Tension (17 page)

She punched him in the arm while he paced; it hurt her fist, he was like a brick wall. “You joke, but I’m a fucking laughingstock. I busted my ass to become a lawyer and now I can’t return to my job because I’m the fucking ‘FBI Beauty.’” She did finger quotes for emphasis.

“Well, you are beautiful,” he pointed out.

“No flirting.” Stella smiled. “If we’re really going to be friends, no flirting. Please.”

“Okay, but that wasn’t flirting. That was me being honest.” He grinned. “Look, can you drop me off at my hotel; I took a cab here. I’m supposed to be back in like 30 minutes.”

“Sure,” she agreed. Stella grabbed her purse. “Let me text George real quick.”

“Oh, it’s like that?” Jesse asked.

“It’s like that. I’ll be photographed dropping you off at your hotel. Better tell him in case it goes viral.” She sighed. “It probably will. ‘The Falcon and the FBI Beauty’ or some other crap.”

“Sorry,” he said, still smiling.

“No, you’re not.”

George picked up a clean case of pilsner glasses and loaded them on the back of the bar. “Will.”

George heard his name called and turned to see Emanuel sitting down at the bar. “Hey, Man.” George shook his hand across the bar and set about getting his best friend a beer. “I didn’t know you were coming by tonight.” He put a glass of Guinness in front of Man and leaned on the bar.

“Yeah, well. It was a rough day.”

“I know the feeling.” George took off his hat, rubbed his head, and pulled it back on.

A woman sat down next to Emanuel and smiled, leaning into the bar and giving him the full view of her huge tits. “Can I get a beer?”

George sighed. “Sure. What can I get you?”

“What do you suggest?”

Fuck,
these women were annoying. He put a menu down in front of her. “There’s a list in there,” he said and then looked at Emanuel, who had an amused look on his face.

“I’d suggest the Guinness,” Emanuel said to the woman.

“I like light beer. Is it light?” the woman asked George.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Emanuel hedged. He leaned back and examined the woman a little more.

George smiled. “We don’t have a ton of light beers, but they’re on the list.” He pointed at the menu.

“What do you think?” She leaned into Emanuel, showing him the list.

George shook his head.

“Get an Amstel, that’s light,” Emanuel suggested.

“Okay, that’s what I’ll get. Will.”

George blinked at her. “Do I know you?” he asked.

“Not yet,” she replied with a wink.

Seriously?!
George shook his head and filled her glass with beer.

“Um, Will?” Emanuel asked.

“Yep?”

“You may want to see this.” Emanuel handed his phone over to George.

It took him a few seconds to realize he was looking at his house. Emanuel had Stella’s name on a search where if anything was posted about her on Twitter he would see it. There was a large black man at his front door and Stella was pictured, smiling. He wasn’t an agent because he was in casual clothes and wearing a black wool cap. He looked to Emanuel. “When was this taken?”

“Today,” he said. “Did you read the caption?”

George looked down at the phone again and read.
NFL star Jesse McIntyre, in town for the Monday night football game, stops by to see Stella Murphy.

What the fuck
? He looked at Emanuel for some sort of support, but he was staring at the busty woman’s chest; the look on her face making it clear she didn’t drink beer.

“So Stella knows Jesse McIntyre?” Emanuel asked, not even taking his eyes off the woman.

Once Emanuel said the name out loud it all clicked.
Holy shit, Stella fucked Jesse McIntyre.
That was her “friend” Jesse.
Son of a bitch.

“They’re friends,” George barely got out.

“Oh,” was all Emanuel said. “Did you know he was coming—” Emanuel started to ask, but the look on George’s face cut him off.

George’s phone vibrated in his pocket. It was Stella.

Taking Jesse to his hotel

Didn’t know he was coming

Don’t look at fucking twitter

Jesse was staying at a hotel near the Capitol. Stella dropped him off and told him to call next time before stopping by George’s house. She thought she’d dropped him off without incident until she got a text from George. She opened the text at the stoplight.

Your “friend” is Jesse McIntyre?

She responded before the light turned green.

I told you that

Before she could even hit send, George sent another three texts

from the falcons

are you fucking kidding me?

at the bar now

Yikes
. George was pissed. She texted him back quickly that she was on her way and put away her phone.
Shit
. She’d told him Jesse’s name.
What else was she supposed to do
? Parallel parking her Honda on the block over from Finnegan’s, she pulled her sleeves down over her hands. She hadn’t planned on being out tonight, it was cold and the wind blew though her thin shirt. She pushed the door open, a smile plastered on her face. Many of the regulars waved at her. She nodded and walked to the back of the bar. She noticed flashes of camera phones as she passed.
Never fucking ending.

George looked up when he heard the ruckus; ruckus these days always meant Stella had arrived. He had a look in his eyes she couldn’t decipher. Her anxiousness shown in her eyes, she fidgeted under his stare. Gently, he took her hand and walked her to the office where he pushed her against the wall.

“Hey to you too, George.”

George’s face was an inch away from hers and he glared at her for what felt like an hour. Then he leaned in and kissed her gently. His kisses turned urgent, he parted her lips with his tongue and pressed his entire body into hers. Stella hands were on his face, holding him close. His kisses were consuming, possessive. When he finally came up for air, she put her arms around his neck and pulled his face back to her. “So you fucked the Jesse McIntyre?” His brow furrowed and he frowned.

She shrugged.

“You don’t do anything half-assed, do you?” He pushed her bangs out of her eyes. “You couldn’t have a one night stand with Joe from down the street, could you? Oh, no you had to sleep with a NFL player?”

She put her hands up in mock surrender. “I go 150 percent.”

“I can’t fucking believe this.” George separated himself from her and walked toward his desk, adjusting his pants to accommodate his erection.

“I don’t understand why you’re upset now. I told you months ago,” Stella implored.

“News showed him at our house.” He rubbed his hand down his face. “Our house, El.”

“Well that’s sort of your fault,” she smiled sweetly.

“Oh yeah, how’s that?” His eyes popped back to her at her accusation.

“Well, I’ve been ignoring his calls and texts. He was up here for the game this weekend and wanted to see me. He went to my old house and Millie told him where to find me.”

“So he’s your friend.”

She nodded. “Yes. He wants to take us to dinner Monday. I told him I’d have to ask you.” Stella walked toward George and put her hands on his chest.

He pulled her hands off him to pace the office. “There’s no way I’m letting some dude that you fucked take us out for dinner.” He shook his head so vehemently he almost lost his hat. “No.”

She grabbed his arm to stop his pacing. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he asked, surprised she’d agreed without a fight.

She nodded. “Okay.”

She hopped to the side twice, trying to pull on her pants and then fell on her ass. “Fuck!” she yelled.

George came running into the closet. “You okay?”

She grimaced at the pain that tore through her chest and back. “Just a klutz.” She pasted on a fake smile.

“You know I can tell the different between your real smile and your fake smile, right?”

The smile fell from her lips. George pulled her to her feet. “Yep, all those smiles in the hospital weren’t fooling anyone, El.”

“Really?” she asked meekly.

“Every single one,” he laughed. “Don’t stop trying, though; it’s very amusing for me.”

“Does everyone know they’re fake, or just you?”

“I think I know you better than anyone, so you probably fooled your parents, if that’s what you’re asking.” George pulled her into his chest and stroked her back. “I know you’re trying to convince me and everyone else you’re okay, El. It’s totally normal if you’re not there yet.” He kissed her forehead.

Stella closed her eyes. Counting to ten with the breathing she learned in yoga sometimes helped to ease her anxiety. When she opened her eyes, the green flecks in George’s eyes were locked on her. He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and pressed his forehead to hers.

“Every time I think I’m moving forward, something chop blocks my ass. No matter what I do, I seem to get fucked.”

“Oh my God, you just used a football analogy. Let’s get married.” His 100 watt grin came out, complete with dimples.

She slapped his arm. “I’m serious.”

“I am, too,” he smiled, his dimples winking at her obnoxiously. He picked her up and carried her to his bed. Throwing her gently onto the comforter, he leaned over her and kissed her thoroughly.

“I have to go,” she giggled.

“You can be a little late.” George pulled her pants halfway down her legs.

Stella grabbed them and held them at her knees. “I can’t be late. Hopefully, they’ll tell me when I can go back to work.”

George relented and kissed her gently. “I hope so, too.”

She used to ride the metro into DC, but she’d tried to get on the metro once since her accident and it was so uncomfortable; she felt like everyone was staring at her and whispering about her. Now she’d just rather drive and try to find a pay lot.

Things had started to settle down with the press. They only saw a few photographers a week now, and she hadn’t been in the news at all in the last week. She pulled into a pay lot a couple blocks from the building that housed the General Counsel’s office. Composing herself, she smoothed her black pants and walked into the building.

The security guards asked for her ID because she hadn’t been in the office in awhile. Stella was wearing it around her neck and pulled it off to hand to the guard. Cutting his eyes to the other guard, he said, “Sorry, I didn’t recognize you in clothes.” He waved her through and she heard them laughing all the way down the corridor.