“In today’s top news, Roger Ruck reportedly has a new girlfriend. This news normally wouldn’t come as a surprise to many, since Mr. Ruck has a new woman on his arm weekly, but due to the age gap between the thirty-two-year-old and his twenty-year-old love interest, Emma Davis, the rumor mill is turning.”
Hitting pause, my heart stutters in my chest. “Oh my God. Oh… my God. Oh my God!” I drop my forehead to the table, knocking it there three times in a row. Lifting my head, I find a picture of me and Liam on the TV staring back at me.
Looking at the picture, I bite my lip, remembering how pissed Liam was last night when the photographers ambushed us and took the photo. I can actually feel his rage as I look at it now. My long blond hair is tied up in a ponytail, my body in profile, leaning into his side. His arm is around my shoulders, holding me close, trying to keep me hidden. His face is glowering toward the cameras, his strong, angled jaw tense in annoyance. Those blue eyes surrounded by thick lashes flash with the same aggravation as his hair is pushed back, but the unmanageable pieces still fall across his forehead.
The paparazzi caught us leaving a quiet little restaurant near my apartment. Until that moment, I had no idea who the fuck Liam was, or that he is actually known as Roger Ruck.
Action movie star Roger Ruck.
Most eligible bachelor Roger Ruck.
“My parents are going to flip,” I whisper to myself, and like the devil can hear me, I listen as my cell phone rings from my bedroom—my mom’s ringtone. “I came in like a wrecking ball….” blazes loudly through the silence. Rushing across my apartment, I stumble over my clothes that are thrown all around my room and snatch the phone off my nightstand, putting it to my ear.
“Oh my God!” my mom screeches, and I cringe.
“Hey, Mom. How’s it going?” I ask, trying to keep my voice normal when my heart is in my throat, making the task difficult.
“How’s it going? How’s it going? Are you kidding me? I’m guessing you forgot to fill me in on a few things during our last conversation.”
“Um….”
“Your dad just took off to go on a drive, and you know him, so you know what that means,” she says, and I fall to my ass on the floor and bring my legs up to my chest, resting my forehead on my upturned knees.
“Mom—”
“Honey, you could have warned us before we had to learn that you’re seeing a man. And I mean a maaan.” She drags out the word, letting it hang. “Because he’s old. And not only is he old, but we had to learn about him from the news… on the television!” she shrieks.
“He’s not that old.” I sit up to defend him. And he isn’t old. He is older than me, but he’s also sweet, and so damn gorgeous that looking at him makes my knees go weak, my stomach flutter, and my teeth ache. I didn’t even know who he actually was when we met. I don’t watch movies often, and if I do, they tend to be the kind of movies that are full of romance and make me cry.
Yes, I knew he looked familiar, but I seriously had no clue he was famous. Who the hell would meet a famous actor at a café they frequent? I had gone there to study like I normally do. He sat with me, and I tried really, really hard to ignore him and the fact he sat next to me, but his presence was hard to disregard. Before long, we were chatting and laughing, and the next thing I knew, he was asking me for my number.
I didn’t expect him to call, like… ever, so I was shocked when my phone rang that evening and he asked if I wanted to have dinner with him. Of course I said yes, because there was something unbelievably charming about him, and honestly, no guy had ever asked me out, so I took the chance. He came over for pizza that night, which was three months ago. Yet it seems more like a lifetime ago, because we’ve spent almost every second together since then.
“Are you even listening to me?” my mom cries into the phone, and I let out a long sigh.
“I’m listening.”
“So how long have you been seeing him?”
“I don’t know. A while,” I murmur, not sure if I’m going to be seeing him anymore. I mean, it’s one thing to see women checking him out. It’s a whole different thing to know women all over the world have seen him half naked, judging by the views one of his videos had on YouTube.
“Lord, save me. I told your father that I wanted you in college close to home. But, oh no, his baby needed to get out and see the world. Look at us now! You’re dating a famous manwhore!”
“Mom,” I groan, leaning my head back. “You don’t know him. And you shouldn’t believe everything on TV.”
“Oh, yeah, I do know him. Maybe not personally, but just like the rest of the world’s population of women, I’ve been following him and know he’s dated everyone. And I really do mean everyone, honey.”
“Someone’s calling, Mom. I gotta go,” I lie, hanging up and suddenly feeling sick. I hate the idea of him with anyone. I hate the thought of anyone else touching him, which is exactly why I’m going to break up with him today.
I can’t do this. I went to bed last night after we talked, after he left thinking there was a chance I could, but after seeing the news and talking to my mom, I know I was wrong. Picking my phone back up, I pull up his number and put the cell to my ear.
“Babe, give me a second.” His voice washes over me, making my insides turn to liquid like they always do when I hear his voice or see his face. Biting my nails, I wait for what seems like an eternity for him to come back on the line. “Sorry, baby, my publicist in LA is on the other line. Is everything okay?”
His publicist in LA? Seriously, who the hell is this guy? I swear I thought he was just a normal, hot guy. Now I find out he’s some kind of movie god superhero with a publicist. “Um, that’s okay. I just wanted to tell you that I can’t do this. I mean, I like you. You’re great—”
“Emma, baby, we are not doing this over the fucking phone,” he barks into my ear, almost growling.
I sit up a little taller, fight through the unease twisting my gut, and then push forward. “You’re going to the States. I know you said you were leaving today, so this is the perfect time to end this. You know… before things get messy,” I ramble, and then stop and listen to silence coming from his end of the line. “Liam?”
“Fuck! I can’t even go over there and straighten you out. I have to get on a plane, or I lose a lot of people a lot of money.”
“There’s noting to straighten. Like I said, you’re great, but—”
“Fuck,” he snarls.
Then the phone goes dead. Pulling it from my ear, I look at it and wonder what the hell I just did that for.