Not You It's Me (Boston Love #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,19
at me with interest.
…and they haven’t even heard the rest of the story yet.
“Well, I’m sure it’s not that weird.” I try to sound indifferent. “Billionaires don’t live by the same rules we do. I’m sure he goes around kissing people on national television all the time.”
Chrissy and Mark glance at one another.
“What?” I ask, knowing Chrissy — whose obsession with gossip, pop-culture, and all things scandalous remains unparalleled — undoubtedly has the scoop on him. “Come on, lay it on me.”
She clears her throat delicately. “I hate to break it to you, honey, but no one really knows that much about him. He was a bit of a playboy when he was younger, but what heir to a multi-billion dollar fortune wouldn’t be? Lots of girls, lots of parties, from what I remember. He was always getting into scuffles with the paparazzi, arrested for DUIs, stuff like that.” She’s staring at me, eyes wide. “But he’s been MIA for the past five years. No one really knows where he went or why he left. There was some kind of scandal with his family, but I don’t think the details were ever made public.”
Hmm.
“He’s been out of the country, as far as anyone knows. Tonight at the game was one of his first public appearances since he left when he was twenty-five.”
“He’s only thirty?” I ask, surprised.
“I think so.”
“Yep,” Mark concurs, staring intently at his smartphone screen. “At least, according to Wikipedia.”
“Oh, honey, let me see!” Chrissy demands, holding out her hand for his phone. Instead of simply passing it to her, he stands up, rounds the coffee table, and squeezes in directly beside her, so they’re sharing a single cushion. Within seconds, he’s settled her back against his chest and wrapped his arms around her so she can see the screen. Her hands rest gently on her rounded stomach as she snuggles back against him.
I snort. “God, you two are disgustingly cute.”
They grin in unison and it’s so adorable I want to vomit on the spot.
“You never told us how you ended up soaking wet on our doorstep,” Chrissy says pointedly. “Or what happened after he kissed you.”
I grimace. “Ralph happened.”
A dark look replaces Mark’s typically unruffled expression. “I bet that toolbag was—”
“Mark!” Chrissy gasps.
“What?” he retorts. “He is a toolbag. No offense, Gemma.”
“None taken,” I repeat for the second time tonight.
“So?” Chrissy prompts, gesturing for me to continue.
I launch back in, telling them about the intense moment between Green Eyes — Chase — and Ralph, followed by my Cinderella-esque escape out into the rainy night. When I get to the part about the town car pulling up beside me at the curb, Chrissy’s eyes go wide as saucers and she leans back into her husband’s chest.
“He drove you here?” she asks.
I nod.
“You got in the car with a stranger?” Mark’s expression darkens further.
“Did he kiss you again?” Chrissy demands, before I can answer.
Looking from husband to wife, I give another hesitant nod.
Mark mutters, “Not smart,” at the same instant a loud, “OHMIGOD!” explodes from Chrissy’s mouth.
It takes her a few minutes to calm down, but when she does, I tell them the rest.
How he called my name.
How I stopped on the stairs.
How he walked over to me.
How he brushed the hair from my face.
How he kissed me until I couldn’t even feel the rain anymore. Until all I felt was him, his lips on mine, his hands in my hair. Drenched with water, filled with fire, we were soaking wet and burning up all at once.
“Ohmigod. Ohmigodohmigodohmigod,” Chrissy repeats in a dazed mantra, her eyes unfocused.
If she’s this unhinged by just a kiss, I’m glad I didn’t tell her about the bet I made… and the way my night almost ended – wearing nothing but my birthday suit in Chase Croft’s apartment.
“I think what my wife means to say is, ‘Then what happened, Gemma?’” Mark offers, rolling his eyes.
I laugh lightly. “Then he left.”
“What!” Chrissy yells, her eyes flying back to mine. “What do you mean he left?”
“I mean he left. He stared into my eyes for a moment, walked away, and climbed back into his town car.”
“He didn’t say anything?”
“No,” I lie. “But it doesn’t matter, anyway, because I’m giving up men. All men. Billionaires included.”
Mark’s eyebrows go up.
“What?” Chrissy squeals.
“No more men. These lady parts are officially closed for business,” I say decidedly, crossing one leg over the other to punctuate my words.
“Oh,” Chrissy says, relieved. “I thought you were serious!”