“Been twelve hours and they haven’t found you yet.”
“Nope,” she replies. “Not yet.”
I sigh, scrubbing my hand quickly across my face. “You can stay at my place for a few days. I have to work so I won’t be around much, but you’re free to hang out by the pool and relax. I know it’s no swanky-ass high-class hotel, but it’s private and peaceful.” I turn my head toward her, taking in her now-wide eyes.
“You’d let me stay?”
I shrug. “Doesn’t matter much to me unless you plan to steal my shit.”
“Why would I do that?” she asks, brows drawn down.
“Fuck if I know.”
“You’re really okay with me staying and invading your space?”
“Again, I gotta work, and it’s not like you’re hard on the eyes.”
“I’m not hard on the eyes?” she asks, hissing the last word.
“Nope. Pretty damn easy to look at, and you’re sweet to be around when you’re not crying over some weak-ass jagoff who doesn’t deserve the tears.”
“Are you sure I can stay?”
“Yeah. I don’t say shit unless I mean it.”
She scoots across the bench seat and places a quick and chaste kiss on my cheek. “Thank you, Nick. You’ve saved me more than once. I’ll pay you back somehow.”
I smile, liking the way her lips felt against my skin. “Don’t need your money, babe. Don’t make a mess of my place, and we’re even.”
“Can I have the bed?” she asks, and I don’t even have to look at her to know she’s smiling too.
“Nope.”
And just like that, I have a new and very temporary roommate.
Lord help me.
6
Jo
Nick drops me off in the driveway with only a few things: his cell phone number programmed into my phone, the key to his house, the address of where he works in case of emergency, and my pink suitcase.
I don’t move as he pulls out of the driveway, taking off down the street like he is trying to break a land speed record. I stand in the driveway for about a minute, staring back and forth between the house and the road, and wonder what in the hell happened?
Never in a million years did I think he’d offer for me to stay. Not even when I laid it on pretty thick, telling him I had nowhere else to go to escape the reality that is my life.
After it is clear he isn’t coming back, I pull my heavy suitcase through the front door, drop the key on the side table along with my purse, and go right to the couch.
My ass hasn’t even hit the cushion when my phone rings.
“Josephine,” my mother screeches as soon as I tap the screen.
“Mom,” I sigh, bracing myself.
“Where are you? Jamison called and…”
“I’m fine,” I answer although she didn’t ask me how I was, only where I was.
Naturally, Jamison called her, bending over backward to kiss up to my parents, hoping their success would, somehow, rub off on him.
He isn’t unlike the other people in my life. Always looking to get something out of a relationship with me. Something more than my love and friendship, rather status and success, all the while climbing on me and over me to get it.
“Where are you?” she asks again.
“I’m safe.”
“That’s good, dear, but where?”
“I’m tapping out of reality for a while, Mom. I need a break from everything and everyone in my life. Just know I’m safe, and I’ve found a little hideaway to find my center again. But don’t worry, I’ll be back in a week or two.”
“Jamison’s at the hotel waiting for you to come back. He called in a panic, telling us you’re with some crazy ruffian and that he is worried about your safety.”
“Of course he did,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “Fuckin’ weasel and liar.”
“The man threatened him.”
“I’m sure he deserved it.”
“Josephine,” she chides me, sounding completely shocked at my response. “I’m sure the media overstated what happened. Jamison has always been kind and doesn’t deserve to have his life threatened by some—”
“Overstated?”
“We know how the paparazzi is. We’ve dealt with them our entire lives. They always blow everything way out of proportion.”
“Mom,” I snap, collapsing back on the couch, throwing my arm over my face. “I walked into the room and found Jamison with his face between the legs of the maid.”
“Well…” She pauses, clearly clutching those tarnished pearls that hang around her neck, giving her an air of innocence. “Maybe you misinterpreted what was happening?”
“Maybe I misinterpreted what was happening?” I repeat, stupefied.
“You never know. Maybe she needed help with something, and they fell over just as you walked in.”
The laughter bubbles out of my throat and right into the receiver of the phone. “Unless something fell into her vagina, Mom, there’s no way to misinterpret what I saw. The only thing she needed help with was the orgasm she was clearly in the middle of when I walked in on them.”
“Boys will be boys,” she hums, clearly dismissing his behavior like she has with my dad more times than I can remember. “If you want to be happy, you have to look the other way instead of trying to find problems.”
I bite back the scream that’s festering deep in my chest. My mom means well, but she’s been a doormat her entire life, settling for shitty relationships and becoming a pro at explaining away bad behavior.
“Do you hear yourself?” I ask her. “You are not normal. The people you surround yourself with are not normal either. I think you forgot about reality, living in your bubble way too long. Boys will be boys is not an acceptable excuse for crappy men who are willing to stick their dick in anything that moves, Mom. I get you’re willing to accept mediocrity, but I am not.”
“Maybe I should schedule you another appointment with Dr. Jones.”
“No.” My answer is quick, swift, and leaves no room for error.
There is no way in hell I would go back to a Hollywood psychologist who bought into the same line of thinking as my mother. The same psychologist who tried to modify my way of thinking and behavior so I’d buy into it too.
“We’ll talk about setting up an appointment with her when you get home.”
“Again, that’s a big fat no, Mom.”
“We’ll see, honey,” she says. “And what about the man who threatened Jamison?”
“You mean the man who protected me by getting my things, so I wouldn’t have to—”
“Protected you?” she laughs. “I’m sure he didn’t do it out of the goodness of his heart. Remember, boys will be boys, and nothing is ever for free. He knows who you are, Josephine.”
I roll my eyes. “I have to go. My appointment at the spa is in ten minutes,” I lie. “I’ve booked myself every treatment they have over the next week. Until then, I’d prefer to be left alone.”
“There’s nothing like a good pampering to help one find peace. I’ll check in with you in a few days,” she replies, glossing right over the fact that I wanted to be left alone for the next seven days.