by L. D. Davis
Alden whistled and shook his head. “What the fuck is a little girl like you doing with a car with all of that power?”
“Little girls and their toys and all of that,” I said sweetly.
“You know, when they have half naked women in front of cars at car shows, they don’t do anything for me. But picturing you driving a Bugatti is making me hard as steel.”
Somehow, I managed to avoid looking into his lap this time.
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“So, where is this Bugatti?” Alden asked as we turned into the parking lot of a busy Wegmans grocery store.
I sighed long and deep. I opened my big mouth just to tease him, forgetting that I’d have to give some kind of background story.
“My ex bought it for me as an engagement gift,” I said quietly. “When I left him, I left the car.”
“You had an ex with enough money to afford a car like that?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, believe it or not. I know I don’t look like the type of woman who could have driven a 2.4 million dollar car. I don’t look like the type of woman that used to walk around with a half a million-dollar rock on her finger, or the type of woman that used to wear designer clothes every day, all day, right down to my undergarments and sleeping clothes. But I was once that woman. I was her for three years, and for six months out of those three years, I got to drive the fastest street car in the world. Now I drive a Camaro and shop at normal stores, and instead of giant diamonds on my fingers, I wear tiny ones in my ears and a simple bracelet of gold linked hearts that my brother gave me when I was fourteen.” I held up my wrist for emphasis.
Alden pulled into a parking spot and put the car in park, but he didn’t turn it off right away. He looked out of the window with his brow furrowed as he gently bit down on his bottom lip. I unbuckled my seatbelt and put my hand on the lever, waiting for him to unlock the doors.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said after a few seconds. He turned his head and looked at me. “I actually have my own Bugatti in L.A., and if I were boyfriend material, I wouldn’t mind being your boyfriend. I didn’t mean to suggest that you wouldn’t be good enough. I told you over dinner that first night that when you were knocked out back stage after the accident, you looked like Sleeping Beauty. I wanted to be your prince, you know? At least for a little while. Drive you around in my fast car, take you to nice places and maybe buy you some nice things, and serenade you, but you already have a prince.”
I could have laughed at him and told him that was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard and teased him for hours, but honestly, it was probably the sweetest damn thing anyone has ever said to me. But I didn’t want to tell him that, either.
“Larson was…was many things,” I said softly. “But he is no prince. He is a villain. But…” I smiled a little. “I don’t need a prince.”
I found the button to unlock the door and let myself out of Alden’s cute car.
Shopping with Alden had been like shopping with a four-year-old. He wanted everything he saw, especially junk food. I wasn’t opposed to junk food, but he was putting it in my cart as if he was going to be around enough to consume it.
He had kept his hat, hood, and glasses on the entire time we were in the store, but once one person recognized him, it was almost as if Wegmans had made some kind of announcement that Alden Breck was in the store, in aisle five in front of the oatmeal. I was just glad that it wasn’t later in the day, or the small crowd that followed behind us to his car would have been much bigger.
I kicked him out of my apartment soon after he finished helping me put away groceries so I could get back to work. He had gone without too much of a fight, but he had returned early the following morning with breakfast. He didn’t stay long, because apparently, he had his own things to do. He went back to New York for a couple of days, but after again using the whole “friends or fuck” thing against me, he convinced me to have dinner with him on Sunday night.
Unlike the first time I had dinner with Alden, we didn’t get a private dining room. I was acutely aware of the many stares and whispers focused our way. I had learned quickly that being in the presence of a superstar almost always earned nothing less than stares and whispers. I didn’t like being under the scrutiny of a whole bunch of strangers, but I reminded myself that I only had a week to go before Alden would be out of my city and on to another one.
“So, friend,” Alden said, leaning on his elbows on the table. “I want to ask you something, though it’s just a formality, because I won’t take no for an answer.”
I frowned, but said nothing and waited for him to continue.
“I want you to be my date for the galas.”
Ignoring the fact that he didn’t actually ask a question, I said, “You want me to go with you this weekend?”
“I want you to go with me to all of them.”
“You want me to go on the road with you for two months?” I asked incredulously. “Even though you just met me, like five minutes ago?”
He took a long sip of his coffee and nonchalantly raised a shoulder. “It’s a little more than two months all in all. We have some other shows in between.”
I didn’t miss the fact that he failed to address the last part of my statement.
I shook my head. “I can’t go.”
“Why not?” he looked truly perplexed. “You’re a writer, right? You don’t have a stationary job, and you don’t have a secret kid and husband I don’t know about, do you?”
“If I did, they would be a secret,” I pointed out derisively. “Look, it’s just…it’s just not a good idea,” I said, dropping my eyes back to my chicken marsala.
“Give me a good reason why it’s not a good idea,” Alden demanded, leaning forward.
“We barely know each other.”
“Irrelevant. I often have to work with strangers.”
“You often have sex with strangers,” I said caustically.
“I can have sex with you, too. You only have to say the word.”
“Which word is that? Puke? Gross? Repulsive? Odious?”
“All you have to say is ‘fuck me, Alden’ and I’ll gladly comply,” he said with a smile that may have undone other women, but Alden Breck couldn’t undo me. No way.
I ignored the way my spine tingled just below my neck as a sarcastic half smile pulled at my lips. “That’s three words, and they are three words you’ll never hear from me. I know you find it hard to believe, but not every person with a vagina wants to spread her legs for you.”
His grin was dangerous. It was sweet on the surface, but if you looked close enough, you could see all sorts of wicked things hiding behind it.
“If that’s how you really feel about me, Noa, you should come with me to the galas. Since I won’t break my promise, I won’t try to slide my cock inside of your pretty little pussy. And since you aren’t at all attracted to me, you’ll never have to worry about succumbing to any of your desires.”
I crossed one leg over the other and squeezed, just once. Just because. It wasn’t because of him.
“You’re not doing a very good job convincing me to go,” I said with an air of disinterest.
“Kristy thinks you should go. She thinks it will be good for your career.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You talked to Kris about this? Stop talking to my friends!”
“She’s my friend, too.” He smiled smugly. “And our friend thinks coming with me will be good for your career and good for you.”
“What else did Kris say?” I demanded. When I got a hold of that brat, I was going to kick her ass.
“Not much, except that you had a rough few years and that you need this.”
“I don’t care what she thinks,” I said crisply. “You two had no right to be talking about this – about me. I’m not going with you, Alden.”
He leaned forward even more, locking his eyes with mine. I wasn’t even sure if his butt was still in his seat. “What are you going to do
for the next two months, Noa? Hmm? Sit in your apartment writing? Maybe run out to Starbucks for a latte? You would rather stay here, stationary, staring at the same bleak city sidewalks every day while you try to come up with your next good story?”
His voice had been mild, but the words stung.
“I can’t just pick up and leave and follow Friction around the country.”
“You’re twenty-five years old, childless, unmarried, no boyfriend, no fiancé, and you haven’t really mentioned having anyone in your life besides Kristy and your brother. What’s holding you here? Where is your sense of adventure?”
Again, his voice had been mild, but his words seemed to have slapped me right in the face. How could I tell him that the last time I had a sense of adventure, things went very wrong?
How could I tell him that I was terrified of what he could do to me, of the things he could make me feel…
Instead of answering him, I asked my own question.
“What made you choose this charity?” It came out a little snippy, but at least I wasn’t trying to gouge his eyes out with my fork.
He sighed, disappointed that I didn’t respond, but he answered me anyway.
“I’ve had some experience with them. People tend to go with the charities for childhood illnesses and things like that. This one gets overlooked – a lot – because the kids in the program are overlooked – a lot.”
I nodded my understanding. “So you’ve donated before. Have you been able to see the results of what you’ve donated?”
“Yes, but more than that, I am a result of someone’s donation.”
It took me a moment to catch that. Then my eyes narrowed with understanding. “You…you were a foster child,” I concluded.
“Yep,” he said, meeting my eyes. He smiled, but his words came out with a bitter edge. “My mother never wanted me, you see. She wasn’t on drugs and she didn’t drink, she was just plain evil. When I was taken from her ‘care,’ I was undernourished, dirty, beaten, and scarred. My mother ‘home schooled’ me, but when I first left her at the age of nine, I could barely read or do simple math, and I had no social skills. I was in and out of trouble growing up after that, always in a fight.”
He took a long pull on his beer before gesturing to our waiter for another. My heart was in my throat as I waited for him to continue.
“When I went into foster care, I had nothing. I mean nothing. Just the shitty clothes on my dirty ass back. On my first night, I was given two bags. The first bag had a blanket, clothes – new clothes – sneakers, socks, and underwear. In a little travel bag inside of that bag I had deodorant, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a few other things I would have needed. The second bag contained items that were just as much life changing as clean Spiderman underwear.”
“What was in it?” I asked as I imagined a small version of Alden Breck, scared and damaged.
“Inside the second bag were a few school supplies and a few toys, but the person who put that bag together did something a little differently. Taking up far too much space in the bag was an acoustic guitar. That changed my life, Noa. I was still a little badass, in and out of trouble, but I taught myself how play that damn instrument, and I studied really hard in school so that I could write my own songs. I taught myself how to play the piano and drums, too. I don’t know where I would be if I never got that guitar. So, I personally donate a thousand bags a year, at least, but I always include a guitar, or drumsticks, or a keyboard. I also ask others to donate something that means something to them – whether it is art supplies or books.”
“That’s amazing,” I said with a genuine warmth. “But why a gala? Why not a concert or a festival or something? Wouldn’t you raise more money that way?”
“Well, those venues are usually much more money than say, renting the grand ball room of a hotel for the night. I want to be able to put as much money as possible into the charity and not make up for the costs of raising the money. Does that make sense? I mean, yeah, it can be done, but rich people and politicians like to dress up and walk a red carpet, and they’re important to have around. I hold the politicians accountable for making sure foster kids and other kids in the system are safe. Most importantly…” He paused for effect. “I look damn good in a tux.”
I smiled, my irritation from earlier gone. “What you are doing is…it’s truly amazing, Alden. I’m impressed.”
He chuckled. “Still think I’m an obnoxious and conceited ass?”
“Yes,” I said without having to consider it. “Are you an only child?”
His facial expression changed. It was strange. It seemed to harden and soften at the same time.
“Twelve years ago, my piece of shit mother met a guy, married him, and moved to Minnesota of all places. She got pregnant, probably thinking that this could be a child she could actually love and care for, but as it turns out it wasn’t just something she had against me personally. Tammy just isn’t meant to be anyone’s mother. Her husband was the only defense the kid had and he died. Peyton was taken from her a little over a year ago. I didn’t even know about him until late last year,” he said with some sadness. “Had I known about him sooner, maybe I could have saved him some serious hurting.”
Alden looked like he was blaming himself, and he wasn’t to blame. His detestable egg donor was to blame.
“How did you find out about him?” I asked.
“He knew about me,” Alden said, rubbing his jaw. “He knew I was his brother. Tammy must have said something at some point. Of course, the authorities there didn’t believe him at first. Who’s going to believe that a poor little kid in foster care has a big rock star brother? So, he wrote me.” Alden smiled. “Every day for two months. It’s impossible for me to read every piece of fan mail that comes in, but I trained my assistants to pay close attention to any mail from kids. Sometimes the kids I give bags to write me, and even though I never require a thank you, I like getting their letters of gratitude. It makes me feel like I really made a difference in their lives.”
“It took your assistants two months to realize that the same child was writing you every day?” I questioned.
“Little Noa,” Alden said with a big grin. “I’m Alden Breck. I am a popular guy. I get a lot of mail that has to be sorted through.”
I rolled my eyes. “Continue with your story.”
“I read Peyton’s letters. I followed up on them and found out he was writing the truth and I immediately flew out to Minnesota to meet him. Noa, he is such a good kid,” Alden said with pride. “He’s not anything like me. He’s not mad at the world and he does well in school and gets along well with other kids. He’s smart as hell and he’s funny. I don’t know how we turned out so differently raised under such similar circumstances.”
I smiled warmly at Alden’s obvious affection for his brother.
“Do you talk to him often?”
“I try to talk to him at least twice a week,” Alden said, and then quietly added. “Noa, I’m trying to adopt him.”
My eyebrows shot up. Was he serious? Alden Breck adopt a kid?
“He’s living in a foster home right now, but it’s not permanent. He can move again anytime. I want more for him. I can give him everything he could ever need and want and I want to, but I have to get my act together first,” he said with a heavy sigh. “After I got arrested in New York, my lawyer made it clear that I wasn’t helping my chances of adopting Peyton if I was getting arrested for fighting, or if there were always pictures of me drunk off my ass and passed out. You would think that with all of my money and resources that I would be able to adopt him fairly quickly, but since my life is on public display all of the time, it’s only making it harder.”
“Well, then,” I said. “I guess you better stay out of trouble.”
“What about you?” he asked, as his eyes quickly flickered over my entire face. “I know you have a brother, Warren, right?”
“Yes. He’s four years older than me. He doesn’t live too far away from me.�
�
“Are you close?” Alden asked.
I shrugged. “We’re okay.”
I wouldn’t describe my relationship with my brother as a close relationship. He took care of me when I was younger, but the truth was that he really didn’t know me very well at all, but I didn’t want to get into that with Alden.
“What about your mom and dad?”
I poked at my chicken with my fork. “I don’t know my father. I mean, I kind of remember his face, but he left when I was maybe three and he never came back. My mom…well, let’s just say that you and I have something in common there.”
Please don’t ask questions. Please don’t ask questions.
I could feel his eyes burning into me, and I could practically taste the questions that he wanted to spit out, but to my surprise, he didn’t. He cleared his throat and said, “Yeah, well, sometimes mothers are assholes.”
Relieved, I smiled again and raised my fork to that. We ate in silence for a couple of minutes, though I felt Alden’s eyes flickering to me every few seconds, assessing me. I kept my eyes cast down, ignoring his glances and the buzz around the room that often carried his and the band’s name. I ignored the obvious flash of cameras and the girlish giggles of a group of women a few tables away.
“Say yes,” Alden said so quietly I almost didn’t hear him.
I looked up and met his gaze. “What?”
“Say yes,” he repeated, a quiet command.
“Why?”
“Because you want to say yes.”
I did want to say yes. I would be stupid to say no. The only things holding me back were my own fears and anxieties – and having to deal with a pelvic thrusting, arrogant blowpipe, but I could handle him.
Of course, it would be great for my career. I would have plenty of writing material after hanging out with a band for two months. Kristy would kill me if I said no, but more than anything, I wasn’t sure how I would feel about myself if I said no.
And that was what made up my mind in the end. I knew if I said no, I would wonder “what if” for the rest of my life, and I had enough of those to live with. I didn’t need any more.