Page 35 of Notorious

I’ve got myself in a predicament with no way out. I’m as jumpy as a cat in a room of rocking chairs.

The panicky feeling gets worse as the GPS directs me to a high-end part of Los Angeles. Sure, Kurt told me he’s got money, but it’s different to see it. I’ve always lived in the cheapest place I could stand, so I could send as much as possible to my mama.

How can I send money to her now? I set a lot aside for her, but without the life insurance money, it’ll run out eventually.

You know what the answer is. Kill yourself. Then she’ll have the money.

My blood pressure shoots even higher when I slow the BMW at the entrance to Kurt’s gated neighborhood. There must be a sensor in the car, or a transmitter or I don’t even know what, because the gates open automatically, and he directs me to the driveway of a three-story condo. It’s not what I imagined when he said he lived in a condo—it’s Southern California modern, up on a bluff overlooking Highway 1. From what I can see between the structures, I expect the interior will have unobstructed beach views. Given the location, the manicured lawns, and the perfectly maintained homes, this development has to be stratospherically expensive.

It’s one thing for me to accept a nice hotel suite for a weekend as part of an award. It’s quite another to, what, freeload off Kurt indefinitely?

I’m a loser, yet again.

When I pull into the three-car garage next to a brand-new Volvo, I turn off the BMW and stay put in my seat. The space is lined with shiny gray cabinets and black-framed racing posters, and it’s so clean you could eat off the pristine floor. It looks more like a showroom than a garage. I grip the steering wheel and let out a breath.

“Johnny?” Kurt says quietly, turning toward me. “What’s wrong?”

“Where’s the closest Greyhound station?”

Kurt chokes out a laugh. “What? Why?”

“Because I can’t do this,” I say through clenched teeth. “I ain’t a gold digger.”

He pauses a moment before he asks, “Is that what you think I think?”

“I dunno what you think.”

“Look at me,” he orders, and I do. His pretty brown eyes are intense and pleading. “Johnny. You’re not using me.”

I shake my head. “Not intentionally, but this is still a bad idea.”

“Can you be more specific as to what’s the bad idea?” He chuckles and spreads his hands wide. “Because you and I have made a few bad decisions in the past two days—namely your whole plan to remove yourself from the planet and us getting drunk-married.” He pauses. “Shit, that was insensitive. Suicide isn’t a joke.”

“I figure if we can’t joke about it, we can’t talk about it,” I say. My heart is still beating halfway out of my chest, but it’s maybe a little better than it was a minute ago. “I’m okay with you teasing me.”

“Phew. But which bad decision are you talking about?”

“Me coming here,” I start. “Putting you in this situation where you have to deal with the fallout of marrying an adult entertainer. All my …” I wave at my head. “All of it.”

“Okay, for starters, that’s not all on you. Last night is pretty fuzzy, but I think getting married was my idea.”

I rack my brain, trying to remember which of us suggested going into the chapel. It might’ve been him. I was in a ‘Fuck it, it’s the last day of my life’ mood, which is why I went along with it. Though my drunk brain certainly recognized a man I’m attracted to. That’s for damn sure.

I look at his sweet face. Even though I don’t deserve him—he’s rich and educated and a literal poster boy, while I work, worked, in the shadows of society—I still really like him. Really want him.

I shrug. “Don’t matter whose idea it was. I … I don’t belong here.”

He reaches out and touches my shoulder, and I can’t help leaning into his touch. “Hey. This has to be a shock to your system—being with me when you don’t know me, getting married, and everything else. Especially with all that’s been bothering you lately. But do you think you could come inside? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I’m not going to let you fend for yourself right now. That’s just … No. So I don’t mean to be holding you hostage. But I do mean to be helping you.” He gives me a grin. “And maybe you can help me, too.”

I’m not sure how that would ever be possible, but it’s nice to imagine. “How could I do that?”

“If you’re my husband, you may need to go to a few public events with me.” He holds up his hands. “Not now, not while you’re feeling bad. But maybe when you feel better. Would you consider it?”

Of course I’d consider it. Kurt doesn’t owe me anything—in fact, I’ve caused a ton of problems for him—yet he’s sitting here wanting to take care of me. Of course I’ll do anything I can to balance the scales.

He’s being reasonable. I’m the one who’s being a butthead. I tell the wailing violin in my head to hush.

“Yeah,” I whisper.

---