Chapter 11 – Slater
Chapter Eleven
SLATER
A banging sound has my eyes flying open. I sit up, trying to get my bearings to whatever the hell is going on but don’t hear anything.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
What the hell is that?
“Slater, open the door, or I’ll have to break it.”
Oh, that’s my crazy baby daddy. I throw my blanket off, padding over to the door. I flip the lock, jerking the door open. What the heck does he think he’s doing?
“People are sleeping, jackass.” I grab his arm, yanking him into my apartment before one of my neighbors comes out.
He’s got a grumpy-ass expression on his face, but it’s still handsome.
Now is not the time to be thinking about his looks.
We’re mad , I remind not only myself but my body as well.
I fold my arms over my chest and glare at him.
Brooks' eyes trail me up and down. It’s then I remember I’m only wearing an oversized shirt. “Don’t even think about it.”
Everything with us turns to sex, which does kind of sound nice right now. No, knock it off, Slater . It doesn’t matter that a good orgasm from Brooks would knock me right back out, but I can control myself—maybe.
“That’s how you answered the door? Did you even check the peephole?”
“I’ll have you know there isn’t one. It’s fake. I got it on Amazon and glued it onto the door so people would think I had one.” I thought it was smart. If people think you might be watching them, they won't do any funny shit.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters, running his hand down his face in frustration. I’m not sure what he’s upset about. He’s the one banging on my door at an obscene hour.
“What time is it? Why are you here?”
“It’s after eleven, and I’m here because my wife isn’t at home.”
“We’re not married.” I hold up my hand. “Where’s my rock?”
“I’ll get one.” Brooks sounds defensive. “Where are your clothes?” I point with my thumb behind me toward the closet.
“And your home isn’t my home,” I add in there to remind not only him but me as well.
“We'll settle that later. Let’s go.”
“No.” I step back. “It’s so late. If you wanted me to come back to your place?—”
“Our place.” I jump right over his comment.
“Then maybe you should have noticed I left six hours ago!” I shout the last part. Oh, I guess I’m madder about that than I realized.
“I thought you went home to grab things and return.”
“No clue how you got that idea, but it’s still six hours, so whatever.” I shrug. ”I saw your note. If you got shit to do, that’s fine, but I’m not staying locked away.”
I don’t know why it’s bugging me that he wasn’t there when I woke up or that he didn’t come back, but it is. Which I can’t admit because that would make me a giant hypocrite.
“I sent Gabby to check on you. There was an issue in the kitchen I had to deal with.”
“So you sent a random worker up to check on me.”
“Gabby isn’t random.”
I narrow my eyes. “Really dark hair? Bright red lipstick?” I could never pull that lip color off, but she had.
“Yes.” Now I know why I got those looks and questions.
“It’s time to go.” I motion for him to move toward the door. He doesn’t.
“What is the problem?”
“You know what? You wouldn’t understand, okay?!” I sniff.
“Are you about to cry?”
“No,” I sniffle again. “It must be allergy season.”
"Tell me what I did, and I'll fix it." I shake my head no. What is wrong with me? I'm being ridiculous.
"Too busy to check on me. I get it." I nod. "I had a father who was always too busy." Brooks's eyebrows rise. "And then you send your girlfriend up to check on me."
“Okay, wait.” Brooks puts his hands up, palms facing me. “You said a lot of information in two seconds and are talking about two different things.”
“I told you that you wouldn’t understand!” I stomp my foot. Did I seriously just stomp my foot? “Oh God, you’ve given me your crazy. It’s contagious.” I walk over and drop down on the daybed. Never in my life have I been this emotional.
Brooks walks over and sits down next to me. “Gabby isn’t my girlfriend. She works at the restaurant.”
“I know, we met.” If you call her being a jerk to me meeting.
“I know. She brought me your note back, which is why I thought you were okay. I called and texted too.”
“What note? I got your note.”
“Then I got your text that you were running home to grab things.”
“That's not what I texted you. I told you I got home safe.”
“Which meant you got back to your place safely. Then you’d grab things and come back. I wish you would have waited; I would have come with you to help.” I start shaking my head no.
“Whoa, you added that whole last part. I think you might have assumed.”
“But I also have your note.” This is getting confusing.
“I didn’t write you a note; I only sent the text.” I start searching for my phone. Brooks pulls a note out of his pocket, handing it to me. I take it and grab my phone out from under my pillow. It’s always getting lost in my bed.
I read the note. “What beef problem? I don’t know what this is.” I hand it back to him.
“You wrote it.”
“I did not.” I swipe the screen on my phone and see that he did text me. A lame text. He must have sent it after the note I didn’t write. “What the hell?” That’s when I realize all of the alerts on my phone. My social media has blown up. What is going on?
“You didn’t write this?” I shake my head, my attention on my phone, swiping through things.
“Brooks, what did you do?”
“Do?”
“Did you tell people about us? That we’re getting married?”
“I made an announcement.” He smiles, like he’s proud. It’s kind of adorable, but I have a bigger issue here.
“Oh, Brooks, what have you done?” I groan.
“Do people know? Are they saying we can’t get married because I’m a chef and you’re a food critic?”
“I wish they were saying that instead of what they are saying.”
“What are they saying?” He tries to peek at my phone.
“They’re calling me a cheater and a slut and so on. But don’t you worry. You’re a man, so everyone’s saying I fooled you into our affair.”
“Why would they say such things?” He takes my phone from my hand, scrolling through.
“Don’t comment!” I snatch the phone back.
“There is some Felipe claiming to be your boyfriend. I was going to set him straight.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“I know,” Brooks says with so much certainty. “How could he be when we’re married?” I don’t even bother to correct him. There’s no use.
“He’s my ex-boyfriend.”
“I don’t like it.”
I would laugh at his remark, but my anxiety is rising by the second.
“He was kind of a boyfriend. I don’t know. He would tag along to places I went. Felipe has a following on social media too. He’s into the wine world or whatever.” I wave my hand, not wanting to talk about wine because I’ve heard enough about it to last me a lifetime.
“He’s in the past, so why is everyone mad then?” His eyes drop to my phone. I pull it closer. I don’t need him commenting everywhere, especially from my account.
“Because I’ve been telling him for months to let everyone know we’re not together, so the internet still thinks we are.”
“I’ll tell them.”
“It’s not going to be that easy. I have no clue how Felipe will take this. You see, he slept with my best friend. So he is the cheater, if what we ever were was boyfriend and girlfriend, but he pushed hard on his social media to make it appear that way. I didn’t post him on mine.”
“He cheated on”—Brooks's eyes drop to my bare legs—“you?”
“Yes, on me.” In fairness, I told him I was a virgin and was keeping it that way. I wasn’t interested in sex. I was wondering if I might be asexual. Brooks shot that theory to hell and back, twice now.
“I don’t understand this. Why would he cheat on you ?”
It makes it hard to be mad at Brooks when he's saying sweet things, and I don't even think he's doing it on purpose.
“It doesn’t matter. He’s going to lean into me having cheated on him to get more social media attention. So if I call him out about sleeping with my friend, he’ll say I made it up. Or this could be his way back in with me.”
“Back in?” Brooks's eyes narrow.
“He’s been wanting to get back together. Keeps showing up here.”
“Is that so?” His expression hardens.
“Brooks.”
“You’ll be my wife. You’re having my baby.” Brooks stands. “We’re leaving.”
“Fine,” I agree. There is no place better to hide than Brooks's mini mansion in the sky.