CHAPTER 12 ALEXIS
I nearly left when I saw him with the other girl.
It was a clear reminder that this guy is not for me.
I had to sneak out of my hotel to begin with. I didn’t want Brooks knowing where I was going. He’d report back to my dad, who would tell me what a terrible idea this is…and I know it is.
But I had to see him.
I had to know if the tingles were a one-time deal or if they’re actual butterflies flying around my chest that all happen to be named Danny.
I pay Gregory—my father doesn’t. He helped me choose Gregory, but his paycheck comes from me, which means his allegiance is to me.
He’s the one person in the entire world I can trust with my secrets, and that’s why I asked him to take me here. He’s the one person who does what I ask without saying a word about it to anybody.
I know he won’t tell Brooks. I know he’ll do whatever he can to protect me.
And that’s why I had Danny slip out front and give him some sausage and waffles—his favorite.
I suppose walking away after seeing a woman on Danny’s front porch this morning would’ve been hypocritical given my…situation with Brooks, something I’m still not quite ready to confess to him.
The doorbell rings, and he gets up to answer it. He walks in carrying a white box, and he sets it in front of me.
I open it, and I burst out laughing when I spot six chocolate long johns and six cinnamon sugar donuts. “You got me donuts?”
“Fuck yeah I did. If my brunch date wants donuts, my brunch date gets donuts.”
I can’t help but wonder whether the waitress got the same treatment. Somehow I doubt it.
And it doesn’t pass me by that he calls me his date, even if it’s in jest.
Somehow I think I’m already developing some damn strong feelings for him. A man who gets me bacon and donuts is a man I can get on board with.
And sure enough, those butterflies and tingles are back in full force.
I think I want to tell him the truth about Brooks—maybe before I leave today.
“What about you? What’s your full name?” I ask. The world knows him as Danny Brewer, but I somehow doubt that’s his given name.
“Daniel James Brewer. My mom and my sister both call me DJ, but nobody else in the world does.”
“Sort of like how Carrie died with my mother,” I say softly.
I’m surprised at how open I’m being, but I’m also surprised how easy it is to talk to him. We’re both trying to keep it light, but somehow we both keep shifting into more meaningful conversations.
And it just makes me wonder…is this it? Is he my person?
It’s not like I’ve been on some mad search to find the one who is. Frankly, I haven’t had the time. But what if I never have to search because he’s right in front of me?
What would that do to pop princess Alexis Bodega?
Do I even care?
Of course I do. For the next two years, I need to keep my eye on the prize.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun along the way.
“Are you close with your father?” he asks.
I clear my throat. “Yes and no. He still treats me like I’m sixteen, and he’d have an aneurysm over me being here with you if he knew, but he also makes sure I’m well protected and he’s the entire reason I am where I am today.”
“You don’t mean here at my place,” he says dryly.
“No,” I say with a light laugh. “I mean in my career. The albums, the tours, the roles. None of it would be possible without him.”
“You don’t think you could’ve found another agent?” he asks.
I shrug. “Maybe. But why would I when my own father is one of Hollywood’s most sought after agents? He learned what he needed to in order to help me reach my dreams.”
“What dreams?” he presses.
I think back over my dreams throughout the years.
“Well, I wanted to put out an album. That dream grew, and now I’ve put out five so far.
The next goal was a tour. That dream grew, and I wanted to gross two hundred million on my last tour.
I grossed two fifty. I wanted to get into acting, and my father scored me a few roles on television shows.
I dreamed bigger, and I snagged my first starring role in a movie set to film when I get back from my tour this winter. ”
“Damn, girl.” His brows rise and he lets out a low whistle, and something about the appreciation in his tone, the low rasp of his voice, and the way he’s looking at me all mix together to give me the sort of feeling that’s truly unique to him.
It’s better than the awards and the accolades, better than being on stage in front of tens of thousands of singing fans. Better than reaching my dreams.
My cheeks turn red.
“What do you do to celebrate when you’ve hit a dream?”
I lift a shoulder as I contemplate that. “Raise a glass of champagne and set the next goal.”
He chuckles and shakes his head a little with a smirk. “Hasn’t anybody ever shown you how to celebrate?”
I laugh. “No. Not really. I’m America’s sweetheart, remember? Have you ever seen a photo in the tabloids of me drunk?”
He shakes his head.
“That’s because they don’t exist. I have a keeper who watches over me, and the second the tipsy levels up, I’m out.”
His jaw drops. “You have a keeper? You don’t get to have any fun?”
I press my lips together. I guess I’ve never really thought of it that way.
It all goes back to my agreement that I would live my life a certain way, and that includes curating the way I act publicly.
“I wouldn’t say I never get to have any fun.
I just have to do it behind closed doors, and nobody can have a camera for evidence. ”
“But that sucks. I guess I get it, though. I’m in the headlines more often than I care to be.”
I laugh. “Like the one about getting caught with your pants down?”
One side of his mouth curls up a little sheepishly. “You saw that?”
I raise my brows pointedly, and he twists his lips a little as he chews a little nervously on the inside of his lip.
“That was…a mistake, obviously, but I honestly wasn’t really phased by it until you brought it up,” he admits, and something about the admission hits me right in the chest.
He didn’t care about the embarrassment until I called him out.
Do I really have that much power over him? Already?
He bought me breakfast and ordered one of everything to ensure he got me what I wanted.
He ordered donuts on the fly when I merely mentioned that I liked donuts.
He’s doing everything he can to impress me…and I’m definitely impressed.
I want to see him again. I don’t want this brunch to be a one-time deal.
But I’m about to leave for a tour with dates across the US and overseas, and when I get back, I’ll dive right into filming.
And he’s starting a baseball season that will see him traveling for the better part of the rest of the year, too.
So…where exactly do we go from here?
“I was, uh, pretty drunk that night, and I did some things I regret.”
I stare at him, a little surprised by his vulnerability.
“Like what?”
He clears his throat. “I, uh…” He ducks his head with embarrassment.
“It’s okay,” I say, holding up a hand. “You don’t have to tell me.”
He shakes his head. “It was a red flag moment when I knew I needed to change the way I was living my life.”
“Wasn’t this literally last week?”
He chuckles. “Yes. I woke up with someone whose name I couldn’t remember, and I couldn’t remember how I got home or what we’d done. I was celebrating my last few days of freedom before the season, I guess, but now I’ve pulled myself together. I’ve been on the straight and narrow ever since.”
I raise my brows at that.
On the one hand, I’m disgusted by the fact that he woke up not knowing what happened the night before with a woman whose name he couldn’t remember. On the other hand…something about knowing this guy knows how to party when I’ve lived such a sheltered life is refreshing and fun.
My phone dings with a text, interrupting the moment when I was about to ask him what being on the straight and narrow means, exactly.
I can’t ignore it even though my first instinct is to do exactly that. It could be any one of a thousand important messages.
Brooks: Where are you?
I don’t reply, but I also know that’s my signal that it’s time to go. I blow out a breath.
“Who’s that?” Danny asks.
I clear my throat. “My manager.” I glance up at him, and his eyes are on me. “I need to get going.”
“Damn,” he says, not hiding his disappointment as he pushes back his chair from the table and moves to a stand. “Take some food with you.”
I laugh. “I shouldn’t.” I glance down at the box of donuts. “Okay, maybe a donut or two.”
He closes up the box and hands the whole thing to me, and then we walk to the door.
“Thanks for a lovely morning,” I say quietly once we pause at his front door.
“Thanks for coming. I’d love to see you again.”
“One last show with Vail tonight, but I think you have a game?” I inflect my last word as if I’m asking a question.
“I do. No game tomorrow, but then we’re on the road for six games.” His eyes are on mine, and there’s something warm there, as if he’s not quite ready to let me go yet.
I’m not ready to go, either. “And I leave for tour in two weeks.” He just shared a little vulnerability with me. This is my chance to reciprocate. “Can you, uh, promise me something?” I ask.
He narrows his eyes at me. “What is it?”
“If I tell you something, do you promise it stays between us and you won’t tell a soul?”
He nods. “Of course.”
“Brooks…he’s just my manager.” It feels like a relief to let that truth out. “My dad thought it would be a good idea to let the world think we’re together, and I never put up a protest because he oversees my brand and my public image. But we’ve never been to—”
His three words overlap mine as they come out breathy and heady.
“Oh thank God,” he says, and then he grabs me into his arms and turns me so he has me pinned against his front door, silencing me as his eyes are hot on mine.
One of his arms is above me, perched on his front door, and his other hand is at my hip, where his fingertips dig in.
I draw in a shuddering breath as I feel his full length press against mine.
He’s solid. Firm. Hard.
Everywhere.
My breath catches in my throat as he pushes his hips to mine, and he leans down, his nose moving achingly slowly along mine. Butterflies take flight as my stomach does a little flip, and those tingles are back in full force as his lips move down and brush mine.
I lift my arms and wrap them around his waist, the donut box still in one hand, to let him know I want this, want him, and the brush of his lips firms as his mouth molds to mine for a few hot beats.
I pull on him as if I’m trying to pull him closer even though our bodies are already as close as they can be, but I want more.
I want all of him, and I wish I wasn’t out of time.
Before he intensifies the kiss to something more, he draws his mouth back from mine.
He’s sort of panting even though the entire kiss couldn’t have lasted more than five seconds, but I feel it, too. I feel breathless and overwhelmed by him.
I feel a way I’ve never felt before, and I’m not ready to give it up yet.
But my phone dings again, and I’m certain it’s Brooks interrupting another moment.
“When can I see you again?” he asks, his voice nearly desperate. He hasn’t let me go, and I haven’t let go of him, either.
“I—I don’t know,” I stutter. “But I know I need more of you.”
I know my cheeks are on fire with the admission, and truth be told, I may be twenty-eight, but I don’t have a lot of experience when it comes to this sort of thing.
And maybe he understands that without me needing to say it—just like he understands that my schedule is both busy and hectic because his is too.
He nods a little, and then he pulls me from the door and wraps his arms around me in the sort of embrace that makes me feel safe, secure, and warm while still delivering those tingles I’m not sure will ever go away in his presence. “Okay. I’ll be in touch.”
I nod, and then he lets me go.
An immediate chill falls over me, and I hate it. I want to be back in his safe arms.
He may be baseball’s bad boy, but he showed me this morning that he’s one of the good ones.
And I’m not ready to let go of this warm feeling quite yet.
“Bye, DJ,” I say softly.
“Bye, Carrie.”
My chest tightens and tears heat behind my eyes.
It feels like a scary goodbye since I’m not sure what this is or when we’ll get to see each other again.
But it also feels like the start of something new.