“I’m not having this conversation with you, douchebag,” I quipped, heading toward the coffeemaker.
“He got laid, Vanessa!” I could hear him yelling through the phone. “He finally got a piece of ass . . . oh . . . shit . . . stop twisting my nipple, woman! I can be happy my man finally got off somewhere besides his hand!”
I shook my head as I listened to strange noises that could only indicate they were fighting over control of the phone.
“Jason,” Vanessa finally said through the line. I guess she won that scuffle. “Don’t answer any of my husband’s perverted questions.”
“Just keeping it real!” Deuce yelled in the background.
“Michael!” she yelled. “Be quiet! As I was saying, Addison is a really nice woman. I like her a lot. Don’t answer anything you don’t want to answer. No matter what kind of inappropriate details about our sex life he thinks are great locker room talk. Yeah, I know about that. And if he doesn’t quit, I’ll make sure to tell you the truth about that thing he thinks he does so well . . .”
“None of that, woman!” he yelled in the background, cutting her off mid-sentence. “Is nothing sacred?”
“That’s what I thought,” she said. “You guys have a nice day. We’ll talk to you later.”
Before she could hang up, I heard Deuce one last time yelling, “He got some puuuuuss . . .”
Click.
Fucking Deuce. Now I was wide-awake. And curious about the media’s reaction to Addison. So I grabbed my laptop and started searching.
The headlines about us pretty much all said the same thing . . . I was a taken man. Swooped off the market at the hands of a beautiful damsel named Addison.
Ok, so that’s not exactly what it said. But all the articles did have kind of an unrealistic, fairy tale quality about them. Young, rich, single man falls for beautiful young, single woman. For the most part, the articles were really nice about Addison, talking about how charming and kind she was. Complimenting how beautiful she looked. The pictures were really nice, too. I made a mental note to ask Adam if he could get ahold of some of them.
Until I got to April Gill’s story. It was obvious she had done some digging.
I was pissed. Not only was there detailed information about Addison and Jaxon in the article, but many of the comments below the article were brutal.
I slammed the laptop closed and leaned back in my chair, having seen enough. I sat there with my hand over my mouth, trying to figure out how to warn Addison off the internet. I was used to the negative press. When you were in the public eye, there was always someone willing to try and tear you down.
Addison would probably get used to having her character attacked. Neither one of us would like it, but she would get used to it. However, giving out information on Jaxon was not ok. It would never be ok to force a child into the spotlight like that. And I wasn’t sure how to fix it.
Without thinking about it, I texted Lindsay.
Me: Did you see the newest articles yet?
Lindsay: Yep. You clean up nice, you stud, you!
Me: HA! Thanks. But we have a potential problem. Did you see April Gill’s article yet?
Lindsay: Nope. Hang on. Let me check.
A minute later, she texted me again.
Lindsay: Oh shit. That’s not good.
Me: Nope. No it’s not.
Lindsay: How is she taking it?
Me: She’s not even awake yet. I’m working on how to tell her. Can you do me a favor?
Lindsay: Only if you answer my question first.
Me: Sure. Shoot.
Lindsay: SHE SPENT THE NIGHT?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!
I laughed. Leave it to Lindsay to make me laugh in the middle of my freak out.
Me: Yes. She spent the night. Yes. It was an awesome night. No. I will not give you details. Now about my favor . . .
Lindsay: Ew. I didn’t ask for details, you perv. I think I just threw up a little bit in my mouth. What favor?
Me: Can you text your principal? I’m worried about security now that Gill told everyone where Jax goes to school.
Lindsay: Good idea. I’ll let her know what’s going on just in case.
Me: Tell her I’ll pay for extra security at the school if you need it for Jax or at the front door or anything.
Lindsay: I will. Don’t worry so much. We’re teachers. We’d stand in front of a bullet for these kids.
Me: It’s not the bullet I’m worried about at this point. It’s the paparazzi. That’s worse.
Lindsay: I know. I’ll take care of it.
Me: Thanks. I owe you one.
Lindsay: Yep. I think a rousing duet with my daughter of “Let it Go” in your old choir costume might do the trick.
Me: And risk that being put on YouTube?
Lindsay: Hell no! TMZ. A girl’s gotta make a living.