Set Me Free Page 3

  “Why? Isn’t it cool to know that you can get anything, and I mean absolutely anything you want just by introducing yourself?”

  “That’s the problem, people don’t see me. They only see the James Collins in me. And the worst thing is that they don’t want to know the real me. They don’t need it. They like what they see, and the interior doesn’t matter.”

  Well, I couldn’t but agree with them, the facade was definitely to like staring at.

  “Have you ever thought about doing something else, I mean instead of writing books?”

  “No, I like what I do.” James looked at me thoughtfully as if he knew something I didn’t.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Nothing.” He shook his head. “You never get tired of being a reporter, do you?”

  “Why would I? I like what I do,” I replied, quoting him.

  “Just another thing that we have in common…”

  “What else do you think we have in common?” I asked, curious.

  “More than you think, Stella.”

  Chapter 3

  The walk to the store didn’t take long. I was kind of disappointed; we needed to finish the conversation that I would have never imagined to be so easy and pleasant. It’s not like James suddenly filled me in on all his secrets, at least I managed to find out a few interesting facts about him. He hated fantasy books, and he couldn’t live without drinks that provided energy. He was a coffee addict, just like me and Dillon, but he never added sugar to his coffee; he took it black. And just like me, James Collins loved freedom…

  “What else would you like to know about me, Stella?”

  We were standing in an isle of the grocery store, looking at all the different brands and varieties of coffee. I suddenly realized that no amount of questions would be enough for me to get to know the real James Collins.

  “Everything,” I said, turning to look at him.

  “Okay… So, then is this the beginning of your interview?”

  “Yes. Let’s start from the very beginning. Tell me a few things about yourself.” With people like Mr. Collins you never know what to expect. They can surprise you, as well as disappoint you. So, I thought an informal conversation might help me learn more about this mysterious man. After all, it was my job and I was damn good at it. I didn’t want to fail. Failing wasn’t really an option.

  “So, my name is James Collins. And I’m just a man… A man who happens to love writing sexy stories.”

  I smiled. “That is a perfect quote for my article. What do you think the title should be?”

  “How about ‘Interview with a Writer: Confessions of a Sworn Bachelor’?

  “Damn perfect. I should write that down.” I took my phone and made a note of the fabulous title he came up with. “You know, I need to make a confession… There is one thing I was not honest with you about.”

  “And what is that?” James asked, picking up three different cans of coffee.

  “Your books; I wasn’t being honest about how I felt about them. There were parts that did surprise me.”

  “For example?”

  “That conversation between Tris and Rodger from The Longest Kiss: I could actually feel it. I mean everything the girl was saying was so realistic. It was as if you were in her head and could read her thoughts. So tell me, Mr. Collins, how do you know so much about women?”

  “I love spending time with them. In fact, I would say that is one of my favorite things to do: spending time with a beautiful female companion. There is nothing in this world that can compare to the thrill of being around a person who is so gorgeous it almost hurts to look at her.”

  “And by spending time with them you mean… Sex?”

  “Mostly,” he said with a small smirk on his face, as if remembering his most recent sexscapade.

  “What about feelings? Do you believe in love?”

  “No, I do not believe in it.” He paid for the coffee, put the cans into a paper bag and we headed home.

  “Why?” I asked after a while. He couldn’t possibly write love stories if he didn’t believe in love, right? That would be kind of cynical.

  “Why what?”

  “Why did you say that you don’t believe in love?”

  He took a deep breath before saying, “The stereotypes of love have been ruined. People don’t know how to love anymore. Some think love should be crucial, like it is their final destination before death, you know? They see love like a black and white chessboard. There are no other shades of love for them. They either live because of love, or die because of love. Others believe that love is just a term that is no longer needed to define a relationship. They call love an old-fashioned, out-of-date word. And there are also those who don’t know a thing about what true love is: they date, have sex, but they have no feelings, and there are no strings attached. Scientists can’t even prove its existence, they say it is a chemical reaction humans have when two people are attracted to one another. That’s why I don’t believe in love anymore. Of course, there are people who know how to love, but I’m not one of them.”

  “Have you ever loved anyone?”

  “A woman you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  We stopped at the front door of the house Dillon and I shared. I took the key out of my purse and opened the door, letting James and myself in. He didn’t rush with a response, which made me a little suspicious. I didn’t know much about his personal life. Only gossip that I was sure was not even close to the truth.

  “I don’t know,” he said finally, entering the kitchen. He took one of the cans of coffee out of the paper bag and went to the coffee machine to prepare it. I leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed my arms, watching him.

  “What do you mean you don’t know? You either did love someone or you didn’t, either way I would think you’d know. . .”

  “I don’t know if it could have been called love. It was more like an obsession or an infatuation, I guess.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “Who?”

  “The woman you were obsessed with?”

  James’ expression hardened. “We’d better not go there, Stella. Next question.”

  Alright then… So, there is a story behind his coldness, I knew it! I just need to figure out how to pry it out of him, and without him realize I am doing it. . . I thought to myself excitedly.

  “What about attraction? Do you think people should be attracted to each other to have sex?”

  “It is not necessary. They should match physically, but not necessarily mentally.”

  “So, you think relationships are mostly built on primal instincts?”

  “Yes. At least that is what I can tell from my own experiences.” He waited for the coffee to brew and poured two cups, one for me and one for himself.

  We took a seat at the kitchen table, and James asked, “What about you? Have you ever loved anyone?”

  “You are not in charge of asking questions today, Mr. Collins; that is my job.”

  “Answer me, Stella. Like you said, it’s not a hard question – either you have or you have not. So?”

  “We better not go there, Mr. Collins.” I said, tossing his own words back at him, and then added for good measure so he would realize this was about him and not me, “Next question.”

  He smiled. “You keep using my own words against me. You should be a prosecutor, not a reporter.”

  “What we, reporters, do is almost the same - we love using people’s words against them.”

  “Damn true.”

  I took a few sips of my coffee thinking about my next question, but all of a sudden, I felt like I didn’t have any questions to ask. Thanks to the book signing, I knew almost everything about James’ characters and writing habits, and he refused to tell me more about his private life, so I had no choice but to keep watching him, as if his expression could tell me more than his words could.

  “It is not working,” he said, meeting my watchful eyes.

  �
�What do you mean?” I asked, nervously. His piercing stare made my pulse accelerate, and I couldn’t understand why it was happening. He was not the first attractive man I had met, but somehow, he was the first man in a very long time that managed to get my attention. And it was not just about my job anymore. The man intrigued me. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into the deepest depths of his soul and see the darkest things he had been hiding there. Because I was sure, there was a dark side that James Collins wouldn’t let anyone see.

  “I have never been an open book, Stella. I let people know only what I want them to know. No exceptions, not you or anyone else has the right to go to places I prefer to keep hidden.”

  “But… You have already made an exception for me, remember? You said you never answer more than five questions, and now look at you: sitting here, talking to me as if our conversation this morning never happened.”

  “True. But I didn’t do that for you. I did that for myself. I wanted to test myself, to see how far I could go with letting a woman into my private space.”

  “Wow… Okay. So, you are just as selfish as I thought you were.”

  He shrugged, building that unbreakable wall of coldness around him again. “That’s who I am.”

  “Is there anything I could do to… Get a little closer to the things you refuse to tell me about yourself?” Of course, I didn’t mean that I would sleep with him to get the answers I wanted, but apparently that was what he thought I was offering in exchange of his private life.

  He smiled cunningly, turning the cup in his hands.

  “Can you be more specific?”

  Here we go, I knew he was going to think I was talking about sexual favors in exchange for a more detailed interview with candid answers.

  “I didn’t mean sex.”

  “I wasn’t expecting you to offer that… However, I wouldn’t mind experimenting if that is what you wanted to do…”

  I swallowed, feeling my blood run faster through my veins. Damn it. . . In any other situation, I would simply send a man with his meaningful invitations to hell, but not in this particular sexy-eyes case. I couldn’t believe it – I was getting really close to becoming one of those fans who were hopelessly obsessed with James Collins. Did any of them actually love his books or were they simply crazy about the man who knew so much more about sex than they did?

  “I was actually talking about dinner,” I said, trying my best to stop thinking about James’ words and the way they made me feel.

  He smiled again. “I’m a huge fan of Italian food. Do you know how to cook anything Italian?”

  I put my best beauty-queen smile on, saying, “I can order pizza for you.”

  He laughed. “You are adorable. But no, thank you. I eat only home-made pizza.”

  “Oh, okay.” I bit my lower lip, not sure what else to say. He was obviously not going to help me with my small investigation, no matter how obviously ready he was to perform a couple dirty experiments with me.

  “It’s not about you, Stella. It’s just that I prefer people gossiping about me than knowing the truth.”

  “Is the truth so awful that you don’t want to share it with anyone?”

  “I didn’t say no one knows it.”

  “Then what’s the point in hiding it from me?”

  He rose to his feet, took his empty cup to the sink, then came back to where I was sitting and said quietly, “Because you are just a woman, Stella. And I’m a man who knows a lot about women, remember?”

  “Now, that was just rude.” I looked up at him, hoping to see him smiling, as if it were a sick joke or something. But James looked dead serious.

  “No, that was the truth.”

  “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” I flared, offended.

  “Unlike you, I know how to read people.”

  “Oh, yeah? What can you tell about me? Come on, be honest with me. I respect everyone’s opinion.” Again, I remembered him saying the same thing earlier today.

  “You sure you want to hear it?” He leaned closer, a cocky smile on his damn alluring face, putting one hand on the back on my chair, and the other one – on the table… Right next to mine, so close I could feel the warmth coming from it. I felt like I was trapped by him, and my body felt like it was on fire.

  “I’m not the only person who has secrets here. You have them too.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because, I will never believe that a girl like you would willingly stay in Braiwood, work for a small newspaper, live with her uncle, and be happy with that life. Everything about you feels out of place. The way you talk, the way you dress, even the way you walk. You are so much better than this, Stella. And you know it. So the question is – why are you here? What or who are you hiding from?”

  The entire time he was talking, our eyes stayed locked, and I couldn’t make myself look away, regardless of how much I wanted to.

  His words hurt, like hell. And I bet he knew it too. It was very difficult for me to control myself and not slap him in the face for everything he was saying, for how easy it was for him to tell the truth that I had been trying to not think about for so long. Now, I hated James, more than I did this morning or last night when I found out about my new task. I hated his eyes, his knowing look. But, most of all, I hated myself for letting him get that close to me, for letting him awake feelings inside of me that I thought were long dead in my heart. I hated him for making me feel so damn helpless and unprotected. Because right now, he saw the little girl in me, a girl who maybe for the second time in her entire life didn’t know what to say, a girl who knew how it felt to love someone and then have that love ripped away, without warning; a girl who was never going to let anyone make her feel anything – love, or hurt – again… Until this very moment.

  I took a deep breath and smiled, as brightly as I could – considering the turmoil in my heart ¬– saying, “Bravo, Mr. Collins. High five to your talent in reading people.”

  No smile followed in response.

  “Whoever he was, he was a fool,” James said, and then he turned on his heel and left, closing the door behind him. I felt like my heart was ripped open and left bleeding yet again.

  He knew… Maybe not about everything, but definitely enough to make me hate myself all over again. Who would have thought I would be so stupid to think that mentally, I was a match for James Collins. He was obviously so much better at his job, than I was at mine. He slept with women, and then wrote stories about them, and for some weird reason, they loved every single word he wrote about them. Or did they? Maybe the women he wrote about did not like the things he shared with the world. And, I foolishly hoped that my writing talents would be enough to outgun him. Silly me. . . Maybe I haven’t given enough credit to his books, and they were not as bad as I had originally thought they were. After all, their author was a real expert in showing people their true colors. Now I knew it for sure.

  ***

  Five hours, six shots of tequila, and a gallon of tears later, I still felt as bad as I did after my failed interview with James Collins. The only difference was, now I could hardly think straight and I didn’t give a damn if people started gossiping about me – the curse of living in a small town where everyone knows everything about you. What the fuck ever, seriously. . .

  My phone buzzed in my pocket, again. I looked at the screen and dismissed yet another call from Dillon; he had been calling me all afternoon. He never cared if I came home late, but tonight was apparently the exception to that rule. I knew he was worried about me. He saw me leaving the house, and I didn’t even stop to say hi to him. He called my name a few times to get my attention, but I just got into my car and sped away. I couldn’t let him see me crying. I bet he didn’t even know I was capable of crying. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he saw me as typing machine, able to spit another great article every five minutes or so. But I was just a woman, just like James said. . .

  “Damn you,” I blurted, motioning for the bartender t
o refill my glass.

  “That’s enough for tonight,” someone said behind me, taking the glass out of my hand.

  “Hey!” I turned around to yell at whoever was trying to ruin my pity party, but my words got stuck in my throat.

  James’ whiskey eyes glistened in the club’s poor lighting. I frowned, already hating whatever he decided he was going to say next.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I asked, my eyes followed the bartender taking my empty glass away.

  “It’s the second time today that you have asked me that question.”

  I laughed. “You are damn good in math, aren’t you?”

  “You are smashed,” James snapped.

  “So what? I’m old enough to get smashed, last time I checked twenty-one was the legal drinking age in the United States. You do know that, don’t you?”

  “I’m well aware of that, Stella. But I think it’s time for you to go home.”

  “I’m not going anywhere! My night has just started. Hey, you! Yes, you. Another tequila please,” I hollered to the bartender who I was sure thought I was a lost cause.

  “I said enough,” James said firmly, putting one arm around my waist, literally dragging me out of my seat in an attempt to get me to leave the bar.

  “Who the hell do you think you are?”

  “Right now, I’m the person who’s trying to save you from passing out on the bar stool with alcohol poisoning. Please don’t complicate things.”

  “Don’t complicate things?” I laughed again, louder this time. “Oh, I know what your problem is, Mr. Collins. You hate complicated, right? You love sex, but nothing complicated. I get it, don’t worry. You are not my type anyway.”

  “For God’s sake, Stella, just shut up and go to the exit.”

  “Do not tell me what to do!” I screamed, tripping over one of the chairs, but James was right there, wrapping both arms around me, saving me from kissing the floor.

  “God, I’m a mess,” I blurted, running one hand through my hair.

  “God has nothing to do with your mess. Now, let’s get you out of here.”

  This time, I didn’t argue with him. It was pointless anyway. James was right – I was smashed, and I needed and wanted to go home, regardless of how little I wanted him to help me.