Strange Addiction

by Alexis Nicole

  I needed to talk this over, talk this out with someone, and before I was even out of the shower, I decided that I would call Blair. It was so good to have my friend back now that we had reconnected. I needed to talk to my bestie. After I got out of the shower, dried myself off, and wrapped myself up in the towel, I called Blair, but her cell went straight to voice mail.

  “Where could she be?” I asked myself, glancing at the clock. It was barely seven o’ clock. Where could Blair be this early in the morning?

  Flopping down onto the bed, I fought to keep the tears back in my eyes. I needed to talk to someone about what was going on, and without Blair, I didn’t have anyone.

  Once I became involved with King, he became my life. There was no time for me to develop my own friendships, and I certainly wasn’t going to call any of his friends.

  Maybe I could call my mom, but what would I tell her? She and my dad would go crazy if they knew how King had been treating me. I could call and leave out the details. Just tell her that things were getting tense.

  My mother wasn’t my first choice, but she was my only choice. I lay on the bed for minutes that turned into an hour, and then another, until I finally pushed myself up. I was going to do it. I was going to call my mother. Just as I reached for the phone, it rang and UNKNOWN flashed across the screen. I never answered unidentified calls, because I wanted to know who I was talking to first. But at this point, I needed to talk to anyone. Just hearing a friendly voice was going to do me good.

  “Hello,” I said cautiously when I answered.

  “Do you know how long it takes to blow out a wineglass?”

  It was a simple question, but the masculine voice sounded so sexy and he made me smile.

  “I have no clue, Donovan. How long?”

  He paused. “You know, I really don’t remember myself. I was just trying to make conversation.”

  We both laughed, and I felt 1000 percent better already.

  “How did you get my number?” I asked him, remembering that I had only taken his. I had to admit, I was glad that he’d called, but I was leery about it at the same time. Especially after what had gone down with King yesterday.

  “I have a confession to make. I spoke with your mom about a week before I moved here, and she gave me your number then.”

  I couldn’t believe my mother. She never told me she had even spoken to Donovan, let alone given him my number.

  “She never told me that. And why haven’t you used it before now?”

  “Well, the move and setting up the store were hectic. I never stopped saying that I was going to call, though. But seeing you yesterday was so good, so I decided today was better than tomorrow. I hope I’m not calling too early.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “I wanted to catch you before you got into your busy day.”

  Busy day? Donovan had no idea.

  “Listen, I was actually calling for a reason. I don’t know if you have plans for today, but I have to make a run out to Malibu. You live out there, right?”

  I frowned. “Yeah, how did you know that?”

  He chuckled. “You’re King Stevens’s girl. The world knows everything about the two of you.”

  I guess I still hadn’t gotten used to that fact. Donovan was right. King was a star and was considered a public figure. And I guess that meant that I was too.

  “So,” Donovan continued, “I was just wondering if I could stop by your place, swoop you up, and you could go with me. Maybe you could give me a tour of Malibu at the same time.”

  “Well, I don’t know Malibu all that well,” I said, purely as a stall tactic. There was no way I could go out with him. Especially not after yesterday.

  “That’s okay. Maybe we can explore it together.”

  I didn’t respond.

  Not until he added, “Please, Heiress.”

  It was the way he said my name. So softly, so full of adoration, and friendly, of course, that made me say yes. Plus, I needed to get out. Even if I didn’t talk to Donovan about what I’d been going through, I’d get out and get some air. Maybe that would help to clear my thinking.

  “Sure,” I finally agreed. “How long will it take for you to get out here? I can meet you wherever you’re going.”

  “I’m actually on my way now, so I’ll be in Malibu in about thirty minutes.” He gave me the address where he was going, and then I hung up.

  Thirty minutes. I didn’t have much time. I dashed into my closet and spun around, looking at all the choices I had. Why was I making such a big deal about this? I just needed to put on a pair of jeans. That was all. This was just Donovan, and it was not a date.

  I jumped into a pair of jeans but chose one of my favorite white blouses, grateful for the long sleeves. I didn’t need Donovan seeing my bruises.

  When I slipped into my first pair of Louboutins, the red-bottom pumps completed the outfit.

  I checked out all the angles as I looked in the mirror. I didn’t know why I was so concerned about my appearance. Maybe it was the prospect of some male attention . . . from someone besides King. Maybe it was the fact that I was going to hang out with an old friend . . . someone who really knew me. Or maybe it was just that I was getting out of the house when I really needed to. Whatever it was, I was so excited when I grabbed my purse and jacket and slipped into the car.

  I wasn’t far away from where I had to meet Donovan, but when I got there fifteen minutes later, he was standing outside, waiting for me. I smiled when I saw him, pulling my car to a stop right in front of him.

  “You made it,” he said when I turned off the ignition and he opened my car door.

  “You seem surprised.” I chuckled and gave him a hug. His embrace was comforting, and I held on to him probably a little longer than I should have. But I needed the affection.

  Sure, King held me. He’d held me early this morning, when I first got up. But at times after his hugs came his grabs. I needed this genuine affection, which had nothing to do with love, just friendship.

  I followed Donovan inside a gigantic warehouse that was filled with glass, all kinds of glass.

  “I’m glad you agreed to come out with me today.”

  His heart was so sweet, and my heart warmed.

  “Thank you for inviting me. I needed to get out.” I sighed.

  I didn’t know if it was my tone or the way I’d sighed that made Donovan sigh. He looked at me sideways. “A little trouble in paradise?” His tone was filled with concern and not a hint of sarcasm.

  I paused. I needed to talk. I needed to talk. I needed to talk. But to Donovan? How could I talk to him about King?

  Still, I needed someone, needed to do something. So I said, “Well, relationships are a roller coaster. And this one has . . . let’s just say, a lot of loops.”

  “Loops? That’s an interesting way to put it.”

  I nodded. “That’s how I see it, because there are a lot of ups and a lot of downs.” I sighed. “I guess I’m still getting adjusted to this life.”

  Suddenly we stopped moving, and Donovan put his hand on my shoulder. Looking me straight in the eye, he said, “Heiress, are you having problems?”

  I didn’t say anything, but I didn’t have to, because Donovan watched me blink back tears.

  He held me, but his touch was gentle, nothing like King’s. “If you’re having problems, you need to tell someone.” He paused, as if he was waiting for me to say something. I didn’t. He said, “It doesn’t have to be me, but you need to talk to someone. Someone who can help you fix it.”

  I heard his words and let them digest, but then something inside of me got defensive. There was nothing to fix. Nothing was wrong. Didn’t every couple have their problems? Wasn’t this normal?

  I blinked my eyes faster, keeping the tears away, and pasted a smile on my face. I needed to stop this conversation right now, before it got too deep.

  “Thank you, but I’ll be okay.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I paused
for a moment before I said, “Definitely. King and I are fine. Wonderful, actually.”

  Donovan stared at me a little longer; then he nodded slowly. “Okay.”

  We began to walk again in silence. At least a couple of minutes passed before Donovan said, “You remember that time in the fourth grade when we went on that field trip to the museum?”

  It was a brilliant move to change the subject to something that he knew I would remember. Something that he knew would make me laugh.

  “I remember that. You kissed me on the cheek in the IMAX theater, and we both thought that was such a big thing.”

  We laughed together.

  “Yeah, I thought we were a couple after that, but you started hanging out with Charlie Thomas more than me.”

  “Oh, yeah. Charlie,” I said, feeling a rush of new memories.

  Charlie Thomas was the weirdest kid in our grade. He ate glue when we were in elementary school, and he was still doing that craziness in junior high. I could not remember how or why I started hanging out with him.

  “I’m sorry about that, but you were my best friend, and even at that young age, I knew that I didn’t want to ruin that.”

  “You should’ve ruined it, ’cause you were the love of my life,” Donovan confessed.

  “Love of your life?” I said, surprised. “That’s a little over the top.” I laughed. It wasn’t like Donovan and I were ever an item. We had never dated; we’d been too young for all of that.

  “I’m serious,” Donovan said. “It’s not over the top. You were the love of my life.” And then he added, “Back then,” I guess to soften what he’d said.

  This time I didn’t want to make fun of him. So I said, “I never knew that.”

  He nodded and looked straight ahead. “I think I’ve always been in love with you, but we were friends, so, like you said, there was no need to ruin that.”

  Now I was speechless. Donovan was serious, really serious. How did I not know this? We had spent our whole lives together, going to the same schools, the same church, and our parents were friends. We’d gone to the prom together, but that was because neither one of us had a date, and that was what friends were for, right?

  Never once did I think he liked me for real. I wondered why he had never told me. Even more, I wondered why he was telling me this now.

  “So, anyway, is there a lucky lady in your life?” I asked, glad that we were heading to the checkout section.

  “No lady, yet. These Los Angeles women are too superficial for me.”

  “Oh, come on. They aren’t that bad. You can find some really good women here.”

  As he began putting his items on the checkout belt, I reached into the basket to help him. At that moment, our hands touched as we both reached for a lighting fixture. I felt a spark. It was a spark that I’d felt only with King. A spark I thought I could feel only with him.

  “I think I’ll stick with my Midwest women,” he said as our eyes locked together.

  It took me a moment to break the spell, to let go of the fixture and turn my eyes away from him at the same time.

  Okay, this was crazy. This wasn’t like when we were kids. This wasn’t even like it was when I was with him yesterday. This was chemistry, real chemistry. The kind of chemistry that was making me feel guilty.

  “Listen, thank you for getting me out of the house, but I better get going,” I told him.

  “But—”

  “No, really, I have to get home,” I said, thinking about last night with King and this . . . chemistry I now felt with Donovan.

  “But there is another stop I have to make, and I was thinking that we could grab lunch again.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head, “but I have some things to do at the house before King gets home.”

  “Well, at least wait so that I can walk you to your car.”

  “No, that’s okay,” I said, truly wanting, needing to get away from him. “I’m fine. It’s right out front, and . . . I’ll be fine.”

  He frowned as I gave him a quick hug, then hightailed it out of there like my hair was on fire.

  My life was already complicated enough. I was trying to make things simple again. Take my life back to where it used to be. So I certainly didn’t need Donovan. Especially not with all this newfound chemistry.

  I jumped into my car and sped out of that parking lot, never once looking back in my rearview mirror.

  Chapter 14

  It had been a good week, and I wanted to keep it that way. That was why I hadn’t argued with King when he said we were having dinner at his parents’ house.

  “That’s what we’re going to do for our first anniversary?” I’d asked.

  “Yup!” He’d grinned, as if he’d just told me that he was taking me to the Taj Mahal. So if going to his parents was what he wanted to do, and if it was going to keep the peace, then I was all for it. It wasn’t my idea of a romantic night, but it was fun enough, at least the way it was starting out as we drove to Beverly Hills.

  “Do you know what it’s like to show up on the set with one black shoe on and one brown shoe on?” he asked.

  I laughed as I glanced at him behind the steering wheel. He always looked so good to me when he smiled, when he was this happy. “That’s what I tell you about getting dressed in the dark.”

  “Well, I never want to wake you like that in the morning.”

  “I keep telling you that I love when you wake me in the morning. I hate to wake up and see that you’re already gone.”

  He squeezed my hand. “See, this is why I love you.”

  I held his hand as we drove up La Cienega, thinking that this was how it was always supposed to be with us. When the Commodores came on the radio, King turned up the volume to the highest level and we sang along with Lionel Richie.

  “Thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty-six, oh, what a winning hand!”

  We laughed as we sang, both of us so far off-key. But it didn’t matter, did it? We were in love. That was what we told each other when the next song came on. It was another oldie, another Lionel Richie song. Only this time he sang with Diana Ross. And King and I howled along.

  “My endless love!”

  I never wanted this car ride to end, because to me this was how it was supposed to be.

  When we arrived, the Stevenses’ housekeeper, Anna, met us at the door. “Mr. King, it’s so nice to see you,” she said through her thick Guatemalan accent. She wrapped her five-foot-two frame around his waist and attempted to pick him up, as if this six-foot guy was still a child.

  “Anna, I’m a little bigger than I used to be.”

  “Well, you should have stopped growing.”

  I laughed at the two of them, deciding at that moment that this had really been a good move. Anna, who had worked for the Stevenses even before King was born, had already put King in a good mood. I knew that he loved this woman, who had spent as much time raising him as his parents had. He’d often said that she was like his second mom.

  Anna turned her attention to me, gave me a hug, then took my shawl and purse.

  “You two go on in there.” She pointed toward the living room. “Your mother is waiting in there for you. I don’t know where your father is,” Anna said, shaking her head as she took my shawl and purse and King’s coat away.

  On cue, Mrs. Stevens appeared at the living room doors, looking like old Hollywood. She was so glamorous. She was a fifty-something-year-old woman who could have easily passed for King’s sister. She reminded me of a younger version of Nancy Wilson.

  “Look at the two of you,” she said, holding out her arms. “Aren’t you the picture of perfection?”

  She was the one who was perfection, with her shoulder-length hair swinging casually in a bob. She was dressed in a peach pantsuit that made her cinnamon complexion glow.

  Mrs. Stevens and I were just about the same height, so when she hugged me, we were eye to eye. Next, she turned and hugged her son before she stepped back and smiled at us like she was
so pleased. Holding both of our hands, she said, “Heiress, you get more beautiful every time I see you. I hope my son is treating you right.”

  Every argument, every time King had grabbed me and tossed me around, flashed through my mind in an instant, and instinctively, I rubbed my arm where my bruise was just beginning to fade away.

  I imagined myself opening my mouth and telling Mrs. Stevens everything. But I knew her statement was rhetorical. She didn’t really want to know, and I didn’t really want to tell her, especially not with King standing right here.

  So all I did was nod and smile.

  But King answered for both of us. “Mom, you know I try to treat my girl the best and to the best.” King put his arm around me. “In fact, today’s our anniversary.”

  “Really?” His mother frowned a little, but she had too much class to ask her son what he meant exactly.

  “Yeah. We had our first date one year ago today.” He grabbed me around my waist and kissed me on the cheek.

  Again, all I could do was smile.

  “Oh,” Mrs. Stevens said. “That’s so nice. Well, let’s go into the dining room. Dinner is waiting.” She glanced over King’s shoulder. “Anna dear, can you fetch Mr. Stevens and let him know our son and Heiress are here?”

  King grabbed my hand as we followed his mother to their grand dining room. Everything was decorated so beautifully. The twelve-person table was set like Mrs. Stevens was about to entertain a dozen people for a holiday dinner. Pewter candlesticks and fresh roses adorned the center of the table, and the buffet against the wall was covered with a feast that would make any Southern black family proud. We might have been in Beverly Hills, but the dishes that were spread across the buffet top—macaroni and cheese, collard greens, candied yams, rice and gravy, and, of course, chicken—were straight out of the Carolinas.

  My mouth started watering right away. King and I didn’t eat like this too often, since both of us were always trying to be healthy. But tonight was a celebration—even if Mrs. Stevens didn’t know it until a few minutes ago—and I planned on having a good time.

  “Mrs. Stevens, this all looks . . . and smells so wonderful.”