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Damage Control by Eva King (19)

CHAPTER TWENTY

________

EMMA

 

 

When we arrived at the flat, James went upstairs to leave a small bag with his belongings while I searched for the takeaway menu. It was a godsend that Amanda was so organised—I found it in seconds. As well, I read the note she’d stuck on the fridge telling me that she was staying at her mum’s and to please keep everything tidy. I rolled my eyes, thinking that she sounded like my mother.

“So, what kind of pizza are we getting?” James stood in the doorway, his weight resting on the frame.

“I was thinking—”

“Let me guess. Ham and pineapple with extra cheese?” His eyebrow arched.

“Yeah, but we can add mushrooms if you still like them. I’ll pick mine off,” I said, leaving the menu inside the drawer.

He tucked his hand inside his pockets and said, “Sounds good, and film?”

“There’re DVDs in the living room. Most of them are Amanda’s. If you want, you can choose one while I call the pizza place.”

He left the kitchen without saying anything. He came back shortly, empty-handed.

“Fancy watching normal TV?” he suggested.

“Why?” I asked, intrigued.

“I’m in most of them and, to be honest, I’ve seen them all,” he said, using his signature swagger.

“Okay, we’ll go to the DVD shop. They should have something you haven’t seen yet. Although I doubt it very much. They haven’t updated their collection in about a year.”

He looked surprised.

“Do they still exist? I thought most people downloaded stuff,” he said.

“They do, but I don’t have a laptop or even a smartphone. I couldn’t tell you how to even start to download a film.”

“So, you’re saying you’re technologically disabled?”

There it was again. The overconfident glint in his eyes, shining like a beacon.

“You could say that,” I mumbled. “Better get going before I punch you in the stomach.”

“Oh, I’m so scared!” He put his hands up in surrender, then chuckled.

As I hadn’t gotten around to ordering the pizza, we headed to rent a film. The shop was less than five minutes away. I still felt knackered and overwhelmed. The whole house-buying thing made me exhausted and confused. Did he want to move back? Why? I didn’t want to get my hopes up.

A bell dinged as we pushed open the door of the video shop. A teenage girl wearing jeans and a black polo shirt with the company logo appeared behind the counter. She looked bored and gave me the impression that, in her opinion, she could be doing better things than working.

James went straight to the new releases and picked up the latest film starring Leonardo DiCaprio, who looked completely daft with the cap and fake goatee.

“I’ve been dying to see this one,” he said, his eyes alight with excitement.

“Okay, I haven’t seen it either,” I replied. I took the DVD cover from him and read the summary. “Please, don’t tell me you know him?”

He shook his head and replied, “I haven’t had the pleasure yet, but we have been at the same parties and award ceremonies.”

Quietly, I gathered some popcorn and fizzy juice and started walking towards the counter.

I was fishing in my handbag for the rental card when he whispered in my ear, “I remember you had posters of him all over your room, including the one from Titanic.”

I burst out laughing because of the memories I had of James being in my room, complaining about having dozens of pairs of Leonardo’s eyes staring at him.

That’s when the girl shouted, “Oh my God! Are you who I think you are?”

James, smiling at her, said, “I don’t know. Who do you think I am?”

At this stage, the girl was shrieking like a banshee.

“James McNair?” she screamed.

“I’ve been told I look like him before. But I think I’m better looking.” He winked.

She didn’t look very convinced.

I wondered then if, when I was a teenager, I’d seen Leonardo DiCaprio, would I have reacted the same way? To be honest, I probably would’ve fainted.

By this time, the girl, who was ignoring me, shoved her mobile phone in my direction so I could take a picture of both of them. “It doesn’t matter if you’re not him. Can I still get a pic?”

“Right, if you could kindly rent us the DVD, we can make our way home to have some pizza, which I think must be on its way,” James said, looking at me for assurance.

Home. He’d said home. I nodded, and the teenager ran behind the counter with a hyena grin, took the cover, and searched for the number, all without taking her eyes off James in case he disappeared in a puff of smoke.

I handed her my card and she scrutinised it. She looked at both of us, and then she knew he was lying. It didn’t seem to bother her though; she still sent smiles at his direction.

“I heard about you in that TV program.”

I knew which one she meant. The one where James mentioned me as his first crush. I uncomfortably shifted my weight from one foot to the other, smiling nervously.

“I imagined you would be prettier,” she said, and the daggers in her eyes finally reached their targets: my confidence and heart.

“We’d better get going. It was nice to meet you,” James said.

He must have seen my reaction. He held me by the elbow and started walking towards the door.

“Charlotte!” she yelled, her eyelashes batting fast enough to start a hurricane. “It was so awesome to meet you, and please, call me,” she purred, and winked at James.

“Do you get the same reaction from every woman?” I couldn’t help myself. I had to ask.

“It’s just because of what I do. I doubt they would even notice me if I wasn’t on TV.”

I had to look at him to see if he was joking, or being sarcastic. He wasn’t.

He looked at his trainers, deep in thought as he walked slowly. He was oblivious to how he dazzled women, not only because of his looks.

“Trust me. That’s not true,” I said frankly.

He smiled. There was a slight crinkle on the side of his lips, sad but a smile nonetheless.

“You dazzle them. They’re star-struck,” I said. I didn’t want to give him a big head by telling him that any woman out there would give their kidneys—or more—to spend a couple of hours with him. Even though I hated to admit it, Amanda was right. He was irresistible.

He grinned and asked, “Do I dazzle you?”

Did he? The question took me off guard. Was it not obvious that, just by looking at him, the butterflies in my stomach threatened to take flight? That when he was close enough, my heart skipped a beat? Being near James McNair could break my already weak heart. Was I willing to let that happen?

It was hard to concentrate on the film when James held my legs in his lap, his hand holding my naked feet with a tight grip.

“I can’t believe your feet are still as cold as ice.” His comment took me off guard.

“Yeah, something to do with my small veins. It gives me poor circulation,” I said, struggling to keep my breathing under control.

His hands caressed my ankles, slowly reaching the end of my trousers. My breathing hitched and my heart pumped erratically. How could such a simple movement send me spiralling out of control?

I moved my feet swiftly and snuggled them under his backside.

“That’s the best way to warm them up.”

I didn’t regret the movement. I was scared of what could have happened next, of how my body was reacting to his touch, and how I craved his hands on me. He was away in the morning, so there wasn’t any point in complicating things.

I looked at him to see if he’d noticed my turmoil, if there was any indication that he felt the same, but I didn’t see anything. He was engrossed in the film, laughing at the right times and biting his nails at the faster moments.

“Do you want some wine?” I asked him, trying to get away from the situation, get to safer ground where I could get my thoughts together.

He declined without taking his eyes off the screen. “Some water would be nice,” he said.

Emma, stop being such a fool. Maybe he had a crush on you years ago, but come on! He is James McNair, and you are a nobody, so stop drooling over him.

I shook myself and poured a glass of wine, then downed it, letting the rich, smooth flavours run down my throat before I poured a second glass. I took a big breath and went back to the living room with James’s water.

He still sat in the same spot, still nibbling on the skin beside his nail, still looking like an Adonis.

My heart, for the hundredth time that day, did a somersault.

 

 

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