by Kylie Scott
My fingers no sooner gripped the doorknob than he was there, hands flat against the front door, blocking my exit. I looked up and growled. “Move, Adam.”
“Go pick up the check.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“Yes, you do. You dumped me over money.”
I shook my head. “That was only part of it. A very small part of it. The straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak. Now move.”
“We’re not done talking.”
“Oh yes we are. Unless of course you’d like to get punched in the dick.”
His gaze hardened. “I’m sorry, all right? I’m sorry. Is that what you want to hear?”
“Move!”
With a snarl of his own, he took a step back, frustration etched into his handsome face. “Fuck’s sake, Jill. Why do you always have to be so…?”
“So, what?”
He just shook his head, mouth tight with frustration.
“Go on. Say it.”
“Emotional,” he spat. “It’s always pushing with you. Where’s our relationship heading? What are my plans for the future? How do I feel about you? We could never just fucking be. The crazy thing is, I was with you. I was a hundred and ten percent with you and it still wasn’t enough.”
“Maybe you should have told me that instead of mumbling excuses when I needed to talk.”
He shook his head.
“Anyway, got some amazing news for you, Adam. We’re no longer together. You no longer have to tolerate my needy, chatty ass.” I wrenched open the door, paused, and slammed it shut again. If this was the last time I ever saw the jerk, then I would say everything I needed to say. And I’d say it now, right up nice and close to his face in a nice clear angry voice. “But while I’m here, how fucking dare you? You wrote a whole damn album telling the world how you felt when you couldn’t even tell me. Not once. Not even once did you tell me how you felt about me.”
“You kicked me out.”
“You took me for granted.”
“You blocked my number.”
“You behaved like an emotionally repressed immature asshole, and I didn’t want to talk to you.” I slammed my hands against his chest. “So there,” I yelled like a reasonable adult.
“I loved you!” he roared back at me. “I loved you, Jill. And maybe I was shit at showing it, but I would have figured it out. I would have gotten there. Why the hell did you give up on me so soon?”
I stared at him, stunned. The blood drained out of my face, my brain feeling both light and heavy at the same time. “You did? You mean that? You really loved me?”
“Of course, I did,” he said, shoulders falling, the fight leaching out of the man. “And it’s not like you ever said it to me either.”
Huh.
“Was it that asshole Chris who was always hanging around?”
“What?” I shook my head, trying to think straight. “No. There was no one else.”
“Bet he was knocking on your door not five minutes after you threw me out.” He cracked his knuckles all Neanderthal-like. “The way he used to look at you…”
Holy cow. Adam had loved me. I’d thought it was all some bad joke or publicity stunt. An artistic temperament leading to imagined feelings or something similar. But he’d actually finally said the words, and from what I could tell, he meant them. Guess still waters really did run deep. And I’d never said it to him because everyone knew the guy had to say it first. It was like an unwritten rule. Still, this new information had my heart hammering inside my chest. “Chris? Really? He does absolutely nothing for me. Never has. Guess I’m not the only one with jealousy issues.”
“Guess not.” A muscle popped on the side of his jaw. Then he squeezed his eyes shut, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “What the hell are we doing? Can we not fight for a while? Is that even possible?”
“I don’t know.”
Silence.
Neither of us seemed to know what to say. And the quiet was neither easy nor comfortable. My head was reeling, and even Adam seemed sort of dazed. We’d had the odd disagreement before the big this-is-the-end-of-us moment that led to me kicking him out. However, we’d never yelled in each other’s faces quite like that before. Maybe we should have. More than a little honesty seemed to have slipped out along with all of the accusations and anger.
“Mae is a neighbor and a friend. Nothing more.” He finally turned and headed back to the sofa. “Would have thought you’d have replaced me by now for sure, though.”
“I haven’t really been in the mood for dating.”
“For a year?”
I shrugged. My dry spell didn’t need to be discussed.
Once more, he sprawled on the couch, finished off the beer. Eyes closed, he laid his head back against the cushions.
“What about you?” I asked, voice lowered. I could have left. I probably should have, given it would have been the smart thing to do. Yet my feet stayed still. No one had ever told me they loved me before outside of family, who were basically obligated to say that sort of thing. No one had given me that and meant it. It was a little overwhelming.
“What about me? You mean dating?” he asked, eyes still closed. “Nah. Not in the right headspace, besides being too busy recording and touring. The promo appearances alone have been never-ending.”
I stood behind the wingback, hands resting on top. “You look exhausted, and you stink.”
“You always said you liked the way I smelled.”
No way would I be going near that. “If you’re so damn tired, why were you heading to a club?”
“So I could play on the down-low with some local musicians. Just hang out and relax. Have a couple of beers and unwind without a whole lot of fuss.”
“No partying with groupies, huh?”
“Sad to say, but after you sign the first couple pairs of tits, it kind of loses its thrill. Mal was right about that. Of course, if he tried to sign any these days, Anne would chop off his hands.” He chuckled. “Too much drinking and my playing started to suffer so I had to cut back. Martha got Jimmy to give me a talking to after the hotel room incident.”
“Jimmy Ferris?”
“The one and only. Lead singer of Stage Dive and reformed addict.” He sighed, a soul-deep kind of noise. “What he had to say scared the shit out of me, actually. Lots of people offer you all sorts of things when you get big. Not that I’m as big as them. But the champagne just flows, let alone the hard stuff. I could have easily been headed straight for the 27 Club. He talked some sense into me, and I slowed it down.”
“Good. I know I used to ride you about sleeping half the day away, but you looked better back then. You looked—” Beautiful. I almost said it. “Healthy. Alive.”
He grunted. Some habits hadn’t changed. At least, not entirely. Overhead, the air-conditioning clicked on, the quiet hum the only sound since the song had finished. Not a single noise from the city filtered through. One of Adam’s eyes opened, taking me in.
I rested my arms against the top of the chair. “What?”
“Just checking you’re still here,” he replied.
“I wouldn’t leave without saying something.”
“Will you stay awhile? Please?” His eyelids fluttered and then fell closed again. “Despite the arguing, it’s good having you here.”
“Are you okay? You look totally shot.”
“No, I’m fine. It’s always like this after a show. Just stay awhile, okay?”
I hesitated. Of course, I did. But in the end, I couldn’t say no. He was so obviously rundown and lonely in this crazy new life of his. And we probably needed to argue some more about the check. There was that to be considered. “Okay.”
I sat down on the couch, curling my feet under me. Not so far away that I was being distant but not so near that either of us might find the other’s physical presence distracting. God knew how often I used to find his body distracting. Vexingly, impossibly, wonderfully distracting.
Adam gave a slight nod, his eyes still shut. Then his body relaxed fully against the couch. Within minutes, he was asleep. Adam had always been able to drop off easily while I tossed and turned and pondered something completely stupid and unnecessary for an hour or so. Like why dresses rarely had pockets (so they could sell us handbags) and if penguins ever got cold and wanted to move to the Bahamas. Important life-altering stuff. But even Adam had never fallen asleep this fast. How damn tired must the man be? In and out, in and out, his easy breathing filled the room. The number of nights that sound had lulled me to sleep, safe in the knowledge he was there. The one person who could turn me inside out with a single look.
And he’d left me alone in his lux new apartment where I definitely did not belong.
“Holy shit,” I whispered. “Now what do I do?”
Chapter Three
Of course, I had to have a snoop around. No way could I waste this opportunity to intrude upon his space and spy on his new life.
Farther back in the apartment sat his large bedroom, walk-in wardrobe, and bathroom all done up in gray. At most, he’d filled up maybe a tenth of the wardrobe with a variety of jeans, including ripped and non-ripped, black and various shades of blue. A stack of tees and hoodies. A dozen or so pairs of shoes including sneakers and boots. His old battered leather jacket and a couple of flannel and button-down shirts. Not much had changed. Despite the gorgeous suit I’d seen him wearing on a magazine cover accepting a music award (the shirt’s crisp arrow collar juxtaposed nicely with his stubble, tousled hair and devil-may-care smile), he obviously hadn’t given in to a stylist for his everyday wear. In one corner sat a large stack of unopened boxes, but that was about all. In the fancy two-person shower sat a bottle of two-in-one shampoo and conditioner and a crumb of soap. It didn’t even look like the ginormous hot tub had ever been used. Make no mistake, I’d have been in there the first chance I got. Wealth was wasted on Adam.
The California-king-size bed sat unmade with pillows that smelled of him and no one else. Which was interesting. Guess he really didn’t bring other women back here. Or at least, not recently. And while I probably should have been ashamed of sniffing his belongings, I hadn’t reached that stage of the proceedings just yet. I was quite content to suffer pangs of guilt for my appalling behavior, but not until I’d investigated the whole apartment. Priorities mattered. Next were two spare rooms. The first sat empty and the second had been stuffed full of about a dozen guitars and various amps. They lined the walls, just waiting to be played. A notebook and pen were discarded on the floor. As tempting as it was to read what songs he was working on, I managed to respect his privacy and not look.
It kind of evened out the weirdo sniffing thing in my mind.
A half-bathroom and coat closet near the door finished up the apartment. And Adam was still asleep. I threw a blanket over him in case he got cold and headed for the kitchen.
Not a whole heck of a lot in the fridge. Some wilted salad mix, a couple of pieces of pizza, a variety of beer, a block of cheese, some orange juice, a bit of butter, and milk. Cold cuts turning a suspicious shade of green, and bread more than a few days old. Those went in the trash. If I was overstepping, he could get mad at me later. Guess he didn’t have a housekeeper. Or at least, not a regular one. The pantry wasn’t much better, but I could scrape together mac and cheese—happily one of his favorite comfort foods. I was more of a taco girl myself. Let every day be Taco Tuesday and I’d be happy. Cooking also gave me something to do while he caught up on his sleep. To be honest, being a domestic goddess had never been my thing. Ordering delivery was more my style these days. Didn’t mean I couldn’t look after him a little this one last time. Because this had to be the last time we’d see each other. My feelings were too confused to allow us to be friends, and he’d be off on tour in a few days’ time anyway.
The end was definitely nigh. Not exactly sure how I felt about that.
When he woke, I was humming under my breath to a song by The Nationals, stirring the noodles and sauce together. “That smells good.”
“Hey…yeah…I hope you’re hungry.”
He smiled, and I didn’t know what to do. My insides lurched in the strangest way. Me being here was beyond awkward. Us being together. So much was different, yet so much felt the same. Give or take the million-plus-dollar apartment.
“I’ve been thinking about the check,” I said, stopping to take a sip of water.
Adam rose from the couch, stretching so that his tee crept up, revealing a slice of flat stomach and slim hips. The man could eat whatever he wanted while my ass expanded if I so much as looked at a piece of cake. Talk about unfair. Though it didn’t stop me from eating cake because happiness mattered more than butt size.
He stood on the opposite side of the counter, staring at me sleepily. “What are you thinking, Jill?”
“Oh. Right. Take one of the zeros off and I’ll accept it. I’ll give half of the money to a local foodbank and use the rest to get caught up on things. Like replacing my crappy old car and taking a vacation maybe…stuff like that.”
Elbows on the stone, he leaned forward, his mess of dark hair falling in his face. Hiding or thinking or a bit of both. “That’s a nice idea, though I do support lots of local charities already. Thought you might want to buy your own place. Open your own salon or something.”
“Speaking of which, when was the last time you had a haircut?”
“I dunno. Whenever you did it last.”
My brows rose as I dished up a bowl of comfort food. “Don’t you have stylists and people like that making suggestions about how you look?”
“They suggest. I ignore.” He shrugged, sliding onto a stool. “Unless it’s for something important, then Martha gets on my case and it’s just easier to give in. But I’ve pretty much just been tying my hair back and ignoring it.”
I pushed the bowl across to him, along with a fork.
“You’re frowning,” he said around a mouthful of food. “This is great. Thanks.”
“I’d cut it for you, but I didn’t bring my shears. I thought it wise not to bring sharp metal blades to our little catch-up.”
He looked up, gaze still tired. Still waking up from his nap. Then he pulled his cell out of his back jeans’ pocket and fired off a text. “That’s easy enough fixed. Martha will know someone who has a pair.”
“Martha is terrifying.” I filled my own bowl and started eating. Hot cheesy carb-loaded goodness. Not bad at all.
“I know, right?” He smiled. “This really is good. Thanks.”
I nodded. “That why you chose her? Because she scares small children?”
“Small children actually love her. Well…some do.” He loaded up his fork. “I chose her because she’s honest, if a little blunt. Negotiates contracts down to the last letter. And she doesn’t let anyone fuck with me. Not even me.”
I finished chewing my mouthful. “Why do you think she let me past the bodyguards and everything?”
“Dunno.” He stared off at nothing, seeming to think it over. “There’s messing with people, then there’s just having a little fun. Putting you and me together might have been her idea of fun.”
“Hmm.”
“Also a good way to stop me from hanging at any bars tonight. She doesn’t like how I’ve been spending my spare time—not that I get much of it. But better winding down in a bar with music and people than just being alone here.”
I stirred my fork around and around, making patterns in the pasta and cheese. “Strange to think you spent so much money on this place but you don’t like being here.”
“I didn’t say that.” His shoulders hunched defensively. “Just that it gets a bit quiet. Never lived on my own before. When I was staying at Ben’s—”
“The bass player from Stage Dive?” I asked, somewhat awed.
“Yeah. He and his wife are good people. At the house, there was always someone around willing to hang out or jam. Before that, I was coming home to you so…and no, I was
n’t with you just so I wouldn’t be alone.”
“I wasn’t thinking that.”
“Hmm.”
“You can’t knock on your friends’ doors? The ones that live here?”
He downed a swig of beer. “Feels like intruding on their privacy or something, you know? Everyone’s busy as hell. I don’t want to interrupt the time they get with their significant others.”
“I can see that. Still, these new friends of yours are complex.”
“They’re just like any other family.”
“With the exception of being crazy rich and famous.”
“True,” he said.
“Is that what they are to you? Family?”
He stabbed at some noodles in a contemplative fashion. “Yeah. I guess they are. They kind of took me in, you know?”
“After I threw you out.”
At this, he said nothing. A whole heaping lot of it. Then he cleared his throat. “Maybe I sort of deserved that, you kicking me out and everything.”
“Sort of?”
“Alright, so I did deserve it. I got complacent, fixated on the music and forgot about everything else. Well, I didn’t forget. I just stopped putting the work in…”
Someone knocked at the front door.
Still avoiding my gaze, Adam stood and ambled on over. Standing outside was a drop-dead-gorgeous buxom woman in a skintight black leather sheath with Louboutin point-toe booties I’d kill for. Seriously. What was it with these women and amazing footwear?
Which was about when I realized that the woman standing in the doorway was supermodel Mae Cooper. It would be nice to say I didn’t stare all bedazzled-like. But that would be a lie. She was magnificent with curves for days and perfect skin. Given sufficient time to adjust to being in the presence of yet another famous person, I’d definitely have grilled her about her skincare routine.
“Martha said you needed these?” She handed a pair of scissors to Adam before giving me a smile, accompanied by a curious look. “Hi, you must be Jill. Nice to meet you.” She pointed guiltily at the scissors. “Don’t think badly of me, but I have been known to tamper with my own hair from time to time.”