Real(40)

“You’re so beautiful, Remy.”

He groans and turns his face into the touch, and I wrap my arm around his waist and cover us up, listening to his breathing, his big chest rising and falling as I press my body to his for warmth.Eventually I must have fallen deeply asleep. By the time his cell phone alarm goes off at five a.m. neither of us hears it, and it is ten a.m. when Riley wakes us up, clapping and laughing to get our lazy asses out of bed because Rem could use going to the gym today.

Riley actually seems delighted that I appear to have “slept” with Remy. He was probably eager for Remy to work off whatever “it” was, either with those prostitutes or with me.

The man totally misses the way we both jump to a sitting position when he leaves. Remington looks anything but groggy the instant he notices me across the opposite side of the bed. I think my hair is tousled and I must look every inch as trampled as I feel, but I can’t help noting his beautiful body is fully naked and the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen by daylight.

We take each other in for several heartbeats.

Heartbeats where every kiss he gave me last night swells in memory in the flesh of my lips.

The sunlight streams into the room, and the bed is undone, and we’re both in it, and our eyes are wildly going up and down.

A desperate urge to jump his sexy bones rushes through me, and I notice the primitive alertness that settles in his eyes as he quietly rakes me, top to bottom, as my body shakes in lust inside an old Disney World t-shirt courtesy of one of Melanie’s yearly “stay young” trips.



His eyes look so dark this morning I swear to god there’s not a fleck of blue in that hot-deviled gaze anymore.





Before Remy can even ask what I am doing in his bed, I hop to my feet and briskly go to change, insanely aware of his eyes tracking my movements across the room.But he never comes after me.



“It’s normal, when this happens.” Pete shrugs at the gym, when Remy doesn’t appear after two hours. “You might want to do something with your day, Brooke. There’s no point in you not enjoying yourself and getting a little sun.”

Really, after a night of drinks, the word “sun” is not as welcoming as it is usually to me, but I nod and walk a little of Miami, trying to soak up the amazingly vibrant cultural mix of Latinos and more, but I just don’t have the energy for it.I’ve never been hung over in my life.



It’s definitely an experience I don’t ever want to repeat.

I’m parched no matter how much water I drink, and I’m also nauseous and foggy-headed, weak and unwell, and I can barely open my eyes wide enough to see where I’m going.But I still make an effort, and decide to call my parents from my cell phone as I head down the shops at Midtown Miami.



“Where are you now?” my mother demands. “Your father wants to know if you’re going to that famous restaurant, What’s-it-Called, the one where the movie stars go?”“Mother, I’m working,” I tell her. “This isn’t a vacation to me. And if you told me the actual name of What’s-it-Called, I might have a clue about what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, never mind! But we got a new postcard from Nora! She’s in Australia, and she sends all her love. You should see the beach in the picture, goodness! Now that’s paradise. I wonder if she’s seen any real alligators. Or is it crocodiles that live there? Crocodiles or alligators?”

“Crocodiles, Mom. And I think there are some here in Florida, as well. Hey, I don’t want to run out of battery, I’ll call you next weekend, all right? I just wanted to check up on you.” I hang up, because it was seriously not a good idea to call my parents today. They’re great and I love them, but they’re my parents.



They’re nosy and opinionated and they naturally get on my nerves.I especially resent the fact that their dreams for my worldwide stardom shattered the day that my knee did, and I know that they don’t truly believe that I will ever be able to live a “full” life now.

It would be so much easier to deal with them if Nora would do more than just send a monthly postcard too.

Heading back to the hotel, I spot Diane at the gift shop, and we share a quick lunch.



“Pete tells me our guy isn’t doing well today,” she says, her tone both questioning and sad.

I pick at my salad and keep hydrating with natural fruit juice, merely because my temples have been throbbing all day. I just know my liver is not used to the kind of abuse of the likes it received yesterday. I’ve always treated my body kindly. Today it’s just angry at me for alcohol overload, bad food choices, and unfulfilled lust. “Does it happen frequently?” I ask, looking up from my lettuce with vinaigrette to her.She nods.