Obviously.
It’s been a long time since I’ve reached out to a person in the hopes of just apologizing only to be told to go away.
Most people want my money.
Or a shot at some residual fame.
Or there was that one time I was asked if I could baptize a rabbit, but I try not to think about that.
But Sarah just wants me to go away.
It’s odd.
Charlie wanted to dial in the PR team before coming over, but for once, I overruled her, because this isn’t supposed to be a PR stunt.
I just wanted to apologize. The right way.
I look at the blonde—Mackenzie, I think Sarah said her name was. “Ah, thanks for the hospi—”
“Bathroom,” she hisses at me. “Go on. You too. And she really really really wants to save the giraffes, so go grab this last chance by the balls.”
I knew about the giraffes. Charlie did a breakdown of @must_love_bees’s tweets and blogs after my groveling phone call to Vaughn, and it’s pretty obvious that I’m lucky I didn’t get my ass stung off too after she tasered me, and also that I probably should’ve shown up with a giraffe named in Sarah’s honor if I wanted her to accept my apology.
Not that she has to accept it.
It’s just weird how quickly she’s dismissing me.
Not because I’m as awesome as I let my family think I am, but because I’m rich and famous.
Kidding, I swear. Fuck.
No wonder I got myself in trouble on Twitter.
“Go on,” Mackenzie shrieks.
I leap up and head around the corner that Sarah disappeared to, planning to just hang in the hallway out of sight and leave her alone, except the bathroom door is right there on the other side of the wall, and it’s open and Sarah’s inside lounging with her hip propped against the sink, head down over her phone, and there’s no way to avoid the fact that her entire body tenses while her eyes slowly lift to watch me.
Her eyes are so dark. Like I can’t tell where her pupils are in the middle of all that dark chocolate, and it makes me want to look closer. Or just fall in. Swim there for a while. Work on my backstroke. Or any stroke.
Fuck, I’m getting tight in the jeans.
Her jersey is so baggy, it’s hiding her body almost all the way down to her knees, and there’s something oddly familiar about her.
Or possibly that’s a lingering side effect from the taser.
“Mackenzie sent me,” I say, holding my hands up like I’m harmless, just in case she has another weapon. “For luck.”
I think.
She heaves a sigh that makes her breasts lift, and I get a familiar stirring down in the family jewels.
Convenient.
Not.
She’s not wearing makeup, and I know at least a hundred women who would kill to have her eyelashes.
Or at least wrestle in Jell-O for them.
Most of my acquaintances aren’t actually lethal. Learned a long time ago how to avoid those types out in Hollywood.
“I thought I was sending my sister a private message,” I say into the silence, because it’s getting awkward, and I don’t like silence.
I like to talk.
Or be talked at.
I’m not really picky. So long as it’s not silence.
“I’m sure she appreciated your concern for her loins,” Sarah replies dryly.
“She just got engaged to my best friend. I’d tell him the same.”
“Lucky guy.”
“Yeah, Wyatt hit the lottery when he moved in next to—wait. You don’t mean he’s lucky because he’s my best friend, do you?” I give her the kidding smile.
She doesn’t smile back, but she doesn’t roll her eyes either. Just watches me like I’m a science experiment she stumbled onto without knowing what she’s supposed to be testing.
“OH MY GOD HE HIT A HOME RUN!”
I jump at Mackenzie’s shriek. Sarah hits a button on her phone, and the sound of a toilet flushing fills the air. “It worked?” she calls.
“SARAH! HE HIT A HOME RUN!”
“You have an app that plays flushing toilets?” I ask her.
“Do not ruin this for me,” she hisses.
I hold my hands up in surrender again. “Of course. I know not to make Taser Lady mad. Your friend likes Cooper Rock? He’s a good buddy. Could get you a signed ball for her.”
Now she rolls her eyes so hard her lashes flutter, and there’s more stirring in my cock.
“I don’t want your money or your fame or your connections,” she says. “We’re fine, okay? Go away.”
“I just…wanted to make it up to you. People are shits, and you were trying to do something good, and I fucked it all to hell because I’m a dumbass who doesn’t know how to send a private message on Twitter.” I trail her back to the living room, realizing belatedly what’s weird about the room.
There aren’t any pictures.
Every house I own is filled with pictures of my family.
Okay, yeah, and of me, but it’s just funny to watch people jump when they come face-to-face with one of those cardboard cutouts of me in my underwear or the five of us from back in the Bro Code days.
Huh.
I should get Wyatt a cardboard cutout of himself. Ellie would love that.
But the point is, everybody I know has pictures of family somewhere.
Sarah doesn’t.
Not in her living room. Not in the hallway. Not in the kitchen—yeah, I’m peeking.
Whoa.
Is she all alone in the world? An orphan? Abandoned? Abused?
Shit shit shit.
I fucked up hardcore, and I suddenly want to grab her in a hug and promise her she doesn’t have to ever be alone again.
Mackenzie’s slumped happily on the stiff upholstered couch, a goofy grin on her face. Charlie looks at me, and I shake my head, because I have this feeling hugging Sarah would only result in one of my nuts finding a new home somewhere between my intestines.
Time to leave the poor woman alone.
At least for now. Maybe in another six months or so, I can casually drop by, we’ll have a good laugh, I’ll offer to make her some sweet tea—oh, yeah, sweet tea, and cornbread, and bread pudding, and cinnamon rolls, and—and I need to stop thinking before I start drooling.
But she’s my sister’s neighbor. It’ll be hard on Ellie if I don’t make this right.
“If you change your mind—” I start.
“I won’t.”
“Beck will donate a million dollars to the conservation charity of your choice if you let us interview him apologizing to you on camera,” Charlie announces.
I start to shake my head at her again—I’ve tormented Sarah enough, and I’m not interested in pissing her off more—when I realize both of the other women have frozen.
Mackenzie’s jaw hits her collarbones.
And Sarah just went a shade of white that resembles bleached summer clouds. But she doesn’t let being pale stop her. She spins on her heel and narrows those dark eyes at me. Feels like I’m watching a demon being summoned, and it’s fucking hot as hell.
Or maybe I need to cool it with the Buffy reruns.
“Does your girlfriend always spend your money for you?” she asks.
“Girlfriend? Oh, he wishes,” Charlie says with a chuckle.
“Charlie’s my executive assistant,” I tell Sarah. “And yeah, she pretty much does. Usually very smartly.”