I opened the door.
No shirt. Abs all over the place and sexy as always.
Brodie looked down at me, confused. “Hey, uh, what was your name again?” Here was Brodie showing his true colors. If I wasn’t a supermodel, he didn’t give a shit about me.
My face sagged. “Jane.”
He half-smiled, “Hey, Jane. Uh, how are you?”
Did he really want to know or was he just being polite? I heaved a sighed. “I’m fine, Brodie. Can I help you with something?”
“Have you seen Chelsea around?”
“Nope.”
“You know when she’s gonna be back? It’s been like a week since she was here. She okay?”
“You’d have to ask her.” I really didn’t care whether Brodie was worried or not. Besides, what was I going to tell him? Chelsea the supermodel was effectively dead. If I told him that, he’d ask all kinds of stupid questions I wasn’t going to answer.
“If you see her, can you tell her I’m looking for her?”
I stared at him for a long time. Was I disappointed? No. I already knew what kind of man Brodie was. People only disappointed you when they didn’t meet your expectations. Brodie had met mine. Shallow manwhore. It didn’t matter what he did for a living.
But I refused to be rude for no reason.
I sighed, “I’ll make sure she knows you were looking for her.”
“Thanks.”
“Anything else?” Chelsea isn’t going to show up, so you can leave.
“Nah.” He just stood there. Was he going away or not?
“You know what, Brodie?”
“Yeah?”
“Chelsea moved to Milan to pursue runway modeling.” It seemed reasonable, and with any luck, this would be the last time he ever knocked on my door.
“Milan?”
“It’s in Italy.”
“I know where it is. I’ve been there before.”
“Oh.” I considered telling him to buy a plane ticket and chase after her, but I wasn’t that spiteful. I couldn’t send him on a wild goose chase, or in this case a wild swan chase, that would cost thousands of dollars and probably drive him crazy in the process. Maybe I should’ve told him she’d moved to Laos to work on a fishing boat, or given up all her worldly possessions and moved to India to join an ashram.
Oh well. Too late now.
“Do you have her email or something? I don’t even have her phone number. I really need to talk to her.”
Could I tell him no without sounding like a spiteful jealous bitch, which I wasn’t? I mean, how could I be jealous of a nonexistent person? For all intents and purposes, Chelsea the supermodel was dead, and when she’d been alive, she was me anyway, so what was there to be jealous about?
Yeah, I was jealous. Sort of. Not really.
Maybe a little.
“Please, Jane. I have to talk to Chelsea. It’s really important. I… I need to apologize to her. I was a total dick the other night. I messed up everything. I was… I was a total jealous prick. I acted like an ass. Like a fucking two year old. I don’t know why. Seeing her with that fucking guy…” He shook his head. “Fuck. I don’t know. I was a douche.” He was staring over my head, not talking to me. It’s like he was sending his apology straight out to fake Chelsea.
He didn’t know it, but he was giving me the apology I wish he’d given me a week ago. My heart started to melt. Damn him. He was making me like him all over again. But beautiful Brodie Bolden would never want plain Jane Johnson, the little nerd girl standing right in front of him.
His apology wasn’t for me.
It was for super Chelsea.
I wasn’t her.
I was done with her.
Brodie finally looked me in the eyes, his face pained, “Can you tell her I’m sorry, Jane? Please?”
I hated him so bad I wanted to cry.
He didn’t deserve my tears.
He deserved my door slammed in his face.
The sound of boot heels echoed up the stairwell at the end of the balcony. Brodie turned to look. His eyes widened and a smile erased his sadness in an instant. He completely forgot I was standing here.
He took a step toward the moving boot heels as they walked along the balcony. I stood inside my apartment, so I couldn’t see who it was. But Brodie could. He was ecstatic. The boots passed Mrs. Wiser’s apartment and were just about to reach mine. Still staring at whoever it was, Brodie said, “Chelsea?”
Oh, shit.
I leaned out my front door.
My sister walked toward us and waved at me, smiling. “Hey, Jane!” As always, she looked gorgeous. Movie star black sunglasses and black blazer over a white mesh dress and knee high black boots. You could see flashes of her white bra and panties through the mesh as she walked. She also wore a black scarf twisted around her neck. It was thin linen and it gave her outfit a subtle BDSM vibe without being slutty. She was sex hot.
As she approached, Brodie gawked at her, his jaw hanging against his chest. She gave him a polite smile as she passed. She didn’t know him, but I bet she could figure out who he was.
Brodie reached out and gently tugged the arm of her black blazer, trying to slow her to a stop. “Hey, C.C., where are you going?” he muttered, somewhat confused. Of course he was confused. He thought the real Chelsea was me Chelsea, a.k.a. C.C., and she was ignoring him!
Yes, watching my sexy sister ignore him gave me plenty of smug satisfaction. Maybe now he would know what it felt like to be ignored.
Chelz lowered her movie star sunglasses and glared at Brodie over the frames. “Would you let go of my coat?” Her voice was firm and wasn’t taking no for an answer.
I hid a smile, loving every moment of this.
Brodie dropped his arm, chastened. “Sorry,” he muttered. “C.C., it’s me. Brodie.” He was begging her to recognize him, but it wasn’t going to happen.
Chelz flashed me a confused look.
I said, “Brodie, this is my sister Chelsea.”
Brodie’s own confusion was obvious. “Sister? I thought you were cousins.”
I said, “You’re thinking of our cousin Chelsea, the one who moved to Milan to be a model. Yes, she does look a lot like my sister Chelsea.” I nodded at her. “But I promise, they’re two different people.”
Chelz pulled her sunglasses off and put her arm around me. “We’re sisters.”
Brodie looked at Chelz for a long time. “You really look a lot like your cousin.”
Chelz shrugged. “So I’ve heard.”
“Like you could be twins…” Brodie mused.
Twins?
Shit, if he made a move on Chelz, the real Chelsea, my sister, I would shoot him dead where he stood. I’d have to buy a gun first, but I would go get one post haste and track him down, then shoot him wherever he stood.
“…but you’re not her,” Brodie finished, distraught. He heaved a sad sigh.
I released my own silent sigh of relief. The last place I wanted to end up was in prison for first degree murdering Brodie.
He looked at Chelz, “If either of you talk to your cousin, can you tell her I’m sorry?” He hung his head and walked back into his apartment and closed the door softly.
It was the saddest sounding door close I’d ever heard.
Chapter 28
“Was that Brodie?” Chelz asked inside my apartment.
“Yeah.”
“Wow, he’s really hot. Did you see those abs?”
I scowled, “Don’t remind me. He doesn’t even know I exist.”
“He was acting like he knew you. Didn’t you say you met him before you turned into me?”
I smirked, “I didn’t turn into you.”
“You know what I mean.”
It bummed me out that Brodie would’ve asked my sister out if he’d met her first. But he’d met me first. Twice. But he was only interested in supermodels. Suddenly, all my usual insecurities were back. My sister got guys like Brodie and Wes. I got guys like un-extreme Mike th
e doctor.
“I know what you’re thinking, Jay. So stop. You’re beautiful.”
“You’re blind. Maybe I should’ve left the ring on.”
Chelsea looked at me for a long time. “You yourself said it might be giving you cancer.”
I frowned, “What do I know? Nothing about what happened to me when I put that ring on was normal. For all I know, wearing that ring might make me disease free and live to the ripe old age of a hundred and twenty. Or longer. But I’ll never find out now because I took it off.”
“Do you still have it?”
“It’s around here somewhere.” I knew exactly where it was but I wasn’t telling her. I didn’t want her or anyone knowing where it was. I wouldn’t want it disappearing. Not that Chelsea would try and steal it. She didn’t need to be beautiful. She already was and had more hot men than she knew what to do with.
“Maybe you should put it back on,” she sighed.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I don’t know what Mom and Dad will say, but why not? If it makes you happy, maybe you should. Who am I to say how you should live your life?”
My entire body suddenly tingled with possibilities. I could. I could go back to being beautiful. At least I assumed I could. Would it work? It seemed like it had taken longer to change me back to normal than it had to make me beautiful. Was it running out of gas or power or whatever magic it ran on? Would it work at all if I put it back on? Or would it only work halfway and leave me looking…
Deformed.
I cringed.
Geez, was this even a good idea? Or was I just playing with fire?
Maybe I needed to get rid of it. Drop it in the ocean or something.
No, I didn’t want to do that.
Did I?
I needed to distract myself with something more frivolous than this. “So, Chelz. Who do you think is hotter? Brodie or Wes?”
“Well, I only saw pictures and videos of Wes at the Oscars. But it’s pretty close. Which one is taller?”
“Brodie. Barely. Maybe an inch.”
“I don’t know, Jay. They’re both fine men. Either one looks like the total package. On the outside, anyway. Brodie seems like he might be a bit too immature. But it’s too soon to tell.”
“I know, right?”
Suddenly I was thrilled to be having this discussion with my sister. For the first time in my life, we were talking about men and comparing notes. Not her speaking from deep experience while giving me advice because I didn’t have any experience to draw from. The opposite. When it came to Brodie and Wes, I was the one with all the experience, not her. Frankly, it made me giddy.
“You know what, Chelz? Let’s go out. Just you and me. I could really use a drink with my sister.”
She smiled, “Sounds like a plan, Stan.”
<<<<<<<>>>>>>>
What a mistake.
Never go out with your supermodel sister after changing back into a nerd girl. Especially not in LA where the men are hot and plentiful.
Everywhere we went, guys hit on her, not me.
Credit to Chelsea: she suggested we call it a night long before I did. She saw the dynamic from the beginning while I was busy ignoring it.
She also saw me getting drunk.
I never got drunk.
But tonight seemed like the right night for getting hammered.
<<<<<<<>>>>>>>
Monday morning I woke with a horrible hangover.
Chelsea took an Uber car to the airport so I didn’t have to drive her. Thank goodness I didn’t have to work until five. I didn’t formally get out of bed until noon. If it had been my choice, I would’ve slept until tomorrow.
I dragged myself into the living room and sat on my couch, placed the stupid ring on my coffee table, and stared at it for over an hour.
Should I put it on?
Throw it away?
Now it was just a tarnished piece of junk, just like me. I didn’t need to save it.
A walk to the ocean might make me feel better. Then I could chuck the ring off the end of the Santa Monica Pier and never see it again.
Yeah, that’s exactly what I needed to do. When I stood up, I sat right back down.
Hello, hangover.
I’d be lucky if I felt up to working in four hours.
Remind me never to drink that many shots ever again.
How many had I had? Six? Eight? Whatever the number, it was way past my limit.
I looked at the ring again.
It was so unassuming now.
I leaned forward and picked it up with the intention of hiding it in my bedroom until I figured out what to do with it. The second my fingers closed around it, my doorbell dinged.
I hoped it wasn’t Brodie. I didn’t want to see him today or any day. Groaning, I tiptoed up to peer through the peephole.
It was Wes.
What was he doing here?
I opened the door.
He wore his old jeans, flip-flops, and a T-shirt that had the old Nintendo logo on it. He also had on his aviator shades and plenty of stubble. This was casual Wes, accessible Wes, a mere mortal compared to his godlike red-carpet ready self. He pulled his aviators down with a smile. “Hey, Jane. Good to see you. I didn’t realize you lived with Chelsea.”
“Yeah,” I smirked.
“How have you been? You look great, by the way.” Was he serious or just being charming? I could never tell with Wes. One thing was for sure: unlike Brodie, Wes projected total interest in me. Whether it was sexual or platonic was impossible to tell, but that made him all the more charming.
“I’m good.”
“Mind if I come in?”
I almost blurted yes like a desperate thirteen year old. “Uh, Chelsea isn’t here.”
“And?” He raised his eyebrows. “Aren’t you going to invite me in anyway?”
Okay, that was not what I was expecting. “Sure. Come in.” I closed the door behind him, still clutching the ring in my hand. Why did this moment feel so familiar? It wasn’t, but somehow it was. Like the day we’d first met, charged with possibility.
Wes dropped on my couch like he owned the place. Or like an old friend who’d been here a thousand times before.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I offered.
He frowned, “You look a little tired. Are you feeling okay?”
I laughed guiltily. “I sort of drank too much last night.”
He grinned. “Been there, done that.” He jumped up from the couch and took my free hand. “Sit down. You look like you need it. I’ll get us something to drink.”
Confused, I sat and watched Wes open my refrigerator in the kitchenette and lean over it. “You want this raspberry smoothie thing, apple juice, or water?”
“Water is fine.”
He searched my cabinets for glasses.
“Next to the stove.”
“Thanks.” He pulled out two and opened the freezer.
“I don’t need ice.”
“Ice for one,” he smiled and dropped two cubes in his glass. “You don’t have a filter pitcher anywhere do you?”
“No, just tap.”
“My favorite.”
I couldn’t believe this was happening. “What are you doing here, Wes?” He shrugged at me while filling the glasses under the tap. I said, “If you’re waiting for Chelsea, she’s not here. She’s… in Milan.”
“Milan? What’s she doing there?”
“Traveling.” I didn’t want to spin up a big lie for Wes.
He nodded. “Milan is great. I haven’t been in a while. The weather is nice this time of year. Not too hot during the day, not too cold at night. You ever been?”
“No.”
“Then why didn’t you go with Chelsea?”
“Oh, uh. I have to work.”
He nodded sympathetically. “That’s work for you.” He walked to the couch and handed me my glass of water before sitting down next to me.
I sipped my water before setting it on the coffe
e table. I still clutched the brass ring in my hand. I swear it was vibrating against my skin. I took a deep breath and looked at Wes. “You don’t have to do this, Wes.”
“Do what?”
“Make nice with me so you can… I don’t know, get Chelsea’s email or whatever.”
“Why would I need her email? I have her phone number.”
Oh shit! If Wes ever called my number and I answered accidentally, he might start asking questions. If for some crazy reason he called or texted her right now, he would hear my iPhone ringing! Then he’d definitely start asking questions. I needed a good cover story quick. “Oh, uh, Chelsea left her phone with me. She couldn’t use it in Milan, so… you know.”
“That’s funny. My phone works fine in Milan.”
I shrugged, not wanting to say more.
“Well, she knows how to reach me. If she wants to, she will. I already left her plenty of messages.” He sighed. “If she’d told me she’d gone to Milan, I would’ve taken the hint and stopped calling.” As he said all this, his voice faded from casual to disappointed.
I felt terrible. Wes really hadn’t done anything to deserve all the Brodie fall out on Oscar night, nor did he deserve the disappointing ending to our evening. But he did deserve an explanation from fake Chelsea, a.k.a. me. I just wasn’t sure I could give it to him in a way that made any sense.
I reached out to touch Wes’ wrist. He wore that chunky gold bracelet of his. My fingers touched mostly it, but my pinky touched his skin. It was warm and made me tingle.
There was no denying it.
I wanted Wes.
But I couldn’t have him.
Oh well. I was a big girl.
But Wes deserved some kind of explanation, no matter how feeble. I said, “Wes, Chelsea is… She’s not stable.” I was making all this up as I went along. “She tends to be flighty.”
“Literally,” he smirked. “Unless she took a rowboat across the Atlantic?” He winked.
“Yeah,” I smiled. “She flew. Anyway, it’s not really my place to say this, but, for what it’s worth, she…” I wanted to tell him she liked him. A lot. But I didn’t want to string Wes along. Fake Chelsea the supermodel was gone for good. “She thought very highly of you, Wes. Very highly.”
If I Were Beautiful (If I Were... #1) Page 25