Waking Up by Renee Dyer Read Free Book Online Page B

 It’s a tough question for me.  The question that makes me sound like an egotistical prick to most people, but the question that gets me the best read on most people, too.  That is, if they’re honest with me.  There lies the problem… honest people.  They’re hard to find.  I’m hoping she knows about me from TV or my movies, but I’m not stupid, I’ve been fodder for the tabloids.
    I’m frowning as I finish asking, but I can’t help it.  The tabloids really bother me.  Only an inkling of what they ever print has any kind of truth to it.  And even that gets twisted so that they can make it more entertaining for the readers.
    Looking up at her, I’m relieved when she tells me she saw me in a few of my movies.  Apparently her mom is a big romance movie lover.  Her mom, sister– I now know she has a sister– and her go to dinner and a movie, ladies night out.  She watches my show because she loves paranormal stuff.  I dig that.  Supernatural is her favorite show.  Surprising that she didn’t feel the need to lie to me and say my show was her favorite.  Again, refreshing.  Even more refreshing… she doesn’t read tabloids and she feels bad that stars get hounded.  Sexiest woman ever.  Beautiful, smart and she doesn’t seem to like the paparazzi.  I dig that.
    I can’t help but admit to her that I’m a Supernatural fan, too.  It’s true.  That show is fucking funny.  And who doesn’t love the car?  That Impala is bad ass.  Wasn’t saying that to let her off the hook, but when she smiled it made my heart skip a beat.   Literally.   Freaky shit.  
    Then she surprises me again by asking if I’m concerned if our show will be able to keep up with all the other vampire shows.  She just met me, she’s made me breakfast, and she’s concerned about my show.  Is she a fucking saint?  Does she know I’m going to start leaning this conversation toward getting her naked?   Ok, time to get this conversation away from me and over to her.  I need to know how long before the hubby is home.  Time frame.
    When I ask about her husband the look on her face nearly stops my heart completely.  I don’t know why what I’ve asked is wrong, but it is.  It feels like I just got sucker punched in the gut.  Her brilliantly shining eyes from moments ago have gone vacant.  Shit.  What have I done?
    “My… my hu… husband,” she stutters out, her breathing erratic.  What’s going on?  I look around again to ensure I’m not crazy.  There are pictures all over of her and a man smiling happily.  On her left hand she’s wearing a wedding ring.  Ok– not losing it, Stavros.  I motion to the pictures.  She looks around the room with such incredible sadness in her eyes I want to take her in my arms and comfort her.  That’s crazy.  I don’t even know her.  She’s looking at her ring.  Nothingness now.  There’s nothing in her eyes.  It’s like she just checked out.
    She tells me he’s gone.  Gone where?  I’m sitting here contemplating where he’d go that would make her so sad.  Then it hits me.  He must be in the military.  He’s on tour.  She must be worried sick about him.  That’s why she’s so upset.  Makes sense.  So, I ask.  I didn’t think the look on her face could get any worse. I was wrong.  Her whole body looks like it’s going to crumble in on itself.  I’m getting ready to go to her, to see if I’ve sent her into shock, when she whispers, “He… he’s dead.  Car accident… little over a year ago.”
    My heart stops this time for a beat or two.  Tucker, you’re an asshole.  Here I’ve been trying to get in this woman’s pants and she’s grieving the loss of her husband.  She was nice enough to make you breakfast and the whole time you had a hidden agenda.   Fucking Asshole!   Grams would be so disappointed.  Say something to her.  You understand loss.  Something, asshole.
    I tell her I’m sorry to hear that and I truly am.