by Penny Wylder
I drop my head into my hands and close my eyes. Oh my God, shut up, I tell myself.
When I glance at AJ, he still has that amused smirk on his face as though he’s reading my thoughts. I try not to let him see it on my face. The last thing I want him to know is that I’m falling for him. And I certainly don’t want to admit it to myself.
The lady comes out with a clear glass box. “I hope you like some of these choices. I’ve chose some more subtle pieces and a few more extravagant ones.”
The “subtle” ones are about as inconspicuous as a neon light pointing at my finger, and the extravagant ones look heavy enough to anchor a yacht. But there’s one that seems to sparkle more than the others. It’s not subtle by any means, but it is a little daintier than the others, and damn, it’s stunning.
“This one is quite beautiful,” AJ says, pointing. And again, as though he’s reading my mind, he chooses the one I would have. I have a feeling he knows there is no way I am going to pick out a ring without knowing he can get his money back. This is all on him.
The woman’s smile brightens. “It’s a show stopper, isn’t it? A one of a kind, hand made by one of our best jewelers in Italy.”
It’s a full band of diamonds and rose gold with a large, glinting stone in the middle. With it is a separate wedding band, thicker than the engagement ring, also encased in diamonds.
“What do you think?” AJ says.
I mouth the word Amazon. The woman doesn’t see it and so she seems confused when he laughs.
“It’s by far the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen, but—”
AJ interrupts me. “We’ll take the set.”
My eyebrows pull together in confusion. Why would we need a wedding band as well when we plan to separate long before the sham of an engagement comes to a head?
“Wonderful!” the woman says.
She plucks the ring set out of the case and sets them on a small velvet mat in front of us. Before I can pull away, he slips the engagement ring on my finger. To my surprise, it fits perfectly. Instead of letting go of my hand, he continues to hold it. I feel a fullness in my chest as I look at it. Something heavy sits in my throat and tears well up in my eyes.
“Oh yes,” the woman says thoughtfully. “That’s definitely the one. That’s the reaction we like to see in here. I’ll be right back to ring those up.”
She takes the wedding ring, but leaves me with the engagement ring on my finger. When I look up at AJ, I feel scared and vulnerable and … no. That’s not love I feel. It can’t be. We had sex. Incredible sex. But still, it’s just sex. I’ve never developed feelings from a sexual encounter and I’m not about to start now.
But even as I tell myself this, those feelings start to pool in my stomach. I try to tell myself that this is just a temporary, hormonal reaction. But what I tell myself and what I feel are at war with each other.
I look down at the blank screen of my phone and sniff. “I have to go. There’s an emergency at work,” I say quickly. It’s a lie, but I have to get away.
“Can I give you a ride?” he says, sounding worried. I forgot that the Hope Center isn’t just an investment to him. He actually cares about the patients. Damn him. Why does he have to be so perfect, especially when I haven’t quite secured the walls I’m building around myself specifically to keep him out?
“No, I’ll catch a cab.”
And with that, I leave. There is no emergency. In fact, I have only a handful of patients to see today. Small things like a sprained ankle and a jammed finger. They are things I could have the nurse take care of, but right now I just need to dive into my work and forget about everything else.
Every time I put on gloves to touch a patient, I can’t help but think how tragic it is to have to cover up this ring. I can’t help but constantly look at it.
It’s been a week since AJ gave it to me. I haven’t seen him since, and he hasn’t tried to contact me except for a handful of work-related texts. I’m grateful for the distance. It’s given me some time to get myself together.
I’m no longer mad about the photos. I’d blamed him, which was selfish and stupid of me. It’s not his fault. It’s all mine. I’m the one who lost control. I knew he was a giant celebrity and being seen with him would get chatty mouths to start talking, but I wasn’t thinking. I wanted him that night, despite all the flashing red warning lights in my head. He had some kind of hypnotic pull on me and I’d given in. Scratch that. It was as much me as it was him.
As I stare at the ring, gleaming in the overhead lights of my office, an office that once made me feel so proud, I feel the walls closing in around me.
There’s a sudden loud rap at the open door. I hurry to hide my hand behind my back. My heart simultaneously leaps and drops when I see AJ standing there, a slight smile on his lips. My mind wants to resent him, but my body remembers everything that’s happened between us. There’s no way I can resent him after that.
He looks me up and down. I feel myself blush until I see the confusion in his expression.
“Did you forget about the photoshoot?” he asks.
“No. My clothes are in the closet. I’m just finishing up.”
I’d agreed to the photoshoot earlier in the week when AJ’s agent called my office and brought it up, saying it would be best for both of us if the engagement seemed more authentic. I’m starting to regret it.
“Let me just change and grab my things,” I tell him.
“I’ll meet you in the car.”
He leaves and I go into the bathroom to change into yellow dress I bought for the shoot. I pull my hair into a sleek ponytail, dust on a light layer of powder, mascara and lip stain, then put on the heels that are way too tall and kill my feet after a full day of work.
With a deep breath and slow exhale, I go out to meet AJ.
Only, once I make it outside, I realize that AJ never made it to his car. He’s standing at the front entrance of the hospital. A crowd of fans gather around him. All six-foot-six-inches of him towers over their heads, so he easily spots me when I’m walking out of the hospital.
“There’s my girl,” he says, his smile gleaming. All eyes turn to me and I have a slight panic moment from all the attention.
AJ comes up to me and takes my hand in his. He doesn’t let go as he talks to his fans and answers their many questions. This is why everyone loves him so much. He’s so approachable and doesn’t carry a single bit of arrogance like other sports stars of his caliber. Why does he have to be so damn charming? I even find myself being pulled into it.
He only lets go of my hand to take photos with his fans. Most of them want me in the picture, too, after all the publicity our engagement has gotten.
After he’s made sure everyone has their selfies and autographs, he tells them thank you for their support and we leave.
“No wonder your fans love you,” I tell him. “You’re good to them.”
“If you think I’m good to them, you should see how good I am to the people I love.”
He squeezes my hand and looks pointedly at me. A lump swells in my throat. Is he trying to say he loves me? I quickly look away, afraid of what he’s trying to tell me. When I do, a sleek black limousine pulls up in front of us. The driver gets out and opens the door.
I look up at AJ surprised. All of this for photos? He ushers me in.
I once rode in the back of a limousine that my parents got for me and all of my friends in middle school for my first big dance. The limo was from the seventies with red vinyl seats that were cracking and questionable white stains on the headrest. That car was nothing like this one. I could live in this one. The leather seats are nicer than the couch in my apartment. There’s a mini fridge, champagne on ice, thin little biscuits with caviar crème fraîche, and chocolate covered strawberries.
“Wow,” is all I can think to say.
He slides in next to me and tries to take my hand once more. This time I don’t let him. Holding my hand is part of the public act. He doesn’t get
to do that when we’re alone. I don’t trust myself around him when we’re alone.
We ride to the studio in silence. I watch the scenery pass, feeling the heaviness of the silence crushing me.
It must bother him too because eventually he says, “I’m sorry.”
I continue to stare out the window. “How’s your knee?” I ask, not only to change the subject, but also because I’ve been worried about it.
He sighs. “It’s fine.”
I don’t believe him for a second.
Carson greets us when we get to the studio. My first impression of AJ’s agent is he seems genuine and seems to have AJ’s best interests at heart. He shakes my hand, giving it an extra reassuring squeeze as if he knows just how awkward all of this is for me.
“This big lump might be a prodigy on the field but he ain’t the prettiest thing to look at,” Carson says teasingly as he pats AJ on the arm. He points at me. “You’re the only thing saving these photos. Beauty and the Beast.”
AJ rolls his eyes and laughs. They must joke like this all the time because AJ gives it right back and neither seem to take it personally. Their banter cuts down on the tension and I feel myself start to relax. I wonder if there’s anyone AJ doesn’t get along with. He has such a good natured and natural rapport with everyone he meets.
I keep glancing over at the photographer who sets up his equipment. He has several assistants running around, checking every little thing to make sure it’s perfect. It feels intimidating, like a modeling shoot with all the lighting and cameras at different angles. My stomach is in knots. What am I doing? This is all so crazy.
“All right,” the photographer says loudly, startling me a bit. “Are we ready to start?”
I choke on my breath. I’ve always hated being in the spotlight, literally and figuratively. I hate getting my picture taken, the stiff posing, the fake smiles. I’m livid that I even allowed myself to get wrapped up in all of this in the first place. I have got to start making smarter choices for myself.
AJ takes my shoulders, causing my entire body to stiffen. He leads me toward the photographer who gives us directions.
“Relax, just be yourselves. Show me the love,” he says. His enthusiasm is infuriating and makes me feel the opposite of relaxed and loving.
I’m frozen at first, not sure what to do. Then AJ touches the small of my back. It’s a simple touch but it makes me feel warm all over. He leans into me, my breathing quickens as his fingers trail down the skin of my arms, raising goosebumps.
“That’s it, that’s perfect,” the photographer says.
As AJ’s lips just barely graze the side of my neck, I forget there are six people in the room with us. Right now, it’s just us. He barely touches me, but it feels so profound, so intentional. His large body against mine makes me feel safe, like none of the chaos and scandal can reach us. I lean my head back to look up at him, barely registering the rapid clicking of pictures being taken.
The photographer makes excited sounds as AJ leans in to kiss me. AJ’s eyes sparkle in the light like bright jewels as he looks deep into mine. There’s just the hint of a smile on the corner of his lips. He looks at me like he knows all my secrets, like he can see through all the smoke and bluster, like he can see through the walls I’ve tried to build around my feelings.
The logical part of my brain thinks it’s best to pull away, but I’m not thinking with my brain at the moment. Only my body is in control of my actions right now. The crazy thing about being such a guarded person is that once those walls come down just a bit, it is so easy for a torrent of feeling to sweep me away.
Before I know it, the photographer announces that he has the perfect shots and that the shoot is over. I blink as if coming out of a deep sleep. How long were we posing like that? It seems like time stood still.
We’re called over to a monitor to review some of the shots taken, and oh my God, they’re beautiful. I wasn’t sure how they would turn out with me working an eight-hour shift right before, but they are amazing. The ring stands out on my finger as we hold each other. The way we look at each other is … unexpected. I’m surprised by the way I’m looking at him, how real it looks, how in love we look.
“You can’t tell me those don’t look believable,” Carson says triumphantly. “That looks like one hell of a happy couple to me.
“I need to go,” I say, feeling like the walls are closing in around me once more.
I start to walk away. AJ stops me.
“I’ll go get the limo,” he says.
“No, that’s okay. I’ll call for a car.”
“Please, just let me take you home. It’s the least I can do.”
The worry on his face is disarming. I nod. “All right. Thank you.”
We thank the photographer and say goodnight to Carson before leaving. The thought of being alone with AJ in the limo makes me nervous. But so does not being with him at all. My head is more confused than ever.
8
AJ
I want to buy into the fantasy of us so much, but I know it’s not real. Still, as we sit inside the limo, I can’t help but think about my hands on her hips, my lips on her neck, the ring sparkling on her finger … and the look she’d given me in those photos. They looked so real. That was the face of love. Even Carson continues to text me, warning me that she may actually be falling in love with me and that I should be careful. Little does he know. He has no idea that I’ve always loved her, that I’ve compared every woman I’ve been with over the years to her and they’d just never measured up. He doesn’t know the reason I called off my previous engagement was because I couldn’t marry a woman when I still had lingering feelings for another. I tried so hard to push those deep down. They always resurfaced. I couldn’t ever really move on.
I’ve always thought Claire was the one who couldn’t be swayed into feeling anything. But those pictures we took together are giving me pause. I still can’t get that look she gave me out of my head. And it wasn’t just lust. Yes, there was that too, but it wasn’t everything. There was more.
Claire stares out the window on our way back to the Hope Center.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
She bows her head, and I know she understands what I’m talking about.
“I know,” she says.
“I built the Hope Center with you in mind.” She slowly turns her head toward me. There’s just enough light for me to see her eyes, wide with curiosity. “But I would have opened it even if you hadn’t come to work for me. The project was important to me. That’s why I wanted you to run it. I knew there was no one else more dedicated. There was no one else I could trust. As creepy as it might sound, I’ve kept track of your career over the years. I knew you were the best of the best.”
I hear a barely stifled laugh from her. “What?” I ask.
“Doesn’t sound too creepy, I guess. I’ve kept track of your career as well. Only it was probably easier for me given that you live in the spotlight.”
“You’re such a stalker,” I say.
She laughs and I see those walls around her crumble if only for a small moment.
“Why me?” she says. “There are plenty of other qualified doctors.”
“That night at the frat party, after you and I were together and that guy started choking … you saved his life. You were so calm about it. No hesitation, no fear. It was as if you’d done it a million times. Your instinct kicked in and you did what needed to be done. He would have died right there in front of me, but you brought him back. That changed me. You were the one who inspired me to make a difference. If it weren’t for you I might have taken the fortune I earned and spent it on cars and exotic vacations. But you are the reason I felt as though there was more to life. That night, even though you broke my heart, you gave me purpose. So when I got the chance to build the Hope Center, I wanted the woman who changed my life to be a part of it.
“Recommending you to the clinic board was all innocent at first, I promise. I had no intention of s
leeping with you or starting anything … but when I saw you at the ribbon cutting ceremony, all of those feelings that started freshman year in college came rushing back.”
“Freshman?” she says. Her face is hidden in shadow, but I imagine the confused look she must have. “We slept together our junior year.”
“My slight obsession with you happened freshman year when I first saw you moving into the dorms. I was helping a friend move in. I tried to talk to you on occasion, but you didn’t seem interested in talking to anyone except pre-med students.”
She laughs. The passing light of a well-lit street shows her chagrin. “Trust me, I remember. I thought a guy like you, some popular jock surrounded by cheerleaders tripping all over you could never want someone like me. I thought if I ever allowed myself to feel anything, I was just asking for heartbreak.”
“Really?” I say, challenging her. “I thought I was just a big dumb fuck. Your words, Claire.”
She sighs. “Don’t think I’m not ashamed of that. I thought the only way to protect myself and my feelings was to push you away. I’m sorry. To protect myself, I hurt you, and that’s not fair.”
I put my hand on her knee and feel her body shift. “It’s okay.”
When she doesn’t try to remove my hand or get away from me, I decide to push my luck. My hand slides up her knee and rests on her thigh. She sucks in a quiet breath. I feel her tremble, but still, she doesn’t try to stop me.
She looks at me, her eyes never wavering from mine. It’s a curious expression, like she’s trying to make some sort of decision about me. Then, suddenly, she’s climbing onto my lap. The motion is so swift and unexpected. I have an instant hard-on as she lifts her dress over her hips to give herself full range of motion.
“I don’t have a condom,” I tell her.
She hesitates, but only for a moment. “Pull out when the time comes.”
Good enough for me.