Chapter 8
8
Shane
I’m not sure what to say, but anything would be better than the silence between us. “So we’re married?”
“Yes,” she replies at the end of a sigh, her eyes closing and her head dropping back like a weight on her neck.
There’s no way to save her house unless my financials are attached, and that couldn’t be gathered in time to help her. I understand her upset, the defeat overcoming her. I feel somewhat deflated as well, but I’m not sure it’s from the reality of us actually being married or her reaction to us being married. “I’ll try not to take your reaction personally, but damn, is it that bad being married to me?” I joke, hoping it lands the way it’s intended.
A small smile grows when she opens her eyes, but she’s still arching her brow at me. With a nudge to my arm, she laughs. “It’s not funny.”
“No, it’s not.” I chuckle.
“For real,” she whines with that smile still shining. “What are we going to do?”
Her big eyes search mine for the answers neither of us has. Sadness permeates the inner golds of her irises, coating them with tears threatening to fall if I don’t do something to fix this once and for all. She deserves happiness, but I’m not sure we can save the house in time. Taking a risk that may not pay off, I waggle my brows. “We could take the honeymoon we never had.”
With a whack of her hand, she shakes her head and belts out laughter that travels across the lobby. “Shane, you’re the worst.” But I see the way her tears disappear, and joy takes over. Even if it’s only for a moment, I’ll take that reaction over the other.
With eyes on us, I know I can’t stand around for long before the paparazzi are called so someone can get a payday. “Hate to cut this short, but I need to get out of here before a scene is caused.”
She glances over her shoulder, suddenly in protective mode with a stiffening posture and ready to give the evil eye to anyone watching us. She’s fucking adorable but has no idea what she’s up against when it comes to my life. “Okay.” Turning back to me, she whispers, “Let’s talk outside.”
Pushing through the door, she slips in front of me when I stop to let her by. “I’ll make some calls about the— oh shit .” I duck back inside the building.
Cat tugs the door and returns after me. “What’s wrong?”
“Paparazzi.” Stupidly, I didn’t realize the implications and how the story could be twisted and sold for a premium. “Fuck. I’m going to be all over the internet before I get home.”
“The county clerk’s—oh no.” The reality of how this looks dawns in her eyes like a sunrise on the horizon. “I’m sorry for dragging you down here. They’re going to think you’re getting married.”
“Or it will inspire them to do a little research and find out I already am. To you.” Fuck . I’ve made her a target. What have I done? “I need to get out of here, but I can’t take my car. It’s too obvious.”
“You can drive mine,” she offers without hesitation. “They’ll never expect to see you in my car. And I’m parked in the back lot, three aisles from the lamp post.”
“Alright. That’s what we’ll do.” Without having time to work through a plan, I start across the lobby back to Roberta. Cat is in tow, and as soon as we reach the window, she hands me her keys.
“Excuse me,” I say, cutting in front of a happy couple. Roberta does a double-take, but I have her attention. “I need to exit out the back.”
The guy next to me points his finger, though I’m only three inches from the dude. “Hey, you’re Shane . . . Um . . .” He snaps his fingers. “What’s your name again?”
Roberta hops off her stool, so tiny I can barely see her. “Last door down on the right. I’ll meet you there.”
My eyes only connect with Cat’s briefly before we’re on the move again. The door is opened, and Roberta waves us inside. “So you’re a celebrity?”
“He’s an incredible musician,” Cat says as if she’s paid PR.
I pause, watching my wife in wonder. She’s listened to Faris Wheel? A warmth stirs inside me as I look at her in a different way. “Thanks.”
Bumping into me, she plays it off. “Anytime.”
If I weren’t in such a hurry to get out of here, I’d be taking my time with her. But in this fucking life, time is stolen out from under us. I look at her hair hanging over her shoulders as her eyes exude the innocence of someone not exposed to my lifestyle. She’s too beautiful to be caught up in my life. The last thing I want to do is put her under the invasive microscope of the press. “Stay here. If I’m caught, it shouldn’t be with you.”
“I’m not sure how to take that.”
I glance back, and though a smile still creases her cheeks, I can tell I’ve left her unsure of my intentions. I stop and turn back, whispering, “I don’t want them chasing you, digging into your life, or harassing you. That’s what they’ll do if they catch us together.” I almost touch her cheek, caress the innocence and trust she’s giving me through her eyes. I lower my hand for both of our sakes because this isn’t the time or place.
We reach the exit in the back of the office, and they stop while I push through the door, and then look back. “There’s a convenience store at the corner. I’ll wait for you there.”
“What about your car?” Cat asks, concern marring her forehead.
“Don’t worry about it. My manager will get it.” I step outside into the sunshine, but the blue sky can’t compete with the gorgeous golden browns of her irises. “I’ll see you soon.”
She waves as if it might be a final goodbye, that worry still dominant in her features. “Be careful.”
I chuckle. “Don’t worry. Your car is safe with me.”
“I’m not worried about the car. I was talking about you, Shane.”
If we were any other couple in LA, every green flag would be waving for me to kiss her, but we don’t live in reality. We’re stuck inside the madness of my life. And with that comes long lenses and no privacy. I’m not able to do what I want, so I leave, taking away any option I thought I had back there.
It’s better not to act like we could be a thing anyway. My steps pause as the thought cements in my brain. What am I saying? Tied down is the last thing I want to be, not even in the bedroom. Plus, her life is designed exactly how she planned and is quiet. I bet she lounges around on Sundays and reads or something peaceful like that. She seems happy, and I’m struggling with the surety that being tied to me will taint her joy.
I’m a pro when it comes to trying to blend in. I’m not always successful; my height draws attention for most, but the photographers in LA are used to celebrities trying to move around incognito and have their eyes peeled. When I reach the corner, though, they aren’t looking anywhere but at the front doors of the building.
What would I say if they saw me? Why am I here? Excuses run as fast as I do between cars on the first row, keeping my eyes on the ground and hitting the second lineup of vehicles. I work through that lot and to the back without them even looking around.
I recognize Cat’s Toyota in the vicinity of where she directed me, but also by the ding on the back of her car. I hop in, jamming my legs. Fuck me. Adjusting the seat all the way back, I slide lower, hoping to escape without anyone noticing.
Cracking the window, I listen for my name while cruising responsibly through the parking lot, which I know Cat will appreciate. And then someone yells, “Hey, there he is! Get him.”
Oh fuck. I sit up and go faster, reaching the exit but stopping to look both ways. I’m not getting in an accident for them. When I check the rearview mirror, they’re all over some poor fuck on the steps. As much as I’m relieved they weren’t coming for me, it sucks for that guy. Is nothing sacred in this city?
I look back once more, realizing that guy is basking in the attention. Keep ’em occupied, asshole. I take the long way around, and when I finally pull into the convenience store lot, Cat is already waiting for me.
I don’t have many rules in my life. One night is my specialty, but I’m checking her out like she’s my wife. Fuck. I shake my head, aware this is a unique situation. My wife. Damn. I reach around and scratch the back of my neck, not liking how good that sounds.
That tells me everything I need to know. For her sake, we need to wrap this up and both move on with our lives because she deserves better than a guy who has no interest in settling down.
Rolling down the passenger window, I stop in front of her. “Going my way?”
She opens the door and dips her head in. “Seems so.” She buckles up just as I start to pull onto the main road. “Where are we heading?”
The bottom line is that I like the time I’ve spent with her. I like the way she needs me. It’s different from how most women do. It may be out of necessity, but I can tell it’s not a burden she carries regarding me. We’re a team. Fuck my rules and her responsibilities. I glance over at her and give her my best newsworthy smirk. “Anywhere you want to go.”
She looks ahead as if the world is our playground, then turns back to ask, “You hungry?”
“Starving.”
“The beach, huh?” I relax, taking the last bite of my sandwich.
“It’s grounding,” she declares, letting the wind gently blow across her face. “The sand and sound of the ocean reminds me of my childhood when we would visit my grandma. Coming to the beach was my favorite thing to do.” Looking at me, she holds the remainder of her sandwich in one hand, sitting with her legs crossed. “I come out here to forget about the rat race of LA and just breathe in the salty air.” Studying my face, she asks, “You never get out to the beach anymore?”
I sneak a glimpse of her when she’s not looking. Even with her hair trapped in a band, some strands refuse to be tamed and blow wildly around her face. She wasn’t wearing much makeup, but the wind has stolen most of it away. She’s just as pretty, if not more so. I turn my gaze to the ocean’s choppy waters. “I could bury myself in what I’m missing out on or live the life I have to the fullest.”
“Do you live your life to the fullest?”
“I live. I’ve had experiences most will never get, traveled the world, and met people from every walk of life.”
“Sounds like a dream, but you don’t.”
“I don’t what?”
Wrapping the ends of the sub sandwich in the paper, she tucks it into the bag, and replies, “All those things are amazing, but they don’t sound like your dream.”
“I didn’t set out to get famous.”
“What did you set out to do?”
“Get chicks,” I reply, chuckling.
She laughs, bringing her knees to her chest. “That worked out.”
“It sure did.”
Resting her chin on her knees, she doodles in the sand, but her eyes stay on mine. “Would you ever move back to La Jolla?”
I look out at the horizon, tossing around that question a few times in my head. “Probably not. Our producers, the record label, our manager, and team are all here. So are my cousins and their families.”
“What about your parents?”
Chuckling, I think about a text my dad sent yesterday from . . . I don’t know where they are. “They travel a lot. They always did. I think I spent more time at Laird and Nikki’s house than I did at my own growing up.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, the words grave in her tone.
“Nothing to be sorry about. They were good parents. We get along well. They just had big careers that took them away a lot.” Tempted by her, I drag my finger through the sand. “Grounding is a good word,” I add as if it’s part of our conversation.
She smiles, facing me as if I’m more interesting than that incredible ocean in front of us. “We should get you to the beach more.”
When I end up touching Cat’s hand, I almost move mine away. I look down instead. “We should.” I’ll be a “we” with her any day.
Sliding my gaze from our fingers to her leg, I weave my way over the curve of her hip and higher to her chest. Still traveling north on her body, her lips make me lick mine, then I reach those eyes that encourage me to dig for treasure, the gold shining in the sunlight.
A heavy sigh is expelled on the launch of her saying, “I should go.” She’s lifting to her feet and dusting the sand from her jeans before I have a say in the matter.
I’m not sure what just happened, but she’s right. I’m not looking for another friend, and she’s not looking for a distraction. I stand, wiping the sand from my jeans, then grab the trash. It’s tempting to ask all the questions populating my mind.
Why the rush?
Other plans?
Can I see you again?
Keep your mouth shut, Faris.
We walk to the parking lot, and I dump the trash in the bin. Producing her car key, I hold it in the air. “Thanks for the car.”
“Anytime.” When she smiles again, it’s as if there’s more she wants to say or time she’d like to burn with me. Or maybe I’m reading her all wrong. She takes the keys and looks down at them in her hand, fidgeting through the few on the ring. “I can give you a ride home.” Looking back up, she adds, “I don’t mind.”
“The offer is enticing, but?—”
“I’m happy to give you a ride.” She cuts through two cars to get to hers, then turns back, still moving to her car. “Unless you’re worried that I’m going to stalk you.” Shrugging with her arms out to the sides, she laughs. “You willing to take the risk?” She’s damn cute and even more enticing. Stopping in the middle of the parking lot, she huffs. “I double-dog dare you, Shane Faris.”
I start walking because I never could pass up a dare. “Since you double-dog dared me . . .”