“Considering I’m just about ready to explode every time I hear your voice, let alone see you, I’d say that’s a possibility,” he said, his gaze heating the longer we looked at each other.
“Hmm.” My heart did a series of wild pitter-patters as I put my mug in the sink and walked around the counter. We stood face to face, one of his hands gripping the side of the counter and the other in his pocket. I placed my hand flat on his hard chest and trailed it down to his stomach, stopping above his belt. His breath hitched. “A big possibility,” I said.
“A very big possibility,” he said, swallowing, eyes blazing.
I smiled and dropped my hand, stepping away just slightly. “I should probably go put my shoes on.”
“You definitely should.” From the way he was looking at me, the last thing I wanted was to put more clothes on. “You should probably go do that now,” he added, stepping a little closer and bringing his thumb to my face to wipe at the side of my mouth.
My lips parted slightly, I felt my breath coming in tiny spurts as we looked at each other. His gaze held a promise, but more than that, there was a soft curiosity that hadn’t been there before, and as his hazel eyes brewed and studied mine, I went completely still, my body anchored by his. An earthquake could have shaken, my door could have been pounded down by a million paparazzi, and I still wouldn’t have moved, because his hand on my face and that gaze was the only thing I felt I needed.
We both blinked at the same time, his hand dropping as he cleared his throat.
“Yeah, let me . . . go get my shoes,” I said again, and disappeared into the hall. By the time I reached the top of the stairs, I wasn’t sure if my heart was galloping because of the steps I took two at a time or what had just happened in the kitchen. I didn’t know what was happening, but I knew I needed to get to that courthouse and make this go away once and for all so I could at least explore the realm of possibilities between us.
When we got outside, Victor positioned himself on the side the paparazzi were standing and put his arm on my shoulder as he led me down the sidewalk. When the cameras started flashing, I was glad I had my sunglasses on.
“Nicole, what happened the other day at the ice cream shop?”
“Is the divorce back on? Is that why you moved here?”
“Are you still working on your marriage?”
I kept my head down, my eyes on my black Jimmy Choos, and kept it moving. The questions continued until we got to the car, and even after our doors shut, the flashes continued.
“I don’t understand how anybody could live like that. It’s like living inside a fishbowl,” Victor said.
“With no water,” I replied.
He glanced at me as he stopped at the red light. “Do you get used to it?”
“I guess in a sense it becomes the new normal, which is insane to admit. Once this whole thing is over I can go back to living life, though.”
“You mean go back to partying without worrying about them trailing behind you?”
“Goals,” I said with a sigh. I paused to think on that for a beat, though, and it didn’t accurately portray what I wanted out of life. “As lame as it probably sounds, I kind of just want to be able to pump gas without being followed around and asked about Gabe. I’m assuming once it’s over they won’t feel the need to mention every woman he’s seen out with.”
Victor didn’t take his eyes off the road, but nodded. “Does it bother you? Hearing about him and other women?”
“I think what bothers me is their need to throw it out there just to get a good picture of whatever face I make. The knowledge of the women . . . doesn’t bother me anymore.”
Once I saw him leave the club with the blonde, and survived, I knew that ship had sailed, and even though it had hurt a little, I realized rather quickly I was completely fine without him. I’d been without him for so long anyway.
“Do you read the tabloids?”
“Of course I do.”
I was just as guilty as everybody else in Hollywood who didn’t read the tabloids. I’d rather find out what they were saying about me firsthand. Victor didn’t respond to that, instead he hit the steering wheel with his palm when we hit a wall of traffic.
“Fuck you, Los Angeles. Fuck you,” he said. I couldn’t help but laugh, and when he shot me a glare, I laughed harder.
“We’re on time,” I said.
He sighed. “I guess we are. Sorry. Court days make me crazy.”
“Oh. Court days make you crazy. What’s your excuse every other day of the week?” I asked, smiling. I could tell he was having a difficult time keeping a serious look on his face. He looked at me, his eyes dead set on mine.
“You.”
My stomach flipped. “Me? How do you figure that?”
“You make me crazy every other day of the week.”
“How?” I asked, hyper aware of the way my heart was pounding in my ears.
His hand reached out to grab mine. He put it on the shift and covered it with his as he moved it to another gear.
“Well, you’re occupying my mind every day of the week, so my deduction is that you’re the reason I’m completely crazy.”