Blurred Lines (Blurred Lines Volume 1) (4 page)

Chapter 8

When I get back from the CAT scan, John is waiting in my room. He’s on the phone with someone.
It’s easy to tell they’re arguing. His short blond hair is rumpled as are his clothes. Even mussed and haggard, he looks amazing.

“Look, I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t look good for my image, but there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it. You’re my manager, spin it however you want.”

The techs and I glance at each other uncomfortably. We’re trying not to listen to John’s conversation, but it’s hard not too. The techs put me back into bed and leave.

The linebacker waves and I return it.

When they’re gone I close my eyes, trying to focus on breathing. The person on the other end, while she isn’t screaming, is speaking really loud.

John sighs and throws himself into a chair.

“Diane, you can go fuck yourself.”

I peer at him under hooded lashes. His teeth are clenched and he’s staring at the phone like it’s a venomous snake. Finally he glances up and catches me watching.

“Sorry you had to hear that.” He forces a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes or his dimple.

There’s a bag on the chair next to him. He picks it up and walks over to my bed. Sits down gingerly and pulls out some fries. “Try one. They’re the cure to everything.” He brings it toward my mouth and I take a bite. They are delicio
us but I have way too much worrying going on to put food in my stomach.

“
Mmmmm, they are good.” He tries to feed me another but I turn away. “Will you and Diane work it out?” I ask, still facing toward the door and away from him. I’m having a mini pity party. It’s daunting, realizing how royally fucked I’ve made my life in such a short time, but that’s what I’m dealing with. I have no idea what Fileze will do. Or worse, who he’ll send after me. A part of me wishes I’d never agreed to Fileze’s terms, but I can’t go back and change anything.

“Hey,” John says softly.

When I catch his kind, beautiful eyes, I realize I don’t want to. Last night was wonderful, more connection than I’ve ever had with a man.

“Diane is my manager. She’s been my manager for seven years. That
’s how we talk to each other. She tells me I fucked something up. I tell her to go fuck herself. We take a day or two to get over it and then we’re back to normal.” He rubs a hand over his jaw. He’s got some scruff.

“Sounds like a great relationship.”
I try to keep my voice light and turn my attention toward the windows. The blinds are closed and I wish them open. I’m feeling slightly claustrophobic.

John
chuckles. “It really is,” he says and takes my hand. “Want another fry?”

“No. I can’t eat. But thanks for taking the time to get it for me.”

He scoffs. “It was my pleasure.” He’s suddenly nervous. “So, earlier, I was trying to tell you something.”

“Yeah,” I encourage.

His jaw clenches and he looks away. “I figured when you first came to my room you were an overeager fan. That the hotel had somehow fucked up. But you seemed so sure of yourself. And between the way you said my name and your body in that dress, I was willing to take a chance.” John faces me. “Do you know who I am?”

I swallow, trying to stall. What is he asking, exactly? “Yes.” I swallow again. “Your name is John. You’re friends with Fileze.
You asked him for a girl and I came to your room.” I don’t mention that he is supposed to be my freedom, but Fileze was beat to shit, and seems to think it’s my fault.

The whole time I’m speaking he’s shaking his head. “Wait. Who’s Fileze?”

I pull his hand forcing him to come closer. “He’s a pimp. He said you guys were friends. You were supposed to be my last job…” I trail off because he’s looking at me like I’m exotic bird again. “What?”

“I don’t know a Fileze. And contrary to what the tabloids say
, I’ve never been with a hooker before.”

“Tabloids?” My head is pounding harder.
My stomach ties itself in thicker knots. “You aren’t Fileze’s friend, John?”

“My name is John. John
Cruze.” He leans back, his eyes studying me as though he can’t believe I don’t know who he is.

The name does sound familiar. I feel like I should know it, but I can’t figure out how. Was he a previous client? That’s highly unlikely. I would’ve remembered those lips. Had we met at a club? Or was he someone from my past? I racked my brain trying to remember how I should know him.

He shakes his head again. “I can’t believe you live in L.A. and don’t know who I am, but I can tell you aren’t lying… unless you’re an actress. A very, very good actress.”

My eyes get wide. “Holy fuck. You’re
the
John Cruze.”

He busts up laughing. Tears tinge the edges of his eyelashes. “That’s me,” he says
after a while.

“Holy fuck.” I’m stunned.
In awe. My favorite movie in the whole entire world is
Zombies Take the Night
. He was the lead character. Sure, more than ninety percent of the movie he was covered in blood and guts, but still. Those eyes. I lean forward, seeing his eyes the way I saw them on the screen. “It’s really fucking you.”

He heaves a sigh. Of relief, I think.

“I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you,” I begin. “My absolute fav—”

But he cuts me off. “Don’t worry about it. You. Last night. The best connection I’ve ever had. It was nice to be with someone who wasn’t trying to be my leading lady.” He says
leading lady
while using air quotes with his hands.

I swallow down the fan-girl moment I feel coming on. “John
Cruze,” I whisper.

His features get serious. “Don’t freak out. Okay? Promise me you won’t freak out.”

“I won’t. I promise.” I fan myself, and try to keep the idiot grin from filling my face. I’m already blushing, but I can’t help it. “I’m going to try really hard not to.”

He laughs and kisses me on the mouth. “Thank you, Cadence.”

I lay back, the pounding in my head at full tempo. That’s why Fileze got beat to shit. That’s why he said I’m dead. I fucked the wrong John. How could this have happened? I went to the right hotel, to the correct hotel room. I remember. And if I’d gone to the wrong room, Fileze would’ve said something.

“I thought you lived in L.A.,” I say
, trying not to sound like I’m accusing him.

“I do. But I’m expanding, changing some things in my house
, and I needed a place to stay while the construction happens.”

“Oh.” That makes sense. I rub my temples, trying not to start crying. I’m in so much trouble though, and I’m not quite sure what to do. Hopefully Jessica is all right.
Fileze wouldn’t hurt her, would he?
I know the answer though. He’d hurt her as soon as look at her.

With a start
, I sit up. “Where’s my phone?”

John cringes. “It’s still in my room. Sorry.”

I flop against the pillows. “Don’t worry about it.” I have a feeling there’s going to be a lot of unsavory texts when I turn my phone back on. Probably some phone calls too. “I just want to make sure my roommate is okay.”

He gives me a strange look. I can’t explain how completely I’ve fucked everything up, so I sigh. “Never mind, she’s probably asleep.”

Doctor Evans comes in. He smiles. “Your test results are back and everything looks normal. You do have a concussion though, so you need to take it easy. But I can release you in a few minutes, if you’d like.”

“I’d like that very much
,” I say with a sigh. I’ve got a lot of shit to figure out.

“Are you sure? I can pay for whatever she needs. I don’t want her—” John moves in front of the doctor, pleading his case.

The doctor pats him on the shoulder. “You’re actually a really good guy. I always worry when my daughters get crushes on movie stars, but I’ll be able to tell them with one hundred percent accuracy that you’re even cooler in person than you are in the movies.”

John smi
les. “Thanks. I’d be happy to sign something for them.”

A huge grin breaks out over d
octor Evans’ face. “That would make me a shoe-in for Dad of the Year.”

“You got it,” John says easily.

“I’ll be right back.” Doctor Evans heads to the door. He pauses. “Cadence, it was great to meet you. Take care of him.”

“I will,” I respond, knowing that after today I probably won’t ever see him again. Movie stars don’t hang out with hookers in public. Some of what John was trying to say earlier comes back to me. He meant paparazzi. There are paparazzi outside. And they probably know he brought a girl here. Shit, what has he been telling
them?

When the doctor leaves, I flip back the covers. “Where are my clothes?”

John looks sheepish. “They’re back in my room with your purse.”

“Well how the fuck am I go
ing to get out of here? In this?” I pull on the hospital gown.

He raises his brows and winks. “I think you look hot.”

Chapter 9

I let out a sigh. “Yeah, but what about the paparazzi?”

He gives me a once over and then grabs a bag
I hadn’t noticed next to a chair. “I thought about that.” John sets the bag on the bed and pulls out a sundress. It’s a light shade on aqua. “I thought this matched your eyes,” he says, holding it up.

His kindness
melts another piece of the ice around my heart. “I love it,” I say, taking it from him, running my fingers through the material.

He goes to the door and closes it. “Try it on.”

I slide the hospital gown off my shoulders and off my arms. My breasts are exposed and John notices.

“You are the finest woman I’ve ever seen. If you weren’t hurt I’d kiss
them until you come.”

The idea of his lips on my body sends a wave of desire coursing through me. And I’m about to tell him that kissing my breasts is just what I need to feel better when there’s a knock on the door.

“Hang on. She’s changing,” John says.

I quickly slide the dress over my head, careful to avoid the large lump
on my head. As soon as it’s covering the important parts, I look at John. “Okay.”

John opens the door. The doctor comes in holding two coffee mugs.
Probably from the gift shop. “Will you sign these?”

“I’d love to
. What are their names?”

While John handles autographs, I watch the nurse, Amanda, bring in a wheelchair and lock it next to the door. Then she has me sign some paperwork. When we’re finished, the doctor and the nurse leave.

“What about shoes?” I ask John when he comes to the bed.

He pulls
a pair of black flip-flops from the bag. They’ve got a chunky heel and aqua jewels across the top.

I’m surprised. “Did you pick these out or did you have someone do it for you?
”

He fakes
indignance, then shock. “I had a little bit of help,” he answers, helping slide the flip-flops on my feet.

“Thank you so much. I’ll pay you back for them. How much were these?”

His face darkens. “I bought them as a gift. It’ll hurt my feelings if you pay me back.”

I clamp my mouth shut. It’s so irritating. I hate feeling like the
lesser number in an equation. “Well, thanks again,” I say through clenched teeth.

“You’re welcome.”

“So how are we going to do this?” I ask, feeling slightly woozy.

“I’ve got that worked out too.” John puts an arm around my waist and helps me
into the waiting wheelchair. He pushes me down the hall. “We’re going to go out the back door. There’s a limo waiting. I’ll drive you back to the hotel so you can get your stuff and then we’ll drive you home.”

“You rock.”

“So do you,” he responds.

We
reach the doors and he struggles to push them open.

“I can walk,” I say, feeling frustrated.

“No, I promised the doc I’d wheel you all the way to the car. It’s hospital policy.”

“Fine,” I grudgingly agree.

As soon as the doors are open, we’re swarmed with paparazzi. Apparently going out the back door doesn’t deter anybody.

“What happened?” one shouts.

“Is it true she’s a prostitute?” another asks.

John doesn’t say anything. He whispers in my ear. “Keep your head down.”

I’m already doing that. I’ve no desire to be on the cover of some tabloid.

“John, there are millions of women who would happily spend time with you. Why did you feel it was necessary to pay a whore?”

We’re at the limo and a guy has the door open. John locks the wheelchair and helps me in.

I study his face, worried. He looks angry.

“You okay?” I ask him quietly.

He doesn’t respond and closes the door.

Then he turns and says something to all the paparazzi. I only catch snippets.
You… Idea… Fuck…

He opens the door and slams it shut.

The driver takes off.