Waking Up (6 page)

I can’t help but admit to her that I’m a Supernatural fan, too.  It’s true.  That show is fucking funny.  And who doesn’t love the car?  That Impala is bad ass.  Wasn’t saying that to let her off the hook, but when she smiled it made my heart skip a beat.  
Literally.
  Freaky shit.  

Then she surprises me again by asking if I’m concerned if our show will be able to keep up with all the other vampire shows.  She just met me, she’s made me breakfast, and she’s concerned about my show.  Is she a fucking saint?  Does she know I’m going to start leaning this conversation toward getting her naked?   Ok, time to get this conversation away from me and over to her.  I need to know how long before the hubby is home.  Time frame.

When I ask about her husband the look on her face nearly stops my heart completely.  I don’t know why what I’ve asked is wrong, but it is.  It feels like I just got sucker punched in the gut.  Her brilliantly shining eyes from moments ago have gone vacant.  Shit.  What have I done?

“My… my hu… husband,” she stutters out, her breathing erratic.  What’s going on?  I look around again to ensure I’m not crazy.  There are pictures all over of her and a man smiling happily.  On her left hand she’s wearing a wedding ring.  Ok– not losing it, Stavros.  I motion to the pictures.  She looks around the room with such incredible sadness in her eyes I want to take her in my arms and comfort her.  That’s crazy.  I don’t even know her.  She’s looking at her ring.  Nothingness now.  There’s nothing in her eyes.  It’s like she just checked out.

She tells me he’s gone.  Gone where?  I’m sitting here contemplating where he’d go that would make her so sad.  Then it hits me.  He must be in the military.  He’s on tour.  She must be worried sick about him.  That’s why she’s so upset.  Makes sense.  So, I ask.  I didn’t think the look on her face could get any worse. I was wrong.  Her whole body looks like it’s going to crumble in on itself.  I’m getting ready to go to her, to see if I’ve sent her into shock, when she whispers, “He… he’s dead.  Car accident… little over a year ago.”

My heart stops this time for a beat or two.  Tucker, you’re an asshole.  Here I’ve been trying to get in this woman’s pants and she’s grieving the loss of her husband.  She was nice enough to make you breakfast and the whole time you had a hidden agenda.  
Fucking Asshole!
  Grams would be so disappointed.  Say something to her.  You understand loss.  Something, asshole.

I tell her I’m sorry to hear that and I truly am.  I can feel her grief reverberating across the room,  engulfing me.  She’s lost in the pain.  Just saying he’s dead has sent her into a tailspin.  Should I go to her?  I’m a stranger.  I don’t know if I’ll make it better or not.  I look at her again and see she’s looking at me.  Her breathing is more even.  She’s studying me and suddenly, as if nothing has happened, she smiles and asks, “How’s your breakfast?”

The fuck?  Can you say whiplash?  Well, if she wants to pretend she didn’t just have a mini panic attack then I guess it’s the least I can do for the meal she made.  
And the fact you’ve been mind-fucking her since you saw her. It doesn’t matter that you didn’t know she was a grieving widow.  You know you’d still stick her if she let you, you filthy bastard.
 My mind is throwing too many horrible thoughts at me to keep up with.  Hopefully she doesn’t take my hesitation as a sign that I think she’s a nutcase.  Putting on as sincere a smile as I can, I look her straight in the eyes– those mesmerizing eyes– dammit, I’m doing it again.  Down boy.  “Breakfast is delicious.  Thank you.  I’ve had entirely too much fast food the last few days.”

A simple raise of her eyebrow is all the reaction I get from her.  Normally people pry.  Ask a million questions.  They’d want to know why I’m living off fast food.  Why I’m not eating healthier.  She doesn’t ask anything.  Doesn’t pry.  Just keeps eating.  Again, I find her company refreshing.  
Comforting.
  I don’t think I’ve ever found a woman other than my mother or Grams comforting. The feeling shakes me to the core.

“I can make more if you’re still hungry after.  It’s nice to have someone to cook for.”  It’s cute the way her gaze shifts to the table and a slight blush creeps to her cheeks like she’s embarrassed to offer to cook for me.  I start to get hard.  What about her doesn’t turn me on?  Thinking back, I’m trying to remember if I’ve ever had this reaction to a woman before.

“You like to cook?”  The words slip out before I realize I’m asking a question.  Curiosity is winning out.  I want to know everything I can about this beautiful woman sitting across from me.  
Wish she was sitting on me.
  The smile that crosses her face stops my wayward thoughts dead.  All I know in this moment is I don’t want to leave after breakfast.  I would give anything to stay and learn as much as I can about her.  I’m intrigued.  And it all started with her perfect ass.  I’m in trouble.

“I love to cook.”  Again, that smile. Her hands join the conversation like a child excited to tell their parent something, making me want to laugh, but I don’t want to offend her.  “I even took a year of culinary classes after college for fun.  My mom is a pastry chef so growing up with her taught me a lot about baking.  Culinary classes were more for learning the main courses.  Don’t misunderstand me, my mom is an amazing cook in every way, but I still wanted to learn more.”  Images of her in an apron and stilettos with nothing else on, bending down to remove cookies from the oven, chocolate chip– because those are my favorite and this is my fantasy– has me adjusting myself under the table.

“I bet you make some scrumptious sweets if this breakfast is anything to go by,” I say with complete honesty. Though, the only sweets I’m thinking of are on her body and how badly I’d like to spread her out on her dining room table.  I am such a bastard.  Only moments ago she tells me her husband is dead, practically has a full blown panic attack, and all I want to do is serve her up as dessert on her table.  
Bastard!
 

“Thanks.  Haven’t had any complaints,” she says, completely unaware of the mental battle I’m having.  “My mom always says it’s hard for people to complain when you’re sweetening them up.”  I can’t stop the light chuckle that escapes.  That’s a good saying.  I could picture Grams saying that.  Then, I look at her.  Big mistake.  A full-mega-watt, light up the whole world, smile is on her face.  I thought she had shown me her best smile before, but I was wrong.  This is it.  Trying to catch my breath and restart my heart at the same time is nearly impossible.  Her smile will haunt me the rest of my life.  Getting back in my truck never felt like such a death sentence.

Clearing my throat, “Sounds like something my Grams would say,” I rasp out around a weak smile.  It’s a weak, but genuine smile.  It isn’t a smile I would give to the fans or for the cameras.  This is a real one just for her.  It’s a little sad, too, because in this moment, in this stranger’s dining room in nowhere New Hampshire, I feel comfortable.  Too comfortable.  And for once… I’m ok with it.

I hate being Tucker Stavros.

                                       *********************

I can tell he needs a minute to recover from hearing that my husband is dead and from my behavior.  I’m sure I looked like a complete fucking mess.  I hate when Alex’s name comes up.  It always throws me into a tailspin.  I wish I was stronger.  I wish I dealt with it better, but how do you stop loving someone who was part of your life for almost all of it?  I’ve loved him since I was six years old.  How do I stop now?  Just because he’s not here doesn’t make him simply fade away.  No one seems to understand that.  I’m glad Tucker isn’t saying anything.  I need a few moments to breathe.

I do feel like an idiot, though.  Losing it in front of Tucker Stavros.  Oh my God.  I lost it in front of Tucker Stavros.  Walking sex on a stick, just about every woman in the world would like to sleep with, he’s their fantasy, he’s so hot, Tucker Stavros.  Shit!  Ok, Adriana.  Breathe.  Count to ten.  Stop making an ass of yourself.  

Breaking me from my embarrassing thoughts, he tells me that breakfast is delicious.  Never one to take compliments well, I know I’m blushing.  I can’t help but wonder why he’s been eating so much fast food when he makes the comment, but mom and dad taught us to never pry.  If people want you to know their business, they’ll tell you.  It didn’t seem like he was throwing the comment out there for open conversation, so I don’t ask.  It’s killing me, though.  I’m very curious.  He seems different than what I expected.  I expected a cocky, smug, arrogant asshole.  All the words kind of mean the same thing, don’t they?  Well, that is what I expected.  I just thought he’d walk in here and demand things like I get him a drink or treat me as less than him– stupid shit like that.  I don’t know what I expected.  Maybe try to talk me out of my panties?  
Wishful thinking.  Could still happen.
  No… nooo.  Where the hell did that come from?  Alex, no one is talking me out of my panties.  Especially not some hottie movie star.  

I offer to make him more food even though I piled enough on his plate to feed several grown men, but I’m searching for any reason to have him stay for a little longer.  Looking down at the table, I hope he doesn’t see that I’m affected by him.  Am I panting a little?  What is going on with me?  I’ve never wanted anyone other than Alex.  Never been with anyone other than Alex. It must just be because I haven’t been laid in so long. The ladies keep picking on me about it.  They keep saying I need to just relieve the pressure.  Maybe it’s getting to me.  

What’s that he just asked me?  Do I like to cook?  Telling him about culinary classes and my mom being a pastry chef, I know I’m getting animated.  My hands are moving along with me.  Such a bad habit, but I can’t stop once I get going.  I can see the humor in his eyes.  Makes him look younger and less tense.  His good looks steal my breath from me.  I can’t get over the fact that he’s better looking in person than he is on TV.  They shouldn’t put make up on him for the show.  It takes away from him.  Maybe they do it to make him look older.  Whatever the reason, he’s much more handsome without it.  Looking at him again, I notice he’s shifting in his seat again.  Maybe I gave him too much food and he’s too polite to say so.  Whatever the case, he’s nearly cleaned the entire plate.  A tinge of pain rocks through me at the thought of breakfast ending.  Although I had to face the pain of telling him that Alex was dead, I had enjoyed making him breakfast, talking to someone outside of my inner circle of friends and family. And, as much as it pains me to say it, being attracted to someone again.  This must be what it feels like to still be alive.  

Did he just say something about me making scrumptious sweets or that I would taste scrumptious?  Man, I need to pay attention and stop getting lost in my head, fantasizing about him.  Guess it’s easy to get lost when you’re staring at a piece of eye candy like him across the table like that.  
I’d like to lick him like a lollipop.  Pop, pop, pop…
  Ok, enough of that.  Focus.

“My mom always said it’s hard for people to complain when you’re sweetening them up.”  Remembering the times my mom had said that makes me smile.  Mom has a way of always making me feel better no matter how awful I feel.  She is like sunshine on a rainy day.  No one can stay in a bad mood around her.  Feeling Tucker’s eyes on me, I look up and he looks lost in thought.  Not wanting to break him of his trance, I just sit there and wait for him to work through it.  He’s staring straight at me, but somehow I think he’s looking through me.  I can’t explain the look on his face.  It looks like he’s waging a battle within himself.

Clearing his throat, his eyes clear so he finally seems to see me.  A small smile crosses his perfect face.  It’s beautiful.  This smile isn’t rehearsed or forced.  It’s just him and my heart melts at the sight of it.  “Sounds like something my Grams would say,” he rasps out.  Something I did or said affected him and he mentioned his Grams again.  She must be important to him.  A small piece to the puzzle that makes up Tucker Stavros.

Seeing his plate is empty starts a hole forming in my chest.  I really don’t want him to leave.  How could I get him to stay a little longer without sounding like a crazy fan?  “What brings you to New Hampshire?”  Dammit.  I didn’t mean to ask that.  I’d been thinking it, but didn’t mean to ask.

Watching him squirm in his seat and looking for what to say makes me feel worse.  Squaring his shoulders and taking a breath, I can tell he doesn’t want to answer this.  Opening my mouth to tell him never mind, he starts, “Just needed to get away from the bullshit for a while so I hopped in my truck and started driving.  This is where I ended up.”  I can tell there is a lot that he left out, but I’m definitely not pushing or asking any more questions. Based off this little bit, a plan starts forming.  Grabbing his plate, the little hole that formed in my chest starts to close.

Chapter Six

Adriana & Tucker

In the kitchen, putting the dishes in the dish washer, I can feel Tucker’s eyes on me and heat pools in my lower regions.  I know thinking like this is wrong.  It’s wrong because I’m still in love with Alex.  It’s wrong because if I let something happen, he’ll just go back to his show, forgetting about me and adding me to the other notches in his belt.  And, it’s wrong because he has a girlfriend.  Oh my God.  How could I forget he has a girlfriend?  Here I am fantasizing about all the ways and places I’d like him to take me and he’s probably anxious to get back in his truck back to his hot super model girlfriend.  Plan’s off.  Hey, Misery– your company is back.

Sighing, I turn around to a wall of gorgeous muscle less than a foot in front of me.  Normally I’d make a comment about needing to learn about personal space, but I can’t think.  It’s taking all my concentration not to touch his chest to see if it’s as hard as it looks.  
Wonder if it’s all as hard as it looks…
  Trying not to breathe heavily, I slowly shift my eyes from his chest to his eyes.  Those unbelievable blue eyes.  How does every women who looks in them not get lost?  Girlfriend, Adriana.  Think about his girlfriend.   “So, uh, I hope you liked your breakfast.”  This sucks.  Having a hard time breathing, I get ready to say goodbye to the first man I’ve wanted to speak to, spend time with, since Alex.  “I’m sure you’ll be wanting to head back to see Victoria now.  Thanks again for bringing in my groceries.  It was nice having company for breakfast.  Can’t wait to see what the show has in store for you this season.  It was great meeting you, Tucker.”  Plastering what I hope is a convincing smile on my face, I thrust my hand out the few inches I can with how close he is to me.