Me & Mister Everything: A Romance (Tanner Family Book 4) Page 13

  Those stupid cups were an embarrassment.

  I struggled with those types of thoughts while he was sitting right next to me, watching television. My roommate was in the living room with her boyfriend, so Eric and I had come into my bedroom to continue that series I had been watching. We were both sitting on the bed with our backs propped against pillows. I was under the covers and he was on top. He had kicked off his shoes and was comfortable sitting next to me in jeans and a t-shirt with socks.

  "How about a popsicle?" he asked between episodes.

  I nodded, and he hopped off of the bed, crossing my bedroom with athletic grace before heading into the living room. I kept the show paused for him, waiting while he was out of the room. It took him a few minutes. I heard him talking to my roommate, so I wasn't surprised. They discussed my condition and the fact that I didn't come out of my room all night. Eric came into the room a few minutes later with two popsicles. Both of them were grape, which was my favorite.

  "Today's lucky cup is at your location," he said. "It might get given away on your shift. That would have been cool if you would have been there."

  I didn't mean to do it, but I felt so helpless about the situation that I let out a small, cynical scoff.

  "What?" he said, hearing me.

  He was somewhat distracted while he pulled this popsicle out the plastic wrapper, and so was I.

  "Nothing," I said. "I'm just kind of done with those cups right now."

  Eric adjusted his seating position, kicking his leg up and bending his knee while turning to face me. "What'd you say?"

  "Nothing. It's nothing. I just feel… a little discouraged about them." (Understatement of the year.)

  "Why do you feel discouraged?" he asked.

  I tried my absolute best to keep it from happening, but hot tears began stinging my eyes the instant I thought about how to answer his question. I blinked and looked away, staring at the comforter, and trying my best to keep tears from overflowing onto my cheeks. I put the popsicle into my mouth, hoping the sweet coldness would serve as a distraction. Thankfully, it did.

  "Why do you feel discouraged, Olivia?" he asked, since I hadn't answered.

  "There was a mean write-up about them."

  "Was it something with the hashtag? Somebody complaining?"

  "Yes."

  "I saw that."

  My gaze snapped up to meet his. "You did?"

  He nodded.

  "W-what'd you see?"

  "Just that lady complaining about it. The one with the red circles?"

  "Yes. You saw it?"

  "Yes. I was hoping you wouldn't, though."

  I stared at him, wondering how he thought I could miss it and why he didn't think it was a big deal.

  "Can you believe someone would do that?" I asked.

  "Do what?"

  "Write all that stuff."

  He shrugged a little, making a regretful face. "Unfortunately, it's part of it. You're not going to be able to escape people giving their opinions."

  "Yeah, but it was super mean."

  "Sometimes they are," he said, completely calm and levelheaded.

  I put the popsicle in my mouth again but mostly to keep it from melting. They were getting soft since Eric had stopped to talk to my roommate after picking them up, and both of us took a bite for that reason. He was staring at me like he didn't understand the gravity of the situation.

  "People liked and responded to what she said," I said.

  "So?"

  "So, don't you think that's going to have repercussions? Don't you think it means people don't like the promotion?"

  "Sure it does," he said. "Some people don't like the promotion. Some people don't like Roxy's coffee at all. No matter what it is, Olivia, some people won't like it."

  "Yeah, but they don't have to write about it in detail for other people to read. And who are these people that go around liking other people's meanness? That's just double mean. Why would anyone do that?"

  "It's not mean. It's not personal. It's just their opinion. People are used to stating their opinion. They don't know what they're doing. They don't realize people's feelings are involved. It's just a product, and they're judging it. They have the right to judge it."

  "Yeah, but it's going to make other people not want to go to Roxy's. I don't care as much for me, I mean, I do, but I'm more worried about you."

  "Please don't worry about me," he said "Those kinds of things don't change anything. People know there are rants on the internet. I saw that lady's thing this morning and I didn't even think twice about it. I'm sorry if you did."

  I let out a weak humorless sound that was basically a half-laugh combined with a sigh. We had been working on our popsicles as we talked and I took a slow, deep, measured breath as I took another bite. I was relieved by Eric's casual reaction to everything.

  "I was so embarrassed," I said.

  "Don't let it do that to you," he said.

  Our popsicles were so melted that they went down quickly. We polished them off in one more bite. I set my stick onto my nightstand. Eric handed me his, and I did the same thing with it.

  Eric reached out for me and took me into his arms. He leaned back against the pillows pulling me with him, holding me with my back toward his chest.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "That on top of being sick."

  "That's why I'm sick."

  Eric was still and quiet for a few seconds, and then I felt him shift. The movement was small but quick, and I could tell he was trying to look at me, so I turned to focus on him.

  "What do you mean?" he asked.

  "I mean, that's why I don't feel good."

  "You mean last night? Your food poisoning?"

  "It was… internet… poisoning…" I said it slowly and dramatically like the kid on A Christmas Story when he said 'soap poisoning', and it caused Eric to start to smile, but he was still confused looking, and he shook his head.

  "Are you not sick right now?"

  "I mean, I guess technically my body isn't sick. But I definitely wasn't feeling right."

  "From the stuff the lady said?" he asked, still looking perplexed.

  "Yes."

  He paused and blinked at me. "Oh, well… good," he said, seeming at a loss for words. "Because you definitely don't need to worry about that. It won't be the last time it happens, I promise."

  "How am I supposed to move on? It makes me question myself. I was just trying to do it for my regular customers."

  "Well, now you're doing it for more than your regular customers. You don't have control of who gets a hold of your stuff and comments on it or what they say. All you can control is how you react. If she pointed out something like 'the ink she used on the cup smeared all over my shirt,' then you respond to that and you find better ink. But if someone is just commenting on your style, there's nothing you can or should do about that. You can't second guess yourself because of someone else's opinion. You just do what you do. Some people will like you and some people won't. You have to be yourself."

  "And I guess that'll just have to be good enough," I said, feeling exponentially better. I could actually breathe easier.

  "Of course it's good enough, Olivia. I didn't hire you for this project because I like you. I hired you because it's a great idea and you're great at it. Ultimately, this falls on me. You just have to trust my taste, which, as we both know, is impeccable."

  I regarded him thoughtfully. "I don't know how it's possible that you could just say some words and I physically feel better."

  "Why not? It was just words that made you physically feel bad in the first place."

  I let out a little laugh when he said that, because he was right. "Thank you for talking to me about it," I said in a sincere tone. "I really do feel better."

  "You have to be honest with me about what's going on with you," he said.

  "You're right," I agreed. "I'm sorry. I was just worried that it would affect things between us."

  "Well it doesn't. And you hav
e to promise to tell me the truth from now on."

  "I will. I'm so sorry I lied. I should have just told you what was going on. I wasted a whole day on this, basically."

  "So, do you feel better? Because I was about to tell Ethan and Bridget that they could have our tickets for tonight."

  "Oh, yeah, that's right," I said.

  The 76ers were playing the Knicks tonight. Uncle E still had a ton of connections in the NBA, and knew Eric liked the Knicks, so he got us tickets.

  "Come on, it's Saturday," he said.

  "It is Saturday," I said, feeling like a completely different woman. "Think of the possibilities."

  "Yeah, I was planning on taking you out for steak before the game."

  "Oh, that was such a good plan," I said.

  He shrugged. "It still is a good plan."

  "Great, so let's do it," I said, casually.

  "Great," he said, shrugging a shoulder. Without warning, he tackled me, rolling over me just the right way so that we ended up in a new position in the middle of the bed. This time, I was sitting up and he was lying across my lap, propped onto his hand, gloriously trapping me.

  "Your mouth is going to taste like grape popsicles," he said, scanning my face. His gaze hesitated when it reached my mouth, and I smiled at him.

  "That's because I just ate one," I said.

  He was so close to me that I leaned in and rubbed my cheek gently on his. It was a gesture of thanks and love and tenderness.

  And then I found out that all problems had a way of completely disappearing when you kiss a gorgeous man who tastes like grape popsicles.

  Chapter 20

  Seven months later

  Late September

  Elmont, NY

  Belmont Park was a Thoroughbred racing facility where the Belmont Stakes were held. It was located in a place called Elmont (without the B) New York.

  Mister Everything was just starting his racing career and would run at Belmont Park in a two-year-old race called the Pilgrim Stakes that weekend. The trip from Philadelphia to New York was easy in a car, but Eric and I made the fast flight to the city and took a rental car to the track. We used his father's jet. It wasn't the first time I had ridden in it since we'd been together, but I was still getting used to that sort of lifestyle.

  Eric was so low-key and easy to be around that the private jet thing was still a little surreal. There was a blacked-out SUV waiting for us at the airport. Eric enjoyed driving and rarely hired drivers.

  I was in the best mood.

  My brother would be at the races, and I was excited to see him. Mister Everything's big race wasn't until the following day, but we booked a room in the same hotel where my brother was staying and we met up with him as soon as we made it to town. We checked into our hotel and hung out with my brother for a little while before leaving to go eat dinner.

  Eric drove and Jude rode with us. I offered to let my brother sit in the front since he was bigger than me, but he insisted that he didn't mind getting in the back.

  My uncle and now my brother were in the business of breeding and training horses, and because of that, I had been to my share of races. Belmont Park was close to Philadelphia, and I had been there at least five times in the past, supporting my family. It was always fun.

  I liked the city and had been to several good restaurants. I hadn't been to the one we were going to tonight, but Jude had and he loved it. It was a country kitchen with things like fried chicken and cornbread and greens, and Jude had always loved that type of thing. This place served things family style where dishes are set in bowls on a table and everyone passed them around and shared. Eric and I loved home-cooking as well and we easily chose that place when Jude gave us options. It was in Brookville, though, which was a thirty-minute drive from our hotel. None of us minded. I loved seeing Jude and catching up with him.

  Mister Everything and his upcoming race was the primary thing on Jude's mind, so we talked about that while we were driving. He was excited and had hopes of not just placing but winning. I hated to get my hopes up, but I sincerely wanted that to happen.

  It was dark out and we were in the middle of nowhere when I heard a loud, shrill booip-booip sound from behind us. I saw blue flashing lights spill into the truck. "Booip-booip-booip," the sound was ear-piercing, and startled me every time it happened. It happened again, a third set of quick, jarring sounds.

  I had turned in my seat where I could see Eric and it was easy to glance back toward Jude. I clearly saw the flashes of light coming into the vehicle from the back window.

  "Were you speeding?" Jude asked, glancing over Eric's shoulder, peering at the dashboard.

  Eric began slowing down. "He might just need to pass me," he murmured calmly as he began pulling over. "Hang on… just a second…" he continued, talking absentmindedly as he drove onto the shoulder.

  "He's stopping behind us," Jude said, looking back, staring straight at the flashing lights. I was looking back, too.

  We were doing nothing wrong and still my heart was in my throat.

  "Were you speeding?" Jude asked again, glancing back.

  "No," I answered even though I had no idea. It hadn't felt like we were speeding. I stared at the side of Eric's face, watching as he intently stared into the rearview mirror.

  "He's getting out," Jude announced.

  "I see him," Eric said calmly.

  "Why do you think he's stopping us?" I asked.

  I knew Jude and I should both just be quiet, but I was nervous and I couldn’t help it.

  "I guess we're about to find out," Eric said as he shifted to stare into side view mirror. He rolled down the driver's window, and I watched as an officer approached the vehicle. He was a huge man with a black beard and a pot belly. He walked with a swayback.

  It was dark out and he shined his flashlight through the backseat window before shining it right in Eric's face. I saw Eric flinch a little as a result of the bright light, and I winced right along with him. The officer leaned down and shifted the flashlight, and suddenly the blinding light hit me in the face. I squinted, making a face. I could faintly see his outline.

  "License and insurance please."

  "It's a rental," Eric said.

  "I know. I ran your tags. That's why I didn't ask for your vehicle registration."

  He continued to shine the bright light directly on Eric's lap as he spoke. Eric had already taken his wallet out of his pocket, and he began to fish for his driver's license. He handed it to the guy.

  "I don't have my car insurance policy on me," he said. "I could look it up on my phone, but I thought that was through the rental agency."

  "Philadelphia," the officer said, looking at Eric's license and ignoring his statement. "What's your business in New York, exactly?"

  The officer couldn't see me do it, but I glanced at Jude with a worried, annoyed expression.

  "We've got a horse racing at Belmont Park tomorrow." Jude was the one who spoke. He cracked his window so that he could make that interjection, and the officer shined the light directly on Jude's face when he did.

  "Sir, roll your window up. I'm talking to the driver." His tone was abrupt and no-nonsense.

  Jude rolled up the window, turning to stare stiffly at me with a slightly wide-eyed expression. The officer was not in a good mood. I was on edge already, but the way he barked at Jude made me feel defensive and wary.

  "Was there a problem officer?" Eric asked. "Was there a reason you pulled me over?"

  "You were flying down this road," the officer said. "The speed limit on this road is fifty-five, and I clocked you at seventy."

  "Oh, I definitely wasn't doing seventy," Eric said, sounding sure of himself but cautious and respectful at the same time.

  The light went directly into his face. "Excuse me?" the officer said, as if daring Eric to say that again.

  Eric cleared his throat. "It could be that your radar was off, but I wasn't going seventy. Not down this little two-lane."

  "He wasn't s
peeding," I said, leaning over. "I saw."

  I hadn't seen. It was a lie. But I could tell Eric was being honest, and I knew I needed to say something to reinforce our side of this story. I couldn't let him say things that weren’t true.

  I had a price to pay for speaking up. The police turned the flashlight directly on me again.

  "Ma'am I'm speaking to the gentleman who's driving," he growled. "No more interruptions from either of you."

  "I apologize, officer, but I sincerely wasn't speeding. I had just glanced at the speedometer before you pulled me over. I was going under the limit actually."

  "Are you calling me a liar, son?" He stepped back, lowering the flashlight, looking at Eric man-to-man, daring him. It was intense. I could not look directly at the guy. I was scared. It was dark out and we were in the middle of nowhere. Cars passed us every so often, but we were far enough onto the shoulder that they didn't even slow down. The officer took a step back, staring us down and staring down our whole vehicle suspiciously. He reached up to his shoulder, and pressed the button to speak on the little radio that was connected to his uniform.

  "This is Alpha Prescott. I've got a four-twenty-five on my hands. I'm requesting backup."

  "Requesting backup?" I mouthed the words to my brother, wearing a confused expression. Eric was looking at the officer. Neither of them had seen me. Jude was as suspicious as I was.

  "Video," he said. Only he was mouthing the words just like I was and I wasn't able to understand him.

  I made a face to let my brother know I didn't get it.

  "Vi-de-o," he mouthed the words exaggeratedly, and he also held up his phone and aimed it just the right way so that I was able to tell what he was saying.

  He was telling me to video the interaction with the police. It took me a few seconds to figure out that he was telling me to do it because he was scared of that cop and thought this was about to get sketchy. A wave of fear washed over me when I realized what Jude was implying.

  "You video," I said. I leaned toward him and whispered the words out loud instead of mouthing them.

  The officer was talking on his radio and wasn't paying attention to me. Jude leaned over so that he could take the phone out of his back pocket. He discreetly began pushing the right buttons. I watched as he stiffly tilted the camera toward the officer.