Chapter 23
"Gold Dust Woman," Fleetwood Mac
Victoria
My phone's ringtone woke us up. I rolled away from Eric's warmth, heart lifting at the name on the screen.
“That's my cue to shower without a handsy redhead groping me,” Eric teased, stretching his arm overhead. “Unless you want me to wait so you can join me?”
I shoved him playfully as he strolled into the bathroom. He pulled off his shirt to reveal his muscular back, surprisingly devoid of tattoos. I tore my attention away before he removed his pants.
“Congratulations, you get a new sister. Might balance out your family.”
“Doubtful. We’ll bring Grace down with us,” said Nick Clarke. Most people recognized his stage name, Dominic Martin, but I'd known him long before his big break. “Calling to make sure you’re ok.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I snapped, forgetting Nick's front-row seat to my relationship with his brother, before everything fell apart.
Before he landed the role of Apollo in the critically acclaimed TV drama The Twelve, Nick slept in our spare room for two summers while he performed at the San Jose Shakespeare Festival.
The three of us climbed up onto the roof deck of our building overlooking Palo Alto, drinking Fort Point Kolsch and feeling the soft summer breeze off the Bay.
When Nick had gotten his big break seven years ago, I’d helped him navigate life in the spotlight, finding ways to guard his privacy …
including negotiating the purchase of his mansion in Hollywood Hills.
The house had an entire secure wing that was off-limits to party guests, which the tabloids speculated was a sex dungeon.
I counted myself honored to be among the handful of people who knew what was really behind that famous door.
Not even his brother knew.
Alexander had been so overwhelmed with college frat brothers and teammates who crawled out of the woodwork to gain access to fame that he’d shut Nick out, wanting to build his own reputation outside his brother’s shadow.
For years I’d encouraged him to call Nick, but he’d refused.
Grace somehow convinced Alexander to mend the rift in less than a month.
“It was weird enough to be his business partner, but asking you to be his groomswoman? That seems cruel.”
Oh my god. I’d been hoping that was part of some fever dream … but now that Nick said it, dread pooled in my gut again, triggering a new round of nausea.
I’d agreed to stand beside him while he pledged his life to somebody else.
Not only that. There would be parties. Bridal showers. Rehearsal dinners.
And I’d have the face them all alone.
“If you’re dreading it,” Nick said, taking my silence for discomfort, “you won’t be the only one with lingering feelings for an ex in the wedding party.”
I startled out of my pity party to remember the group. Alexander asked me and Nick. Grace asked her brothers, Mallory, and … “Kate?”
“Alex doesn’t know that we were ever together. It was that summer in New York, before I got The Twelve.”
“The girl who blew us off for dinner? But you were so …” heartbroken, I almost reminisced aloud before I stilled my tongue.
When he moved back to LA to start filming, we flew down to celebrate.
“Dude, you’re going to get so much pussy,” Alexander had told him. Nick met my eyes apologetically for his brother’s language. “What? It’s true! Chicks will throw themselves at him. He’ll get over that summer fling in no time.”
Nick’s eyes had shuttered with pain. When Alexander hit the bathroom, I reached for Nick’s arm. “She broke your heart, huh?”
“I asked her to come with me, but … ” his thumb rubbed the condensation off his glass.
My heart clenched at the tears welling in Nick’s eyes. “He’s right, you know. Women will want Dominic Martin, the movie star. It’s going to be hard to find somebody who sees the real Nick underneath.”
Nick’s blue eyes brimmed with misery, and I wanted to destroy the woman who hurt him. “Want me to have her killed?”
That lightened his mood as he rubbed his neck. “Nah, she probably made the right call. She’s an incredible artist, and a New Yorker through and through. She’ll make her own name for herself.”
Seven years later, he still had lingering feelings.
And soon he would have to see her again.
At his brother’s wedding, with her fiancé at her side.
My problem-solving gears turned. “Is this your way of volunteering to be my wedding date?”
He laughed, a mirthful roar. “As much as I’d love to see Alex’s face, and as gorgeous as you’d look … you wouldn’t want to be my date.”
“Why the hell not?” Who wouldn’t want People’s Sexiest Man Alive as their date? Hell, Nick might be the only person Beverly wouldn’t accuse of being a gold digger.
“For seven years, I’ve been in the public spotlight without a girlfriend. I can’t sneeze near a woman without the tabloids speculating on whether she’s carrying my illegitimate baby.”
“You remember who my grandfather is? I grew up with that scrutiny.”
“And you left to start over,” he reminded me. “Page Six paparazzi are a different breed from Bloomsberg reporters. They’d dig through your trash for a scandal.”
Eric stepped into my bedroom, wet hair dripping onto shoulders, the V of his torso pointing to what lived below the towel slung low along his hips. My pulse quickened.
“So do you finally agree with me? You were way too good for my brother.”
“Yes, I finally agree.” I laughed, remembering how Nick used to drive Alexander crazy by teasing that I’d chosen the wrong brother and he’d be ready when I came to my senses.
Eric’s gaze lifted to my face as I covered my mouth. I forced my eyelids closed … until they flickered back open again of their own volition, locking on the water drops on his obliques.
“You know, it might help to see her happy,” I said to Nick inattentively, watching Eric’s abs ripple as he tilted side-to-side to towel dry his hair.
His grip loosened on his towel, sliding an inch lower and revealing a dark happy trail.
I licked my lips to keep talking. “It was hard at first, seeing Alexander’s new life.
But watching it up close is helping me move on. ”
Eric turned around to drop his towel, revealing a perfect ass and sculpted thighs. My mouth went dry. As he pulled on his boxers, I reached for the Gatorade he’d left on my nightstand.
Nick sounded skeptical. “You’re really ok? Last time we talked you seemed pretty jaded.”
Eric tilted his head to check in as he tied back his wild mane of wet hair. I nodded that I was ok, and he pulled on workout shorts before heading into the kitchen, leaving his shirt on my dresser.
“A lot can change in a few months. Now we can focus on being business partners. And friends.”
My shorthand message clicked. I picked up the scrap of paper again.
Cz f~ Ac + Nc heart.
Cruz is your friend, like Alex and Nick. I rubbed my thumb over the heart. “Maybe you and Kate can be friends too.”
“Yeah,” he said, voice hoarse. “Maybe.”
The sizzling scent of garlic and chili wafted in from the kitchen, awakening tastebuds that didn’t churn at the smell.
“I’m sorry Nick, but I’ve got to go.” I decided to give him more reassurance that I was over Alexander by putting on a haughty elitist tone. “My gentleman caller from last night is making me breakfast.”
He let out a stunned laugh. “Glad you’re ok.”
“Better than I realized,” I said, hanging up the phone.
I took a quick trip to the bathroom to pee and wash my face. I thought about putting on foundation and mascara—Beverly always criticized my freckles, stockpiling concealer to cover them—but he’d already seen my bare skin and hadn’t run screaming.
Through the wall, his laughter rumbled, making me realize just how quiet this condo was with just me and Jurisprudence.
Then I heard a woman's voice, and my chest tightened. Who was that? Was he making plans to see somebody tonight? Why did I care?
I strained to eavesdrop, but couldn't understand … so I padded out on the balls of my feet, lingered in the hallway.
"Tengo chipotle enlatado," he said. Given all the nicknames he handed out I’d assumed he spoke Spanish, but the way it rolled off his tongue made desire pool in my belly. He stood at my range, flipping a spatula. The woman’s reply was so rapid that I couldn't translate, but I thought I heard the word for ‘garlic.’ And maybe 'girl. '
I glanced into the living room, not surprised to see blankets folded over the cushions. Eric slept there last night. He got up, fed my cat, worked out, and assembled my furniture … all while I was a sloppy mess.
At my feet, Jurisprudence rubbed against my legs, meowing a loud request to be picked up.
Eric's head snapped in my direction, a warm smile greeting me.
"Tengo que colgar, ya se despertó." He turned off speakerphone, lifting the phone to his ear as I scooped up my cat, burying my face in her fur.
"Luego te cuento. Sí, no voy a escatimar en la salsa.
" He twisted his finger with an eye roll, indicating he was trying to wrap up. "Yo también te quiero, Mamá."
I loosened my hold on the cat as I realized he'd been talking to his mom. He hung up, turning back to the stovetop. “Feeling better?”
“So much better, thanks,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral instead of lusty breathlessness for the half-naked man in my kitchen. “That was Alexander’s brother Nick, his Best Man, who helped me fill in gaps from last night. He asked me to be his groomswoman.”
Eric leaned against the countertop, arms crossed. “Is that why you were so upset? Alex didn’t take it well when you told him to fuck off?”
“No, actually, I agreed.” I swallowed, trying to infuse my voice with the confidence I wanted to feel. “He’s my best friend.”
“Your best friend,” he said, those skeptical brown eyes scanning mine.
“Maybe you and I can be friends too?”
“I’d like that,” he said, cracking an egg in the frying pan. “Take a seat.”
I perched on a bar stool as he moved effortlessly around my kitchen—the first time it had been used since I moved in—trying not to stare at all his tattoos and shifting muscles. “What are you making?”
“Chilaquiles, world’s best hangover cure. Now that you’re keeping down toast, you need something salty and greasy.”
“Gluten-free?”
“Nary a glute in sight. It’s fried corn tortillas in salsa roja,” he said. "My mom was disappointed I didn't have guajillo chile, it won't be nearly as good as hers."
"You talk to her a lot?"
"Almost every day," he said, rubbing his neck like he was embarrassed. "We've always been close, but when I enlisted and she couldn't get in touch with me for months at a time, that was hard on her. So now that I can, I try to check in a few times a week, especially to get her cooking advice."
I nodded, my stomach tightening. Dad and I talked every month or two. When I was in business school we’d discuss what I was studying, but when I decided to go into law, we'd grown apart even more. Now all we had in common was real estate.
Eric plated the mouthwatering food, sliding it across the island, and I couldn’t restrain my moan of pleasure. Delighted at my enthusiastic response, he reached across the island to steal a bite off my fork. “So since we’re friends now, can we run together?”
“You want to run with me?” I shifted. I didn’t want him to watch me struggle to keep up with him.
He served himself a plate and sat on the next bar stool. “Even with those newfound hair-pulling self-defense skills, I worry about you running alone every morning.”
When was the last time somebody worried about me, instead of me worrying about … well, everything? “When?”
“I’m usually leaving when you come in.” Had he been clocking my patterns? Should I have felt alarmed? Because I wasn’t. I liked knowing that someone in my building kept tabs in case I didn’t come home. “What if I meet you in the lobby and you run me to my class?”
When I took another bite to consider his offer, he raised the stakes. “You could stay for 7am boot camp and still make it to work by nine.”
My head shook on its own. It would be bad enough that Eric would see me sweat, but doing it in front of that many people? Hard pass.
“I’ll give you the friend and family discount."
“Don’t. No more friends and family discounts, because you’re friends with everybody. I can afford to pay you full price, so you’ll take my money.”
A negotiation, finally. “I’m not going to your classes, but I’ll pay your VIP rates for private running coaching.”
“I don’t have VIP rates.”
“You do now,” I said. “This city is full of people who want exclusivity. Your reputation is established, time to reap the benefits.”
He opened his mouth, clearly ready to fight back, when a loud knock came at the door.
”You expecting somebody?” he asked, wiping his mouth with a paper towel.
I shook my head. “Does anybody know you’re here?”
“Mrs. Nupp from 203 saw us come in last night.”
”That won’t cause a problem with your ‘no sex with tenants’ policy?”
“She saw you stumbling, no way would she think that.” He snorted and I winced. “But she has issues with her sink, mostly after her grandson’s visit. I’ve pulled more Batman figurines out of her disposal…”
The knock came again, and he stood and swung open the door.
A familiar high-pitched voice hollered, “Cruz, what are you doing here?”
And then I ran.