Perfectly Imperfect(8)
This ends today, Willow, I think to myself as I mix in his sugar—just three packs—with the stirring stick. With each turn of my wrist, I solidify the vow I made earlier.
I will never, ever allow someone to get close enough to hurt me again. I will do everything possible to claw out of this heavy shell I’ve grown around myself.
I let the strength and motivation today’s events have given me sink in. The push I’ve needed to take the final steps toward making myself someone better. Someone I could like. But even with that determination coursing through my veins, all I feel is more and more hate. Hate for those around me. Hate for the way I allowed Brad and Ivy to make me feel one inch tall again. Hate for being so freaking weak I let myself fall down. Back to the person I used to be. A person I hate down to my very core.
No more.
I have nothing left to lose.
Nowhere else to go but up.
It’s time to finally be the Willow I can love.
Even if no one else can.
Six months later
“WILL, GET IN HERE, BABY!”
I roll my eyes as I continue to gather the nail polish and remover we’ll need and tossing them into the basket by my side.
“Willow Elizabeth! You don’t want to miss this fine-ass man!”
There really is no telling who my lust-sick best friend is talking about. Truth be told, there really isn’t a man Edward Hart doesn’t find bed worthy. I love Eddie, God do I, but I swear that man is incapable of thinking about anything other than sex.
“What are you watching?” I ask before setting down the large basket full of multiple nail polishes, cotton balls, and just about every other mani/pedi tool you could ever need.
“Oh! I like this color,” Eddie says in a whimsical tone.
“Honey, focus.” I laugh, patting his thick, muscular thigh.
Eddie stops painting his thumbnail—light pink, I should add—and darts his deep brown eyes toward the television before returning his focus to the task at hand. “Just you wait for it,” he mumbles, sticking his lip between his teeth and attempting to swipe his thumbnail with the pale pink polish.
“Kirk, are the rumors to be believed?” I hear an impossibly fake, breathy voice say from the corner of the room. Turning my head, I look over at the television and wait for the entertainment reporter to continue. “Surely, Mr. Hollywood royalty, Sexiest Man Alive at that, isn’t off the market for good?”
“If the rumors are to be believed, then yes, Kennedy, he most definitely is. Being spotted leaving a doctor’s office known for its specialty in high-risk pregnancies with none other than his rumored on-again, off-again girlfriend, Mia Post. Not even a week after the pair was seen relaxing on the sunny tropical shores of Tahiti, I might add.”
I watch in rapt fascination while they go on yammering about Kane Masters’ supposed ‘baby mama drama.’ My eyes widening and my ears sucking up every word. I’ve been obsessed with this man and any information I can find out about him since our run-in six months ago. Just thinking about how he made me feel on a day I thought could be nothing but horrendous causes my body to heat. He’s been a running fantasy. The star of all my self-induced ecstasy. My obsession.
“Rumors aren’t exactly solid truth, Kirk. Take for example how just earlier this year there was one flying around that his oldest brother, Kyle, had apparently separated from his supermodel wife, the stunning Jessica Deen.”
“Yes, well … I suppose that sometimes they aren’t exactly confirmed, are they?” Kirk laughs. The screen changes to an image of Kane with his two older brothers, Kole and Kyle. Just seeing them together is a reminder of the good genes that run in the Masters family. They’re a triple smack-down force for any woman.
Including me.
All well over six feet tall, dark brown hair that looks black in most of the tabloids magazines, and the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. You would have to be dead or blind not to have any one of them affect you. Kole, like Kane, decided to take the path of fame and fortune, and both of them went on to become hugely popular actors. The oldest, Kyle, wasn’t famous in his own right, but rather was well known because of his brothers—and the fact he married one of Victoria’s Secret’s top models. But even with all three of them rocking impossible good looks, it’s always been the youngest Masters brother who’s caught my eye.
In the days that followed our run-in, I’ve spent more days than I care to admit grabbing any tabloid magazine, entertainment report, or online article I could find about Kane Masters. His image and the scene forever burned in my memory have been the gasoline to my already burning fire of determination to become the Willow I am today.
I used him. Sure, it started out as fantasy and dreams … but it turned into me using him and everything he represents to drive myself toward the change I am today.
The picture of the Masters brothers changes and an image of Kane flashes on the screen, drawing me from my thoughts. I lean forward slightly, sucking in every single inch of his face. The same feelings I had when I was face-to-face with him resurface like a slap to my hibernating libido; same as every time I see his image.
His lightly tanned skin is darkened with an even more golden version of the tan he always carries. They continue to sift through various pictures of him on a sunny beach, his swim trunks hanging low on his hips, that sexy V on display, and those abs … good God, don’t get me started there. When they’ve displayed a million different poses of him just walking out of the surf, they settle on one of him taken at his last red carpet event. His burning blue gaze causes me to shift uncomfortably on the couch, knocking into Eddie’s knee. I hardly hear his hushed expletive because Kane’s penetrating gaze has me completely transfixed.