Unforgettable: Book Three (A Hollywood Love Story #3)(78)
Nearing his Sherman Oaks condo, we made one stop on Ventura Boulevard at one of his favorite takeout restaurants. Vegan Delight. I waited in the car, with the engine running and radio still on, while Bradley plodded into the small storefront, located in one of the city’s many ugly strip malls. He didn’t even bother to ask what I wanted to eat. Which was okay by me because I didn’t have much of an appetite.
The program playing was one of those call-in shows. My ears perked up at the newest caller. Her name was Rose from Cerritos, and she was having fantasies about her boss. What should she do?
The host listened attentively as she ranted on about her wildest fantasies. Tearing off his clothes. Sucking his dick. Fucking his brains out. Her voice grew tearful as she revealed how much she secretly loved him, having no clue if the feeling was reciprocal, especially since he was married. Poor Rose. She was sobbing. I so felt for her. My stomach twisted painfully as the image of my own boss, Blake Burns, flashed in and out of my head. That gorgeous face! That hard, sculpted body! That magnificent cock! I craved them all. Stop it, Jennifer. But no matter how much I mentally slapped myself, I couldn’t stop thinking about him and imagining . . .
Just as the host was about to give advice to Rose, the car door swung open. Bradley scooted inside with a bagful of takeout. He turned the radio off and backed up the car. The pungent smell of curry and garlic filled the air, and I began to feel nauseated. As Bradley took off, I lowered my window and inhaled some fresh air to clear my passageways. And to clear my mind of the fantasies dancing inside it. When we pulled up to Bradley’s condo, Blake Burns had just ripped off my dress in my fantasy world. I had totally lost track of place and time.
In a haze, I followed Bradley into his condo. He flipped on the light, illuminating a roomful of monotone brown furniture that looked like it came out of a furniture-for-rent catalog. Actually, it did.
Bradley set the food down on a Formica counter that divided the kitchen and the living room.
“I’m going to put my pajamas on,” he mumbled, already heading to the bedroom down the hallway. “Help yourself to some food.”
Listlessly, I ambled over to the counter and removed the three containers of Vegan Delight from the brown paper bag. I tore open the lids. Upon eyeing the vomiticious (yes, that made-up word again) concoctions of strange looking vegetables disguised in assorted brown sauces and inhaling their unpleasant, incongruous aromas, I decided to pass on dinner and plunked down on the massive brown corduroy couch. It faced the built-in plasma TV—the one thing in the condo Bradley had splurged on. Bradley loved to watch TV—especially reruns of the nineties shows he’d grown up with. Home Improvement was his very favorite. He’d seen every episode dozens of times, yet each time he watched one, he bellied over in laughter as if he’d never seen it. Our mutual love for television—especially the shows from our childhoods—had been one of the things that had brought us together and bonded us, but his obsession with them was now a door that shut me out of his life.
In a flash, Bradley was back—in his crisp blue and white striped Brooks Brothers pajamas (last year’s splurgy Christmas present) and with a carefully arranged plateful of Vegan Delight. He plopped down next to me, with the plate on his lap and his legs stretched out on the oak coffee table facing us. With one hand, he shoveled forkfuls of the saucy mush into his mouth, while the other, with the bandaged fingers, deftly channel-surfed until he landed on Teen Nick. His eyes lit up and a wide grin spread across his face.
“Yabba! My favorite episode of Kenan and Kel is on.” He noisily masticated his hodgepodge of food.
Big whoop. I inwardly sighed. Kicking off my heels, I bent up my knees and curled my arms around them. Yet another romantic Saturday night with Bradley. My mind wandered. What were Libby and Chaz doing? Were they still at the art gallery? And what was Blake doing? The thought of him hanging with that blond buxom predatory beast sent a shiver to the base of my spine. Why should I care? He was my boss. He was entitled. I was engaged. Period. I glanced down at my engagement ring, the luster lost in Bradley’s dimly lit shades-of-brown living room.
Halfway through the episode, Bradley’s landline rang. The phone was located on the counter where he’d set the bag of food. Setting his now empty plate on the coffee table, he jumped up to get the phone. Eager for a distraction, I studied Bradley as he took the call. The expression on his face and tone of voice alternated between extreme pleasure and extreme distress. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, ending the call, oblivious to my eavesdropping. After filing to the kitchen to get a glass of water, he returned to the couch.
“A patient?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yep. She’s in desperate need of a filling but can only come into the office tomorrow morning due to her job. Hope you don’t mind.”
A Sunday? I half-smiled. “Sure, no problem. A patient’s needs come first.”
And lately they had. Broken promises. Broken dates. He’d even missed my engagement party. I mentally pinched myself, reminding myself that Brad was consumed with building his dental practice. Building our future. We were just going through a challenging phase. That’s all. I lovingly gave his hand a squeeze. To my surprise, it was cold and clammy.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
Bradley didn’t answer. I turned to look at him. He was green and shaking like a leaf.
“I think I have food poisoning,” he muttered, leaping to his feet.