Heavy: A Contemporary Romance (4 page)

“You and her keep the paparazzi busy then?” I joked, trying to lighten the mood after all the avoiding she was doing to the original question.

California’s eyes dulled and she shifted her gaze to the carpet. “I’ve had my share of unsolicited media attention. It’s not a part of my life I’m too proud of, and I’m really not comfortable talking about it.”

I noticed a slight trembling in her hands and immediately regretted
making the joke. Her relationship to the media and the reasons for their interest in her was none of my business. The fact I’d played a part in the look on her face now, killed me. I’d seen that haunted look before: delicate, fragile, terrified and traumatized – someone haunted by bad memories. Something in me wanted to pull her close, hold her tight, protect her, and promise to never let her get that look again.

But
,
that
wasn’t an option open to me.

What I could do, though, was change the subject.

“I’m sorry, we got sidetracked. You were asking me about the shop.”

She looked back at me through thick lashes, a grateful expression replacing the anxious one
. Her grasp tightened on her water bottle in an attempt to stop her hand from shaking. I could tell she was someone more used to covering up her emotions and the slight slip I’d just witnessed wasn’t the norm for her.

“It’s pretty small
… four stations,” I continued, hiding my worry with a smile. “It’s just me, my friend Rufus, another artist called Mo, and my dad. Thanks to Max, we’re thinking about renting out one of the stations to a fifth person.”

“You still live with your dad?” she asked, visibly calmer now
, her self-confidence returning.

“Yeah, we live in the apartment above the shop
. My dad bought the place fifteen years ago for a song. It’s just off the Strip in Downtown Vegas – not the greatest of neighborhoods back then.” I gave a dry laugh. “Actually, it still isn’t the greatest of neighborhoods now, but it’s a hundred times better than it was back in the day. I have everything I need right on the same block: a mom-and-pop coffee shop and sandwich place next door, my gym across the street…”

“I knew that body of yours didn’t come naturally…and oh my God, I just said that out loud, didn’t I?”
California shrugged, as if she wasn’t really that embarrassed by her little slip.

The faint blush to her cheeks told a different story
. It was completely adorable.

“You sure did,” I laughed
. “And, thank you. I have to work out daily for a competition I promised someone I’d enter. My training sessions are pretty intense right now.”

“I wish I could say the same,” she said sheepishly, using the back of her hand to cool her
cheeks. “I’ve been struggling with my weight my entire life. Tallulah, my stepmom, made me join a gym when I was thirteen. It doesn’t matter how much I work out though, this is as good as it gets. What competition are you training for?”

“Have you heard of
Ultimate Ninja Athlete
?”

“It’s the T
.V. show with the obstacles, right? Based on a Japanese show or something?”

“Yep, that’s the one.”

“Don’t contestants dress up in superhero costumes and stuff?” She teased.

“Ha
ha. Not all of them,” I replied sarcastically.

“I certainly wouldn’t mind seeing you in a pair of tights,” she giggled.

I hastily changed the subject in an attempt to calm down my twitching dick. The sound of her laughter was making it throb.

“What the
hell did you mean when you said you had a weight problem? There’s no problem from what I can see.” I let my eyes roam down her body again.

Hell
, why not? She brought it up.

“
Not according to Tallulah and Lake, my stepsister. According to them, I’m much heavier than I should be,” she laughed, but there was no mirth in her eyes as she spoke. “On some levels, I’m prone to agree with them.”

I instantly knew she wasn’t just talking about just
the shape of her body. This girl had issues she was still dealing with.

Who doesn’t?

Cali

I was giving him as little information as I could, but the little I
had
divulged was already more than I told most.

Having said that,
I couldn’t tell him about my struggles with bulimia. Not even the press had picked up on that one yet. My stepmom preferred that the world see me as a rebellious addict over someone struggling with an eating disorder. To her, as a former high-fashion model, drug abuse was acceptable. Admitting to an eating disorder was sacrilegious. Bulimia was not a disorder to Tallulah – it was a diet regimen. My drug and alcohol abuse was only a side effect from my bulimia and not the other way around. I think if the word bulimia started being bandied about where I was concerned, she might have to admit some sort of responsibility. ‘Responsibility’ was a not a word in my stepmother’s vocabulary.

“So you
and your dad must be pretty close then?” I couldn’t help myself. The relationship between people and their parents was a subject I was genuinely interested in. Given how screwed up mine was, could you blame me?

“We are now
. My mom and he split up when I was seven and I stayed with her in New York. My dad and I sort of reconnected and started over from scratch a few years ago when I turned up on his doorstep.”

Thatch paused here and I couldn’t help but notice how his eyes flicked briefly towards the bag of coke on the table next to his tattoo gun.

“My father,” he continued, “is a recovering alcoholic. He’s been sober now for almost four years.”

“I guess I won’t have to ask if you want to do a line then,” I joked, deliberately looking at the cocaine in front of me.

Perhaps, if
I’d
done a few lines, I wouldn’t be acting like a tongue-twisted – and boring – schoolgirl right now.

“Not my scene
. Never has been,” Thatch shrugged.

Maybe it was a good thing I hadn’t indulged
too much tonight then…yet.

For the first time in my life
, I actually wanted to explain myself a little. Not everything, of course. I may have fallen into lust-at-first-sight with this young man in front of me, but I wasn’t so delusional as to think I could share deep secrets with a complete stranger. When you were often a feature segment on
TMZ
for no other reason than you had a famous father, you tended to keep some things close to the chest. Never trust anyone – a motto I had to live by for most of my life.

“
I’ve spent my fair share of time in that drug and alcohol rough patch,” I finally said to Thatch. “Of course, I don’t think it’s as bad as the media makes it out to be. I was dabbling with things no girl my age should’ve been. I’m not an addict, but my therapist has encouraged me to refrain from my ‘dabbling’ in the hopes it’ll help me deal with my other…issues. Everything’s supposed to be easier to deal with if I maintain a clear head.”

There
. That’s sort of the truth. He didn’t need to know anything about my eating disorder or the psychological traumas that fueled it. And, he certainly didn’t need to know I was checking myself into The Blaire Institute and Recovery Center tomorrow. I hadn’t even told my family yet. Tonight was supposed to be my last big binge before going in.

I know, I know
. I’m completely aware of the hypocrisy there.

“How’s that working out for you so far?”
Thatch asked.

“I’ll let you know,” I laughed
a little nervously. “I start tomorrow.” While it
was
true I wasn’t technically an addict… nothing curbs an appetite like cocaine can.

“My dad has really…”

Thatch was interrupted as the door flew open and Max came into the room, his guitar slung over his shoulder. “Sorry that took so long,” he said. “I had a little business to take care of first with Dee-Dee.”

He gave Thatch a wink before he noticed me.

“Cali! I didn’t know you were in here! Been keeping the young man entertained in my absence?” Max winked at me this time. “Watch yourself with this one, young man; she’s got a bit of the devil inside her sometimes,” he said jokingly to Thatch.

Well
, it was half-joke, half-truth, if I were perfectly honest.

“Lake was…
entertaining… in our room and this was the quietest spot I could find,” I said a little defensively, as he came and wedged himself between Thatch and me after tossing his guitar on the bed.

“That
daughter of mine has too much of me in her. Could be worse though,” Max chuckled. “She could’ve taken after her mother.”

Either way, the girl was fucked
. I didn’t say that out loud though.

Like I was one to talk.

“Do you guys mind if I hang out and watch?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Fine by me
. You okay with that, Thatch?” Max asked as Thatch stood and started prepping his tattoo equipment.

“Fine by me
, too. I just need somewhere to plug this in. How about you sit in one of these chairs over here, Max. I’m working on your forearm today, right?”

“Yep
. How do you feel about doing a little cover-up action?” Max grinned at him.

“Please tell me you’re finally taking care of the ‘
Tally’ tattoo,” I said, stretching my legs out now that I had the couch to myself again.

“You’d better believe it
. Your step-monster is going to be so mad…”

I barely paid attention to what Max was saying as
I watched Thatch move the second chair nearer to the one Max now sat in. Just the few seconds of noticing his T-shirt stretched tight across his momentarily strained chest muscles as he dragged the heavy piece of furniture, was enough to make my mouth go dry… again. He repositioned Max’s chair so that Max faced away from me, but I had a clear view of his arm that was to be worked on.

“Let’s take a look at this ‘Tally’ then,” Thatch said, taking hold of Max’s right arm. The same arm that was always featured front and center during guitar-playing close-ups.

It might have been over twelve years since Max and
Tallulah had been divorced, but they still mixed in the same elite circles and were still tied to one another through Lake. My stepmother would never admit it, but the fact that her name was still clearly visible in any close-up shot or photo, was just another way for her to feel she was still in the spotlight. It was another little way for her to claim fame. Sure, she was the queen of the red carpet at awards shows just because she was on Brock Huntington’s arm, but it wasn’t Tallulah the interviewers wanted to talk to.

Yet
, every time Lake was caught by the paparazzi stumbling out of a club, her mother and father were always mentioned – and often times, so was that damn ‘Tally’ tattoo on Max’s right arm. The press loved to play the ‘first love’ angle – as if it was a romantic tragedy that Max and Tallulah had split up.

If there was one thing I was certain of, it was that my stepmother was going to be pissed as all hell when she saw Max had tattooed over it.

Thatch turned Max’s arm over to get a good look at the area in question. “There’s not a lot of room to work with here. What do you have in mind, Max? It’ll have to be something in the vertical for me to cover it completely.”

“I was thinking about my guitar,” Max answered, motioning with his head toward the bed.

“That could work,” Thatch agreed as he walked over and picked up the item under discussion.

Damn
– he had a sexy walk.

Max’s guitar was solid black with one red strip
e down it. “I think it would cover up the other tattoo perfectly,” Thatch added as he returned to his seat.

I watched as Thatch began drawing across Max’s skin
with what looked like red magic marker.

“Don’t you use a stencil or draw it on paper first?” I asked with genuine curiosity.

“Sometimes,” Thatch replied. “This one should be pretty easy though. I’m just going to free hand it.”

“The boy is a genius, Cali,” Max laughed
. “He can do whatever he likes to my arm – just as long as I don’t have to see that fucking woman’s name on me anymore.”

“In that case,” Thatch winked at me before turning back to Max
. “How’d you feel about me making it a little more interesting than just a straight up image of your guitar?”

“Go for it,” Max grinned.

Thatch

Knowing California was watching as I worked was a bigger turn-on than I’d thought possible. Even when I got into my zone, concentrating on the task at hand, I could still feel her gaze on me. Let’s just say, I knew she wasn’t only looking at the tattoo being drawn.

The music California had been listening to was turned down low
, and barely audible. Max stayed on the phone for most of the sitting – his voice nothing more than a dull noise in the background, much like the drone of my tattoo gun.