CHAPTER 11 DANNY
I don’t really have a stack of porn anymore. Everything’s online these days, from streaming sites to photos, and I don’t need the stack when I can just open up my favorite hub and select the first girl on girl video I find.
But still, I want everything to be perfect.
I place an order for brunch to be delivered at ten tomorrow morning from my favorite place, and since I have no idea what she likes, I go overboard. I’ll eat the leftovers. Brunch is the greatest meal ever invented, and I don’t want to fuck up by not having something she’d want.
I don’t sleep well.
I toss and turn most of the night, and when I do fall into a sleep, it’s fitful and riddled with the fairly recent image of my brother-in-law humping that woman on his couch.
It wasn’t just Anna’s close friend. It was also a colleague of Chris’s. They couldn’t get caught at the office, and he knew nobody would be home, so he took her there.
The thought still makes me sick to my stomach.
She was a fan. She recognized me. She was my sister’s friend.
It was a load of bullshit, and I’m still disappointed every single day that he did that to her. That her friend did that to her.
My sister is my polar opposite. She’s nurturing and kind.
She cares for her two children the way our mom cared for us.
She’s smart and artistic, a talent she uses in doing crafts with her kids and in painting window advertising for local kids’ establishments—anywhere from preschools to trampoline parks.
She didn’t deserve what Chris did to her. She always deserved better than him.
And the woman, the friend…I don’t even know her name, but in this scenario with Alexis, I can’t help but wonder whether that’s me.
I’m stepping into a situation I know nothing about other than the assumptions I’ve made based on body language, a quick search of the internet, and a few minor details.
I can’t get involved with her if she’s involved with him. It’s as simple as that.
But this is just a brunch between friends.
For now.
If I get the answers I’m looking for, maybe it can be something else.
The doorbell rings at three minutes to ten, and I figure it’s either her or the food.
And that’s why I’m shocked when I open the door and find Kelly standing on the other side of it.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
I shake my head. “I can’t. I have a guest coming over in a bit. Is there something you need?” I hang onto the side of the door, not sure how to get her out of here but definitely sure it’s a bad idea for her to be here.
What will Alexis think if she sees her?
What would Kelly do if she saw Alexis? Blurt it to the entire world?
I can’t have that. Alexis can’t have that.
It would make us a nonstarter. Over before we ever even had a chance.
“I just wanted to talk,” she says, and she sticks out her bottom lip like it’s hot when it just looks childish.
As she’s talking, a car pulls up along the street as if they’re looking for an address.
“I’m sorry. Another time, maybe, but I need you to go.” My eyes are on the car rather than on her. A driver gets out and starts grabbing a stack of trays out of the backseat.
She stares off at me a beat, and I’m not sure why she’s not just getting the fuck out, and then another car slows down in front of my place—this one with darkly tinted windows, and then it pulls into the driveway.
Oh shit.
It’s her.
Nerves rattle up my spine.
I wasn’t nervous until the car pulled into the driveway.
“I’ll call you soon, okay?” I scramble to say, and I literally get onto my front porch to give her a little push with a gentle hand on the small of her back to get her to go. She narrows her eyes at me a little before she turns and walks away.
Alexis doesn’t get out of the car until Kelly has pulled clear away—and until the food delivery person has left, too. Once the coast is completely clear, the driver’s side door opens and the gentleman that was sitting in the corner of her dressing room the other night emerges.
He opens the door to the backseat and helps to usher her out of the car. She’s wearing sunglasses and a hoodie, not that anyone is around here to spot her, but nobody would recognize her even if there was someone.
She rushes to my front door, and the man with her gives me the kind of look that says I better not fuck with her before he turns to head back to the car.
“Who’s that?” I ask as I shut the door behind her and she lowers her hoodie.
Holy fuck.
Alexis Bodega is standing in my front hall.
And she’s every bit as gorgeous in a hoodie and jeans as she was in that Vegas Heat dress at the stadium on opening day and in her sparkly dress last night.
I like the relaxed look. I like all the looks.
I want to see the naked look.
She looks like she’s more in her element as she pulls off her sunglasses before she pins me with a look. “I could ask you the same about the woman who just left.”
“She’s nobody.”
“Didn’t look like nobody as you pushed her out of here.” She purses her lips and offers a shrug.
Wait a minute…is she jealous?
That’s funny given the fact that we know nothing about one another.
I’m hoping to change that by the end of this brunch.
“I’ll tell you if you tell me what’s going on with that dude who follows you everywhere,” I counter.
“Oh, Gregory?” She angles her head toward the door. “He’s my personal security guard and driver.”
I shake my head. “Not him. The guy who was with you at the stadium. The one who brought you tea.”
“Brooks.”
“Your longtime partner who called you my love,” I say.
“He’s my manager.”
My brows rise. “Your manager? And your boyfriend?”
She clears her throat. “Can I ask you a question?”
“I think you just did.”
She rolls her eyes. “Are you going to invite me in or are we going to stand by your front door all morning?”
I chuckle and spread out my arms. “Mi casa su casa. Come on in.”
“It smells…nice in here,” she says, and my chest tightened there for a minute in between her pause as I wonder if she was about to tell me it smells like a locker room in here.
“Thanks. I have a cleaner who comes by every other week and she sprays some shit that makes it smell better than a locker room,” I admit.
She giggles. “I meant the bacon. I could smell it the second I walked through the door, and usually I only have bacon once a month…but I might make an exception this morning.”
“You only eat bacon once a month?” I ask, my brows dipping. “That’s some extreme dieting.”
“My father pays a lot for my personal trainer and my nutritionist, and I’m only allowed one slice of bacon on the fifteenth of the month to keep my sodium levels even. And don’t get me started on donuts. Please, please, please tell me you got donuts.”
“Donuts?” I echo. I think through everything I ordered.
Aside from the bacon, I have scrambled eggs, sausage, fruit, pancakes, waffles, quiche, smoked salmon, bagels, and yogurt.
The place I ordered from didn’t have donuts on the menu.
But if the lady wants donuts…then donuts the lady shall have.
“What kind of donuts?” I ask.
“My favorites are cinnamon sugar or chocolate long johns.”
The image of her stuffing a chocolate long john into that pretty mouth comes to mind, and I shift as my dick hardens.
“Does your driver-slash-security dude want some pancakes?” I ask as a way to get that image out of my head…or as a way to get my dick to calm down a little.
I lead her into the kitchen, and she spies the trays of food.
“Holy cannelloni,” she breathes. “How much food did you order?”
“Everything on the menu,” I say a little sheepishly.
Except fucking donuts.
I start pulling lids off the food, and then I open up one of the food delivery apps on my phone to place an order for donuts.
“What are you doing?” she asks, and I glance over at her.
“Nothing.” I slide my phone back into my pocket. “So, you were about to tell me about the boyfriend.”
She glances up at me as she piles the fruit onto her plate, and then she stacks a bunch of bacon beside it. “Was I? I thought you were going to tell me about your girlfriend.”
I chuckle. “She’s definitely not my girlfriend. She’s a waitress at a bar I frequent.”
“Who knows where you live?” she presses.
“We may have gotten together two or three times outside of the bar.” I shrug. “She wants more. I don’t.”
“Why not?”
I glance up from where I’m piling scrambled eggs onto my plate and my eyes meet hers. “That feels awfully deep for a brunch conversation with someone I just met.”
“Does it feel like we just met, though?” she asks softly.
No, it doesn’t. But admitting that could be dangerous—especially since she hasn’t exactly clarified whether the manager is also the boyfriend.
We both carry our plates over to the table, and I can’t help but note that we both took four pieces of bacon.
It’s insignificant, but it doesn’t feel that way.
Another insignificant thing that feels big is when she takes the chair beside mine. I always sit in the same seat at the round table, and she takes the one beside me. Close enough for my knee to bump into hers as I sit.
“Tell me about yourself, Alexis,” I say once we’re sitting and I’ve moved my knee even though I don’t really want to move my knee.
Little tingles rise up from the spot where we were just touching, and it’s weird, that feeling. I’m not sure I’ve ever been with a woman who incited it before.
She chuckles a little.
“What?” I ask.
She shakes her head a little. “No, nothing—it’s just…nobody has asked me that in a long time. Maybe ever. Everyone already seems to know me.”
“Same,” I concede, and maybe that’s just one more reason why we could be a good match.
She seems to get lost in that thought for a minute, and then she says, “I’m a twenty-eight-year-old singer and actress who loves donuts, bacon, and the beach. Dislikes include lettuce without dressing, packing, and sleeping without my own pillow. Now you go.”
“I’m also twenty-eight, but I’m a single baseball player who loves the three Bs: beer, bacon, and babes.” I shoot her a sly smile, and she rolls her eyes. “Dislikes include cheaters, managers, and security guards.”
She giggles at the last two, but she turns serious as she focuses on the first one. “Cheaters?”
“Another conversation that feels too heavy for brunch. Favorite color?”
“Red,” she says immediately. “You?”
“Blue.”
“Favorite movie?” she asks as if by some unspoken rule, it’s her turn to pose a getting to know you type question.
“Anything with Alexis Bodega in it. You?”
“Same.” She shoots me a smirk.
“Favorite baseball team?”
“I was raised a Giants fan but became partial to the Dodgers because of Cooper Noah, obviously, but now I’ll be cheering for the Heat,” she says.
“Because of Danny Brewer?”
“Because I’m from Vegas,” she counters, and I can’t help a laugh as I mock place my hand over my heart at the shot fired.
“Favorite singer?” she asks.
“Alexis Bodega.”
“I saw you singing,” she says quietly, and I can’t tell if she’s flirting or just pointing out a fact.
“I know every song,” I admit, as unashamed by admitting that fact to her as I was admitting it to Cooper last night. “Your voice dominates my pregame playlist.”
“I’m honored.” She seems nearly embarrassed at the thought.
“I’ve seen you live before, but last night…you were incredible. Genuinely.”
“Thank you.” She shoves another piece of pineapple into her mouth.
“I mean it.” I shrug.
“You were pretty dang incredible on the field on opening day, too.” She’s deflecting the attention from herself, and even though this woman is a fucking star in every sense of the word, I get the sense that she doesn’t believe it. Or maybe she thinks she doesn’t deserve it.
I wish I could show her how incredible she really is…and I also wish I could get to know more about the woman behind the music.
“How long have you been doing this?” I ask even though I know the answer because I watched some Netflix documentary on her last tour when it came out last year.
“My dad became my agent when I was sixteen,” she says. “My first album was released when I was seventeen, so twelve years since the dream began, eleven since my first album dropped. What about you and baseball?”
“I was forced into t-ball when I was five, but I wasn’t ready and I didn’t like it.
My parents got divorced when I was seven, and my mom was busy raising two kids all on her own so I didn’t get the chance to play anything really until junior high.
I was eleven when I picked up a bat again, and by the time I got to high school, I knocked the ball out of the park as a freshman at tryouts.
” I shrug at the end and shove a piece of bacon into my mouth.
“I’m sorry about your parents’ divorce. That must’ve been really hard on you at such a young age,” she says, and nobody ever really acknowledges that.
“It was hard. My sister—Anna, she’s two years older than me, and it was tough on her, too. But I was the one who walked in on…” I stop short and shake my head. “Never mind. This is supposed to be a lighthearted brunch. Do you have any siblings?”
She shakes her head, and I knew that from the documentary. “Nope. My parents had me, and they discovered my mom’s cancer on an ultrasound when she was pregnant with me. She fought it for nearly ten years, but she passed a couple weeks before I turned ten.”
“Oh, Jesus,” I murmur, setting my bacon down and reaching over to squeeze her hand gently. “I’m so sorry.”
She stares down at where my skin touches hers, and I feel the spark. I feel the connection. I feel the heat.
I pull my hand away.
I still don’t know what’s going on with her manager, and I can’t touch her like that until I do.
It’s too dangerous.
“Thanks. I’m actually named after her,” she says out of nowhere, as if she’s trying to break the spell that came over us for a minute.
I pick my bacon up again. “Her name was Alexis?”
She shakes her head. “That’s my middle name. My dad thought Alexis Bodega had a better stage ring to it than Caroline Bodega.”
“Your name is Caroline?”
She chuckles as she nods. “My real first name.”
“As in Sweet Caroline?”
“More like Carrie by Europe.”
“Huh. Carrie,” I say, and I study her. She looks every inch Alexis, but that’s because it’s how I know her. It’s how the world knows her. And now I feel like I know a part of her that few others do. There’s something pretty damn special about that feeling. “It’s a beautiful name.”
She ducks her head a little, and I’m finding she has a hard time taking a compliment.
I’d think someone like her is used to them—both the compliments and the critiques. She must have a damn thick skin to be in the two industries she chose.
Or maybe she doesn’t, and she’s showing me her vulnerable side.
Whatever it is, I find myself getting more and more intrigued by Caroline Alexis Bodega by the second.