Mesmerized (8 page)

“Holy shit!” I jerk away from Brandon at the sound of Ashley’s arrival and struggle to pull my shirt back on and smooth out the edges. I put a hand on Brandon’s chest and push him backwards. “We have to go! Now! Ashley can’t find us…like this.” I gesture between us. “You might have gathered earlier, but she’s not exactly your number one fan right now.”

He growls in irritation but follows my direction and hurries to pull his T-shirt back on.

How tragic.
I think, momentarily mourning the loss of the spectacular view.

I rack my brain, trying to figure out how to get Brandon out of here without Ashley seeing him. “Okay, listen, I’m going to go out there and distract her. You sneak downstairs and get outside. I’ll meet you out front in a few minutes.” I hurriedly direct him.

“We’re not in high school anymore, Cherry,” he reminds me.

“Brandon, please,” I say. He finally nods in agreement, seeming to understand.

I suck in a deep breath.
What am I doing?
I ask myself, silently.

“Hey, Ash, I’m just finishing up here, be down in a sec,” I call from the hallway. I gather the wet towels and take them down the stairs with me, leaving the door open for Brandon.

Ashley is still by the front door, scratching Maci’s wet tummy. She looks up when she hears me coming down the stairs and gasps, “What in the world happened?”

“
Your
dog dragged me into the pond, that’s what happened,” I say. “It’s a good thing she’s so cute.” I laugh as Maci rolls around on her back, lavishing the attention.

“I’m really sorry, Charity. You didn’t have to wash her. I would have done it.” She straightens and reaches for the load of used towels. I hand them to her and follow her through the kitchen and into the laundry room. She puts everything in the machine and starts the cycle. “I would ask if you wanted to go get dinner, but I guess you need to get home and take a shower,” she says.

“Yeah, that and don’t you have a big project you need to do?”

She laughs. “Well, yes, but you know me. I thrive under pressure!”

“Show me what you’re working on,” I say, thinking that will buy enough time to let Brandon slip outside.

We pass through the kitchen and back to the living room where she has set down her shopping bags. It’s mostly supplies, so it doesn’t take too long to sift through it all but I’m sure it was long enough.

“I better get going,” I say, once she has put the bags away.

“Yeah, you smell,” she says.

“Gee, thanks. What would I do without my sympathetic bestie?” I say.

“That’s why you love me. I’ll tell you what jeans do make your ass look big and when you have lipstick on your teeth.”

We both laugh, knowing it’s true. Our friendship is greatly enhanced by brutal honesty.

I turn to leave. “Don’t forget your coat,” she says.

“My coat?”

“On the front porch, there’s a black coat. Isn’t it yours?” she asks. Her eyebrows suddenly knit together in confusion.

“Oh! That coat, yeah, thanks. I’ll make sure to grab it,” I say. Brandon probably left his outside when he came in to help.

“All right, see you tomorrow,” she says. Her look is still one of suspicion. “I’ll stop by the café after I ship everything off.” She pats the bags of jewelry supplies.

I get outside and scoop the coat off the porch. I look down the road and see Brandon waiting for me at the end of the street. Approaching slowly, I try to figure out what to say.

“I’m sorry about all that. I just…I don’t know. Did you still want to do dinner?” I ask. I know it’s a terrible idea, but I can’t seem to help myself from asking, and from hoping he will say yes.

“Of course. Which way to your house?”

I lead the way and we walk in silence. We get to my house, and there is an awkward pause where we stand looking at each other, wondering what the protocol is for what happens next. Every inch of me fights the urge to jump at him and pick up where we left off in Ashley’s bathroom. He seems to sense my hesitation but makes it easy on me by crossing the room and settling onto the couch.

“You go do what you gotta do. I’ll be fine here,” he says, flipping on the TV.

I laugh at how easily he makes himself comfortable in light of the very uncomfortable circumstances. “Alright, I’ll be right back,” I say, as I head upstairs to my bedroom to shower and change my clothes.

As the hot water beats down on me in the shower, I can’t help but replay the steamy make-out session back at Ashley’s house. I run my hands over my nipples that stiffen under my fingers, aching for Brandon’s touch. I lay my head back and let the water course over my breasts and stomach, pooling over my tender mound, before sliding my fingers down my body, sliding in the trail of water. I touch myself and gasp at the intense jolt of pleasure ricocheting through my body.

My pleasure builds but then, as if my mind suddenly takes back over control, I snap out of it and pull my fingers away. I silently lecture myself for getting so carried away with Brandon, and sternly remind myself, that, although I’m not entirely sure what is going on with the relationship, I do have a boyfriend—and that this is the second time I have betrayed his trust. My guilt overtakes the feeling of arousal and I feel slightly sick to my stomach as I finish my shower.

I have no idea where any of this is going, but I do know that I am in way over my head.

Half an hour later I head back downstairs, feeling much more human, having showered, put on clean clothes, and reapplied a little makeup. There is still an edge of conflict in the back of my mind, but I try to push it out of the way, and just consider the rest of the evening, dinner with an old friend. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Brandon turns his head to look back at me as I round the couch. “Feel better?” he asks.

I nod. “Yes, quite refreshing to be duck poop free,” I say. “Ashley told me I smelled.”

He laughs. “Well I wasn’t gonna say anything but—.”

“Hey now! That didn’t seem to slow you down!”

“Well maybe I’ve acquired a duck poop fetish. They don’t call it Holly-weird for no reason ya know,” he says. His eyes sparkle with mischief.

We both laugh and I find myself loving and hating the easiness of this moment.

The laughter subsides. “So, what’s for dinner?” he asks.

“Good question,” I answer. Mentally rummaging through my cupboards and fridge to think of something, I finally laugh. “I could make spaghetti.”

“I thought you were trying to save me from a spaghetti dinner. I could have gone to Little Ricky’s. Although then, I would have missed all the fun.”

“Well you
could
have, but then it wouldn’t be my special recipe! The secret is in the sauce.” I wink.

Brandon laughs again. “Ricky is a fourth-generation Italian chef. I’m pretty sure he knows how to make spaghetti sauce!”

“True.” I bite my lip, trying to think of another idea. Unfortunately, in all the chaos of the past few days, I haven’t had time to go grocery shopping. I eat a lot of meals at the café, so I rarely keep much around the house in the first place. Right now, my cupboards are especially lean. “We could order in?”

“No, no. You’re not getting out of this. I need to try some of this secret sauce,” he says. “Let’s get cooking.” He pulls me up from the couch.

I smile and lead the way to the kitchen. It’s a small, galley-style kitchen with a breakfast nook attached. There’s not a lot of room for two cooks, but we dive in anyway.

He helps me cook the meal, and we talk about random things, mostly about his movie roles and the places he has traveled to over the past few years. It all sounds exciting to me, but there is a slight dullness to his voice that I wasn’t expecting. Acting has always been his passion, and yet the way he talks about it makes it feel like he is describing another day at the office.

“I’ve never actually seen one of your movies,” I confess. “I hear they’re amazing.”

“I didn’t figure you had,” he says. He turns to look at me but keeps one hand stirring the ground turkey that is browning on the stove.

“Trust me, it’s been difficult. Everyone in town wouldn’t stop talking about it, and then your face is all over every magazine at the grocery store.”

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” He asks, his expression serious as he turns to look at me.

“It’s very weird. But, I want you to know, that, despite everything, I am happy for you and the life you have built.”

“Thank you.” No other words are needed.

“What about you though? You seem to be doing something right. You look amazing, your house is nice, Ashley and you are still close.” His voice is sincere, but I can’t help but think how dwarfed my life sounds in comparison to his.

“I don’t know. I guess. To be honest, I feel like I took a wrong turn somewhere.”

He nods and glances back at the stove. “You’d be surprised at how little it all means.”

“How little what means?”

“The fame, recognition, money. It’s all kind of pointless,” he says. “I mean, it’s nice to do what you love, and I do love acting, but it also makes you feel alone and isolated. No one understands what you do every day, and you’re constantly being watched and harassed. The actual job is a blast, but the lifestyle kinda blows. Everyone cheers for you, when really they’re just waiting for you to stumble so they can gossip about you and stab you in the back to get ahead.”

“That sounds awful,” I say.

“That’s just my take, my experience. I’m sure not everyone feels that way. I guess I have everything I ever wanted, and more, but at the end of the day I can be surrounded by people and still feel lonely, like I don’t have any real friends. They don’t know me, they know ‘Hollywood Brandon,’ I guess.”

I’m quiet for a moment, not sure what to say to that. A sudden thought pops into my head and I vocalize it without thinking of the implications, “What about Vanessa? Seems like you guys have been together for a while. She must mean something to you.”

He groans. “Cherry, tell me you don’t buy into the tabloid bullshit. I thought if anyone was above that, it would be you.”

“Hey! You haven’t talked to me in the past three years, remember?” I fire back. “The only information I can get on you comes from those sources. I don’t go out of my way to
spy
on you, but people talk, especially around here. I can’t put myself in a soundproof box and ignore it all.” I turn to face him. The prep knife is still in my hand, pointed in his direction.

He turns and holds up his hands in surrender, then crosses the room and takes the knife from my hand, laying it on the counter before gathering me into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he says. He presses his lips against my forehead and I try not to react to his tender gesture.

“I’m not with Vanessa or any of those other girls they link me to. At least not the way they portray it. I mean, I have dated some of them—”

My nose wrinkles at this. It’s kind of ridiculous, but it feels like I should be allowed to move on, but he shouldn’t.

“—but I’ve never had anything long-term or serious with anyone, other than you. I think I tried to fill a hole inside myself with anything I could think of for a while there. Drinks, clubs, girls, whatever. None of it worked though, and I gave up on all of it. I’ve been single for over a year now. Vanessa is still around. We see each other at events and stuff, but we do not live together and we were never engaged,
or even close to that
, no matter what the gossip rags say. Okay?”

I nod against his chest and then pull back out of his embrace. I really have no idea why any of this matters. It doesn’t.

“Might want to check the turkey,” I say, gesturing back to the stove.

Brandon looks disappointed but he crosses the small space and turns his attention back to the stove.

I resume chopping the fresh veggies and herbs for the sauce, taking my time.

We finish cooking in silence, for the most part, only speaking to help finish the dinner. I toast up some rolls from the café, and put a little butter and garlic on them as Brandon drains the meat and mixes it into the sauce. I set the table and he is right behind me with the serving dishes of pasta and sauce.

Once everything is set out, we sit down and start to dish the food out onto our plates. While we were cooking, everything smelled so amazing that my mouth was watering at the thought of eating, but now that it’s all before me I feel sick.

“Cherry, is everything all right?” he asks, before taking his first bite. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No, I don’t want you to leave,” I answer. “That’s the problem.”

I expect him to look confused, but when I finally bring myself to meet his eyes, he looks understanding. “I really didn’t come here expecting any of this to happen,” he says. “I didn’t even know if I would see you and then when I did, I don’t know, it’s like something just clicked and I was happy again, for the first time in a long timeAnd after all this other stuff, I really need a little slice of happy.”

I feel tears starting to build and I silently hold my breath, trying to keep them back.