by Renee Dyer
“I love to cook.” Again, that smile. Her hands join the conversation like a child excited to tell their parent something, making me want to laugh, but I don’t want to offend her. “I even took a year of culinary classes after college for fun. My mom is a pastry chef so growing up with her taught me a lot about baking. Culinary classes were more for learning the main courses. Don’t misunderstand me, my mom is an amazing cook in every way, but I still wanted to learn more.” Images of her in an apron and stilettos with nothing else on, bending down to remove cookies from the oven, chocolate chip– because those are my favorite and this is my fantasy– has me adjusting myself under the table.
“I bet you make some scrumptious sweets if this breakfast is anything to go by,” I say with complete honesty. Though, the only sweets I’m thinking of are on her body and how badly I’d like to spread her out on her dining room table. I am such a bastard. Only moments ago she tells me her husband is dead, practically has a full blown panic attack, and all I want to do is serve her up as dessert on her table. Bastard!
“Thanks. Haven’t had any complaints,” she says, completely unaware of the mental battle I’m having. “My mom always says it’s hard for people to complain when you’re sweetening them up.” I can’t stop the light chuckle that escapes. That’s a good saying. I could picture Grams saying that. Then, I look at her. Big mistake. A full-mega-watt, light up the whole world, smile is on her face. I thought she had shown me her best smile before, but I was wrong. This is it. Trying to catch my breath and restart my heart at the same time is nearly impossible. Her smile will haunt me the rest of my life. Getting back in my truck never felt like such a death sentence.
Clearing my throat, “Sounds like something my Grams would say,” I rasp out around a weak smile. It’s a weak, but genuine smile. It isn’t a smile I would give to the fans or for the cameras. This is a real one just for her. It’s a little sad, too, because in this moment, in this stranger’s dining room in nowhere New Hampshire, I feel comfortable. Too comfortable. And for once… I’m ok with it.
I hate being Tucker Stavros.
*********************
I can tell he needs a minute to recover from hearing that my husband is dead and from my behavior. I’m sure I looked like a complete fucking mess. I hate when Alex’s name comes up. It always throws me into a tailspin. I wish I was stronger. I wish I dealt with it better, but how do you stop loving someone who was part of your life for almost all of it? I’ve loved him since I was six years old. How do I stop now? Just because he’s not here doesn’t make him simply fade away. No one seems to understand that. I’m glad Tucker isn’t saying anything. I need a few moments to breathe.
I do feel like an idiot, though. Losing it in front of Tucker Stavros. Oh my God. I lost it in front of Tucker Stavros. Walking sex on a stick, just about every woman in the world would like to sleep with, he’s their fantasy, he’s so hot, Tucker Stavros. Shit! Ok, Adriana. Breathe. Count to ten. Stop making an ass of yourself.
Breaking me from my embarrassing thoughts, he tells me that breakfast is delicious. Never one to take compliments well, I know I’m blushing. I can’t help but wonder why he’s been eating so much fast food when he makes the comment, but mom and dad taught us to never pry. If people want you to know their business, they’ll tell you. It didn’t seem like he was throwing the comment out there for open conversation, so I don’t ask. It’s killing me, though. I’m very curious. He seems different than what I expected. I expected a cocky, smug, arrogant asshole. All the words kind of mean the same thing, don’t they? Well, that is what I expected. I just thought he’d walk in here and demand things like I get him a drink or treat me as less than him– stupid shit like that. I don’t know what I expected. Maybe try to talk me out of my panties? Wishful thinking. Could still happen. No… nooo. Where the hell did that come from? Alex, no one is talking me out of my panties. Especially not some hottie movie star.
I offer to make him more food even though I piled enough on his plate to feed several grown men, but I’m searching for any reason to have him stay for a little longer. Looking down at the table, I hope he doesn’t see that I’m affected by him. Am I panting a little? What is going on with me? I’ve never wanted anyone other than Alex. Never been with anyone other than Alex. It must just be because I haven’t been laid in so long. The ladies keep picking on me about it. They keep saying I need to just relieve the pressure. Maybe it’s getting to me.
What’s that he just asked me? Do I like to cook? Telling him about culinary classes and my mom being a pastry chef, I know I’m getting animated. My hands are moving along with me. Such a bad habit, but I can’t stop once I get going. I can see the humor in his eyes. Makes him look younger and less tense. His good looks steal my breath from me. I can’t get over the fact that he’s better looking in person than he is on TV. They shouldn’t put make up on him for the show. It takes away from him. Maybe they do it to make him look older. Whatever the reason, he’s much more handsome without it. Looking at him again, I notice he’s shifting in his seat again. Maybe I gave him too much food and he’s too polite to say so. Whatever the case, he’s nearly cleaned the entire plate. A tinge of pain rocks through me at the thought of breakfast ending. Although I had to face the pain of telling him that Alex was dead, I had enjoyed making him breakfast, talking to someone outside of my inner circle of friends and family. And, as much as it pains me to say it, being attracted to someone again. This must be what it feels like to still be alive.
Did he just say something about me making scrumptious sweets or that I would taste scrumptious? Man, I need to pay attention and stop getting lost in my head, fantasizing about him. Guess it’s easy to get lost when you’re staring at a piece of eye candy like him across the table like that. I’d like to lick him like a lollipop. Pop, pop, pop… Ok, enough of that. Focus.
“My mom always said it’s hard for people to complain when you’re sweetening them up.” Remembering the times my mom had said that makes me smile. Mom has a way of always making me feel better no matter how awful I feel. She is like sunshine on a rainy day. No one can stay in a bad mood around her. Feeling Tucker’s eyes on me, I look up and he looks lost in thought. Not wanting to break him of his trance, I just sit there and wait for him to work through it. He’s staring straight at me, but somehow I think he’s looking through me. I can’t explain the look on his face. It looks like he’s waging a battle within himself.
Clearing his throat, his eyes clear so he finally seems to see me. A small smile crosses his perfect face. It’s beautiful. This smile isn’t rehearsed or forced. It’s just him and my heart melts at the sight of it. “Sounds like something my Grams would say,” he rasps out. Something I did or said affected him and he mentioned his Grams again. She must be important to him. A small piece to the puzzle that makes up Tucker Stavros.
Seeing his plate is empty starts a hole forming in my chest. I really don’t want him to leave. How could I get him to stay a little longer without sounding like a crazy fan? “What brings you to New Hampshire?” Dammit. I didn’t mean to ask that. I’d been thinking it, but didn’t mean to ask.
Watching him squirm in his seat and looking for what to say makes me feel worse. Squaring his shoulders and taking a breath, I can tell he doesn’t want to answer this. Opening my mouth to tell him never mind, he starts, “Just needed to get away from the bullshit for a while so I hopped in my truck and started driving. This is where I ended up.” I can tell there is a lot that he left out, but I’m definitely not pushing or asking any more questions. Based off this little bit, a plan starts forming. Grabbing his plate, the little hole that formed in my chest starts to close.
Chapter Six
Adriana & Tucker
In the kitchen, putting the dishes in the dish washer, I can feel Tucker’s eyes on me and heat pools in my lower regions. I know thinking like this is wrong. It’s wrong because I’m still in love with Alex. It’s wrong because if I let something happen, he’ll just go back to his
show, forgetting about me and adding me to the other notches in his belt. And, it’s wrong because he has a girlfriend. Oh my God. How could I forget he has a girlfriend? Here I am fantasizing about all the ways and places I’d like him to take me and he’s probably anxious to get back in his truck back to his hot super model girlfriend. Plan’s off. Hey, Misery– your company is back.
Sighing, I turn around to a wall of gorgeous muscle less than a foot in front of me. Normally I’d make a comment about needing to learn about personal space, but I can’t think. It’s taking all my concentration not to touch his chest to see if it’s as hard as it looks. Wonder if it’s all as hard as it looks… Trying not to breathe heavily, I slowly shift my eyes from his chest to his eyes. Those unbelievable blue eyes. How does every women who looks in them not get lost? Girlfriend, Adriana. Think about his girlfriend. “So, uh, I hope you liked your breakfast.” This sucks. Having a hard time breathing, I get ready to say goodbye to the first man I’ve wanted to speak to, spend time with, since Alex. “I’m sure you’ll be wanting to head back to see Victoria now. Thanks again for bringing in my groceries. It was nice having company for breakfast. Can’t wait to see what the show has in store for you this season. It was great meeting you, Tucker.” Plastering what I hope is a convincing smile on my face, I thrust my hand out the few inches I can with how close he is to me.
“Fuck!” Tucker blurts out, surprising me. I drop my hand to my side as the smile slips from my lips. I’m not sure what to do, so I stand there staring up at him. “I was really hoping that bitch’s name wouldn’t come up. But, since it did, and since you were so honest with me about your husband, I’m going to be honest with you.”
Huh? I obviously said something wrong. I’m not sure what it is, but he’s angry and I don’t think I want to be this close to him right at this moment. I try to inch away from him, but he catches my movement. He must sense my hesitation or fear or whatever emotion I’m throwing at him because he smiles and puts his arms on the counters on both sides of me, effectively caging me in place. Well shit. Guess I’m a captive audience now. Even though he’s still smiling at me, I can see raw pain on his face and I know I don’t want to hear the story he’s about to tell me.
Or, do I?
I just don’t want to see this beautiful man in pain. A face this beautiful should only smile. But then, life doesn’t work that way, does it? “The real reason I left Vancouver was to get away from the bullshit. That was the truth, but that was only a small part of the truth.” He hesitates, looking like gaining his next breath is torture. I want to tell him he doesn’t have to do this, but I can’t find my voice.
“It was the last day of taping before break. I was doing my last scene and then I was supposed to meet Vic for us to go out to dinner and celebrate. We always celebrated the last day of taping. It was tradition for us, even if we were only getting a couple day hiatus. When the noise died down from filming… that’s when I heard it… that’s when we all heard it.” Again, he stops and I’m nervous he won’t continue. He hangs his head down like he’s broken. I want to hold him, comfort him, but I’m a stranger. I don’t know what to do. When he looks back to me, my heart breaks for him because I see a pain so intense, it feels like it’s my own.
“We all hear the moans of sex. The crew starts laughing about someone having a good time and being excited for break to start. Everyone is laughing except me. I know those moans. Christ, I’ve made her moan like that more times than I can count. People slowly start noticing that I’m not laughing or maybe it’s the look on my face or my fists clenching and unclenching. I’m not sure what, but it becomes clear to everyone that the moans they hear are coming from Victoria. I was supposed to meet her in my trailer at the end of my scene, but I’m thinking this is bad enough. She wouldn’t really. Would she? Feeling numb, I walk toward my trailer with the entire crew on my tail and, sure enough, there she is in my fucking trailer with the door open, her dress pulled up around her waist, bent over with Grant Andrews plowing her from behind.” Involuntarily a small gasp escapes my lips and I bring my hand to my mouth to cover the sound.
“I’m so sorry, Tucker. You shouldn’t ha–”
“I’m not finished yet.” Dumbfounded that there’s more, I stare at him wide eyed wondering why he’s pouring his heart out to me– he doesn’t know me from a hole in the wall.
“I stand there saying nothing for what feels like an eternity. I can tell by the sounds she’s making that she’s getting close to her climax. That’s what gets me out of my haze. I step into my trailer and calmly ask Grant if he’s enjoying himself. That’s it. That’s all I say to him. You would think they would both say they were sorry, but no. He zips himself up. She pulls her dress down. All like it was nothing while my world is crumbling around me. Grant walks out of my trailer through the crowd of people watching my pain with his head held high like he was a fucking king or something. That’s when I exploded. I started screaming at Victoria. I didn’t ask her why. I wanted to know, but I couldn’t ask in front of all those people. I screamed at her to get the fuck out of my house. I let her know I was leaving for a while, but that she damned well better have all her shit out before I got back. She started crying then, begging me to stay and talk, but I couldn’t even look at her. There was nothing she could say that would ever make me look at her again. I walked out, got in my truck, went home, grabbed enough stuff for a week, and hit the road. I called my agent to explain the situation, told him I wasn’t available until taping resumes and here I am, in your house. That’s the whole truth. I’m sorry that I didn’t give it to you when you asked before.”
Against my better judgment, I place my hand against his cheek because I feel he needs some kind of comfort, some kind of contact. “Tucker, you don’t owe me any apology. I asked why you were in New Hampshire. I’m a stranger. You don’t owe me anything. Least of all baring your soul. I’m so sorry for what she put you through. No one should ever treat another person like that. She obviously doesn’t deserve you. Would you like me to act like a crazy fan right now? I can send her threatening messages on Twitter or tell her she’s a shit-ass actress, which by the way she is, or I could just go to Vancouver and kick her ass for you.”
My intended humor hit the mark because he lets out a small laugh. Not a belly laugh which I would have preferred, but enough to get a smile from him and take some of the pain out of his eyes. Placing his hand over mine that is still resting on his cheek, he smiles again.
“You’re pretty easy to talk to. You know that?” Before I can answer, a muffled Bon Jovi song starts playing from his pocket. “Excuse me,” Tucker says pulling his cell from his pocket. I quickly recognize Wanted Dead or Alive now that the phone is in the open. Love that song. “Eddie tell me you have good news for me.” I hear Tucker say into his phone with a smile on his face. I like this smile. It’s the one that shows off his dimples and makes him look carefree. While he talks, I head to start getting the food ready for the cook out. And, now that I know Victoria is out of the picture, the plan is definitely back on and a bigger one is starting to form. I might officially be going crazy, but there is only one way to find out. Jump in with both feet.
Trying not to eavesdrop on his conversation, I get both crock pots out and start the preparations for the pulled pork and beer dogs. Pulling the other meats from the fridge, I dry rub the brisket and marinate the ribs. I still need the smoker from the shed. Good thing Tucker is here. I won’t need to call Preston over today and, with Tucker here, I don’t want to. Call me selfish, but I want him to myself. I don’t know how long he’ll be here.
Hearing Tucker yell out, “Eddie you’re the fucking man!” has me giggling and trying not to snort. How I hate that I do that. I’m guessing that it’s a good conversation. Curiosity is getting the better of me, though. I want to know who Eddie is. No asking, Adriana. That poor man already poured his heart out today. Give him a break. Tucker laughs and tells Eddie he owes him one before ending his call. Looking over at him, he ha
s a full beaming smile showing off his perfect teeth, both dimples in full effect. Breathe, Adriana…breathe.
Walking over to me, he pulls me into a bear hug surprising me. I tense for just a second, but the feeling of being touched, hugged, after going so long without allowing people to touch me, overwhelms all my senses and awakens a need in me to reciprocate. To touch him back. Before I can stop myself, before I can think, I throw my arms around his neck, feeling the warmth of his body go through me. Oh, how I’ve missed being in someone’s arms. Feeling connected to another person. His laughter brings me out of my moment of serenity into a fit of giggles I can’t stop. Yes, I snort too which makes him laugh a full belly laugh. I’ve never heard such a wonderful sound and would really like to hear it again. It rumbles all the way to my toes. “Today has turned out to be a fantastic day, Adriana. It just seems to keep getting better. Can you think of any way I can make it better than that phone call I just got?”
Strip me naked and have your way with me right here on the floor. Oh, wait– that would be better for me, I think. Blushing, I look at his incredible smile as he places me back on the floor. “H-How about some more home cooked food?” I look back down at my feet because I’m sure he’s going to think I’m crazy and say no.
“Are you serious?” Yep, he thinks I’m crazy. “You want to cook for me again? I eat like a fucking horse. Maybe even a bull. And don’t you have a cook out to get ready for?” Did I hear him right? He’s not saying no. Placing his finger under my chin, he forces my face up. I’m trapped in a sea of blue, lost in his stare. “Are you asking me if I’d like you to cook me more food? Because if you are, I don’t think I could say no to that. No sane person could say no after the breakfast you fed me.”