“How’d you know if you do—do your boobs like that again—if you did that, Agent Harris wouldn’t hear you?” Billy asked, making her push her boobs together again as an example.
“I practiced!” Stella laughed and pushed her boobs together for him two more times. “I told Harris I wanted to make sure I knew what not to do so I wouldn’t get nervous and fuck the whole thing up.”
“Maybe you are brilliant,” Millie agreed, nodding. “And your boobs are hot in that top.”
Stella smiled. “Patrick, it’s now your turn to tell me how brilliant I am,” she coaxed.
“You did good, El.” His voice was quiet, but his eyes gleamed with pride. He was proud she was able to do it; she knew he’d underestimated her, too.
They drank and talked while they waited for the interview to come on. During the opening minutes, all of the tweets, tabloid pictures and headlines flashed through the screen with Diane Sawyer walking in front of a blue screen while she summarized the past five years of Stella’s life in less than two minutes.
Millie giggled. “Damn, girl, you’re famous.”
“More like infamous,” Stella refuted.
“Same difference,” Billy said.
“And so fucking tragic,” Patrick added.
The interview had been cut significantly, but when the part about George came up her phone buzzed with a message from him.
I really do have blue balls right now
I love you too and you will never lose me
Stella smiled and looked up to see Patrick was getting them more beers. “I need one!” she called into the kitchen. She texted George back.
Hopefully I can help you with that this weekend
Patrick came in and put everyone’s beers on the table, but stayed silent, playing on his phone for the rest of the interview. Her phone vibrated in her hand.
You better do more than that this weekend
Birthday sex is all day sex
She laughed and replied.
Whenever and wherever you want
Her phone buzzed again.
Best shit I’ve heard all day, besides what was just broadcast to millions of people
A commercial came on and Billy stretched his arms over his head. “I think knowing you is a liability, El.” He smirked. “You’re not allowed here now that I’ve bought the place.”
“What?!” she yelled. “You bought this house?!” Stella jumped up and hugged Billy. “I didn’t even know you were thinking about it.”
Millie did the same.
“That’s what happens when you’re all wrapped up in your own shit, like trying to get your homicidal former fiancé arrested.” Billy laughed. “You miss shit.”
“A toast!” Millie declared, raising her glass.
“To the best friends an asshole could ever wish for,” Stella said.
“To next year being totally fucking different than this one,” Patrick toasted.
"To the people who I love more than beer,” Billy joked.
“To the family we choose.” Millie clinked her glass.
It was George’s birthday today. He was flying home and she was running late. Fuck. She looked at the clock on her car again as she pulled into the traffic circle near Arlington Cemetery. Stella was driving as fast as she could to get back to their house before he did. Pulling into the driveway, she blew out the breath she’d been holding when she rushed into the house and was only met by a tail-wagging Cooper. She did beat George home.
Leaning down, she put her forehead on Cooper’s. “Hey, bud.” His entire backside moved with his wag. “Come on, I need to hurry.”
Stella put her bags down and grabbed his leash for a quick walk. Cooper did a half-hearted dance for her as she put the leash on his leather collar.
When they got back into the garage, she closed it and went inside quickly, grabbed her bag, and hustled upstairs to the bathroom. What do you get someone who can buy whatever they want whenever they want? Not too much. Stella’s hair now reached just past her shoulders and she brushed it out before she shed her clothes. She smiled at the red “Fighter” tattoo that was finally brighter than all the scars on her chest. Stella had tried to look at her scars like just another tattoo, ones that showed her where she was at a particular place and time in her life, but that sort of healthy outlook on her life was difficult.
She carefully wrapped herself in the “present” she’d purchased for George. She had a few minutes so she went downstairs and poured them both glasses of the cabernet that he liked best. Stella set the glasses and food she’d ordered from their favorite Italian restaurant in Old Town on the table. Cooper barked and moved toward the door. Stella heard the motorcycle engine and then the garage door raise. She put the card on the bar next to the wine and trucked it upstairs.
George pulled into the garage, surprised that Stella was already home from work. He smiled and pulled his helmet off, climbed off his bike and hung the helmet on one of the handlebars. Cooper was waiting for him as usual, but he didn’t see Stella.
“El?” he called and then he glanced over to the bar where wine, food and a card were waiting for him. He tore it open and noticed it was blank except for two lines:
You honestly didn’t think I’d forget your birthday, did you?
Find me!
A wide grin spread across George’s face as he walked up the stairs to their bedroom. He leaned in and didn’t see her. “El?”
Silence.
He walked into his office, nothing. “El?” he called again. Where the fuck is that little minx? “I need my birthday present now, Love,” he said as he turned the corner into the guest bedroom and found her sitting, no, not sitting, positioned, displaying her naked body. A shot of heat went through him as he took her in. She was wrapped in a red bow that only covered her crotch and nipples. Holy shit! He almost lost it then and pounced on her.
“Happy birthday, babe!” She laughed. “Do you like it?”
George used his teeth to take off the ribbon and began kissing her everywhere. “What do you think?” he asked in between kisses.
“I think...” she drawled, pushing him off her and standing, “you’re wearing too many clothes for my present.”
George had flown in for a little over 24 hours and then flown out again. Stella sat on the couch with her Kindle, wine, and Ben Harper, trying to be okay with the loneliness she felt. Stella knew Jesse had an early curfew because they were in New Orleans with a 12:00 game on Sunday. She called him.
“Hey, MVP,” she said when he picked up.
“Don’t fucking jinx my shit, Stella.” His voice was tired.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine. Just trying to ease into tomorrow.”
Stella thought she heard something else in his voice, but it was so hard to read people over the phone. “You sure? You don’t want to order an in-room massage?”
“That would be really nice.” He laughed and it was genuine.
“What’s on your mind, baller?”
He sighed. “You’re only as good as your last play, Stella, you remember that.”
“Jesse, you’re having a kickass season. What’s this about?”
“I’m 34, Stella. I’m getting old in this industry. My fucking body hurts for two days after games now instead of one. I’m trying to look at the big picture and still play my fucking heart out.”
“Well, that’s understandable,” she acknowledged. “You’re still in your prime, though.”
“I’m also trying to make sure we get your friend Jamie in a place that he gets what he deserves.”
“Jesse, don’t. I got this. I have him dead to rights admitting to everything. Leave it to me. I got this, I promise.”
“Oh yeah, it went well?”
“Check fucking mate,” she confirmed.
“Good.” His voice sounded a little lighter.
“Jesse. Why are you worried about me? I’m fine.” She shifted on the couch, pulling her blanket tighter around her.
“Your being ‘fine’ with everything that’s going on makes me very nervous, Stella.”
“I’ve finally got a handle on everything. There’s an end in sight and it’s making it all bearable. Really, it’s getting better,” she soothed.
“Okay,” Jesse said, resigned. “I saw the interview, I thought you came off real good. Likable.”
“Well, we all know that’s a lie.”
Laughing, Jesse agreed.
“I mean, I should’ve hired ABC News to be my publicist.”
“They did you justice, that’s for sure. How did your work think it went?”
“Christine loved it and calls have been pouring in to talk to the FBI Beauty.” She sighed.
“Well, use it while it lasts because it won’t last forever.”
“Fuck, I hope not.”
“I’m glad to hear your voice, it’s a little lighter than usual.”
“Don’t you fucking jinx me.” She laughed. “Can’t wait to see the game tomorrow. Do good. Fuck some people up.”
“Just for you,” he promised before he hung up.
Chapter Twenty-Three
All My Mistakes
George was sitting at a Mexican restaurant in the Denver airport when his phone dinged with a Vox from Stella.
“I’m here. Where are you?” Her voice coming from his phone made him smile. She’d talked him into having their weekend together over Thanksgiving, instead of spending it in DC. He was pretty sure it was because she didn’t want to be with his family this year. George didn’t blame her, it wasn’t like they were that welcoming to her. Kara, John, and Finn were always their saving graces during the time they had to be around family. Finn loved Stella and followed her everywhere she went.
“At a bar, of course, in the Mexican restaurant. I’m the one with a boner,” he said quietly into his phone.
The sound of her laughter rang out through his phone and he smiled. It was one of his favorite sounds.
“Hurry up and let’s get to the hotel.” George nodded at the bartender and looked over his shoulder as he grabbed his bag and patted his pocket.
“I’m the one running, yelling into my phone.”
He drained his Pacifico Clara and put a twenty on the table. He turned to see Stella walking through the airport. Fuck, she looks amazing. She was wearing a grey sweater that had sort of a bigger collar and black leggings with her knee-high grey boots. She was letting her hair grow out a bit, he liked it; the shorter version looked sharp and hard, but this was much softer. A smile almost split her face in half when she saw him and her legs moved quicker toward him. Relief flooded his body; he was so tense when he was without her. Stella, the hurricane that she was, brought him some sort of weird peace.
George strode over and wrapped his arms around her, leaning in to kiss her. Forgetting his surroundings, he let his tongue search her mouth and she moaned, then pulled back a bit.
“We may want to wait at least until we get in the car for that,” she said, her lipstick smudged on her face.
He took his thumb and wiped at the smudges around her lips. She smirked.
“Did you buy half a sweater?” he asked, taking in the hole in the back of her sweater.
“No,” she laughed, “apparently this is the style.”
“You have no back to your sweater,” George said, running his hands down her back and inside her sweater.
“Watch it.” Stella skirted away from him. “You can’t be putting your hands there in public,” she warned.
“The car. We need to get to the rental car, now.” George took her bag and rushed to the escalator.
They followed the signs, which led them to a bus to take them to the car rental company. George couldn’t keep his hands off her; not seeing her every day was turning him into an adolescent. When they finally got to the car rental company, they walked in to see all the employees gathered to greet them. Ugh. He quickly filled out the paperwork and went out to the car, where the employee attempted to talk them into getting car insurance for “animal attacks.” Is this a Saturday Night Live skit?
George smiled, but Stella burst out in obnoxious laughter, accompanied by a couple of snorts. He started laughing while he signed the last contract and got in the car. As soon as he shut his door, he laughed harder.
“Better watch out for animal attacks,” he reminded her. “Be vigilant.”
Stella nodded, still snorting. “Fucking animals.”
They drove to the hotel while they chatted aimlessly, which was comforting because George was nervous about the weekend. Since they’d gotten back together, it’d been Stella’s shooting, recovery, the press, the kidnapping, the trial, getting Jamie arrested, and whatever else was going on in her life. They’d never just “had a weekend” together to do whatever they wanted, talk about whatever they wanted.
George pulled the rental into the Four Seasons.
Stella’s eyebrows rose. “Wow.”
“What?” He shrugged. He knew she considered it entirely too fancy, but he wanted this weekend to be perfect and carefree.
“Snooty,” she quipped, winking at him.
Stella stepped out of the car and George saw his favorite part of her body as she got out, the curve right under ass. It was perfect; he could trace that curve for hours. She dipped her head down so she could see him. “Come on. I’m starving and need hydration via alcohol.”
George followed her into the hotel after tipping the valet and having their bags taken up. The sweater dipped so far down in the back that he could see both tattoos. Fuck. They checked in and were in the elevator by themselves within minutes. He pushed her back against wall and lifted her, pulling her legs around his waist and devouring her mouth. The elevator slowed and stopped too soon. He sat her feet back on the floor and whispered, “I miss you.”
She was silent, but grabbed his hand and followed him to their room.
They stayed in bed and ordered room service for dinner, breakfast and lunch. Stella was spent and fell into a peaceful sleep after lunch. George looked over at her laying on the bed, naked, and sighed. They hadn’t put clothes on since they got there. He stretched, walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. The mirror fogged up within minutes and George traced words on the mirror, the words that were on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t quite say. Then he watched them fill in and disappear. The scalding water soothed him and the coconut soap reminded him of Stella.
He heard Stella yell as he wrapped the towel around his waist.
“No!” she sobbed. “No, Jamie…NO!”
George ran into the room and found her thrashing, fighting something, someone, in her sleep. He tentatively put a hand on her and she stilled. “Love. It’s me,” he soothed. He hated this, seeing her like this and knowing there was nothing he could do to help.
She whimpered and sobbed again, not awake yet.
George leaned in closer and kissed her mouth. “It’s me, Love,” he whispered in her ear, “you’re safe.”
Her eyes flew open with realization and resignation. “Sorry,” she muttered, turning away from him.
“Don’t apologize.” George tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “I thought you were doing better.”
She shrugged. “Sometimes.”
“Babe, come on, you can tell me,” he urged.
She sighed. “My nightmares are worse lately. Denise put me on different medication, but it doesn’t seem to matter.”
He sat on the bed, his back rubbing against her side, and looked out the window. “You know, all of this will be over soon.”
Stella nodded. “I hope so.”
“FBI going to arrest him?” he asked.
“I think so, but I haven’t heard from Harris since I got him to admit everything. I just figure they’re doing their bureaucratic pissing contest shit.”
“That’s probably true. I’m sure he’ll get you an update when they’re ready to move.” George pulled her hand into his and intertwined their fingers. “Well, let�
�s get ready and go get beer and snacks to tailgate, okay?”
Stella kissed the back of his hand and then stretched her arms above her head. Her fingers grazed the headboard and the sheet fell, exposing her breasts. He leaned down and pulled her nipple into his mouth. He felt her hands in his hair.
“I love you,” she breathed.
“I love you until it hurts,” he tried to explain.
“Yuck, George. Love isn’t supposed to hurt.” She cocked her head to the side in a question.
“Isn’t it?” He ran a hand through his hair. “If I didn’t love you so much, it wouldn’t hurt me to know that you’re home dealing with all this by yourself. If I didn’t love you to my core, I wouldn’t care that you have a tattoo basically declaring your fears. I want to take all that away from you, Stella. I want to be your comfort. I want to be your peace, like you are for me. I want all these things and one day I will get them. I will look at you and know that we are forever and there are no devils for you to fear, because I’m there.”
A tear escaped her left eye and he stooped to kiss it away, salty on his tongue.
“I want to kiss away all your tears,” he whispered before kissing her lips gently.
“I don’t deserve you,” she confessed.
“Yes…” he kissed her lower lip, pulling it gently between his teeth, “the fuck....” he kissed her top lip, running his tongue underneath it, “you do.”
It was cold in Denver, but there wasn’t any snow on the ground yet. They’d heard the snow in Aspen was amazing already. George was driving to the Ogden Theatre for the Avett Brothers concert. He’d bought tickets when planning the trip. He had to pay more than twice the price for the tickets off a reseller, but Stella loved them, so he got the tickets for her. It was a pretty cool venue. It’d been around since 1913 and was marked for demolition when someone bought it and refurbished in the early 1990s. It was smaller and the concerts there were said to be more intimate.
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