Chapter 23
Chapter twenty-three
Roman
If Christmas is my favourite day of the year, New Year’s Eve is the one I dread the most. The years I get Liam to leave me alone on the night are okay.
But ones like today, where I have to go out, be surrounded by people who claim they love me, but don’t even know me and then smile until my cheeks ache, they suck.
I look down at the outfit I picked out. Tight black jeans, paired with a white tank top that’s cut into slits over my chest and covered in sequins.
My hair is damp, and I ruffle a hand through it until it sticks up in all directions, giving me that ‘just got out of bed look.’ My eyeliner is thick and dark, and I’ve applied a dash of white glittery shadow above my eyelids and a swipe of gloss over my lips.
There’s an hour before I need to meet Liam, so I throw on Garrett’s flannel shirt and sit on my bed, my legs crossed beneath me.
I pick up the polaroid from my side table, tracing a finger over the smiling man in the photo.
I wasn’t expecting to hear from him – not yet – given he wasn’t set to leave the cottage until tomorrow – but that doesn’t prevent me checking my phone constantly, in the hope he missed me enough to stroll into the village to send me a message.
My gut twists, my mind working overtime to convince me that he’s not going to call.
Lying back on my bed, I rest the photo on my chest and stare up at the ceiling. Outside, a siren pierces the dark, and a dog barks. The sounds I used to find comfort in, now unwelcome.
My production team has been setting up for a video shoot next week, not that I take much notice of it – my room is the only place in this house that feels remotely like mine. And even with my weighted blanket and Garrett’s flannel, it still isn’t my home.
When I lay awake last night, my body begging to be held by more than the darkness wrapping around me, I realised I haven’t had a home since my mother died.
That is, until the cottage. Until a sexy writer with epic kitchen skills and a hug that could heal all my fractured pieces, walked into my life clad only in drips of water and a towel around his waist.
I chuckle, thinking back to our first meeting and to how I thought Liam had paid him to be there with me!
He’ll call.
Clicking on my phone, I find his author page on a popular review site.
His books have thousands of reviews, some of them nasty as fuck – seems we have that in common – but most loving DI Jack Sniper and the author himself.
Scrolling down, I find the entry of his next release.
Smiling, I give it one star, and write a message I hope he will see.
“You look hot, Supernova,” Spencer says, leaning in to kiss my cheek.
His cologne tickles my nostrils and I pull away as quickly as I can without coming off rude.
He’s dressed in a navy suit, his five o’clock shadow purposeful and his hair set in a wave to the side.
His eyes sparkle – one blue, the other green – and the bar through his tongue glints when he flicks it between his lips.
I bet he spent hours and thousands of pounds on his outfit.
Good looks don’t help the fact that he’s a dick.
One I have to keep close because ‘it’s good for business’, as Liam says. Though I note my best friend keeps his distance when Spencer is around.
“Thanks,” I say, scanning the packed night club.
The entry is on a higher level, and over the railings, there’s a dancefloor a level below, heaving with gyrating bodies.
Spencer wraps a hand around my wrist, and leads me to a back area, cordoned off with red velvet ropes on golden poles.
The tables are black marble, sparkling beneath the twinkling lights, and there’s a mix of single seats and long leather sofas arranged around the space.
A handful of people I recognise mingle around the VIP area, some sipping on champagne, others with pints of beer in hand.
Liam appears minutes later, scowling when Spencer knocks his shoulder into my friend. He hands me a flute of bubbly, rescuing me from Spencer’s grip and leading us to a long sofa.
“How long do I need to play buddy-buddy with the guy?” I ask, leaning into Liam’s ear so he can hear over the music.
“His dad has an in with an up-and-coming trainers brand. Spencer says he can get you a sponsorship deal, so we play nice as long as that takes.” The man in question eyes us from where he’s leaning against a tall bar table, talking to a guy dressed in dark jeans and transparent white shirt.
“Who is he talking to?” I ask, nodding my head towards the other guy. Liam follows my gaze, Spencer’s face tipping into a wicked grin when he spots my best friend looking his way. The guy next to him is gesturing with his hands while he speaks, oblivious that Spencer’s attention is elsewhere.
“Some guy from a magazine. I don’t know his tie to Spencer or why he’s here, but it’s no doubt to benefit the Parks in some way.”
A group moves towards us. I recognise the brunette in the middle of the crowd as Carly Tiffin. She has an extreme food channel called Trial by Tiffin. We’ve crossed paths a few times over the years since she made it big. Carly gives me a smile when she reaches me, and I stand, giving her a hug.
“Been a while, superstar,” she says. “I’m glad you didn’t tank after the ‘incident’.” She makes air quotes around the word. One day, we won’t talk about this anymore. Today is not that day.
“So am I. One hundred percent do not recommend throwing up on Santa,” I joke, with no real humor behind the words.
She chuckles, pats my arm, then gestures to the man next to her. “This is my brother, Tate.” He steps forward, shakes my hand, and leans closer, bringing his lips to my ear.
“I’m a big fan, Supernova.” He squeezes my hand, then drops it, straightening up to face me.
He is gorgeous. Freckles form a line over his nose, and even in the dimly lit room, I can see his eyes are a shocking blue.
He has thick muscular arms, on full display in a tank top and even meatier thighs in nicely fitting camo-style trousers.
Once upon a time, I’d have leaned into that subtle hint. Hell, he wouldn’t have stood a chance.
But now? Now, I feel nothing towards him. No spark. No desire to flirt or to have him crowd me up against a bathroom stall.
Supernova is well and truly fucked. In love and off the market.
If Garrett doesn’t call, I am going to go all needy stalker fan until I get hold of him.
He’ll call because we had something. I know we did.
Never once did he make me feel like I was too much, too clingy, too needy.
He only made me feel cherished. Wanted. Loved.
He’ll call. I know he will.
“Roman!” Spencer shouts my name as he saunters closer.
“Want to dance?” He addresses me, but his eyes are set on Liam, who is conveniently looking elsewhere.
Standing next to me, Carly says she’d love to, and the magazine guy, sticking close to Spencer’s side, nods.
Spencer takes out his phone and turns it towards himself.
“It’s New Year’s Eve, motherfuckers!” he shouts at the camera.
“And I have some of the best people here with me.” He rotates his phone.
“Say hello, Supernova.” I paste on my filming face and wave.
He swings the camera to Carly and her brother.
Once he’s done, he motions to a guy dressed in a black suit, standing sentry at the back of the room.
Thrusting his hand at the guy, he says, “Live stream. Get my good side. Let’s go. ”
Fuck my life. Can I go home yet?
Spencer leads the way, with magazine guy and Carly on his heels.
Reluctantly, I follow them towards the stairs, passing the entrance to the club.
I shiver under a tingling sensation, like someone is watching me.
Spinning around, my breath catches and my heart stumbles when my eyes land on the man of my dreams.
When our eyes meet, his entire face lights up, his eyes crinkling with the magnitude of his smile.
He’s a distance away, people passing in front of us, and I push past them, making my way closer.
“Garrett?” a voice says loudly over my shoulder. I spin around to find magazine guy, his mouth open, his eyes soaking in the man in front of us, dressed in a beautifully tailored black suit, with a purple tartan shirt beneath. In his hands, he’s holding a box of English Breakfast tea.
Garrett’s eyes drift from mine, a frown marring his handsome face when he spots the other guy who appears to know him.
“What are you doing here?” Magazine guy waves a hand around the room. “This is so not your kind of place.” He wrinkles his nose, the action setting off a bolt of anger in my blood. I can hazard a guess who he is and I don’t like him one bit.
“He’s here for me,” I say loudly, my heart beating hard and fast.
“You?” Magazine guy – Nico – says. “No offense, Supernova, but what would you want with him? You’re you –” he waves a hand at me. “And he’s –”
“Mine.” The word is out of my mouth the second I step into Garrett’s space. Nico babbling shit I don’t care about next to me. “Hey, sexy lumberjack. What you got there?”
He looks down at his hands before meeting my eyes.
“I had this entire speech prepared and now it seems silly.” He shrugs.
“I want to hear it. I dare you.” Garrett’s eyes break away from mine, darting over my shoulder to where I am certain there is a crowd gathered and potentially a live stream happening.
“Look at me, Gare. Tell me. Please.”
He sucks in a breath, his chest rising beneath his suit jacket. Then he blows it out.
“I know we haven’t known each other long, but you’ve changed my life, Roman. You make me happier than I ever thought possible.” Garrett lifts the box of tea. “I want to drink breakfast tea with you every morning for the rest of our lives.”
He blurs in front of me as tears well in my eyes.
“I love you,” I blurt before he has a chance to say it first. I press my lips to his, stealing a kiss I have longed for for days. “You don’t even like tea.”
He snorts before kissing me again.
“No. But I love you.”