Page 19 of Audra: The Prequel

He spoke with a fervency that caught Audra’s attention.

“Sounds like you know a little bit about that,” she commented.

For the first time, the smile on his lips seemed forced. “Long, ugly story. One of these days, I’ll tell you about it.”

“I guess that means I better stick around.”

“I guess so.”

Chapter Eight

After their delicious meal, Damon didn’t want the night to end. He wanted to prolong his time with Audra and invited her to go for a walk. Thankfully, she said yes.

He grabbed an unmarked cap and sunglasses from his vehicle—a “disguise” he kept for when he wanted to go incognito. He pulled the cap low on his forehead before they set off down the sidewalk.

They walked in comfortable silence for a while. Occasionally, cars passed by, and every now and again a pedestrian approached, nodding a greeting as they walked by.

“Do you miss being anonymous?” Audra asked.

“Sometimes,” Damon admitted. “But then I remember how blessed I am. I mean, I get to play baseball, a sport I took up when I was a kid—and make a ton of money doing it. Being recognizable is a small price to pay for the privilege, and most times it’s not too bad. Like right now, no one expects to see me walking down the street, so even if they recognize me under this cap and behind these sunglasses, they’ll think they made a mistake.” He paused. “The worst part isn’t the fans, although they can sometimes become outrageous.”

“Outrageous how?”

“Doing anything to meet me, which includes hiding in my hotel room or something else crazy.”

“My brother Ignacio is an actor, and as he becomes more famous, the stories become more outrageous, so I know what you mean. My father was an actor too, and boy, does he have tales to tell!”

“You understand where I’m coming from.”

“I do,” Audra said with a nod. “So what’s the worst part?”

“The media, or what they call media nowadays. Every person with a camera and a mic is a journalist now, and the real journalists have become sensationalists to keep up. Stories from anonymous sources, hearsay, and plain old gossip about shit they don’t know.”

“Jumping to conclusions without the facts,” Audra said.

“Exactly. Shit is exhausting sometimes. Mostly I ignore the stories, unless it’s something so bad I need to get my PR team involved. Other times, we use them, creating our own publicity for whatever we want.”

“Sounds sneaky.”

He shrugged. “I call it making lemons out of lemonade.”

As they continued walking and talking, Damon realized he was very relaxed. Being with Audra was low pressure. He didn’t feel the need to perform and didn’t have to be “The Flash,” the way he did with other women. He could simply be Damon.

Every now and again, their arms brushed, and awareness seeped through his shirtsleeves and rippled over his skin. He wondered if she experienced the same sensation.

“I have a question for you,” he said.

“Okay.” She dragged out the word, sounding cautious.

“Don’t sound so worried. It’s a simple question. You dissed my house when you were there, so?—”

“I didn’t diss your house,” she said, sounding appalled.

“You said it was colorless and cold. Is that a compliment?”

“I mean…”

“That’s what I thought. So, you dissed my house,” Damon continued. “What would you change?”

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