For Her (The Girl I Loved Duet 1)

The light catches her hair and turns it burgundy, and I’m back with Amber on our hilltop, and I have to blink away the image. “I appreciate the offer,” I say, “but no thank you.”

“Come on,” she says, voice low and silky. “I can make you feel so good. Better than you’ve ever felt before,” she whispers in my ear.

I take an even breath before speaking, and I’m careful not to move an inch. I don’t want anything to be misconstrued. “What’s your name?”

“Cynthia.”

“Cynthia,” I clear my throat. “Once again, I appreciate your offer. But ‘no thank you’ wasn’t an invitation for you to try to convince me, nor was it an invitation to touch me. Please back up.”

She blinks, like she doesn’t understand. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

I grit my teeth. I’m definitely going to have to find a different coffee shop. But I still don’t move. I can’t touch her. I know how fast these things spin out of control, and there’s no way I’m going to let this spin into a story with a headline that reads ‘Peter Holleman assaults female fan asking for autograph.’

Cynthia lowers her eyes like she’s embarrassed and sorry, but when she looks at me again they’re full of determined fire. “I bet I can convince you.” I catch her wrist as soon as I see her hand moving downwards, probably reaching for my cock. Jesus, she can’t take a hint.

Suddenly, the manager is next to us. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Cynthia’s eyes snap away from me, and she’s suddenly livid. “Excuse you?”

The manager smiles sweetly. “We have a zero-tolerance policy for harassment here, and even though Mr. Holleman has been more than polite in asking you to leave him alone, you’ve only escalated. Please gather your things and follow me.”

She scoffs. “Follow you where?”

The manager gives her a cool look. “To my office. I’ll be taking your picture. You won’t be welcome in this establishment again.”

“What?” Suddenly her eyes fill with tears, and she turns to me. “I didn’t mean it, please don’t let them do this.”

I sigh, and close my eyes. “I don’t work here. It’s not my decision,” I say.

The manager gently leads her back to her table where a couple other employees are looking on, making sure the whole group gets their things and heads back to the office. Cynthia is still crying. Part of me is sympathetic. She’s young and not really used to consequences. The other part of me wants to take a shower. Not exactly what I was expecting from my morning coffee.

The manager, who’s name I read as Daisy, approaches me again.

“I apologize. We like to create a safe environment, and I hope that you’ll still consider this a place that you can visit. We’re proud to host celebrities here and will always protect your privacy.”

I think that’s the first time someone has called me a celebrity to my face. That’s…odd. “Thank you, Daisy.”

“Have a good day, Mr. Holleman.” She walks away from me and toward the office with determination in her step.

I throw back the rest of my coffee and tuck my script into my bag. I’ll look over the lines when I get to the studio. While I’m walking to my car, I text Michael and give him a heads up about the incident, telling him I’ll fill him in once I arrive. My publicist, Wendy, should be put on alert so if there were cameras or if Cynthia and her friends go to the press, there are no serious repercussions.

I pull onto the road and into traffic. Now that I’m out, the memories of Amber that Cynthia brought up surface. I’ve got time to kill, and apparently I’m a masochist, so I let myself get sucked into the memories, as painful as they might be.

2

Peter

11th Grade

I find the shaded corner like I always do, leaning against the wall with rock music blaring in my ears. I have to wait. Well, I don’t have to, but I want to. I’m not going to let all of these rich kids with their rich parents and their rich cars see that I have to walk home. Better to let them think I’m doing something after school. Half of these kids wouldn’t look at me if they knew the truth. The other half would look at me with pity and only be friends with me because I’m the charity case.

I’m not about that. The only way I’ll remotely fit in here is by staying under the radar. Not that I’ll ever really fit in here. Massachusetts is too cold. And I’m not exactly a fan of winter. Winter down in Virginia is cold, but mostly rain and sleet. Not a whole lot of snow. Here we’re practically buried in it, and it’s only October. Although people have told me that it’s not typical, I’m not sure that I believe them. I wonder what my mom would say. She grew up here.