Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Hilary
Okay, so I’ve been in hiding.
Not, like, witness protection levels.
But close.
My phone has been buzzing nonstop, and I’ve been ignoring it like it personally offended me.
First, Eric.
Because of course.
A string of texts that start off weirdly pathetic.
Eric
I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that
And then take a sharp turn into full-blown male ego meltdown.
Eric
You’re going to regret this.
You’ll come crawling back.
You’re not going to find better than me.
Yeah. Hold your breath, buddy.
Really.
Go ahead, I dare you.
Instant block. I mean, I should have done that years ago. But Eric’s insanity isn’t what’s really been on my mind.
I’m thinking more about him.
And yes, there’ve been a couple of calls.
From David.
And also yes, I’ve been ignoring those too.
Because I can’t.
I literally cannot stop thinking about the last time I saw him.
That look in his eyes.
That completely over-the-top, possessive, alpha-male energy.
You know the kind.
The who the hell does this man think he is and why is it working on me kind.
That unhinged, protective, what-the-actual-hell-was-that moment when he stepped between me and Eric like he’d already decided something.
About me.
About us.
Which is ridiculous. Absolutely, completely, one hundred percent ridiculous.
He couldn’t have meant it.
I know that.
The logical, spreadsheet-loving, color-coded section of my brain is very clear on this.
He got caught up in the moment.
Adrenaline.
Testosterone.
Hero complex.
Whatever.
That kiss?
Not real.
A fluke.
A chemically enhanced lapse in judgment.
On his part.
Because let’s be honest here—he doesn’t feel that way about you, Larry.
Why would he?
He’s David aka DJ Mars.
Global superstar.
Women literally throw themselves at him.
Tall, thin, model-pretty women who probably wake up looking like they walked off a runway and think carbs are a personality flaw.
And me?
I run a bookstore.
I eat cookies for breakfast when no one’s watching.
I alphabetize things for fun.
The most scandalous thing about me is my Kindle history.
So yeah. If he is interested?
It’s not for anything real.
It’s for sex.
A fun little detour in Small Town, USA, before he goes back to his actual life.
And I am not—not—signing up to be someone’s temporary entertainment.
Even if that someone kisses like fornication is his motherhumping job.
Nope. Not going there.
Except in my head, I totally go there.
Because that kiss?
Holy hell.
It replays in my head at the most inconvenient times.
Like when I’m brushing my teeth.
Or trying to sleep.
Or attempting—very unsuccessfully—to be a functioning member of society.
My entire body reacts.
Every.
Single.
Time.
Which is honestly rude.
Like, excuse me, brain?
We had a plan.
We were ignoring him.
We were being mature.
We were making good life choices.
And instead, you’re over here like, “Remember when he touched your waist? Remember how close he was? How good he tasted? Remember how you melted like a complete idiot?”
I’m a traitor to myself!
An absolute traitor.
So yeah.
Avoidance.
That’s where I’m at.
Because if I see him again?
There is a very real chance I will forget every single one of these very logical, very necessary thoughts and do something incredibly stupid.
Like believe in magic.
And we all know how that ends.
Right?
Right.
So, let’s do a reality check.
Fact: I have a serious crush on David—aka DJ Mars—global superstar, apparently also secret small-town menace.
Fact: he is wildly, astronomically, insanely out of my league.
Also fact: if I see him again, there is a non-zero chance I might actually jump him.
So yeah. Avoidance has been my strategy.
For the last three days, Maribel has opened, worked, and closed the shop while I’ve been holed up in my apartment like some kind of emotionally compromised goblin.
Very dignified.
Very mature.
My phone buzzes again.
I groan and flip it over.
Then pause.
Adrianna.
Oh.
Right.
I’ve been avoiding her too.
Oops.
Another text comes through immediately.
Ad
Pick up the damn phone, Larry, or I’m sending Nate over there to drag you out.
I snort.
She’s always bossy. But pregnancy has taken it to Olympic levels.
I hit call before she can escalate.
“It’s about damn time, woman!” she screeches the second she picks up.
“What? What is it? Are you okay? Is it the baby?”
My brain immediately jumps to worst-case scenario because apparently I am now that person.
“No! I’m fine,” she says quickly. “But listen—Bella just got an offer she can’t pass up.”
My whole face lights up.
“A singing offer?”
“Yes!” she practically squeals. “Isn’t it amazing?”
“It’s incredible,” I breathe, already smiling.
Bella deserves this.
God, she deserves this.
Adrianna continues, words tumbling over each other.
“She needs to go into the city for meetings and studio time. It doesn’t make sense to commute every day cause that’s like six hours round trip, and I’ve just been put on bedrest because apparently my giant rockstar husband makes super-sized babies, and so I was wondering if you—”
“Don’t even finish that sentence,” I cut in. “Of course I’ll go.”
There’s no hesitation.
No question.
For Ad? For Bella? I will always show up.
“Thank you,” Adrianna says, relief softening her voice. “Seriously.”
“Please,” I wave it off even though she can’t see me. “I get a weekend in New York out of this? I’m the one winning.”
“Uh-huh,” she says in a tone that immediately makes me suspicious.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That didn’t sound like nothing.”
“Just, um, the car is coming to get you in an hour. Call me later,” she says quickly. “Love you!”
“Ad—”
She hangs up.
I stare at my phone.
“That was weird.”
I pack and call Maribel to make sure she can handle the shop.
Then I wait, still wondering about Adrianna’s specific brand of crazy and figuring it’s just a side effect of pregnancy hormones which is how, an hour later, I find myself climbing into the back of a sleek, blacked-out limo with a weekend bag and zero idea that my life is about to be personally attacked.
Bella is already inside, practically vibrating with excitement.
“Oh my God, Larry, I can’t believe this is happening—like, actual studio time? In New York? Do you think I should wear the green top or the black one? Because the green one makes my eyes pop but the black one is more—”
She stops.
Because I’ve stopped.
Because I haven’t moved past the door.
Because—he’s sitting across from her.
David.
Because of course, he is.
Because apparently the universe woke up today and chose chaos.
He looks up.
Those dark eyes lock onto mine.
And there it is.
That same awareness.
That same pull.
That same oh no.
“Hello, Sunshine,” he says, like we didn’t just almost combust in the back room of my shop three days ago.
My brain short-circuits.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter.
Bella blinks between us.
“What? What’s the matter?”
I laugh.
A little hysterically.
“Oh, nothing, just um, what are you doing here?” I ask.
“DJ Mars is writing and producing this song for the Rugby Cup, and I’m going to sing it!” Bella shouts proudly.
Oh no.
No, no, no.
“You’re serious?” I ask, but my question is directed to him, not her.
David’s mouth twitches. He nods.
“Come on, Larry. We have to go,” Bella insists.
I hesitate. Then David leans forward. My gaze goes directly to the hard line of his lips that I happen to know for a fact are softer than they look.
“Get in the car, linda.”
Shit.
I move. I slide in beside Bella and he sits back.
“Can you believe it? A whole weekend in New York City! This is going to be so much fun,” Bella enthuses.
I just nod and smile back at her, but my face is burning with embarrassment.
David’s gaze locks on mine, and I can tell he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
I wiggle in my seat, clutching my bag like it’s going to save me.
It won’t.
Nothing will.
Because now I’m trapped.
In a limo.
For hours.
With the man I have been actively avoiding.
The man who kissed me inside my bookstore like I was some sort of tragic heroine.
The man who makes me question every smart, safe decision I’ve ever made.
Magic?
Please.
Magic, my ass.
I’ve been set up!
And I’m definitely not surviving this weekend with my sanity intact.