Page 61 of Rebound

I hand him his drink, a bottled water, because I notice he always drinks water before anything else. He takes it, puts it down, and snakes his free arm around my waist. He pulls me to him, leans down, and gives me a soft lingering kiss on the lips.

“Mmhmm,” I hear him moan. He puts his hand on my ass and squeezes. “I missed that fat booty,” he says.

I pull away and swat his hand.

Once he downs the water, he takes the margarita and sips it.

“How was your commercial?” I ask. “Did your ugly face break the camera?”

“Funny,” he says. He holds out his hand for me, and I take it. He surprises me when he kisses the back of it. “It was good. We’re all done,” he says. “But we get this suite for the next three days.” He puts Jasmine down, and she runs back to her toys. “What do you want to do while we’re here?” he asks as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Corny stuff,” I say, knowing he won’t want to do any of it.

“Like what?” He puts his drink down, takes mine, and puts it on the counter next to his. Then he lifts me off my feet and throws me over his shoulder like I’m a sack of dirty laundry.

“What the hell?” I ask, but my laughter gives it away that I’m not mad.

He plops himself down on the couch and puts me on his lap. One of his long strong arms goes around me, and I couldn’t get up even if I wanted to.

“You would,” he says. “Like what? Touring celebrity homes?” He rolls his eyes. When I don’t answer, he says, “I’m right? You want to do that shit?”

“Yeah, so?” I ask, offended. “We don’t have to.”

“We’ll do it. What else?” he asks.

“Disneyland,” I say.

“Done.”

“And I want to go to Venice Beach,” I throw in since he’s being so accommodating.

“Okay. Jazzy Girl loves the beach,” he says. She must hear her name because she looks up and waves a toy around. He blows her a kiss. “Anything else? You want to get on The Price is Right?” he throws in.

My eyes widen at the thought. Gaga loves that show. It’s one of the things that calms her when she’s having a bad day.

“I would, but I have to get back to work.”

“Next time then,” he says. “My dad loves that stupid show. I’d have to let you do that one alone. I hate it.”

“Why?” I ask, desperate to know more about him.

“Bad memories. He’d sit on the couch all day watching daytime television. I can’t stand soap operas for that same reason. That’s all he did when he could have been working or, you know, being a parent to me.”

There’s no point in saying that Pete couldn’t help it. That he’s sick and has probably suffered something traumatic. None of that will cure the little boy who was physically and emotionally abandoned. None of those words will make him feel better. Besides, I think he knows that, but he’s still angry. It’s easy for me to feel empathy for Pete. I wasn’t the subject of his neglect. I didn’t suffer because of his illness. Even if my mom had those issues, I had other people who would step in to take care of me. Seth didn’t.

I lift my hand and wait. He puts his in it. “I’m sorry you went through that,” I say and wait for him to snap that he doesn’t want sympathy, but he doesn’t. He squeezes my hand and intertwines our fingers.

“How about some food?” he suggests. That’s when I realize it’s after six-thirty. My stomach suddenly growls and I jump off his lap. “Let’s eat in the hotel restaurant. I’m tired.” He stands and stretches. His shirt rides up and exposes the happy trail of light blonde hair he has on his toned stomach.

Part of me itches to run my fingers through it and travel south. I step closer and do just that but stop at his waistline. My fingertips tickle his soft hair, and he sighs in happiness.

Seconds later, I see the front of his shorts rise.

“Jesus, Whorekowski, calm down.” I pull my hand away and pretend to be disgusted, but I secretly feel powerful at being able to get him to react in such a way.

“Whatever. Like your nipples aren’t hard.” He looks at Jasmine, who is busy rocking a baby doll in her arms. He then walks to me and pinches my nipples through my dress. I moan like a whore in heat. “Calm down, Whorekowski,” he taunts. “Let’s go. Jazzy Girl, time to eat eat.”

She drops the doll and runs to us. He picks her up and puts an arm around my waist. I grab my purse and diaper bag on theway out, and we walk to the restaurant with Jasmine in his arms and his other arm around me as if we’re a happy little family.

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