I COULDN’T WRITE ON Monday. I tried; the words weren’t coming that morning. I ended up pumping out a few thousand words that I knew I’d just have to scrap. Instead, I went to visit Kathleen again, but talking to her didn’t help. I avoided Marsha, too. She would probably have wanted to go out to a club, get me back on the dating circuit. I didn’t have that kind of energy.
And I didn’t want to. There was only one man in my crumbling heart. One I couldn’t have.
When Bonnie sent me a message Tuesday morning to say she’d come down with strep throat, I was happy to take her shifts for the next couple of days. If I couldn’t write good words, at least I could make good coffee.
Corey kept texting me. He called me a couple of times, too. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I’d almost fallen for him. No, I had fallen for him. And I thought maybe he was falling for me, too. Mel’s visit changed that. They were close; he knew Corey Knox – the real Corey Knox – better than I ever could. Corey’s past didn’t bother me as much as Mel might have thought, but the idea that I was a distraction kept nudging at my brain.
The headlines that afternoon were a slap in the face. FOXY KNOXY AND SEXY LEXI TOGETHER AGAIN!, LEXI M AND COREY K – THEIR ON-AGAIN OFF-AGAIN RELATIONSHIP, and the portmanteau of their names: MORROWKNOX. I nearly threw up when I walked into work and saw the papers scattered around the shop. Lucas kept a close eye on me all afternoon; I could feel him watching me almost constantly. He didn’t even tease me about my scarf. The mark on my throat was nearly gone, though.
Soon, Corey would be gone with it.
It had been a long shift, and by the time evening rolled around, I was ready to go home. I glanced at the clock in the break room: another fifteen minutes, and I could call it, go home and eat a whole tub of ice cream, and fall into bed.
I didn’t expect to see Corey at the counter. From the way he stared at me, he didn’t expect to see me, either.
Lucas rang in his order. “Hangover Citrus, Ash,” he said, picking up a fifty-dollar bill from the counter and admiring it. He glanced over his shoulder at me as I stood in the break room doorway, my mouth open.
Fifty dollars? What was Corey buying here – coffee or cocaine?
“Ashlyn?” Corey’s face went white. “What are you doing here?”
I recovered as best I could, and folded my arms. “I work here, remember?” I said drily.
“Yeah, but you’re not here on Tuesday ni–” His eyes shifted to Lucas, then back to me.
That’s when I knew.
Lucas had told Corey my hours. My whole schedule. I glared at them both. Corey had the good grace to blush. Lucas just gazed innocently at the ceiling and made change for the fifty, then pocketed the two twenties and dropped the quarters in the tip jar.
I swept past them both and stalked towards the espresso machines, snatching up a cup and a pen. I scrawled Corey’s name on the cup: Corey-Fucking-Knox. My palm slammed down on the grinder switch. Lucas, you bastard. You bastard. How could you do this to me?
Corey was trying to talk to me, but I ignored him.
“Ashlyn,” he growled.
I let the beans grind for a little longer than I really needed to. I glanced over at Lucas, who was watching me. He tipped his chin down and raised both eyebrows. I looked away.
“Ashlyn, talk to me.”
Hot coffee steamed down into the cup I was holding, reflecting my mood. My nails left tiny crescents in the cardboard.
“God damn it, Ashlyn.” Corey’s voice was low. There were reporters sitting around several tables in the shop. He was probably trying to keep them from hearing him. “Don’t shut me out.”
“Excuse me, Mr Knox? It is Mr Knox, isn’t it? Corey Knox?”
I grabbed a plastic lid and turned. Bryan was standing next to Corey, his arms folded across his skinny chest. He was wearing that Blue Jays’ cap, set back on his head, and his jeans were smeared with a black substance that might have been motor oil.
Corey looked down at him. “Yeah.” He pointed thoughtfully at Bryan. “Bryan, isn’t it?”
Bryan nodded. “Yes, Bryan Carson.” The look he gave Corey was even darker than mine. “I think you should leave Ashlyn alone. She obviously doesn’t want to talk to you.”
Corey smiled at Bryan, and my eyes grew wide. I’d never seen that smile before. Except maybe on a snake, just before it killed a rat. But never, ever on Corey’s face.
“Well, Bryan Carson,” Corey said pleasantly, but there was steel in his voice, and a hint of poison. “I think you should mind your own f–” He glanced at the shop; at the reporters. “– business,” he finished. He smiled again, that same venomous smile.
Bryan was no match for muscular, charismatic Corey Knox. I slammed the Hangover onto the counter.
“Your coffee, Mr Knox. To go.”
He looked sharply at me, his smile gone now. There was a hurt look in his sea-green eyes, and my heart cracked. He opened his mouth as though to say something, then closed it and looked down at the cup. I swear I saw something fold inside him, and I bit my lip. I hadn’t meant to –
No. No, it was better this way. Let him leave, get on with his life. Mel’s words echoed in my head:
He’ll get over you.
He’d be fine. He was Foxy Knoxy. He could have any woman he wanted.
Corey picked up his coffee, then raised his eyes to mine. “Ashlyn...”
Just let him go, Miss Sinclair.
Holding my tears in check made my voice tight. “Goodbye, Mr Knox,” I said.
He hesitated for a beat, then turned on his heel and left the shop. I let out the breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding.
“Wow,” Bryan said. He scratched his head under his baseball cap. “That was tense.”
I smiled weakly. “Sorry about that, Bryan. Are you having the usual tonight?”
He answered my smile with one of his own, but brighter; stronger. “Yes, please,” he said. He kept talking as I turned to fix his drink. “And you don’t need to apologise for those rude Hollywood types, Ashlyn.” I heard him click his tongue. “I’m sorry you have to put up with people like that.”
Fitting a lid on his coffee, I turned back and handed it to him. He took a sip.
“Mm, that’s great. You make the best coffee, Ashlyn.”
I chuckled softly and shook my head. “I’m just the one who pours, Bryan,” I said. “It’s the machine that makes the coffee.” I untied my apron and lifted it off my head.
“Oh, are you done for the night?” Bryan studied me over the rim of his cup as he drank.
“Yes.” I turned to Lucas, who was ringing in a customer. “Lucas, I’m off.” He glanced at me, and I gave him a dirty look. “We’ll talk later.”
He smiled and shrugged. “See you Thursday, Ash.”
“Do you want a ride home, Ashlyn?” Bryan asked as I hung up my apron and grabbed my coat. “I have the MG; you can see how she handles.” He smiled warmly at me.
I hesitated. Did I really want to take the subway home? Being surrounded by crowds of people wasn’t high on my list of fun activities right now. I looked thoughtfully at Bryan. He seemed nice. Kind. Considerate. Normally, I wouldn’t accept the offer, but I was tired. Not just sleepy, but really, truly exhausted. I just wanted to get home as quickly as possible, so I could curl up with Bustopher Jones and a bowl of ice cream.
“Sure,” I said, reaching for a smile. “Thanks, Bryan.”
#
THE MG WAS REALLY CUTE. Bryan opened the passenger-side door for me and bowed slightly. “My lady, your coach awaits.”
I started to laugh, but it died in my throat as I remembered Corey pulling out my chair for me at dinner that first night.
My lady.
My heart cracked a little more. I slid into the car and fastened my seatbelt as Bryan slipped behind the wheel and started up the car. He was right; the ride was smooth. I didn’t know much about cars, but I did know that he’d been tinkering with this thing for months. Whatever he’d done to the little MG had made it a work of art.
We didn’t talk much as we drove. I was purposely vague when he asked me how my weekend had been. He seemed to understand that I wasn’t in a talkative mood, and I was grateful. The night was mild for autumn, and having the top down was actually kind of nice. I let the wind blow my hair around my face as we sped along the highway.
Eventually, the trip was over. I pointed Bryan in the direction of my apartment building, and he pulled smoothly up to the front door.
“Thank you so much for the ride, Bryan,” I said, unclasping my seatbelt and reaching for the door handle.
“No, no!” He held out his hands. “I’ll get that!” He jumped out of the car and hurried around to my side, opening the door for me and bowing again. I smiled and stepped out of the car. He slammed the door and rushed to the front of my building. He tried to open the lobby door, but it held fast. His eagerness was a little bit charming, if slightly over the top.
“I have a keycard,” I said, digging it out of my bag. I tapped it against the lock, and there was a soft beep. Bryan pulled on the door.
“I’ll walk you to your apartment,” he said, but I shook my head.
“Thanks, Bryan, but I’m okay.”
He frowned. “My mother taught me to make sure a lady gets home safely.”
I looked around the lobby. I was safe. Wasn’t I?
“I’ll be fine,” I said, trying to smile again. He protested, but I cut him off. “As soon as the elevator comes, I’ll be good, really.” I pressed the call button, and he waited with me while the numbers ticked down. When the doors opened, I stepped inside and turned to face him.
“Goodnight, Ashlyn,” he said. He touched the brim of his baseball cap. “Sweet dreams.”
I pressed the button for my floor and gave him a little wave. “Goodnight, Bryan. Thanks again for the lift.” The doors closed, and I leaned against the mirrored wall as the elevator rose. Now I could lock myself away for another few hours, hide from the world. Hide from Corey Knox.
But I couldn’t hide from myself and my own thoughts.
#
AT TEN O’CLOCK, I WAS sitting in front of my laptop, still staring at a blank word processor page. Just write, I told myself. Write about it. Write your own story this time, Ashlyn.
Maybe that’s what I needed to do. Write my feelings. It didn’t need to be good; it didn’t even need to make sense. It just had to be words. Words on the page.
As I set my hands to the keyboard, there was a pounding at my apartment door. Buster had been sleeping on the sofa, but now he lifted his head, his eyes wide. I stared at the door. The pounding came again.
“Ashlyn.”
Shit. Corey? I looked at the clock and winced. Jumping up from my chair, I tossed my glasses on the end table and threw the door open just as he was raising his fist to knock again.
“You know, other people live here, Mr Knox,” I snapped.
He pushed his way inside, slamming the door behind him, and grabbed me, his strong arms around me. One hand slid into my hair. I gasped, and he bent his head and kissed me, hard, pressing his body against mine. I moaned against his mouth and tried to push him away.
No. No, please. You’re just making this harder.
His voice was a low, deep growl.
“Why aren’t you answering my calls, Ashlyn?”
I wiggled in his arms, but he just tightened his grip.
“Ashlyn, stop struggling.” He twisted my hair in his hand and pulled my head back, forcing me to look at him. “Fucking talk to me, Ashlyn.”
Tears were threatening to fall. “There’s nothing to say, Corey.”
“The hell there isn’t.” He kissed me again, possessively, and I felt my traitorous body responding. I turned my head, breaking his kiss.
“I’m a distraction,” I gasped.
“Fucking right you’re a distraction, angel.” His fingers gripped my face, turning my head back, and his lips were on mine once more. His tongue pressed into my mouth, and I answered it, fighting with him in the best possible way.
Just let him go, Miss Sinclair. He’ll get over you.
I stiffened and pushed him away. He lifted his head and glared down at me.
“What the fuck happened, Ashlyn?” His eyes searched my face. “What happened between waking up in my arms on Sunday morning and not answering my fucking calls on Sunday night?”
I bit my lip and looked away.
“Ashlyn, please.” His voice cracked, and I felt tears in my eyes. He pressed his forehead to mine. “Please, angel,” he whispered. “Do you want me to beg?”
“No,” I murmured. I held his face in my hands and lifted his head. “No, Corey. Just go.” I took a slow breath. “You’ll get over me once I’m out of your system. Once you’re gone.” His eyes widened. “But you’re just making it harder. For both of us.”
He let go of me and staggered back against the door, staring at me.
“Mel,” he breathed. “Fucking Mel.”
I looked down. I couldn’t lie to him.
“I’ll kill that son of a bitch.”
I lifted my head sharply. “Corey.” His hands were curled into tight fists. “He’s right. He’s just looking out for you.”
Corey took a step towards me. “Mel doesn’t know what I need.”
I smiled sadly. “What you need? Or what you want?”
He hesitated.
I brushed past him and turned the door handle. “Just go, Corey. Go back to your movies and your fame and your publicity – and your life. Forget about me.”
“I don’t know if I can,” he said softly.
“Of course you can.” I reached for my inner adult and found her, leaning on her strength. “You’ve been down this road before, Corey Knox. You know where it leads.”
He stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before walking out the door.
Out of my life.