I covered my mouth with my hands. “Ugh.”
“But it was kinda hot, you know? Like making out with a monster. That mix of revulsion and attraction.”
Giggling, I tossed a couch pillow at her. “Stop! You’re making this up.”
“I totally gave him a hand job with one hand on his c**k and the other hand stroking across his acne-covered shoulders. He f**king loved it, too. Guys love it when you accept them completely, warts and all.”
“I guess… I can relate.”
“And also when you make them come. Hand, mouth, pu**y, ass… thigh crease.”
“Boobs,” I added.
“Who?”
“Toby.”
She got quiet, nodding. We didn’t usually talk about Toby.
Outside, a man with a pizza box walked by, looking confused. We jumped up and ran to the door together.
The pizza from DeNirro’s was the best in town, but the delivery driver had some sort of cosmic block that prevented him from locating our house.
We got our pizza and spent the rest of the evening eating and sharing details of dark sexual escapades. I thought I knew everything there was to know about Shayla, but there were some fantasies we’d not yet delved into.
I caught her up to speed on what had happened at the hot spring and Dolphin Falls, but I didn’t have to go over what happened Saturday morning when I was riding Lionheart. We’d accidentally left the door open and she’d gotten the general idea, even with her pink noise-cancelling headphones on.
CHAPTER 21
Monday.
Kirsten at Java Jones was practically undressing me with her eyes as she made my mocha.
“Let me guess,” I said. “You saw the photos.”
She gave me a flirty look. “You should be proud! You were rocking that lacy bra. He’s a lucky guy. What’s it like dating a famous actor?”
“We’re just friends,” I lied, the goofy grin on my face probably giving me away.
Damn it, I was proud. My tits were all over the internet, and I was dating a hot actor. This was my life now! It was terrifying and also awesome.
“How did you meet him?” she asked.
“He just ran into the bookstore, Saturday before last. A TV crew was chasing him and he found—”
Kirsten interrupted with, “Sanctuary. In your arms.”
“I was the one who fell into his arms, but sure. Sanctuary.”
She handed me the mocha and gestured for me to wait a moment. She opened up the glossy celebrity magazine she was reading and showed me a picture of Dalton’s gorgeous face, his jaw speckled with a three-day beard. They’d done something with his eyes to increase their intensity and lighten them to a pale green.
“Sanctuary,” Kirsten said with a sigh.
Next to his photo was a quote from what I assumed was an interview:
The darker aspects of a role are no small things. When you pretend to be evil, even if it’s just for the camera, it robs you of a drop of your soul. Even a lake can be drained, one drop at a time. That’s why the thing I value most in a lover is the sanctuary they give. Only in loving arms can I feel my soul replenish.
I looked up at Kirsten’s expectant face.
“He does have a flair for the dramatic,” I explained.
She looked like she wanted to hear more, which was exactly why I needed to get the hell out of there.
I grabbed my mocha and was getting a matching lid when I noticed someone skulking nearby. She was trying to hide, with a baseball cap pulled down to her eyebrows, and she would have passed as a teenaged boy, but she made eye contact with me for just a second, and I knew.
“Alexis,” I said, striding right up to the table where she was sitting. “Trying to get another photo of me to sell to the highest bidder? I hope you didn’t give me away for nothing.”
“I’m sorry,” she muttered, confirming my suspicions. That was all the proof I needed.
“Just great! Maybe later I’ll have my pants off, and you can get a nice, big one of my bare ass. If they pay by the size, that should get you a lot more than you made selling my tits off to the highest bidder.”
Some seniors having coffee at the next table over perked right up and trained their ears our way.
“It’s perfectly legal,” she said, not meeting my eyes.
“So is me telling you my opinion that you’re a parasite. You don’t do anything of value to society. You just take, and destroy.”
Kirsten called out from behind the counter, “You tell her, Peaches!”
I leaned down and put my face right in front of hers. “What’s your problem with Dalton Deangelo? Why are you in his business?”
She finally looked up at me, her eyes wide with fear.
“Because he left us,” she said.
“Left who?”
She shook her head. “Can’t say. Not allowed.”
I snorted. “You hide in bushes and sneak around photographing people without their consent. You’re not exactly a credible source.”
“I didn’t send all the photos I had,” she said. “I couldn’t do that to you.”
“Oh.” I put my hand on my hip. “You didn’t send all the photos you took of me without my permission. Well, gosh. Let’s be best friends. Come over tonight and we’ll give each other pedicures.”
And then, because there’s nothing you can say to top premium sarcasm, I turned and walked out.
I crossed the street, opened the bookstore, and tried calling Dalton’s phone again. Still voicemail.
I called Shayla and asked her to check if there was anything new online about me, or him. We’d installed an app on my phone to block my browser. She assured me nothing else had shown up. I could hear keys tapping in the background. We had internet on the computer at Peachtree Books, but I wasn’t going to risk googling myself and having another meltdown.
“That’s interesting,” she said.
“How bad is it?”
“Not bad at all, actually. A couple of prominent bloggers have picked up on the story and are talking about… oh, the usual stuff. Fat-shaming, bad; body acceptance, good. Evil media conglomerates, bad; bloggers who run the exact same advertisements on their websites, good.”
As she talked, I dumped the pens out of the can and started sorting them. “I’m not a person to them, am I? You know what? Seriously, f**k the internet and everyone on it. Bunch of losers need to get their own lives.”
Shayla gasped. “Noooo! You love the internet!” More keyboard tapping. “Oh, you’re a meme, apparently. Like with the funny text over your photo.”