It Could Happen to Us: Quotable Romance Read online

  If Anthony wasn’t a stand-up guy and a good friend, Mark might have to hate him for being so happy.

  They made their way down the stairs to the ornate pool table located in Beau’s man cave. In all honesty, the whole house was a man cave. Beau had gone through two wives, Hollywood starlets who fell for the dashing hero of the big screen but didn’t love the drama that came from being married in the limelight. Every fight, every sour look, every makeup was handed to the fans like a sample chocolate at the candy counter.

  Just like his own failed marriage. Mark knew there were two sides, but having seen the heartbreak firsthand, he stuck by Beau. Since he’d been painted as a playboy, Beau had decided to play. He hosted parties that went into the dawn’s early light, kissed dates for the cameras, and drank what he wanted.

  Mark had never seen him so hollow.

  The walnut wood pool table was shiny and the green felt top smooth. Mark removed his jacket, tie, and shoes. He pulled out the ends of his dress shirt and rolled up the sleeves.

  Beau grabbed his cue. “Mind if I break?”

  “Go right ahead.”

  Mark’s thoughts went back to the conversation he’d had with Aspen. They’d gone to the same event and talked to the same people, yet her version of the evening was completely different than his. He missed having someone to really talk to—someone with a heart. He also missed an easy shot and sank one of Beau’s balls instead.

  “You okay tonight?” asked Beau.

  Mark shook his head. “You ever feel like you’re missing something?”

  “Like what?” Beau lined up to knock the seven ball in the corner pocket.

  “Like real life?”

  “I don’t know how you can get any more real than that.” Beau pointed his cue at the image on the far wall. The picture was taken in Africa, where they’d dug their first well for Waters without Borders. Covered in mud and surrounded by dark-skinned children in brightly colored shirts and shorts, Mark and Beau grinned.

  “I mean, an everyday real life. Is it strange that the only time I feel like a real person is when I’m in a well or with Chloe?”

  “So what? You want to quit acting and become a plumber?”

  “I want substance. Someone real.”

  “No one is real.”

  Mark thought of the teens that he volunteered with on a monthly basis. “Kids are real.”

  “I don’t recommend that you date a child.” Beau dropped the seven ball in the corner pocket.

  “Thanks for that,” Mark griped.

  Beau leaned on his cue. “What are you really after?”

  Mark considered the question. “I guess what I really want is someone who doesn’t want anything from me.”

  Beau slid his cue back into its holder on the wall. “If you’re not going to be realistic, then I can’t help you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Everyone, and I mean everyone, wants something. Your ex wants alimony. Your assistant wants a paycheck. Heck, even Chloe wants your time and attention. You’re looking for a fairy tale.”

  Mark stared at the floor, his heart dropping into a side pocket as easily as one of the balls on the table. “Maybe I am.”

  “I’m going to bed—you staying over?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We can hit the gym together in the morning.”

  “Sounds good.” Mark usually looked forward to working out with Beau. They were evenly matched in weights, so they wouldn’t have to find someone to spot for them. But not even the chance to smack-talk with his best friend brightened his outlook on the world.

  Maybe he was too jaded. Maybe seeing all the heartache and physical difficulties he witnessed in his travels had colored his thoughts. Maybe “real” life was a fairy tale.

  Anthony has a beautiful wife, a baby on the way, time for both. Love. Home. Family. The lucky jerk.

  Mark chose acting as a career. He just didn’t know he’d be giving up so much in the process. There had to be a way to have a marriage and do the work he loved. Even a star’s stars could align once in a lifetime.

  Sunday afternoons were one of Mark’s favorite times. When he was in town, he met Chloe at a local church for services and Sunday school in the morning, heading back to his house for lunch and board games or a movie.

  They were just clearing the table, their grilled cheese sandwiches reduced to crusts, when Chloe grabbed a catalogue off the pile of junk mail on the counter and stared at the cover.

  Mark glanced over her shoulder to see what held her interest. There was a woman in a suit walking on a busy sidewalk. “What are you looking at?” he asked.

  “I was wondering how we could help this woman.” Chloe pointed to the lady in the picture.

  “Why does she need help?”

  Rolling her eyes, Chloe replied, “Her outfit is so boring she blends in with the street signs.”

  “What?” Mark blinked several times, sure he hadn’t heard his sweet ten-year-old degrade an adult for her style.

  “Mom says we have to help the fashionably unfortunate by setting a good example for them.”

  Holding back the name he’d like to call his ex-wife, Mark said, “I think she looks pretty.”

  “You do?” Chloe appeared shocked.

  At least she wasn’t mortified by his comment as Jasmine would have been.

  “Yeah, she looks sweet and kind—two very attractive qualities in a woman.” He set the last of the dishes in the dish washer and pressed start. A deep hum filled the room.

  Chloe continued to stare at the image. No doubt her thoughts were a jumble. Mark hated to outright contradict his ex-wife, because it made Chloe feel like she was in the middle of a tug-of-war and that wasn’t fair to his girl. The choices he’d made contributed to the sense of unrest he felt as of late, but he hated that his choices—and Jasmine’s—affected their daughter.

  They settled in to a game of Uno, Chloe quickly taking the lead. Her mind was on the game, while his mind was on his options. He’d reduced his schedule to the minimum—just short of quitting completely. Acting paid for Chloe’s school, the house she shared with her mom, the car that drove her to and from school, and his job allowed Jasmine to be at home with Chloe. That was part of the deal. He’d support them both—the alimony was insane—until Chloe graduated high school. He wanted his kid to have at least one parent at home. He’d gladly be that parent, but with his financial obligations, that wasn’t an option right now.

  He also battled the fear that if he gave up that part of himself, he’d lose a part of who he was. Acting was in his soul.

  “Uno!” announced Chloe.

  Mark stared at the eight cards in his hand. He laid down a red draw two. Chloe scowled as she drew the cards, making him laugh.

  Chloe moved her cards around, her lips pressed firmly together. That was the Dubois determination—right there on his girl’s face. He wasn’t giving up on gaining full custody—after all, the DuBoises weren’t just determined; they could be stubborn too.

  Chapter Three

  Allie slid into the limousine. A sense of possibility crept over her skin as the vehicle pulled away from the curb, taking them to their magical luncheon with the stars.

  The usually quiet building was all abustle as tenants crowded out so the fumigators could move in. Their energy permeated the walls, giving the building new life, which was funny, considering the reason they were piling out the doors. Perhaps avoiding William’s lemony disposition until Monday morning added the bounce to her step. The luncheon was so far out of her ordinary day that she hadn’t been able to eat due to nerves and her stomach growled.

  With her dark hair loosened from its ever-present braid, brushing her belt like a hem brushes the floor, a sense of freedom bubbled. Freedom from the drab diner walls, the constantly aching feet, and the pressure of just getting by. Today, she wasn’t Allie the washed-up waitress. Today—well, she wasn’t quite sure who she was. Someone who rode in limos? Her lips puckered under the gloss,
making her want to laugh at everything and nothing. For the first time in her life, Allie believed there might be more to this journey than passing time.

  The brown and red brick buildings faded into gray and glass the closer they got to their destination.

  She brushed her hand over the buttered caramel leather seat, letting out a sigh and all the apprehension she’d carried about going to this crazy lunch.

  George stared at her from the backwards-facing seat, his jaw hanging open, for a full ten minutes. With a gulp, he crossed to sit next to her. “Hey, baby.”

  Allie tucked her hands under her sparkle-butt jeans. “Knock it off.”

  “What? You look hot.” He leaned closer—like he was going to sniff her shoulder.

  Allie pulled away. “Thanks—I think.”

  He put his hand on her forearm. “Listen—”

  Whatever he was about to say was cut off by the door opening as they arrived at their destination. Allie bailed before she knew if she was supposed to get out or not. She had an idea where George’s mind was headed, and it wasn’t going to Sunday school. In her haste, she nearly bowled over a woman with short blond hair and an iPad. “Sorry.”

  The woman laughed easily. “It’s okay. I’m used to being run over by women wanting to meet Mark.”

  Allie blinked. “Mark?”

  “Mark Dubois.” She looked back and forth between Allie and George, who was climbing slowly out of the limo, unfolding his limbs as if he’d been packaged in there. He slung a heavy bag over his shoulder. “You are here for the lunch with Mark, Beau, and Anthony, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, we are.” George slung his arm across Allie’s shoulder.

  Deftly stepping aside, Allie tucked her hair behind her ear and pulled her shoulders forward to ward off the heebie-geebies. The more familiar George became, the less she wanted to get to know him.

  “Good. Follow me.” She walked ahead of them, her long stride indicating she knew where she was going and expected to be followed. “I’m Mark Dubois’s personal assistant, Kate, and I’ll be taking care of your schedule for the day.” She stopped just inside the doors to the fancy pizza place, allowing them inside before shutting the door.

  Allie considered the rough-hewn log tables and metal chairs. A large brick oven roared behind the counter, where workers chopped and grated in preparation for the afternoon. There weren’t any customers, and Allie wondered if they were just as slow as the Star Café or if the place had been rented out for the occasion. Probably the latter.

  George hurried ahead of Allie. “Do you have a special pen for autographs, or can they just use the Sharpie I brought?”

  “Thank you for reminding me, Mr. Lee.” Kate eyed George’s backpack. “You’ll have an hour and a half to talk and eat with the guys, and then we’ll allow three autographs for each of you.”

  “Just three?” George’s ears drooped. They actually sagged.

  Allie stared in wonder, then tried to get hers to move. The most she accomplished was making weird faces. She caught Kate watching and composed herself.

  “I was hoping to pull in some awesome gifts for the guys on the force,” added George.

  “I’m sorry, sir.” Kate’s authoritative tone cut off his protests.

  Thinking about how she would feel if she wasn’t able to get that baseball for José after all Selina had done for her, Kate offered, “I only brought a baseball, so you can have two of my signatures.”

  “Thanks.” George brightened, and his ears were back in place.

  Allie caught Kate studying her. “Is that okay?” she asked, hoping she hadn’t broken some rule.

  “Should be fine,” was Kate’s reply as she led them to a round table covered in papers and pens. “These are your nondisclosure statements.”

  “What for?” asked George.

  “They basically say that you are not allowed to take photos with or of the guys. That if you do, you will not sell them to the media or post them online, and that you are not allowed to sell private information about the guys to the press.”

  Allie signed without worry. Her Facebook page was so old it begged for Botox. She hadn’t been online since the day Reed posted a picture of him and his new girlfriend in Hawaii. Her Hawaii. The Hawaii she was supposed to visit with the money in her savings account that no longer existed. Crazy that a bank could kick you out—erase you from their accounts. She hadn’t thought that was possible.

  George wasn’t about to sign away his right to brag. He folded his arms, and for the first time that day Allie saw the cop who had stopped a robbery in progress.

  Kate gave him an indulgent smile. “We’ve hired a professional photographer who will send you preapproved images to post on social networking sites.”

  “As long as I get one with just me and Anthony.”

  “We can certainly make that happen.”

  Pacified, at least for the moment, George dipped his head to sign the paperwork.

  Kate turned to Allie. “How about you, any special requests?”

  “Me?” Allie pressed her hand to her chest. “No. No, I’m fine.” She stepped closer to Kate and lowered her voice. “Actually, I was wondering if we have to stay at the hotel.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “It’s just …” How could she explain this? “We’re not a couple and I don’t even know him—not really. It’s a bit uncomfortable to think of sharing a room …” She hadn’t made the arrangements and the contest page only mentioned one room at the Ritz.

  Kate moved her iPad into the crook of her arm. “If you don’t know him, how are you two here together?”

  “It’s kind of a long story.” Allie filled her in as quickly as possible, hoping their conversation stayed private as George was nearing the end of his stack of papers. She wrapped up with, “… he kind of made a pass at me in the limo.”

  Kate held up a hand. “Say no more.” She tapped her screen. “So he was the one who donated the funds?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry to even ask.”

  “I’ll have to talk to my boss, but we’ll figure something out.”

  “I don’t want to cause a problem. I could always sleep in the bathtub if they have an extra blanket.” It wouldn’t be the first time. She used to lock herself in the bathroom as a kid because the door muffled her dad’s angry words. Of course, that was before he thought she was old enough to be a target.

  Kate stared for a moment. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary. We want this to be a good experience for both of you.”

  George straightened up and flexed his hand, as if initialing twenty-three sheets of paper would cause a cramp.

  Kate flashed a set of perfect teeth. “With that in mind, we have a small makeover crew.”

  “What could you possibly need to make over on this?” George flexed his pecks, making them bounce like chipmunks in a burlap bag. Allie squeaked as she tried not to laugh.

  Kate gave him a wide berth. “Every star has to go through makeup before they go on set. And you’re about to get the full star treatment.”

  “Sweet.” George bobbed his head.

  Allie twisted her hair between her fingers. She hoped this makeover didn’t include scissors; she’d just fallen in love with her hair again.

  Mark stopped at a crosswalk on Peachtree Avenue for a woman with a heavy purse. She waved a thank-you and he lifted his fingers off the steering wheel in return. Today was a beautiful Atlanta day. The kind of day he’d like to spend watching a baseball game where the sun baked the top of his head and iced lemonades burned the back of his throat. There was that sense that your team was going to win hanging in the air. He couldn’t explain why he felt that way, because the Braves’ designated hitter was joining them for lunch. But he let the feeling carry him along.

  “Anthony just texted to say that he and Leticia are going to be a little late.” Beau dropped his phone in his lap.

  “Did he send an emoji?” asked Mark.

  “A fist bump.”

&
nbsp; “Dang it—he never sends me emojis.”

  “You overuse them.”

  “What?”

  Beau retrieved his phone and read Mark’s latest text. “Hey Beau. Hand waving. Want to ride together this afternoon? Smiley face.” He dropped his phone and raised an eyebrow. “We’re taking you out—cold turkey.”

  Mark chuckled. “I had Chloe type while I was driving her to school this morning.”

  “How’d you end up with her on a Thursday?”

  Mark bit down on the curse words erupting in his head. “Her mom needed a babysitter.”

  “The personal trainer?” Beau guessed.

  Mark cleared his throat. While he had no romantic feelings left for Jasmine, her escapades raked against his skin. Mostly because she promoted them heavily on Instagram. One day, Chloe was going to see those photos. “I think this guy’s a bodybuilder.”

  “He’s big, huh?”

  “Like Arnold back in the day.”

  Beau flexed his arms, checking out their size. “You ever think of putting that much bulk on?”

  “If the part called for it. I only maintain this for Slade rolls.” Mark’s contract with the production company included staying in shape for the next spy movie. He didn’t mind, really. He liked having the physical ability to do pretty much what he wanted. Besides, working out felt good and he was in a better mood on the days he stuck to the program.

  Beau let his arms drop. “Think of the chicks you could get if you were that big, though.”

  “You having a hard time getting a date?” teased Mark.

  “Who, me? I’m Christian Brockmore, double agent. I can have any woman I want.”

  Mark had a standing gig for the Slade movies, but Beau was one of four actors to play Christian Brockmore. Like James Bond, they cycled the movies through every ten years or so with a new actor.

  “What about you and Aspen?” Beau asked.

  “I’m not gonna open that can of crazy.”

  “That’s harsh, man.”

  “It’s not like that for us. We’re Hollywood friends.”