in good hands.”
I chuckled. I hardly thought of my Elantra as my baby. “Thanks, Grant,” I said, leaning forward to see past Chris. He winked at me in return.
Before long, we were speeding down the highway toward his place. I swiped my phone and texted Alexis. She was spending the night at her dad’s house that night.
Me: Just wanted to say goodnight. I love you.
Alexis: Love you too.
Chris’s eyes were on me as we pulled up to a stoplight. “I’m texting my daughter,” I said, looking up at him in the darkness.
“Oh, sorry,” he said, embarrassed I’d caught him. “How old did you say Alexis was?” He accelerated on the gas with a quick jolt.
“She’s fourteen.” It was hard to believe sometimes that I was a mother to a teenager. I’d always heard the days were long, but the years were short. And the older Alexis got, the shorter the years felt. I loved being the mother to a teenager, even if I was a single mom. Alexis and I shared a bond most mothers dreamed of having with their teenage daughters. It was trying at times, but in a lot of ways Alexis was becoming one of my best friends.
“Wow, I still can’t believe it’s been that long ago. Feels like yesterday,” he said as if he were a little lost in our history.
“Tell me about it,” I sighed, caught in my own nostalgia. “Seems like just yesterday I was rocking her to sleep at night and dropping her off at Ms. Betty’s house every morning.”
“Hard to believe that teenager is the same baby you talked about all those years ago.” Chris glanced at the screen on my phone where Alexis’s profile pic had popped up in a tiny bubble on the screen.
I smiled, holding the phone out so Chris could get better look. “Fourteen going on twenty-one. Thinks she knows everything.”
We’d pulled up to another stoplight and he reached out to steady my shaky hand. A spark shot up my arm. The warmth of his skin tingled on my hand, and my heart immediately started pounding.
Chris leaned in, peering at the tiny pic on my phone. I could feel his breath in my hair, the heat of it making my stomach quiver. “Wow,” he said, “she’s beautiful.” He continued to hold onto my hand as I clutched my phone. His dark eyes were inches from mine, and I couldn’t tear myself away from his gaze. For a brief moment, we shared the air between us. “Just like her mama,” he breathed.
“Thanks,” I managed, my emotions jumbling. My stomach turned somersaults while my heart slammed in my chest.
He closed his eyes and inhaled sharply, gently squeezing my hand as though he were restraining himself. After a few prolonged seconds, he quickly released it and pulled away. “I’m sorry. I—”
“No,” I shook my head adamantly, “it’s okay. Don’t apologize.” I didn’t really know what was okay, or if it really was. I didn’t know what had just happened between us. I couldn’t put it to words. Everything was confusing.
We spent the next few minutes spellbound, lost in our own thoughts. No one spoke, barely breathing, as if a bubble of tension was squeezing in around us. I could still feel the tingle on my skin where his hand had held mine and found myself wishing he’d reach for it again, but he didn’t.
Breaking the silence, Chris began quietly singing one of his chart topping songs. I listened to him softly crooning in the seat next to me as he stared out the windshield. His words seeped into my thoughts:
I’m afraid of running off on impulsive decisions
It’s not my strong suit
And I’m astounded by anyone who can just dive right in
And see where it ends
Just to see where it ends.
Every time I’d heard those lyrics, I’d always associated them with life in general, but in that moment, they seemed to take on a whole new meaning. “I love that song,” I said softly.
He turned to look at me again as we yielded to some pedestrians. With penetrating eyes—the emotional abysses I suddenly found myself wanting to dive into—he whispered in the darkness, “Me too.”
Forget it, Salem. Can’t happen.
Chapter Fifteen
SALEM
We pulled into the parking deck of his apartment building. When we hopped out of the car, Chris linked his arm with mine and walked me to the elevator.
“Your chariot awaits, madam,” he joked, smiling as he gestured toward the open doors of the elevator.
I grinned back and stepped inside. I’d had quite a few fantasies about elevators; this was not one of them. It was awkward. I was nervous and excited. I wondered what he was thinking—what his intentions were. Then I wondered what I wanted them to be.
He stood on one side of the elevator leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. He held the bag full of our takeout food while I stood on the other side nervously staring at the floor. The silence was deafening. I began to wonder if I’d made a mistake in coming here.
I breathed a sigh of relief when the doors opened. Now if I could just make it into his apartment without fainting first. My heart was racing and my hands were trembling. Chris smiled and linked his arm in mine again as he escorted me toward his apartment. As we approached his apartment door, I noticed a man standing outside the door.
“Pete, this is Salem,” Chris introduced me. Unlike Grant, who was long and lean, Pete was shorter and rounder, but he seemed tough as nails by the grimace on his face.
Pete acknowledged me with a quick nod. “Ma’am.”
“Nice to meet you,” I responded, looking nervously around the building.
“Pete,” Chris placed a hand on the man’s burly arm and spoke quietly, “please see that we are not disturbed tonight.” Chris slipped him a folded bill, which I could only assume to be another large tip like the one he’d given Grant.
Pete shot me a sidelong glance. “Yes, sir,” he smirked.
My lip curled up with disgust, knowing what he was thinking. I wondered if this was a usual occurrence for Chris. I wanted to scream, ‘I’m not one of his groupies!’ but I didn’t. I just ignored Pete’s assuming eyes and clutched my purse to my body.
Slipping the key out of his pocket, he inserted it and swiftly swung the heavy door open.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” Chris teased. I was beginning to notice that Chris masked his nerves with corny humor.
I laughed at his attempt at humor to alleviate some of the tension. I stepped inside to a beautiful loft apartment overlooking the city. A panel of windows covered one whole wall. The city lights sparkled and the towering architecture captivated the night sky. I could see the Bank of America building from his living room. “Wow, this view is fantastic!” I said in awe.
Chris nodded. “It’s the reason why they call this place ‘The Vue.’ It is pretty amazing, huh?” He stood behind me, looking out the windows too, as if he were seeing the scenery for the first time through my eyes.
“It’s truly breathtaking. You live here? I mean, when you’re not on tour, that is.” I looked at him as he stood with his hands in his pockets, nervously rocking back and forth on his heels.
Shrugging his shoulders, he explained, “Kinda. I got this apartment a few years ago. I prefer to have a place I can call my own when I’m passing through town. Maybe eventually I can settle here, but I still love the beach, too.”
I looked around the apartment, taking in all of its features…granite countertops, hardwood floors, contemporary style furniture, and a spiral staircase to the loft.
“What’s i
n the loft?” I asked, assuming an office or a study.
A weird look came over his face. “My bedroom,” he rasped. The way he said it flipped my stomach.
“Oh.” The word hung in the air as my lungs exhaled every last molecule of oxygen.
Chris leaned his back against the window, folding his arms across his chest. I tried not to consider the fact that he completely took my breath away. The deep dimple in his cheek was accentuated by the charming, half grin that stayed glued to his face while he watched me self-consciously fidget with the single strand of hair, twisting it around my finger. His fitted, black Wornstar thermal shirt hugged just the right places, emphasized his sculpted pecs and muscular biceps. His jeans, with their sharply contrasted stitches, highlighted areas that I tried my best not to notice. Averting my gaze from his obvious amusement of my ogling eyes and wringing hands, I once again glanced toward windows and soaked in the beauty of the city.
Chris cleared his throat, attempting to alleviate the awkwardness. “So, can I get you something to drink? A beer? Soda?”
I didn’t really drink beer often, but I needed something to take the edge off my nerves. “Sure, a beer sounds great,” I said with relief.
He turned around to walk toward the refrigerator and my eyes were immediately drawn to the intricately designed pockets that called attention to his ass. Holy… I quickly glanced away before he noticed me staring.
Chris popped the top off the beer and handed me the bottle. “Cheers,” he said, and chinked his own bottle against mine.
“To a great evening,” I told him, trying to hide my guilt for feeling the least bit attracted to him.
“To a great evening,” he echoed, his eyes penetrating me with something I couldn’t discern.
I took a few gulps, hoping the alcohol would kick in soon and soothe my frazzled nerves.
We sat down at the table to eat the meals we’d brought from the restaurant, neither of us realizing how hungry we were until then.
After a few quiet minutes, Chris looked up from his nearly empty box. “I’m really glad you came with me tonight. It’s nice to have some quiet time without eager fans hounding me for autographs. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy every minute of it. I love my fans, but sometimes I just like to have a meal without disruption. Know what I mean?”
Between bites, I said, “I hear you. I can only imagine how tough the life of a musician is.” Then pointing at my half-eaten wrap, I added, “by the way, this gyro is delicious.”
Chris nodded excitedly. “I know. I love Acropolis, and the owners are so nice. I always try to hit up that restaurant at least once while I’m in town.”
“Well, I’m glad you chose that place. This food is to die for.”
Chris smiled. “I’m glad you like it.”
As soon as we were finished eating, Chris cleared the table and threw away the trash. “Come, sit,” he said, motioning for me to follow him into the living room.
Plush, leather sofas beckoned me with soft, colorful accent pillows, so I sank down onto it, eager to get comfortable.
Sitting on the loveseat opposite of me, Chris took another swig from his beer. He seemed more relaxed, and so was I. “So…tell me more about what’s been going on with you lately? The whole single mom thing? You didn’t really go into many details earlier.”
I took another sip of my own beer, trying to collect my thoughts. “Well, Graham and I got divorced several months ago. It was an ugly battle,” I told him.
Chris shook his head. “I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”
Lowering the beer to my lap, I wondered if I should just tell him everything or give him a few cryptic details and move on. The battle was so ugly that I struggled to talk about it sometimes, which was laughable because I was a counselor. I could coax just about anything out of anyone, but I had a hard time talking about my own problems. “Well,” I explained, “Graham and I have had our differences for quite some time. Frankly, I don’t know why I tried to hold our marriage together all those years.” I glanced down at the half-peeled label. Honestly, I’d cried all the tears I had over the past year and half. Now they ran dry as far as Graham was concerned.
“Oh.” Chris fumbled for words, looking away.
“No, it’s okay.” I shrugged. “Like I said, it’s for the best, really. I’m much happier now than I was even six months ago.”
A flicker of a smile returned. “Well, that’s good news, I guess. I just hate that you had to go through that.”
I returned a grin, scooping up scraps of the label that collected on my jeans. “Thanks. I appreciate it. So, tell me about you. What’s been going on in your life?” I asked.
“Well, long story short, I got out of juvie. Moved to the beach. Played gigs on the weekends. Got my first big break. Been on the road ever since.”
“And Kaitlyn…did you ever hear from her?”
Chris shook his head. “Not while we were teenagers.”
“Oh, really?” I questioned, hoping he’d explain himself.
“Well, we bumped into each other about six years ago while I was still living at the beach.”
“And?” I prompted. “How did it go?”
“It was a crazy whirlwind of a weekend, full of stolen moments and painful goodbyes,” he said with a hint of sadness.
I could only imagine how he felt seeing her again after all those years, knowing how madly in love he was with her. “I’m sure that was tough for you. How did her life turn out? What has she been doing all these years?”
Chris lowered his eyes to the floor. “Let’s just say she’s happily married with two beautiful children,” he said with a bit of finality then gulped the last of his beer and set the empty bottle on the table.
I sensed the emphasis on two, but I didn’t want to pry. The tone of his voice indicated that it was a sore subject, so I figured he would tell me more when the time was right. I just nodded and took another sip of my beer. “Oh, okay,” I said, filling the silence.
“I’m just keeping myself busy,” he continued. “I mean, she’s happily married. It’s time to move on. Know what I mean?”
I nodded. “I’m sure it was hard to walk away, but sometimes the right thing to do isn’t always the easiest.”
“Yeah,” he said sadly. “I mean, if I thought she was miserable or if I thought the dude was a prick, I would’ve fought harder. But she’s happy, and her husband seems to be a great husband and father. He’s raising those kids right, for sure. The last time I saw her they were one big happy family.”
“Oh, you saw her again? Lately?” I inquired.
“Yeah, a week ago. Bumped into her and her family at a grocery store. They were all laughing and smiling. I knew at that point I had to move on. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it was for the best.”
I nodded. “I understand. Well, maybe you’ll find love again someday,” I said, trying to keep him encouraged.
“Yeah.” He looked up at me with those deep set, brown eyes, fixing them on mine. I stared back, losing myself in the depths of his dark irises. I saw pain behind those eyes, but hopefulness as well. It was the same hopefulness I remembered from years ago. “Maybe someday,” he said softly. Just then, shaking his head as if he were trying to snap himself out of a trance, he changed the subject. “Wow! Can you believe we’re really here after all these years? It’s quite serendipitous,” he chuckled.
“Like the movie?” I asked.
Confused, he asked, “There’s a movie?”
“Yeah, Serendipity. It’s my favorite. Apparently, rom-com isn’t your thing.”
He shook his head. “No, I can’t say that it is.”
“You should watch it sometime,” I suggested. “But to answer your question, no, I really can’t believe it’s been so long. It seems like yesterday, and yet it feels like forever ago. I feel so old.”
“Old?” He gave me a look of disbelief. “No way. You don’t look a day over twenty-eight.”
My giddiness boiled
over in the form of a giggle. Damn! Could I sound any more ridiculous? “You’re crazy,” I told him. “I’m actually thirty-eight.”
His eyes widened, and his eyebrows shot up. “You’re shittin’ me!”
I shook my head, grinning at his surprise. Another nice ego boost. “Nope.”
“I didn’t know you were only seven years older than me.” The expression on his face changed with this realization.
Only.
Now that’s a thought.
“Well, I was twenty-four when you were seventeen, but you turned eighteen a few weeks after you left Fairbanks, so I guess, technically, I’m closer to six years older.”
“Wow, it seemed like such a huge gap back then, but now…it’s like we’re practically the same age.”
I like the way you think, Chris King.
“Too bad I’m closer to forty and you’re closer to thirty. I wish we could switch ages,” I said wistfully.
Glancing at his empty beer, Chris stood up from his seat, grabbing the bottle off the table. I assumed he was going back into the kitchen for another one.
“Oh, age is just a number,” he assured me, as he stepped away from his seat.
Don’t leave. Keep talking…
As he left the room, he asked, “Want another beer?”
“Sure.” I gulped the last of the bottle.
“And, if it’s any consolation,” he called from the refrigerator, “you look a helluva lot sexier at your age than I do at mine.”
I laughed. “Now you really are crazy!” I loved this flirty side of Chris, and the fact that the beer had started to loosen our inhibitions a little.
“I might be crazy, but I know hot when I see it,” he said with confidence.
Oh my…
I had no idea how to respond as he walked back to the sofa, twisted the cap off the beer, and handed it to me.
With a smile he smirked, “It’s true. You were always very easy on the eyes. All the other guys talked about what a MILF you were.”
Playfully rolling my eyes, I groaned, “Oh geez, I remember…like that’s not embarrassing,” as I covered my face with my hands. I didn’t want to think of those boys crushing on me, but it definitely boosted my sad ego.