I didn’t have to wonder who the anonymous source was. That much was obvious. Looked like I was getting punished for blocking Stewart’s number. I could see him doing this out of vindictive spite, to pay me back, but even that didn’t make sense. That was over a couple of months ago. Why now? And even so, again, even if Stewart decided to start a smear campaign, why would anyone give a shit about me? Even if my photography book had already been published and was a huge success, even then no one would care. I was a photographer, not a movie star. It made no sense for a gossip site to care about Randall Morgan getting all sexual at the end of massages.
Kayla stopped texting and calling after I texted and told her I’d talk to her tomorrow. She, of course, texted back asking if I was thinking about killing myself. I told I’d call her in the morning, alive.
I didn’t answer my phone, but after the fifth unknown caller, I checked the voice mail. Looked like people were taking the article’s advice. I turned off my phone, feeling sick.
No photo editing happened. No walking of Harper; I was afraid someone would recognize me. Although that thought was stupid too. I’d never heard of The Dirty website. Probably most people hadn’t either. The whole thing was stupid. It would blow over. Of course, that depended on Kayla keeping the rest of the family from finding out.
That theory was blown out of the water by midafternoon when I checked my phone again and discovered reporters had started calling. I hit the power button, my fears going as dark as the screen.
Blow over or not, Noah read it. And that was all that mattered.
Noah said that even if things were meant to be, people could still fuck it up.
Well. Look at that. I fucked it up.
Before I even started dating Noah, I’d fucked it up. By being a whore.
Fine, yes. I admitted it. That thin line I drew about getting paid for the massage and not for the sex was transparent at best and nonexistent at worst. And it looked like things were going to be their worst.
I had some small sliver of hope. Noah was okay with the whole erotic photography thing. Was massage really that much different? I couldn’t see how. Although it must be since I still hadn’t managed to make myself tell him about it. But still, maybe. Maybe he’d be okay with it. As long as it didn’t get any bigger than some random gossip site. And if I didn’t give the vultures calling any details, the story would die off. There’d been no connections to him so far.
Needing assurance more than anything, I turned the phone back on once more, tried not to vomit at the number of voice mails, and texted Noah. Told him I was sorry. That I loved him.
He didn’t text back instantly like he normally did. And my panic flared.
Maybe he was helping someone adopt a dog. Or he’d left his phone in the car. No reason to jump to conclusions.
When there were no texts after I checked my phone two hours later, those conclusions didn’t seem like a far leap away, but just the next logical step in the path.
I’d ruined it. Noah, as wonderful as he was, couldn’t deal with his boyfriend being exposed as a prostitute. Who could?
Another hour passed before the tears finally arrived.
And arrive they did. Along with the vomiting that had been threatening and then dry heaving when there was nothing left.
HARPER’S WIGGLINGin my arms woke me. For a second, I couldn’t think where I was or what was happening. Then the light switched on, and I heard the door close. With a leap, Harper bounded off the couch. The couch. I’d fallen asleep with Harper on the couch.
Right.
After sobbing and vomiting, I’d passed out.
Sitting up slightly, I looked over the back of the couch. Noah bent to pat Harper and then turned to me. He sounded exhausted. “Hey. Sorry I’m late. I needed some more time to think.”
My heart instantly shot into overdrive. This was it. This was where he walked away. I sat up fully and pulled my legs in under me. “It’s okay. That’s understandable. I guess I passed out on the couch. I don’t even know what time it is.”
“After eight.” He moved around the couch. “Mind if I ask you some questions?”
I hesitated. There had to be a way to slow it down. To change things. To find time to think of what I should say. “No. Of course not.” I patted the spot beside me. “Please. Sit.”
He did. But on the other side of the couch. Not exactly on the other side of the room, but not within touching distance either. At just the right amount of distance for me to be uncertain which way this was going to go.
Noah looked at me, though it seemed like it took effort to not look away. It sure did on my part. And even more not to start to cry or beg him to stay. Not that I wouldn’t do that. I would. On hands and knees, if I had to.
Finally he cleared his throat and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “So I’ve read the article a few more times.”
I couldn’t keep my snort from escaping.
Noah’s brows knitted in response.
