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Reality hits. Rex Redford is a famous musician, has performed on television numerous times, and is sought after by millions of women (and probably many men as well). “You could have any woman in the world, Rex,” I say. It hurts. Because I like myself. Like myself a lot. But I guess I don’t like myself enough to believe the two of us together makes sense. “And you want a normal woman who lives in the middle of nowhere with her mom? Who isn’t famous? Who isn’t perfect? Who is just… a woman?”
Rex’s smile returns. “Oh, Isabella… you’ve never been just a woman to me.”
Chapter 13
Rex
“It’s called a smash cake,” Isabella says, her voice a morning type of groggy.
I consider the picture on her phone screen. Leo. One year old. Cake covering his face and hands. Happy as a clam. He likes his sweets. I can respect that. “So, you just buy the baby a cake to… smash?”
“Yeah, it’s not complicated,” Isabella says.
“That’s… weird,” I say, furrowing my brow.
She laughs, her head tipping back on the pillow. “Then you have a regular cake for the guests too.”
I don’t reply, just taking her in. It didn’t take a lot of convincing to get her to come back to my motel room after our tryst in the desert. Same place we met all those years ago, except the motel isn’t some gritty dump anymore. Someone bought it and turned it into a trendy retreat where rooms go for an absurd amount. It’s Ocotillo Valley for Christ’s sake, not Palm Springs.
However, it evokes the same memories.
“Okay, next one,” I say, wrapping my arms around Isabella and curling around her like a koala bear.
“Don’t think I can’t feel you, Rex Redford,” she says, glaring at me.
I raise my eyebrows innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I rub my half-erection against her thigh.
Isabella starts to turn away from me. “You’re terrible!”
“Wait, wait, wait, come back!” I chase her across the bed, tucking my long frame around her. “I’m sorry. I just can’t help myself.”
Isabella giggles, allowing me to nestle in behind her. “Guess I can’t be mad when you put it like that.”
“No,” I say then kiss her shoulder. “You can’t. Now, next picture.”
She pulls up her phone again and swipes to the next picture. It’s Marisol holding Leo. He’s so small but then so is she. They’re in front of the old house. The rundown ranch they were living in when I knew Isabella the first time.
“Moving day,” Isabella says. “Sometimes I miss that place. And then I remember the AC would turn off if you ran the microwave at the same time.”
Leo’s arms are up in the air as if celebrating, smiling with every tooth he had at the time.
“He looks so happy,” I say.
“He’s generally a happy kid,” Isabella says. “Albeit sensitive.” She wriggles her hips into me when she says that.
I wince, my dick hardening a bit more. “Careful, Isabella.”
“I can’t believe you’re even able to get hard again.”
“Same, honestly.” In the early days of the band, I was the Energizer bunny of fucking. And then fame came along and I was the Energizer bunny on coke (literally). And then fame lost its pizzazz and I was happy with one round per night.
Isabella and I have had round after round after round. Sometimes interrupted by sleep, other times conversation, and now by going through pictures of Leo. I’ve got years of his life to catch up on.
“Next picture,” I say.
Isabella swipes and I’m surprised to see it’s not a picture of Leo at all, but of Isabella herself. Clearly very pregnant. Hands tucked on her lower back, dark hair in a waterfalling ponytail, wearing her scrubs, and looking at someone off-camera with a smile.
I slide my hand to her stomach. “Look at you.”
