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“So are you going to tell me where you’re from or do I have to guess?”
She takes a step back and meets my eyes. “I doubt you’d get it right. There’s a whole lot of confusion in my background.” She laughs.
“Now that you’ve piqued my curiosity, you have to tell me.”
“I was born in Savannah, Georgia. My father is from there. His ancestry is very much engrained in the South, but my mom is from the North. When my dad walked out on us when I was three, we moved back to Pennsylvania for a while. My mom needed help raising me and there were better job prospects at the time. When I turned twelve, she met and fell in love with another Southerner and we all moved back to Savannah. She’s long since been divorced from her second husband, but she didn’t go back home. She has a restaurant down there now, so she’s back to being a Southerner.”
“It all makes sense now. Hey, are you an only child?”
“Yup. I am. And you?”
“I’m one of those as well,” I cheer. “I rarely meet people who don’t have siblings. I do have three stepsisters, but they’re older, so by the time my dad remarried, they were already on their own and off to college. I never grew up or lived with them. I’ve always felt like the odd duck. Like Spiderman.”
“It’s the same for me. I’ve always felt like a bit of a loner.” She stops walking and turns to face me. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand the last part.”
“As a kid, I was fascinated by superheroes, like pretty much every other boy, but the one thing I noticed very quickly was that most superheroes always have a sidekick or best friend—think Batman and Robin—but Spiderman, he’s a lone ranger.”
She smiles. “What about Superman? He works alone.”
I shake my head vehemently. “Superman had a whole superfamily. Remember Supergirl, Superboy, Superwoman, Power Girl, and the list goes on,” I answer with a serious look on my face.
“Iron Man?”
“Nope. He had Pepper Potts, J.A.R.V.I.S, Colonel James ‘Rhodey’ Rhodes aka War Machine.” I smile.
“I’m going to stop while I’m ahead because obviously you’re far more versed in the world of comic books and superheroes than I am. So that guy you were with yesterday at the restaurant isn’t your brother? Is he a sidekick?”
“You’re quick.” I marvel at her wit. “That’s one of my good friends. We go way back. Speaking of which, I distinctly remember him asking you about your accent yesterday, but I don’t think you were in the mood to answer him.” I chuckle.
“No offense, but he came on strong. Too strong.”
“That was tame. My friend can be far more adamant than he was yesterday. I guess from your reaction you don’t know who he is?”
She looks up at me, puzzled. “Am I supposed to?”
“His name is Collin Dennison. Most people recognize him in LA. He has a legion of female fans who would do just about anything to catch his attention.” She looks at me blankly. “He’s somewhat of a celebrity,” I press on.
“Oh, I can’t say I’ve seen any of his movies... unless he’s a singer. Either way, I haven’t got a clue who he is.”
“He used to be big back in the day as a teen and young adult movie star. Then he crashed and burned. After a hiatus he’s reinvented himself as a fitness model. He also does more and more action movies. Him and his brother Shane make a fortune selling their calendars and photo collection books to millions of women willing to buy into the fantasy they’ve packaged so well.”
She’s still looking at me as if none of this fazes her. That’s an uncommon reaction in this town.
“It still doesn’t ring a bell, but I’m part of the minority who thinks that celebrities are people just like you and me,” she says, waving her index finger between the two of us. “The only major difference is that they have more money, more bling, more toys, more drama and a whole lot more to hide then the rest of us.” It’s so refreshing that she’s not hung up on Collin’s celebrity status. “Are you also a fitness model? Do women drool all over your calendars and photos of you in a skimpy swimsuit?”
I close my eyes and erupt in laughter. Her comment and expression catch me so off guard. It must take me at least a minute to stop laughing. “Oh, no. My profession isn’t nearly as glamorous.”
“Hmmm.”
“What?”
Her eyes brush down the length of my body as if she’s undressing me. If she keeps this up, I might have to yank her over my shoulder and take her to my SUV. Thank God for tinted windows. “You could’ve fooled me. You’re more built than your friend is.”
She’s not as innocent as she seems.
“Is that your way of saying you like my body?”
“I didn’t say that,” she retorts.
