Tension (34 page)

“That’s a pretty thin story.” Jesse sighed. “They find your car yet?”

“No. I know the story is stupid, but I don’t have any other ideas and neither did Greg. You got any people that can help find my car?”

“I’ll check with my people.” Jesse laughed.

“I know.” Stella laughed at their lame story. “I’m so done with all this. I’m going to miss my evaluation tomorrow at the GC’s office. I’ll have to resign.” She sighed and gazed out at the water.

“What’s next?” he asked.

“George and I are driving to Atlanta tomorrow. I want to take you both to dinner. I’ll make reservations at Chops.”

“Okay,” he said hesitantly. “Why the turnaround?”

“We’re getting ahead of this story. Greg suggested we get out there and start making the media work for us. I plan on taking my own lawyer’s advice.”

Jesse laughed again. “That’s smart.”

“You’re my hero, J. Thanks for saving me, a number of times, in the past couple of months.” She cleared her throat. “Thanks for bringing George with you.”

“You’d do the same for me,” he answered.

“Well, I don’t have private jets at my disposal, but if I did, damn right I would,” she said quietly. She cleared her throat. “You know, this hotel is awesome. I’m going to have to come back.”

“It looked nice enough. I had to get back to do that charity auction I was telling you about.”

“Oh, right. How did that go?” Jesse volunteered for an annual charity auction event where dates with Falcons players were auctioned to the highest bidder. “Did you get the highest bid?”

“No, but it was close.” He laughed again. Jesse’s demeanor was making Stella uneasy.

“I’m drinking what’s called a Pusser’s Painkiller. It’s fantastic.” Stella changed the subject as she took another sip out of her coconut.

“Stella...” Jesse said.

“Yes?”

“I’m glad you didn’t have to kill him. It would’ve changed you in a way that you can’t come back from. It would’ve made you just like him.”

George and Stella walked over to the marina near their hotel, admiring the night, the moon, the ocean, and the general splendor. The slips were full of enormous yachts and Stella had never seen anything like it. They walked, hand in hand, to the end of the dock to Half Shell Raw Bar, a place that the bartender at the hotel told them about. It was a total hole in the wall type place, very typical for Key West. There were long picnic tables and benches scattered with mismatched candles and cutlery. Everything looked like it had seen better days—they don’t put on airs in Key West.

They were seated in a cozy booth that overlooked the water. They ordered and sat across from each other, both looking out at the ocean. Stella practically clapped her hands together in excitement; she wanted to order the entire menu. She finally decided to start with raw oysters.

“You know I can’t think of a better way to spend two days than with you, but this won’t happen again, El.”

Stella cocked her head in question. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve got to tell the FBI about Jamie. You can’t let him get away with this.”

She was about to protest when the server came with their appetizer, a dozen oysters on the half shell. Stella squeezed lemon on an oyster, shook a few drops of hot sauce and a dab of horseradish, then picked up the shell and slurped the oyster down her throat.

George swallowed hard watching Stella eat the raw oyster. Shaking his head to clear the sexual thoughts away, he said, “You’re not going to distract me with that.” He pointed at her.

“What?” She shrugged innocently.

“I’m serious, Stella. You’ve lied to me for months and you just let him get away.”

“I haven’t lied.” She looked down and prepared another oyster.

“You omitted, damn it. Don’t lawyer me. I thought we agreed we wouldn’t lie to each other. We’d tell each other everything. You gave me this whole spiel about how you love me like a love song or some shit, but you’ve been lying to me since you woke up.”

She started shaking her head, all of her fears coming true. “No. George, everything I’ve told you is true.” Heat rushed through her; he was going to leave her.
But he just told me he was going to marry me
.

“No, Stella, it’s not. You didn’t go to Atlanta to spend time with your mom. You were training.”

“My mom was insane about me going to Atlanta,” she said, protesting.

“Tell me you weren’t training.”

“I...I can’t.”

“Tell me you weren’t trying to find him.” He stared intensely into her eyes.

“I can’t.”

“I don’t like it. We need to clarify what I meant when I said we would tell each other everything.”

A tear rolled down her cheek. George reached over to wipe it away.

“Tell me you’re not leaving me,” she mirrored his words.

He shook his head and her heart cracked open, she grasped her chest and tried to breathe.

“No, Love, I’m not leaving you.” He smirked at her belief that every conflict would lead to him leaving.

Stella looked up at him, not believing she heard his words right. “You’re not?”

“Nope,” he said, smiling his full-on, two-dimple smile. “On one condition.”

The server came right then and put their food down on the table. They’d both ordered the catch of the day. Hers was grilled; George’s was fried.

Stella looked out the window toward the ocean. “What’s the condition?” she asked hesitantly.

“You see a therapist,” George said and popped a french fry in his mouth.

“What?”

“A ther-a-pist,” George mouthed slowly, mocking her.

“Why?”

“Because you’re fucked up. I love you and whatever, but I need you to be okay. I couldn’t take it if I lost you. I need you to come back to me. You’ve been missing since Montana.”

“George,” she whined.

“Are you whining?” His eyebrows rose with surprise.

She averted her eyes, ate another oyster, and then drank the rest of her draft beer. “No.”

“We’re in agreement, then. Therapy it is,” George declared. He patted her hand. “I’ll go with you if you want me to, El.” He chuckled and motioned with his eyes to a rowdy table behind them. “At least the therapist won’t ask you to put a parrot on your head.”

Stella turned her head and almost laughed out loud at the sight of a couple who, in fact, did have parrot hats on their heads. It was clear they were getting married; the woman’s parrot was wearing a veil. They were both grinning from ear to ear even though they looked ridiculous. The entire party was laughing and smiling like they didn’t have a care in the world.

Stella wondered if she would ever be that happy.

Stella and George held hands as they walked down Margaret Street. Stella eyed a tattoo parlor and pulled George inside with a smile on her face.

“What are you doing?” George asked, taking in the stark shop. There were only three empty chairs and two artists were hovered over a binder at the back table. A woman with violet hair and several facial piercings turned slowly and looked George up and down.

Stella scowled, jealous. “I want a tattoo.”

“I’m sure you do. You want a butterfly or flower?” the bitch asked sarcastically.

Stella turned around and took off her shirt, exposing the black string bikini that George had bought for her. “Oh, I think a flower will go really well with my others,” she retorted.

George shook his head and smiled.

The other artist walked over to Stella. “Holy shit, that’s awesome! Where did you get that?” He reached out and ran his palm down her left shoulder blade. “You want to see some of my work?”

Stella recoiled from his touch. “Yeah, sure.”

He rushed get the binder full of his tattoo work and passed it over to her, rocking back and forth on his heels as she perused.

She looked through a few pages and winked at George. She pulled out a wad full of cash from her pocket. It felt really good to be spending Jamie’s money on this tattoo.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

George rolled over and threw his arm over Stella’s naked body, both of them groaning at the same time. “I haven’t drunk that much in a very, very long time,” George whispered.

“Water. I need water,” Stella croaked.

George squinted, testing whether this motion alone would make the pain in his head triple. It did and he immediately closed his eyes. “Remember, we put water and vitamins by the bed last night—or that might just be wishful thinking.”

Stella ran her hand over his bare chest, making him stand at attention even in his hungover state. He opened his eyes and they went wide immediately. Stella was naked but for a pair of heels that were covered in a Wonder Woman motif.

“What are you wearing?!” he cried, smile evident in his voice.

“The same thing I had on last night,” Stella laughed. “Nothing.” Then she noticed she was wearing shoes and looked down at them. “Oh My Shit! Those are awesome.”

“Where did you get those?” George ran his hand down her leg.

“No idea.” She laughed even harder, rolling over on her back to look up at the ceiling. “Last night was fun. It was, like, the first date we’ve had in years.”

“Now, that can’t be true,” George said, turning to stare up at the ceiling, too.

“Think about it. We broke up, I got shot, and then with all the media, we haven’t been anywhere.” Stella put her hand dangerously low on his abdomen.

George’s breath hitched; he didn’t understand how her touch made him turn into a twelve-year-old boy.

“You know what, that’s not true. You took me to lunch after we got our Christmas tree.”

“That’s just sad; when we get back we will have to remedy that.” George took her hand and kissed her knuckles.

“You gonna take me on a date to the movies?” Stella giggled. “Pick me up at my door and everything?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Tabard Inn?”

“Sure, only if you order the donuts,” he agreed.

Stella faked a dry heave. “Can we not talk about food right now? I’m trying not to vomit.”

“You mean we can’t have sex?” George asked, moving Stella’s hand farther south.

“Unless you want me to vomit. I think the movement alone would send me over the edge.”

“I can wait until later today.” He sighed and tried to convince himself to calm down; picturing Stella vomiting on him sort of worked. He sat up slowly and put both of his feet on the ground. His phone dinged a text. And then another. They were checking out today, he wondered what time it was.

“Make it stop,” groaned Stella, rolling over and putting a pillow over her head.

He slapped her ass and walked over to the table to pick up his phone. It was a text from Patrick.

you guys have fun in Key West?

George cocked his head to the side. He hadn’t told anyone where he was going.

what

Patrick replied immediately.

you and el are all over the tv and internet dude

Another texted beeped

Nice dance moves

George scrolled down to see several missed calls and texts. It was 10:00 am; they were supposed to check out in an hour. He called and requested a late check out. As he hung up, he turned to the bed. Stella hadn’t moved. Her body was completely exposed and gorgeous; she had the bandage on under her right breast and was still wearing those heels. He wanted to do everything except check out of this room.
Stop thinking; we have to get moving
.

He patted her ass. “I’m going to get us breakfast. Get up and get in the shower, we’re supposed to check out soon.”

Stella grunted in response.

George left the hotel and walked up Duval Street until he could slip into a fast food place and order breakfast. While walking, he called Patrick.

“What’s going on?”

“Dude, y’all are so busted.” Patrick sounded amused.

“What do you mean?”

“Stella and you on video, partially clothed, dancing, and Stella looks like you beat the shit out of her. Millie is freaking out on all the twitters out there.”

Oh shit
. George sat down on a bench to process. “The tweets?”

“So...” Patrick said into the phone, ignoring George’s correction.