Page 46 of Anyone But the Superstar

‘Well?’ She nods at the melon. ‘Is it ripe?’

Smiling at her interest, I lift the melon to my nose and inhale. ‘Nope.’

Her deflated enthusiasm is adorable.

I gesture her closer and lift the melon toward her. ‘What do you smell?’

Anne sniffs, frowning. ‘Nothing.’

‘Exactly.’ I place the melon back and grab another, one that looks less green. ‘What about this one?’

Anne’s arms brush mine as she leans closer. ‘Oh.’ She straightens, blasting me with a smile. ‘It’s sweet.’

I feel that smile below my massive belt buckle.

A woman pauses her cart pushing to reach for a cantaloupe. ‘Excuse me.’

I sidestep out of her way. ‘Ma’am.’ Tipping my head down, the brim of my hat blocks my face from view.

The woman doesn’t even look up. Just nods back and grabs a melon before moving on.

Anne takes the ripe melon out of my hands, a satisfied smile on her face. ‘See. I told you no one would recognize you.’ She places the melon in our cart and steers it toward the avocados. ‘Come on, JD.’ She struts, her ass moving in tandem to her swinging ponytail. ‘Not only am I getting hungry, but we’ve got a pussy to pick-up.’

All shoppers turn to Anne who, seemingly oblivious, stops to grab a few apples.

Awed at how relaxed I am in public, even with Anne’s mouthdrawing attention, I do as she commands and amble after. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘I feel like I just bought Mike Hunt the feline equivalent of a blow-up doll.’

Anne, sitting next to me at the kitchen island, rolls her lips, her nostrils flaring.

She’s trying not to laugh. She’s been trying and failing throughout most of dinner.

I might be laughing too, if I wasn’t so busy trying to figure out how Mike managed to open a zippered backpack, pull out a limited-edition action figure – which, to me, looked more like a pornographic Japanese Barbie doll – and humped it until its head popped off.

A giggle escapes Anne’s mouth as she spears another bite of the avocado-topped chicken breast with her fork.

One of many giggles she’s been unable to contain since we got home to find our impromptu concierge cat-sitter in tears of despair, rocking himself in the living room chair as he watched Mike defile what appeared to be a prized possession, apparently too scared to wrestle it from the enamored feline after his first attempt was met with a claw swipe and a ‘tiger-like growl’.

I scrape the remaining salad into a pile on my plate with my fork. ‘Why would someone pay that much for a doll?’ While Anne calmed the guy down with tissues and pats on the back, I searched the cost of the doll on my phone, shocked at the prices listed for these so-called action figures.

My limited-edition Ken doll made in my likeness isn’t even close to this obscure manga character’s figurine price.

I ended up giving the distraught concierge everything in mywallet just to cover the ruined doll and his cat-sitting fee.Plus, a promise for an autographed picture once filming was done to ease his emotional trauma.

I scoop the salad up with a tortilla chip, chewing hard.

‘Collector’s item.’ Anne wipes her mouth with a napkin before hopping off her stool.

My eyes water when a jagged piece of chip slides down my throat. ‘What?’ I wheeze out.

Shaking her head with another chuckle, Anne grabs her plate and moves around the island to the sink. ‘They’re called collector’s items.’

I clear my throat with a cough. ‘It’s a doll.’ Standing, I grab my plate and follow her to the sink. ‘A minusculeporndoll.’

Anne snorts. ‘Collectors get very snippy if you call them dolls or toys.’

‘How would you know?’

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