Free Changing Scenes (Changing Teams #2) by Jennifer Allis Provost Page B

I look covered?”
    “Yeah, well, you do.”
    The bartender stepped up, and asked me, “Martini?”
    “Of course. Thanks, Bill.” Bill moved off to make my drink, and Donnie shook his head.
    “Everyone here really does know you,” he muttered.
    “Exactly what is wrong with you?” I demanded.
    “As soon as I sat down, the woman next to me started going on about how everybody knows you,” Donnie began, “then you come out naked, this guy knows your drink—”
    “First of all,” I hissed, “I was not naked. Second, you were sitting next to Melody, who happens to be my best friend’s cousin. Didn’t Britt mention that when she sat on the other side of you?”
    He shrugged, which I interpreted as a yes. “Third, of course everyone here knows me. These are my friends, people I’ve worked with for years.”
    Donnie drank from his beer, and asked, “You show all your friends your tits?”
    That was it, I was done. Bill set my martini on the bar, so I smiled at Bill, and then I grabbed the drink and dumped it in Donnie’s lap. “What the fuck was that for?” Donnie demanded.
    “For being an asshole,” I replied, then I stalked away from him.
     
    ***
     
    After I filled Donnie’s lap with cold vodka, I tried to get back to my happy place, but there was no chance in hell of that happening. I had one drink with Britt, Sam, and Melody, during which I told them what an ass Donnie was. They tried sticking up for him, but it was a lost cause. I’d met men like him before, who think models are nothing more than prostitutes, and either don’t or refuse to understand that modeling is a profession, one that requires hard work and skill. Good riddance to the chef, I said.
    And that was why I, Astrid Janvier, party queen of New York, was home by nine on a Friday night. Oh, Britt had tried her hardest to get me to stay, but my evening had been ruined. I’d really thought that Donnie was different, but I was wrong. He was a jerk like everyone else.
    I really wished he wasn’t a jerk. Damn chef broke my heart.
    My intercom buzzed, and I assumed it was Britt and Melody, ready to force more fun on me. “Yes,” I said into the speaker.
    “Hey,” said a man’s voice. Donnie’s voice. “Can I come up?”
    I wanted to say no. I wanted to tell him what I thought of him and his opinions, and tell him to stay the hell away from me. Instead, I buzzed him in.
    Not a minute later there was a knock at my door. I opened it, and found a rumpled man hanging his head standing in the hallway. “Crotch still wet?” I asked.
    He laughed through his nose. “Took me twenty minutes under the hand dryer in the men’s room to dry out,” he said. “I stink like a hobo, and my balls are shriveled like jerky.”
    “I hope you weren’t planning on a large family.”
    He looked up, the pain in his dark eyes catching me off guard. “I love kids,” he said. “Got a bunch of nieces and nephews. Want a bunch of my own someday.”
    His words went straight to my ovaries, which both softened my heart and scared the living crap out of me. “Why are you here, Donnie?”
    “To own up to my dickish comments, beg your forgiveness, and hope you don’t hate me,” he replied. “Can I come in? I bet you don’t want your neighbors to know what kind of jerks you hang around with.”
    “Might as well.” I stepped aside, and Donnie entered my apartment. While he looked around the living space, I checked my appearance in the entry mirror. I’d scrubbed off my makeup and put on an old pair of yoga pants and a long sleeve knit shirt, and my hair was wound up in a bun. I was casual when we went to the fish market, but this was just sloppy.
    “Your place is nice,” Donnie said, “and huge. You could throw a mean party with that kitchen.”
    “My parties are legendary.” I brushed by Donnie and walked toward the kitchen. “Want a drink, so you can feel like you smell?”
    “Sure.” Donnie followed me into the kitchen, examining my cabinets