When Stars Burn Out

by Carrie Aarons

  By the look in his eyes, I know he means it. I’ve seen two different emotions from people who are married; bliss or misery. Anthony is obviously in the former, and a little part of me burns with jealousy. I’ve never come close to that, but lord knows I spent years being too fucking selfish to even realize that I wanted something like what he had.

  Something like what my parents had.

  Anthony is talking, but the whooshing in my ears drowns him out. Sadness fills every pore, and even seven years later, it feels like someone has taken a stake to my heart each time I think about them.

  Maybe I can finally find that. Maybe this move, although involuntary, will be good for me. Maybe Charlotte will bring a new beginning as my career hits its end.

  Three

  Demi

  A week later, it’s the day of our meeting with Ryan, his family, and the football player who will help fulfill his wish.

  Having met with the family and this special little boy in the hospital earlier in the week, where I sat with them while Ryan received a chemotherapy treatment, I couldn’t wait to introduce him. Couldn’t wait to watch his face light up and hear all of the adorable questions he’d ask his hero.

  He reminded me so much of Julian; the same diagnosis, almost the same age, that light brown hair that has started to fall out in clumps.

  “Everything is in place?” I ask Gina.

  With everything else we had going on, along with the two society events I’d attended this week in hopes of recruiting new board members, I hadn’t had time to plan every nitty-gritty detail of Ryan’s wish. I was more interested in getting to know the family, which I’d started to do with my visit to the hospital. But, I knew that his dream included the football team here in Charlotte, and something about sitting on the sidelines at a game. Gina and Farrah had overseen the actual acquiring and scheduling, and I’m sure we are going to meet with Harry, the public relations rep for the Cheetahs.

  “We’re all set, boss. He’s already here, talking with Ryan and his family. Insisted on coming himself, instead of Harry. Although Harry does send his best.” Gina points to our conference room, the glass-encased hub sitting in the middle of our office that you could look right into.

  I turned, my dark chocolate eyes landing on the figure sitting next to the sweet little boy.

  My hands began to shake. The back of my neck tingled with anticipation. My stomach became a knot of nerves, sending up an anxious noise that I had to swallow in my throat.

  He wasn’t even in the same room as I was, my position to him staring through the glass walls of the conference room, and yet he could still affect me like this.

  I was shaking in my nicest Ann Taylor suit, all because Paxton Shaw was, once again, in the same building as I was.

  Sandy blond hair cropped short, stunning green eyes, a black stud in his left ear, the strong as steel jaw that is now covered in a sandy blond beard. He’s a man now, so different than the boy I once knew, but still so much the same.

  My ovaries could barely contain themselves. I wanted to smack them, traitorous organs.

  “Why is the most famous tight end in the league sitting in our conference room?” Gina walks up beside me, her eyes almost undressing him across our office.

  “Tight end?” My tongue practically falls out of my mouth thinking about how firm his ass was when I used to see it.

  “Seriously? With all of the football teams we’re around while granting wishes and you still haven’t picked up any terms or positions? Demi, I’m ashamed. That’s Paxton Shaw, all-star tight end in the National Football League. He’s got like, three Super Bowl rings, his name in record books, and is fine as hell to boot.”

  She’d mistaken me. Of course, I knew who Paxton Shaw was, and I knew he was a professional athlete, Facebook be damned. But, I knew who he was for a very different reason than the hundreds of thousands of Americans who worshipped at his feet every Sunday.

  It had been eight years since I’d seen him, but it was as if I could feel Paxton’s hands over every inch of my body.

  My feet, somehow, miraculously move, following Gina. I have to attend this meeting, and I try to mask my emotions, lock them away. I hope I’m doing a good job, but hell if I can tell. Internally, every warning bell is going off.

  I entered the room, feeling like all the air left as the glass door shut behind me.

  Ryan, his parents, and Joe, our scheduling coordinator, looked up as Gina and I entered. Paxton’s gray eyes turned a split-second later, taking us in.

  And … he completely doesn’t recognize a thing about me.

  I flush, I can’t help it, embarrassment suffusing my bones. Oh my God, he has no idea who I am.

  I’ve had vivid, sexual dreams about him for years. Have gone over and over in my head what I did wrong for him not to want me. Thought about how my life would be different if we had committed to each other.

  And Paxton Shaw has absolutely no recollection of my face whatsoever.

  “Hello, everyone. Ryan, it’s so good to see you again. How you feeling, kiddo?” I snap into professional mode, not wanting to give that man anymore of my attention.

  “Hi, Miss Demi! I got a signed jersey!” He holds up the shirt on the table in front of him, his crooked smile adorable with its missing teeth.

  “That is so cool! I hope these adults aren’t boring you too much.” I wink conspiratorially at him.

  He giggles, and I look to his mother, who has tears in her eyes. This is probably the best he’s felt in a year, and I know what it’s like to be grateful for that. I sit down, next to her, squeezing her hand.

  Joe starts the meeting, detailing what game Ryan and his family will go to, how they’ll take part in practice beforehand, his position standing with the coaches during the first and second quarter.

  I know it’s awkward that I haven’t greeted Paxton yet, haven’t extended my hand and thanked him for being here.

  I turn to face him, painting a fake smile on my face. I can do this, I’m stronger than I once was.

  This man, the one sitting directly across the table from me, had been my kryptonite. He’d strung me along, on and off, for two whole years.

  And in the end, had ruined me for anyone else, forever.

  Four

  Demi

  Ten Years Ago

  Ludacris bumps over the speakers, red cups littering every surface and a random smoke machine pouring out over the makeshift dance floor.

  I’d given myself an irregular night out, my best friend and roommate, Chelsea, convincing me that I couldn’t spend another Friday in our dorm room watching The West Wing on my DVD player.

  Surprisingly, I was having a good time. That could be the four Jell-O shots swimming around in my stomach, but my body felt like it was floating, and I felt the rhythm of the music move me.

  My eyes land across the dance floor, to where a group of people crowd around someone I can’t quite make out. I dance closer, straying from my group of friends who dance in a semi-circle, some of them grinding on guys and some just doing their own thing.

  As I make my way over, some of the people disperse, and he stands up from where he was lounging on one of the massive speakers blasting music through the house.

  Well over a foot taller than I am, with unruly blond hair tucked behind his ears, dark denim covering his long legs, and a white V-neck T-shirt barely containing the mass of muscles that constitute his arms. A diamond stud winks from one earlobe, and it’s cheesy but also screams bad boy.

  I’ve never gone for the bad boy.

  And yet … there is something about this guy that draws me toward him until I’m practically sitting in his lap. Maybe it’s the drinks making me bold, or maybe it’s the need to do something so out of character that my heart screams for it.

  But I find myself initiating conversation with the hottest guy I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  “Hey.” I put a little flirt into my game, planting a hand on my hip and leaning into him, surprising myself
even if it was just one word.

  His eyes, bright green even in the dark light of the house party, scan me up and down. I feel naked, undressed for him. It’s thrilling and dirty, and I want more.

  “Hi, there. What’s your name?” His voice is deep and rich, like smooth syrup.

  In the most shocking move I’ve ever made, I take the beer bottle out of his hand and drink from it, never breaking eye contact. “Demi. And you are?”

  I see the spark in his expression as he watches my lips wrap around the neck of the bottle. “You don’t know who I am?”

  “Should I?”

  A grin spreads across his full lips. “I’m only the best athlete at this school, the football player who won you and everyone else a national championship last year.”

  Typically, I would think bragging like that is a turn off, a gross ego-builder. But this guy has me hypnotized, and I can see a bit of humor underneath his oversized sense of pride. And I genuinely don’t know who he is, not being that into sports, and I think he gets off on that a little bit.

  “Okay, best athlete, what’s your name?”

  His grin is even more cocky as he reaches out his hand. “Paxton Shaw, at your service.”

  The song changes and my body moves of its own accord. I grasp Paxton’s hand, and I’m simultaneously shaking it and also pulling him up to dance with me.

  That big body envelops me, his strong arms wrapping around my waist as his hands direct me in which way to sway. Our bodies mold together, the wrongness of how sexual I’m being feeling so right in this moment. I’ve never allowed myself to give in to something like this, to want this.

  Paxton’s mouth comes down on my neck as the next song thumps along the floor, and I gasp, not expecting the hot kiss on my skin. My legs become rubbery, my spine heats like wood melting under the flames. He’s right there to hold me up, to continue his perusal of my collarbone as I feel the wetness pool between my thighs.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” he whispers in my ear.

  I’ve never been that kind of girl, have only seen this kind of scene in the movies. But I want it so badly, unlike I’ve ever wanted someone to touch me before. Almost like if he doesn’t, I will die on the spot.

  With our hands latched to each other, he leads me to the second floor of the house. I don’t even know whose house this is, and yet two minutes later, I’m underneath a strange boy on a strange bed.

  And loving every second of it.

  The alcohol makes my brain fuzzy, and it seems like minutes pass that I don’t remember. But I do remember the laughing, his hot mouth on my own lips, the way I ground into him, our clothes coming off.

  Sex, for the two times I’d had it before, had always seemed like an act that a woman wouldn’t enjoy but had to tolerate for a man.

  Oh, how wrong I’d been.

  The moment that Paxton had made me come, his hips thrusting into mine, I finally got it. I understood why men would do anything to get this, why women felt empowered and sexual and alive in the act of being intimate with another.

  When he rolled off of me, both of us breathing heavy, I smiled up at the ceiling. Maybe, those times I’d given myself to other boys, it just hadn’t been right. Maybe, it just needed to be with the right person. And at last, two years into this crazy life that college brought, I’d found the person I was meant to feel pleasure with.

  The sound of a buckling belt had me stirring, sitting up on my elbows.

  On the other side of the room, Paxton was fully dressed, and I felt a frown mark my lips. Where was he going? Surely, we could take a few more minutes to feel each other’s skin, explore the dips and crevices of our bodies.

  “I’ll see you around, doll.”

  He winked at me, and then walked out the door, shutting it behind him.

  Confusion and loneliness swept in. He hadn’t kissed me, hadn’t waited for me to dress and walked me back down. Hadn’t even asked for my phone number.

  It was the first time I’d ever acted on an impulse, went to bed with a stranger. And now I was faced with the cold, harsh truth that just like all the rest, he was a pig who wanted nothing more than to fuck me.

  What a shame that every time I saw him after that night, amnesia set in where those feelings of abandonment were concerned.

  Five

  Paxton

  Of course, I knew who Demi Rosen was.

  And not because I’d done my research on her organization, the same I would for any business or charity who requested my time.

  No, I knew exactly where I, and my hands, had been on that girl.

  Well, I guess she was technically a woman now. And an absolute knockout at that. She’d matured since college, even though she’d been gorgeous then too. Her legs had gotten longer, if that was possible, her face a little leaner with sharp cheekbones and that mauve pout. Those eyes, impossibly big and framed by long black lashes, pierced you.

  Demi had one of those bodies that seemed too good to be true. A tiny waist that gave way to a round, firm ass on bottom and tits that were each more than a handful on top. And even with those curves, she was almost rail-thin and model tall.

  I’d known, going into this meeting, that she owned Wish Upon a Star. I’d had the exact same reaction to her as she’d had to me, but I’d had ample time to gape in the privacy of my own home. When I’d seen her picture on the website, my tongue had nearly fallen out of my mouth. The girl I’d fucked on and off for a few years in college, right in front of my eyes. My main booty call, some of the hottest sex I’d ever had, living right here in my new city.

  I’d had the time to school my emotions before I saw her, which she clearly hadn’t. Demi had no clue that I would be there. And when I had remained professional, for the sake of the family in that room, I’d seen the embarrassment creep over her face.

  And for the millionth time where it concerned her, a small part of me died from guilt. I’d never done right by this girl, and when she’d all but stormed out of the conference room after the Gunter’s left, I knew I had to go apologize.

  But damn my half-aching cock if I didn’t also selfishly want to see how she’d been.

  I knock on her office door, and those dark brown eyes, the color of black coffee, take me in.

  “Mr. Shaw, what can I do for you?” Demi’s voice is clipped politeness.

  I walk in, shutting her door behind me. I have a feeling her employees have no idea that we know each other, and I’m sure she doesn’t want them to.

  “I think we can drop the act, Demi.”

  It’s strange, staring at the face of a person you once knew intimately. We were practically strangers now, and we hadn’t known much about each other even back then.

  Her face falters for just one moment, and then that fake smile is back. “It’s nice seeing you again, Paxton. Thank you for doing this for the Gunter family.”

  I move farther into her office, a nice space decorated in white and gray, with framed portraits of London and two large vases filled with white roses. I wonder, in the back of my mind, if they’re from a boyfriend or husband.

  “Of course, he’s a great kid. So, how have you been?” I want to sit down, but she looks apprehensive.

  Flashes of when I used to make her moan, have her body writhing under me, assault my senses as I breathe in that familiar vanilla perfume. It’s funny, no matter how many years have passed, that whenever I get a whiff of that scent, I think of Demi.

  When I’d gotten the call eight years ago from my agent about the draft, I’d packed up my belongings at college and left two days later. I’d never looked back, hadn’t bothered to say goodbye to her. I felt like a jackass for that move now.

  I’d never returned the only two text messages she’d sent me, but then again all they’d said were, “Want to come over tonight?” and, “I heard you left campus.” To the twenty-one-year-old douchebag that I was, those two sentences weren’t really demanding or even remotely girlfriend-like, so I ignored them. Demi was part of my old life, a
nd I was in training mode, and then traveling the country for games.

  What I should have done was give the girl I’d been hooking up with for two years the decency of a goodbye. I should have at least told her I was leaving, instead of completely ghosting her.

  But after those texts, she never tried to contact me again. Seeing her now, I feel the tension surrounding us. Maybe she hadn’t cut things off as cleanly as I had, because it felt like there was a giant chip on her shoulder.

  “I’ve been fine, thanks. How about yourself?” From her tone, I could tell she didn’t really want to know.

  I studied her, even though she was filing through papers on her desk in an attempt not to make eye contact. “I’ve been okay, moved back here about two months ago. A lot has changed in the city since those college days.”

  That makes Demi look at me, her mocha pools narrowing but the smile never leaving her lips. She’s a well-trained professional, has the southern hospitality down pat. Someone who didn’t know her would think she was being genuinely nice.

  “Yes, it has. Well, we are looking forward to the game on Sunday. Again, thank you for doing this.”

  She’s dismissing me, and I take the hint, not wanting to push her. Clearly, she doesn’t want to talk to me, and I don’t really blame her.

  “Like I said, I’m happy to do it. I’ll see you at the game. I’m number twenty, just like the old college days, if you didn’t know.”

  Her grin screams pure bitch, but she just inclines her head.

  I leave the Wish Upon a Star office feeling like I was just clocked in the head by an iceberg.

  But, damn, was it good to see that fiery woman again.

  Six

  Paxton

  Ten Years Ago

  Mud is still caked under my fingernails, the only part I couldn’t scrub out in the shower.