Afterthoughts: A Charity McAdams Novella (The Charity McAdams Novellas) (10 page)

“Charity, what the hell is going on in here? Are you alright?” Brandon’s
voice calls from the entryway.

“Yes, everything’s fine. I was just trying to hurry and I dropped my phone.”

“Do you want help?” He looks somewhere between amused and concerned. I’m sure I make quite the picture. Still mostly covered in dried up mud, my hair is probably all kinds of crazy, and I’m sitting on my knees on the floor, cradling my injured hand.

All I can do is nod. It’s all becoming a bit more than I can handle and I feel tears starting to well up in my eyes. This frustrates me even more, because I am normally this super composed person who, at least, appears to have my life together and since seeing Brandon at the airport I have transformed into this clumsy mess that can’t do anything without causing complete chaos.

He comes close and squats down next to me. “What happened here?” He asks, taking my inj
ured hand, gently into his own.

“It’s nothing,” I say, not willing to meet his eyes. “It’ll be fine, just stings for a second.”

“Alright,” Brandon says, he takes my good hand and pulls me up from my kneeling position. “Tell me what we need to do.”

“The mud isn’t coming off her fur so I need to rinse her off in the tub. Ashley said the doggy shampoo is upstairs in the bathroom.”

“Ok.”

A few minutes later we have managed to get Maci upstairs and into the tub. She
did not
go willingly, Ashley wasn’t kidding when she said she could be bit of a pain. Brandon turns the water on and starts to rinse her off while I dig around
in
the cupboards for the shampoo.

Housekeeping and organization are not two of Ashley’s strong suit. Just going through the cupboards and drawers is making me itch to take over her house for a couple of days and get everything sorted.

I finally give up and tell Brandon I’m going to go check downstairs. I finally find the soap under the kitchen sink (not a place Ashley even told me to check!) and run back up the stairs. I round the corner into the bathroom and my breath catches. Brandon has discarded his white t shirt and is leaning over the edge of the tub half-naked. He had always been in shape when we were dating and engaged but as an action movie star he has obviously taken his training to the next level. I stand silently and watch him work. His tanned skin is flawless and watching his back and shoulder muscles sends a little shiver down my spine. He is speaking in soothing tones to the miserable looking dog and the whole scene is a
little more than I can handle.

I force myself to tear my eyes away and step forward to hand him the bottle of shampoo. After he takes the bottle I back up a few steps, trying to keep as much distance between us as possible but as soon as Brandon lets go of her collar to get some shampoo, Maci starts to make a break for it. I squeal and block her path and within the span of a few seconds Brandon has her hauled back in the tub.

“
Oh! We got a runner!
Cherry, you’re
gonna
have to hold her
collar,” he says with a laugh.

I nod and reluctantly sink to the floor next to Brandon, trying very
hard to keep my eyes on the dog, and away from his perfect abs and the little indents at his hips that are peeking above his low
riding jeans.

Focus!

It only takes a few minutes to scrub and give her a final rinse. Brandon rubs her down with a towel before we release her, laughing as she runs out of the bathroom
like she has just been set free
from jail.

We clean out the tub and wipe down the counter and mirror, not quite sure how wet dog hair ended up there in the first place. I turn back to gather the pile of wet towels and bump into Brandon. I move to step away and go around but he puts a hand on my waist and steps closer. His face is just inches from mine and getting closer.

My lips part to offer some sort or protest but his lips meet mine before I get out a single word. I lift an arm to push him away but as he deepens the kiss I reach up to hold the side of his face and pull him closer instead. My other arm wraps around his waist and the feel of his warm ski
n melts the rest of my resolve.

He pushes me backwards until I hit the edge of the counter and then he effortlessly lifts me up to sit on the edge, holding me steady with one arm wrapped firmly around me. I instinctually wrap my legs around his waist and draw him closer. He groans and
lowers his mouth to kiss his way down my neck as his free hand gets tangled in my hair. I drop my head back and exhale sharply as his kisses send another jolt of electricity through my body. I arch back as he reaches for the bottom of my t-shirt.

He has it raised just about over my head when Maci starts to bark again and the front door slams shut. Ashley’s voice calls up the stairs, “Charity! I’m back, are you still here?”

I swear as I pull my shirt back on and try to smooth out the edges. I put a hand on Brandon’s chest and push him backward. He looks both surprised and hurt and I instantly feel guilty. “I’m sorry, but we
gotta
go, Ashley can’t find us…like this,” I say, gesturing between us.

He nods and pulls his t-shirt back on but I can tell he is upset.

I rack my brain, trying to figure out how to get Brandon out of here without Ashley seeing him. “Ok, listen, I’m going to go out there and distract her, you go downstairs and get outside. I’ll meet you out front in a few minutes,” I explain, hurriedly.

“Fine,” he agrees with an angry tone.

“Hey, Ash, I’m just finishing up here, be down in a sec,” I call from the hallway. I gather the wet towels and take them down the stairs with me, lea
ving the door open for Brandon.

Ashley is still by the front door, scratching
Maci’s
wet tummy. She looks up when she hears me coming down the stairs and gasps, “What in the world happened?!”

“
Your
dog dragged me into the pond, that’s what happened,” I say, dramatically. “It’s a good thing she’s so cute.” I laugh as Maci rolls around on her back, lavishing the attention.

“I’m really sorry Charity. You didn’t have to wash her, I would have done it,” she says as she straightens and reaches for the load of used towels. I hand them to her and follow her through the kitchen and into the laundry room. She puts everything in the machine and starts the cycle. “I would ask if you wanted to go get dinner but I guess you need to get home and get a shower.”

“Yeah, that and don’t you have a big project you need to do?”

“Well, yes, but you know me. I thr
ive under pressure!” She jokes.

“Show me what you got,” I say, knowing that will buy enough time
to let Brandon sneak outside.

We pass through the kitchen and back to the living room where she has set down her shopping bags. It’s mostly supplies so it doesn’t take too long to sift through it all b
ut I’m sure it was long enough.

“I better get going,” I say, once she has put the bags away.

“Yeah, I
gotta
get to work anyways.
Wanna
do lunch tomorrow since
today didn’t exactly work out?”

I nod. “Yeah, that works.”

And what an interesting lunch it will be
, I think to myself, already trying to decide what to tell her about everything that has happened since she left the café this morning.

“Don’t forget your coat,” she says, as I turn to leave.

“My coat?”

“On the front porch, there’s a black coat. Isn’t it yours?” she asks, her eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“Oh! That coat, yeah, thanks. I’ll make sure to grab it,” I say, realizing that Brandon probably left it outside when he came in to help.

“Alright, see you tomorrow,” she says, still looking slightly suspicious.

I get outside and scoop the coat off the porch. I look down the road and see Brandon waiting for me at the end of the street. I approach slowly, trying to figure out what to say. When I reach him he doesn’t look angry anymore, he looks sad, which just makes me feel worse.

“Brandon, I’m sorry about that,” I start. “I panicked.”

“
It’s
fine, I get it,”
he says, without looking at me.

I know I have probably ruined any hope of a normal night, and to think I was doing this to help cheer him up after
hearing out about his mom, ugh.

“Do you still want to do dinner?” I ask, hoping he will say yes.

“S
ure.
Which way to your house?”

I lead the way and we walk in silence. We get to my house and I let us in. He settles onto the couch and turns on the TV while I go up to my bedroom to s
hower and change my clothes.

I can’t help but replay our make-out session in my mind as I get ready. I have no idea where any of this is going but I do know that I am in way over my head.

Half an hour later I head back downsta
irs, feeling much more human, having
showered, put on clean clothes,
and reapplied a little make-up.

Brandon turns his head to look back at me as I round the couch. “Feel better?” He asks.

I nod. “Yes, quite refreshing to be duck-poo free,” I joke.

He laughs. “Good. So,
whatcha
got for dinner?”

“Good question,” I answer, mentally rummaging through my cupboards and fridge to think of something. “I could make spaghetti,” I offer with a laugh.

“I thought you were trying to save me from a spaghetti dinner. I could have gone to Little Ricky’s,” he teases.

“Well you
could
have, but then it wouldn’t be my special recipe! The secret is in the sauce,” I say with a wink.

Brandon laughs again. “Ricky is a fourth generation Italian chef, I’m pretty sure he knows how to make spaghetti sauce!”

“True.” I bite my lip, trying to think of another idea. Unfortunately, in all the chaos of the past few days, I haven’t had time to go grocery shopping. I eat a lot of meals at the café and so I rarely keep much around the house in the first place, but right now, my cupboards are especially
lean. “We could order Chinese?”

“No, no, I
wanna
try some of this secret sauce,” he says, pulling me up from the couch. “Let’s get cooking.”

I smile and lead the way to the kitchen. It’s a small, galley style kitchen with a breakfast nook attached. Not a lot of room for two cooks but we dive in anyways.

He helps me cook the meal and we talk about random things, mostly about his movie roles and the places he has travelled over the past few years. It all sounds exciting to me, but there
is
a slight dullness to his voice that I wasn’t expecting. Acting had always been his passion and yet the way he talks about it makes it feel like he is describing another day at the office.

“I’ve never actually seen one of your movies,” I confess at
one point in the conversation.

“I didn’t figure you had,” he replies. He turns to look at me but keeps one hand stirring the ground turkey that is browning on the stove.

“I am happy for you, and the life you have built,” I offer, sincerely. “I hope you know that. I am proud that you were able to reach your goals and be so successful.”

He nods and glances back at the stove. “You’d be surprised at how little it all means.”

“How little what me
ans?” I say, suddenly confused.

“The fame, recognition, money, it’s all
kinda
pointless,” he explains. “I mean, it’s nice to do what you love and I do love acting, but it also makes you feel alone and isolated. No one understands what you do and you’re constantly being watched and harassed. The actual job is a blast but the lifestyle
kinda
blows. Everyone cheers for you but really they’re just waiting for you to stumble so they can gossip about you and stab you in the back to get ahead in their own career.”

“That sounds awful,” I say, sadly.

“That’s just my take, my experience. I’m sure not everyone feels that way. I guess I have everything I ever wanted, and more, but at the end of the day I can be surrounded by people and still feel lonely, like I don’t have any real friends. Everyone is only out there to get something from me.”

I’m quiet for a moment, not sure
what to say to that. A sudden thought pops into my head and I vocalize it without thinking of the implications, “What about Vanessa?”

He groans, “Cherry, tell me you don’t buy into the tabloid bullshit. I thought if anyone was above that, it would be you.”

“Hey! Y
ou haven’t talked to me in the past three years, remember? The only information I can get on you comes from those sources. I don’t go out of my way to
spy
on you, but people talk, especially around here, and I can’t put myself in a soundproof box
and ignore it all,” I fire back, turning to face him, the prep knife still in my hand, waving in his direction.