Miss Congeniality (11 page)

He took a long pull of his beer, staring at her as though she were joking. “You’re kidding, right? How many drinks have you had anyway? Because you’re drunk ass definitely called me.”

“I did not!” She pulled back, offended he would think she called him. Or had she? She didn’t remember.

“Seven.” Both turned to the bartender, who was standing there wiping the same damn spot on the bar she was before. There weren’t a lot of people in here, only about twenty, so the bar couldn’t be dirty enough to require constant wiping. She pointed at Lance. “To answer your earlier question, she’s had four shots and three beers.”

Brea hunched her shoulders. “Who the hell asked you? Go wipe the other side of the bar.” She pointed weakly at the other end, but she couldn’t seem to hold her hand steady. Maybe she had had more to drink than she thought.

“Brea…” Lance put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing it in warning. Like she gave a shit. He was a crazy person the other day, and it was her turn now. At least she had a good reason.

“It’s okay.” The bartender held her hand up to stop whatever he was going to say to her. “She’s not the first drunk I’ve had to deal with, and she won’t be the last.” When the bartender got in her face, Brea shrunk back instinctively; which put her up against Lance, who had taken it upon himself to start running his hand in her hair. “And something tells me she doesn’t get like this much, so whatever brought her in here tonight must have been some bad shit.”

Brea lost it, lunging for the bartender before Lance had a chance to stop her. Thankfully, he grabbed her as she was trying to climb over the bar and pulled her back with his arm across her waist. “You don’t know shit!” she railed at the bartender, clawing at the hands which held her back. “Get the fuck off me, Lance!”

His response was to jerk her even tighter while she bucked and kicked wildly. “Okay, we’re done here. I’m sorry for all this; she’s normally not like this.” One arm gripped around her waist, he reached in his pocket and pulled out three hundred dollars. He handed it to the bartender, who readily accepted it. “This should cover the hassle of her behavior.”

The bartender nodded, sympathetic instead of angry, and waved at Lance while he carried a kicking and screaming Brea out of the bar. Brea heard him grunt in pain when she connected with his shin, but she was still too worked up to enjoy it. He reached down, putting her in the fireman’s hold and smacked her ass. She punched his back, wanting to get rid of the rage, anger, and helplessness of her current situation, and he was the one closest to her. If he didn’t want her abuse, he shouldn’t have come to get her.

“Are you fucking crazy?” Lance asked as he sat her on top of the trunk of his car. He spread his legs, putting his arms on either side of her to box her in, leaning down so he was in her face. “What the hell is your problem?”

“Nothing!” she screamed, rubbing her hands through her hair to get it out of her face.

He pointed to the bar. “That shit back there wasn’t nothing! Don’t feed me that bullshit!”

“I should have called someone else!” She didn’t want to answer his questions or his probing gaze.

“No, you shouldn’t have called someone else; you should answer my damn question!”

“I don’t want to fucking talk about it!” She tried to move off the car, but he held her in place. “LET. ME. GO!” She tried to shove past him but he stood firm.

“No!” he said, grabbing her purse, batting away her hands when she tried to grab it back. He pulled her off the car, making her stumble while he pulled her to the front and practically shoved her in the passenger seat. He ran across the front, probably figuring he had a limited amount of time before she ran, but she was so damn tired she didn’t have it in her to fight.

“Just take me home.” She curled to the side, pulling her knees up to her chest and staring out the window.

Brea jerked awake when she felt Lance pick her up. She must have fallen asleep on the way, the alcohol and the ride lulling her to sleep.

“Lance,” she asked groggily.

“Shh…” he whispered, kissing her on the forehead while he walked up her driveway. He must have thought of everything, because the door was already open so all he had to do was walk through. He sat on the couch with Brea on his lap, rubbing the back of her hair as she wrapped herself around him.

“What’s wrong, honey?” He kissed her forehead, the care and consideration he showed her making her weepy. She shook her head, tucking it into his neck, breathing in his familiar, woodsy scent.

“I want to forget.” She leaned back, putting her hands on the side of his face. “Make me forget,” she murmured, kissing the side of his lips before latching onto them. He continued to rub her back, returning the kiss as she opened her mouth to give his tongue entry. She attacked him, moving her leg so she could straddle his lap. She felt his erection pressing into her stomach, and she rubbed against him trying to get closer. He jerked his lips from her, moving his hands to the side. “Brea…” he said, trying to pull her away from where she had latched her lips onto his neck. He put his hands on her head to move her back, but she simply shook her head no and slid her hands down his shirt, latching onto the button of his fly.

“Oh, Lord.” He jerked up when she opened his pants, freeing his cock and pumping it a couple times with her hand. She got off his lap, kneeling in front of him, licking her lips in appreciation. “Brea, stop…” He tried again to push her back, but when she leaned down and circled the tip with her tongue, he was lost. He fisted his hand in her hair, letting her suck for a minute before he thought better of it.

“I said stop!” He jerked her back, wincing when her teeth grazed him. He reached under her arms and pulled her on the couch, ignoring the look of hurt as she pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. He looked ridiculous with his dick hanging out of his pants, and this was not a conversation to have with his thing out in the open. He tucked his dick back in his jeans and zipped them, turning to face the girl with tears in her eyes. She was so damn beautiful, hurting like crazy, and she refused to let him in.

“I thought you wanted me,” she whispered, wiping the tear which fell.

“Honey, I do.”

“But you made me stop,” she continued, as though that explained everything.

“Because I don’t want you like this.” She flinched as though he hit her. “I’m fucking this up. Get this through your head— I want you. Today, tomorrow, every day, I want you. Got that?” She nodded, still wiping the tears from her eyes.

“And we will have sex, sooner rather than later. But when we do, I want you to remember it. I didn’t take you home to have sex with you. I took you home to help sober you up and figure out what the hell is wrong with you. You were so upset tonight, you went and got drunk, and now you are rubbing on me and telling me to help you forget. Well, you know what? When I’m inside you, you won’t want to forget. You will want to feel every damn bit of it. So no, I don’t want to have sex with you to make you forget. Or some fucked up version of ‘make me feel better because I’m hurting.’ I want you to TALK to me about what the hell is wrong with you. Because when we do have sex, you’ll be screaming my name because you will want to remember every damn thing.” Brea sat there during his tirade, wiping the stray tear every now and then.

“Well, if you don’t want to have sex with me, then I guess we’re done here.” His face fell comically before his eyes flashed anger.

“Are you fucking serious right now?”

“Uh, yeah. See yourself out.” She stumbled when she tried to get up from the couch, but he caught her and pulled her back down beside him.

“Tell me what the fuck is wrong!” He got in her face again.

“No! And you’re one to talk, you haven’t said shit about what the fuck was wrong with you the other day!” She didn’t want to talk about it, but he wouldn’t let it go. He gripped her shoulders, shaking her. “I also didn’t get shit-faced in a bar afterward! Now tell me what’s wrong so I can help you!”

“I said no!” Brea jerked away, propping her elbows on her knees and gripping her head in her hands. She tried to keep it together, but she was so damn tired of fighting. The sobs racked her body as she broke down. Lance tried to grab her but she pulled away, not wanting his comfort. He tried a different approach. He tucked her head to his chest. She clutched the front of his shirt with her fists, trying to crawl on his lap. He helped her, pulling her legs to the other side of him, and rubbed her hair.

“It’s okay,” he crooned, whispering nonsensical words into her ear while he rubbed her back. Her body continued to jerk with sobs while he tried to calm her down, telling her he would be here. Brea didn’t know how long they stayed that way, with her crying and him holding her, but she felt better having cried it out. He kissed her forehead, whispering into her ear while she quieted down, her sobs giving way to hiccups.

“You okay?” he asked softly, trying not to disturb the quiet. She simply nodded, moving so her face was once again in his neck, breathing deeply. He leaned her back, taking in her puffy eyes, the runny mascara, but she still looked beautiful to him. He brushed under her eyes, catching the stray tears which lingered, and kissed her softly.

“I’m going to get you some water and ibuprofen.” He waited for her agreement before moving her to the couch. He rubbed her head on his way into the kitchen. She sat there, completely spent, not wanting to do what she knew she had to. When Lance came back a couple minutes later, he sat beside her, gently rubbing under her eyes with a washcloth. Brea let him, welcoming the way he was caring for her. It was something so rare in her life she almost started blubbering again. They studied each other as she took the ibuprofen and drank the water, not knowing what to say, but she figured an apology was a good way to start.

“Sorry for all that.”

His gaze softened as he took in her appearance. “Don’t apologize. We all go a little crazy sometimes; look at me the other day. This was one of those, ‘you showed me yours, and I’m showing you mine’ kind of deals.”

She chuckled despite everything, taking another drink of water. “I guess,” she said softly, running her fingers through her hair. “I’m so embarrassed. Did I really try to jump over the bar at the poor bartender?”

“Yep, that was all you.” He brushed her hair back, placing another kiss on her forehead. He seemed to like doing that tonight. “What’s going on?”

She scooted to the other end of the couch, propping her legs up so he couldn’t sit next to her. She wanted and needed the distance, knowing she was going to have to tell him. Brea needed to tell someone, and after dealing with her own special brand of craziness, she figured he won the prize. But she did have one condition. “I’ll tell you on one condition.”

He faced her, still not moving closer, sensing she didn’t want the contact. “Name it.”

“Tell me why you flipped out at the paparazzo the other day.” He cringed, unsure about whether to tell her.

“Hear me out,” she told him before he could voice his protests. “If we are going to move forward in a relationship, which is where I thought we were going, then I need to know why you were willing to destroy that man’s camera. You and I both know this is par for the course with what we do. I want some kind of explanation so I can deal with it, if it happens again. Plus, since we have this whole ‘I’ll show you mine, you show me yours’ thing going on, you get to go first.”

He sat quietly for a couple of minutes, and Brea had all but given up hope he was going to tell her before he started talking.

“I was out with my sister, Lauren, about five years ago in LA. I had just hit it big, so while I was somewhat anonymous, I still had photographers and paparazzi following me. We had just gotten through eating, and this guy comes up and keeps taking our picture. I politely asked him to stop, and he just kept on. He started screaming questions at my sister about whether we were sleeping together, and making little comments about her.” He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees before continuing the story.

“We finally got to the car, but all the attention he was giving us had caused a crowd to grow. We were followed in the car; Lauren was screaming for me to go, but I was literally trapped. I was finally able to get away, but I had to do it by speeding, and I was so busy trying to watch what was behind me I didn’t notice a car had crossed over into my lane.” Brea put her hand over her mouth, horrified at what he was saying, knowing what was coming, but aware there was nothing she could do to stop it.

“What happened?” she asked when he sat quietly, not wanting to continue.

“We hit them head-on. The car was completely totaled; Lauren was thrown from the car. She had to spend months in the hospital. Her wedding was weeks away, but it had to be postponed. She still walks with a slight limp today.”

“What about you?”

“I was okay, only minor injuries, but I lost it when I saw my sister on the ground. I started screaming at them, and that was where the first reports about me being a ‘bad boy’ began.” She reached over, unable to maintain her distance, rubbing his back in a circular motion.