Unforgettable: Book Three (A Hollywood Love Story #3)(27)

“Are you okay?” asks Albert.

I nod. “Yeah. Just a bit of a headache. I had a hard day at work.” A really hard day. Avoiding eye contact with anything below his shoulders, I focus on my companion.

“Albert, you shouldn’t be so tough on yourself. You’re very talented.”

His eyes light up. “Really? You think so?”

“Yes. I’ve seen you in class. You’ve got great comedic timing.”

He grins. “I bet Brandon could do comedy. He can do everything.”

Yes, he could make me laugh as much as cry. And sometimes he made me laugh so hard I was crying. Like the time he couldn’t get his fly down with his sprained fingers and the night he made me sleep with him in my pajamas with little Gucci. All the fun, sexy moments we shared dance in my head—from our first sensual shower, both fully clothed, to that delicious bath in Cannes that ended it all. Albert’s nasal voice cuts into my beautiful but excruciating memories.


“Are you going to watch him get married to that reality star, Katrina Moore, this weekend?”

My heart clenches and my stomach churns. Their televised wedding is just two days away. I falter for an excuse. “Um, uh, no. I don’t own a TV.”

“You can watch it with me,” Albert says brightly.

“I-I don’t think so. I don’t like reality shows.” The truth: I can’t face the reality of Brandon marrying her. Or the pain. I inhale and exhale as if it’s my last breath.

“Albert, can we please change the subject?”

Albert leers at me. “Can we talk about your poonani?”

My poonani? “Excuse me. What’s that?”

“You know. Your vagina.”

I gulp while he rubs his dick with his hand.

“Superman would really like to get to know it.”

Gah! He calls his cock Superman. My eyes shoot down. Maybe it’s super big though the bulge in his cotton briefs doesn’t suggest that.

Before I can say a word, he starts fondling me. His touch is nothing like Brandon’s. He’s touching me in all the wrong places, and he’s doing nothing to arouse me. I feign a moan. Acting 101.

“Zoey, you’re very appealing.” He lifts his glasses to the top of his head, and then his lips collide with mine like a bad car accident. Mentally, I wish I’d swerved off course or put my brakes on, but it’s too late.

Ugh! His slobbering kiss tastes of milk and hot chili, and it’s accompanied by snorts. He’s giving my face a full-on tongue bath with his drool. I want desperately to break away. Then rinse my mouth with mouthwash and spit it all out.

Deepening the kiss, his sharp teeth scrape along my teeth. Almost as bad as nails to a chalkboard, the grating sound gives me shivers and makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. He’s hurting me—not in a good way. Okay. Three words: Worst. Kiss. Ever.

And if that’s not bad enough, Superman comes flying out. I feel his dick poke against me. All measly five inches of a semi-hard curl. Undoing my jeans, he pulls them down along with my panties just below my hips and then attempts to shove Superman into my poo-poo-poo-poo…I can’t wrap my head around that word nor get my legs to spread. They’re super-glued together.

“C’mon, Zoey. Open up for Superman. Let me be your man of steel.”

He keeps nudging. But I’m not wet. And I can’t pry my legs apart. My wide-open eyes dart to Brandon’s poster. His intense violet eyes are on me, and I can practically hear him saying his words: “Get it. Got it? Good.” Nothing’s good. I can’t take this. Finally, I push Albert away. He stumbles, almost falling to the floor.

“Zoey, why’d you do that?”

“I’m s-sorry.” I really am.

He looks wounded. “You’re not attracted to me. You think I’m fat, right?”

I pull up my panties and jeans. “No, Albert. It’s not that. I mean, look at me. I’m hardly Miss America.”

His voice grows more despondent. “Is it because my pee-pee is small?”

“No, Albert. Your dick is just fine.”

“Then, what is it, Zoey?” he asks, sliding up his caped crusader briefs. “I thought you liked me.”

Setting his glasses back on the bridge of his nose, I run a hand through his bristly ginger hair. “Albert, I need to be honest with you. I just broke up with someone. It was very painful. It’s been a month. I thought I was ready for another relationship, but I’m not.”

He looks at me earnestly. “Then, maybe I can be a friend with benefits.”

I shake my head. “No, Albert. You can’t.”

His expression grows deflated; his voice wavers. “Just a friend?”

“Yeah. Just a friend. I’d like that.”

Albert’s face brightens. “Okay. Maybe it’ll blossom into something bigger. I’m a patient kind of guy.”

I shoot him a half-smile. “Maybe. But right now, I think you should put your pants back on and go home.”

Silently, he does as I ask him. My head stays bowed as he gets dressed.

“Night, Zoey.” He turns on his heel.

“Albert, wait.”

With a glimmer of hope, he steps up to me. I give him a small peck on his cheek.

“Thank you, Albert, for a very nice evening. I’ll see you in class next week.”