Page 18 of The Reality of Us
“Teddy seems fun,” she said once they were alone again.
Owen filled a glass with water and leant against the counter. “He goes alright.”
Alice picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder. Before she agreed to this, she had to know one thing. Teddy didn’t seem like the type to take pictures of her while she was sleeping, but this wasn’t going to work if he had people over all the time. “Seems like he’d be a popular guy. Does he have a girlfriend?”
Owen drained his glass before putting it in the dishwasher. “Teddy doesn’t do girlfriends. He likes variety, and he doesn’t usually get involved with women from around here if that’s what you’re asking.” The dishwasher door thumped shut.
Heat rushed to her face. “God. No. I didn’t mean it like that. Not for me. I was checking if there’d be people here all the time. That’s all. My long-haired, charismatic men phase is well and truly over. I’m not looking for a date. From anyone. Probably ever. What’s your policy on cats because there are at least fifty in my future? Maybe more.” Alice snapped her mouth closed, willed herself to stop speaking. The only person she’d thought about in that way was standing in front of her. Thinking she was keen on his brother.
God.
Owen’s eyes were confused, but his mouth quirked up into a shadow of a smile. His tongue peeked out, sweeping across the plush, full pad of his bottom lip.
It was adorable.
He was adorable.
Like he found her inability to control her mouth despite weeks of media training was cute. And there was no way he thought she was cute. Was there?
Owen picked up his phone. “A pet would be fine if it didn’t make a mess. I’ll text you Teddy’s number and organise some keys this afternoon.”
“Great. And it will only be for a few months, tops.”
As she followed Owen down the stairs, not looking at his ass in those gorgeous tailored pants, Alice promised herself she’d only stay until she was back on her feet and had paid off all her debts. Then she’d get her own place in Melbourne.
Be responsible for herself.
Live in the real world.
Finally.
7
“I like it,” Dougie said, stepping into Alice’s apartment for the first time three weeks after she’d moved in. He passed her a bottle of whiskey and her favourite rosé.
Rico gave her a kiss on the cheek. He was carrying a suspiciously large box.
“Was anyone outside?” Alice peered out into the car park. Owen had put up several ‘No Trespassing’ signs after finding cameramen and fans in the rear car park throughout the last week. He’d also called in a favour from his police officer brother—Owen seemed to have an endless supply of both: brothers and favours—and a few extra police patrols had helped deter people.
“Nope, it’s very quiet out there.” Rico put the box and a pair of scissors on the kitchen table. “Except at the pub. It’s rammed.”
“It’s trivia night. Teddy invited me, but I’m still keeping a low profile.”
Things had been full-on ever since news of her meetings with Owen broke. She’d ignored several calls from Phoenix and Chris before letting Owen take over all communication. He’d gone through their bank statements and contracts and sent a letter of intent to Phoenix. So far, he hadn’t replied. Shocker.
“Can you make the cocktails, babe, while I give Alice her present?” Dougie batted his eyelashes at Rico, who was already pulling sugar cubes, bitters and oranges out of a bag.
“We wanted to get you something to celebrate this new stage of life.” Dougie tapped his fingers against the big box.
“I suggested a vibrator,” Rico called from the kitchen. “But Mr Fun Police”—he tilted his chin towards Dougie—“wouldn’t have it.”
Dougie groaned, adjusting his glasses before running his hands through his sandy blond hair. As usual, it was a mess. “Let’s not revisit this topic of discussion, please. I’m still traumatised.”
“No one should be ashamed about meeting their own needs, babe.”
Alice tried to smile, to give them the level of excitement they deserved, but she was still flat after Owen’s call a few hours ago. He’d renegotiated her biggest contract so she could appear solo, but they were paying her less—a lot less—and if her brand engagement decreased further, they’d probably cancel the whole thing again. She’d spent her afternoon prepping three content shoots to show them she was serious.
The scissors sliced through the tape, and she pulled the flaps of the box open, digging through a mountain of bubble wrap before her hands closed around something heavy. It was a bag of wax. Five bags, actually.
