by Chance : Poison & Wine, book 2

by Sigal Ehrlich

  Two weeks later.

  Panda to Chickens: I’m sending out a search team for one Victoria Nielsen. Last seen two weeks ago with a gorgeous rock star attached to her mouth.

  Kayla to Chickens: Hold up, isn’t that the “we’re just friends” infamous rock star because if it’s him, I can get a hold of them. I know a guy who knows a guy...

  Anna to Chickens: I don’t think they want to be found, beloved chickens; they might be “braiding each other’s hair off” 24/7.

  Panda to Chickens: I wish I could be a fly on that wall.

  Anna to Chickens: You have no limits, Pandora Wilkens. That’s so disturbing I can’t even.

  Kayla to Chickens: Panda bear, you’re one very twisted hen.

  Vicky to Chickens: Need a photo for the milk cartons?

  Panda to Chickens: Already put young Patrick’s face on them, the dairy industry stock went up fifty percent overnight.

  Vicky to Chickens: Glad my man’s face is contributing to the economy.

  “Are you freaking out?” my sister asks.

  I apply mascara, speaking out loud to my phone that’s sitting on the vanity. “God, I think I am.”

  “Your first official outing as a couple,” my sister says with a dramatic air. She snorts and says, “Are you guys like, Instagram official?”

  I snort. “No, but I added, Banging the Patrick Hart, to my Skills and Endorsements on LinkedIn.”

  “Hey, it’s going to be fine; everyone will love him. You’re overthinking this,” Anna says.

  I’m sure she’s right, but I can’t help being tense about going to a company party with Ricky. I never brought a date to a company event; I like keeping my private life private. But Ricky isn’t just any guy. He’s my forever guy. Yet showing up with him isn’t just showing up with him. It’s showing up with Ricky Hart and everything it stands for. From keeping my private life discreet to marching in with the hottest name in the music industry, yeah, I’m freaking out. But I feel like I need to do it, if not for me, then to show him I’m all in. After everything I put him through and him putting up with it all, I need to do this.

  “Okay, Bean, I’ve got to go wake up Sleeping Beauty.”

  She laughs. “Tell Ricky I said hi.”

  I check my reflection in the mirror for the last time. I look glamorous in a black knee-length corset dress, with my hair slicked back in a low ponytail. I went with subtle evening eye shadow and blood-red lipstick. Pleased with my appearance, I make my way to the bedroom.

  I lean my shoulder on the doorpost, taking a moment to watch Ricky sleep. The comforter covers him partly, half of his chest is bare, one masculine leg strewn sideways. He’s a sight to behold, his face in serene tranquility, his hair falling to hide one of his eyes. The tattoo-covered arm is resting on his abs. I sigh, reveling in the sweet ache in my heart, overcome by the magnitude of my feelings for him. This man who never gave up, who fought me on every turn, who put his successful career at risk to be with me. I don’t deserve him.

  Quietly, I walk to the bed and take a seat on the edge, facing him. I send my hand to brush away the dark strand covering his eye. I run my finger lightly on the scar on his cheekbone and ever so slowly venture lower, lightly caressing my way to his lips. Blinking away sleep, Ricky squints one eye open, and his lips stretch into a serene smile when he notices me.

  I smile at him as his eyes run over me. “You look ravishing,” he says in a graveled voice.

  “You too,” I respond, appreciating the view up close.

  He inches up on the pillow. The blanket falls to reveal his entire torso as he does. He brings his hand to muss his hair, asking, “Is it time to go?”

  I nod, unable to take my eyes off him. He looks well-rested and utterly handsome. His skin is tan and flawless, the full sleeve of colorful ink, the messy bed hair, his broad chest—lust pools in the pit of my stomach.

  Eyes on me, he sends his hand to my thigh, slowly massaging my skin. Each stroke an inch deeper down my inner thigh. I cover his hand with mine, threading my fingers between his, and guide him under my dress. He leans on his other arm, inching closer to me, his lips touching my neck. He kisses me, warm and slow, the tip of his tongue trailing up to the sensitive spot under my ear.

  “We don’t have time,” I breathe unconvincingly.

  “I can be quick,” he rasps, moving his lips slowly toward my mouth.

  It’s been two long weeks sleeping in each other’s arms and keeping it chaste. The doctor suggested waiting, and if I’m being honest, I wasn’t in the mood to get intimate. I guess it wasn’t just the physical healing that needed time. The pain of loss still throbs in me, but I need the physical touch. I need him. I need him so much it hurts.

  Ricky’s lips descend to my cleavage in a trail of searing kisses. My breath comes out short, my entire body burning for him.

  “Ricky,” I say on a breath.

  He pauses immediately, looking up at me. “Too soon?”

  I shake my head and rise to stand. Eyes on him, I send my hand to the side of my dress and unzip it, letting it glide to the floor.

  His eyes flame up as he watches me stand before him in nothing but a lacy garter belt and high heels. He slowly shakes his head. “Perfect.”

  Eyes never leaving his, I return to the bed. Raptly, Ricky watches me as I plant my knee on one side of his pelvis and then the other. Ricky jerks the comforter aside so nothing is separating us. Watching me, he sends his hand between my parted thighs and curses under his breath, finding me more than ready for him. And when I glide over him, we both hold our breath. As I lower myself, taking him in full, our moans leave us unified.

  Ricky’s large hands move to my waist, nearly circling it entirely as he works my body over his. I rock over him in slow stretched moves, our breaths coming out lingered and labored, our stares never leaving each other. As we reach our release together, all I want is for him to wrap me in his arms and stay there forever. The last thing I want to do is freshen up and go to the party, but that’s what we do next.

  “You’re quiet.” Ricky’s voice infiltrates my thoughts.

  I turn to him, blinking. “What?”

  He holds the wheel with one hand, glancing at me and then back at the road. “I said you were quiet.” He gives me another glance and says, “Are you sure you want me to come in with you? I can drop you off and go home.”

  “What? No.” I turn to look at him. “Of course not.” If I said I felt the same determination inside, it would be a lie. “If we’re doing this, I’m going to be a part of your world, and you’re going to be a part of mine.” Emotion flits across his features as we trade a loaded look.

  “I love you,” he says as he takes my hand, kisses my knuckles, and rests it on his thigh.

  When we arrive at the venue, Ricky throws his arm over the passenger seat headrest and looks backward as he backs the car into parking. Suddenly, his phone rings. We both glance at the phone and then at each other. The phone keeps ringing with Amanda Linden’s name across the screen.

  “Here goes,” Ricky says. “Back to playing covers at Poison,” he jokes, but I can just sense the tension coming off him.

  Ricky accepts the call on speaker. “Amanda.”

  We sit in silence, watching the phone as her voice fills the car with, “So we need to talk about something that rhymes with Jammy.”

  We dart quizzical looks at each other.

  Ricky clears his throat. “I’m not following.”

  Amanda’s voice comes with a joyful bite over the speaker. “You’ve been nominated for two Grammys.”

  My hand flies to cover my mouth as I watch Ricky blink in shock.

  “Your song with Tyler Lee is nominated for a Grammy, and the other nomination is for best new artist.”

  Ricky cranes his neck to look at me, and the smile taking over his face lights me up from inside out with utter joy and pride.

  “Holy sh—” Ricky breathes. “Wow.”

  “Remarkable,” Amanda says. “Co
ngratulations!”

  They discuss a few more things, and just before dropping the call, Amanda says, “Patrick, it was the first and last time you ever put me in a spot. You got a little confused with how things work. You don’t dictate things. We discuss things. Are we clear?”

  “Of course,” Ricky answers.

  “Good. I’m open to discussing things. Let’s set up a meeting with Kelly and see how we can handle an image spin.”

  Ricky stops at the entrance to the venue, looking at me. I cock my head, trying to understand the nature of his pause. I look him over, admiring how sexy he looks in a tux, his gorgeous figure encased in a custom-fitted black suit. The only thing hinting at the “bad boy” hiding in the suit is his tattooed fingers. The combination of the tame ensemble and the inked fingers do things to me. I’m this close to begging him to take me in the cloakroom. Instead, I lace those fingers with mine and gesture for him to lead the way. He drops his eyes to our linked hands, and his mouth twitches at the sides as he walks with me into my world.

  At Her Majesty’s Service

  “Victoria Nielsen!” Of course, the first person we bump into has to be Louis Dylan. He smiles widely, a smile that holds so much animosity, it looks a little maniac.

  “That’s the dickhead?” Ricky asks from the side of his mouth. Guess, on point.

  “The one and only,” I say, so only Ricky hears while smiling sweetly at Louis. “What gave him away?”

  “The fake tan you mentioned. The douche looks like a Tropicana Pure,” he says, and I huff a laugh.

  “Bailey, hi, how are you?” I hug Louis’s wife. Each time I see the two of them together, an image of a beautiful butterfly entangled in the web of a hairy spider pops into my mind. The fact that Louis is married to such a sweet woman is an enigma.

  She cradles her very pregnant belly and sighs. “Can’t wait for this stubborn little one to get out.”

  I can’t help the wince that comes together with a shot of grief. By my side, Ricky’s arm rounds my waist as he presses a gentle kiss to my temple. The small gesture is a salve to my aching heart.

  Noticing the intimate moment, Bailey looks at Ricky, and the light of recognition brightens her green eyes. “Aren’t you Ricky Hart? What are you doing here?”

  Ricky extends his hand with a smile. “Nice to meet you.” Smirking, he adds, nodding at me, “I’m here at her majesty’s service.”

  Reciprocating the gesture, Bailey laughs, and her cheeks lightly tint. She looks at her husband as if to say, how did you not tell me?

  “Do I know you?” Louis asks, smirking.

  Bailey’s and Ricky’s words collide. While Bailey says, “Honey, this is—” Ricky says, “I sometimes sing at a local bar, Poison and Wine,” belittling his meteoric stardom. I smile to myself.

  Bailey pushes Ricky’s chest playfully. “This guy has a number one hit with none other than Taylor Lee Adams!” Looks like she knows her shit.

  Reluctantly, Louis extends his hand for a shake. I bite on my smile when it’s pretty apparent Ricky puts a little too much force in shaking Louis’s hand. “Heard many things about you.” And chuckle inwardly on how he omits the “good” in “many things.” “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I promised Victoria a drink.”

  I grin like a fool as we make our way to the bar.

  “What’s up with the smile?” Ricky asks with a smile of his own.

  I shrug, said smile intact. “It’s good having you on my side.”

  He takes my hand in his and squeezes it. “Always.”

  Ricky hands me a glass of rosé and turns back to the eager bartender who bombards him with questions.

  “Victoria,” Mr. Sherman, one of our board members, approaches me and gestures with his hand for me to follow him. “There’s someone I want you to meet.” I glance at Ricky, who’s still engaged in a conversation with the bartender, and for a pitiful moment, I’m relieved that Mr. Sherman doesn’t suspect we’re together. Oh, how much I hate myself for it.

  Mr. Sherman introduces me to Fen Zhang, our agent in Singapore, who was invited to the party to meet with everyone in friendly waters. I talk to Fen, nodding at something she said, but my mind wanders to Ricky. It’s not that I’m ashamed of him, not at all. It’s the remnants of his very recent public persona—the one portrayed as a womanizer just a few weeks ago. What I know for sure, though, is that I need to let this go, and the sooner, the better. When a colleague of mine joins the conversation, I take the opportunity to excuse myself and look for my date.

  My heart quickens when I find him deep in conversation with none other than my boss, the person whose opinion of me is the most important.

  Ricky notices me first, smiling warmly. I join them, somewhat hesitant, and stiffen a fraction when Ricky casually puts his hand on my waist.

  “Victoria, why didn’t you mention you were bringing Ricky Hart with you?”

  For a short moment, I’m caught by surprise but immediately come round and ask, “Was I supposed to send a memo?”

  The boss chuckles, and Ricky’s lips tip at the side.

  “You’re getting me in trouble with Nina. I won’t hear the end of it if she finds out he was at the party,” Gregory Adams says, referring to his teenage daughter.

  Smiling, I say, “The last person you should get in trouble with. Teenage girls are scary.”

  He chuckles. “You have no idea.”

  “How about we get her a photo of Ricky and see if this can somehow ameliorate the situation.”

  Long moments later, the boss is flagged by another board member, and as he excuses himself, he pats Ricky on the back, saying, “Victoria has my number. I’d love to join when you make that trip to the Cascade Loop again.”

  I blink at Ricky when my boss leaves. Ricky shrugs with a huge smile. “He owns a ninja 900.” Yeah, of course, that makes sense—to no one! I keep blinking. “He’s into bikes too,” he explains.

  On the ride back home, I study him as he drives, emotions overflowing me. “I love you, and I don’t deserve you,” I say.

  He links his fingers with mine and rests our joined hands on his thigh. He glances at me and winks. “So I passed the test?”

  “With flying colors.”

  Less than thirty minutes later, Ricky is sprawled on the bed with nothing but slacks, watching me as I get undressed. “I wish I didn’t have to go to Singapore on Monday.”

  With his head propped on his elbow, he plays with the chain of his necklace. “I’ll be away most of the time, too,” he says.

  I nod. Our schedules for the next few months are a bit of a nightmare in terms of spending time together, or on the same continent for that matter.

  “And when I return, we’ll have, what? Less than a week before you go on tour . . . for three months.” I sigh with frustration.

  “We’ll figure it out as we go,” Ricky says, attentively watching me as I take off the dress. And then he chuckles, grinning at me. “You need to get to work, babe.” His grin shines with utter sin.

  I laugh. “What’s come over you?”

  “You,” he says with a wink.

  I laugh. This guy makes me so happy that even though I’m firmly standing on the ground, I feel like I’m constantly floating.

  He sends his hand to grab mine and pulls me onto the bed. “Hop on, babe. This mouth isn’t going to ride itself.”

  Time to Face the Firing Squad

  “Did you win the lottery?” Anna asks, admiring the plethora of sushi spread on the table.

  “What? No. Why?” I say, filling everyone’s glasses with rosé.

  “Oh, no.” Panda covers her mouth, her face falling dramatically. “Are you dying?”

  I shake my head. “Not unless I choke on a shrimp.”

  Kayla chuckles. “If you do, then I call dibs on your car.”

  “Hey,” Anna says. And just when I think my sister will reprimand them both for discussing my demise, she says, “I want the car. But, okay, I’ll take the shoes.”

  “A
nything you want to get your hands on, Panda?” I say. “Or is there at least one person in this group who prefers me alive?”

  “Nah,” Panda says, tweezing a sushi roll between her chopsticks. “I’m taking the apartment.” She puts the roll in her mouth, chews, and says, “If you didn’t win the lottery, and you are not dying, how come you’re paying for dinner at Kashiba?”

  I set the glass down on the table and sit tall. “Oh, it’s an apology dinner for being a shit friend.”

  They all turn to me. Anna bites on her lip, Kayla frowns, and Panda raises an eyebrow.

  “We’re listening,” Panda is the one to answer.

  “I’m sorry for keeping to myself and not sharing some of the things I went through recently with you.” They give me their full attention, and I go on. “While I consider you my closest people, it’s really hard for me to open up sometimes, especially with things that are even hard for me to make sense of, or admit to myself.”

  Anna, by my side, sends her hand to cover mine.

  “What I’m trying to say is, I guess I’m wired a bit differently, and the reason I didn’t dish wasn’t that I didn’t trust you, it’s just . . . it was hard for me to deal with it myself, not to mention share it with others.”

  To my surprise, out of the three of them, it’s Kayla that stands up, walks over to me, and hugs me. “The thing about friends is they accept you just the way you are. You never need to apologize,” she says.

  Panda joins her, and in no time, I’m sandwiched by three extraordinary chickens.

  “So you were banging all this time, ah?” Panda says through the hug, and we all break into laughter.

  “It was so much more than just that, from the very beginning,” I say, surprising even myself. “One of the things I couldn’t even admit to myself.”

  When our uncharacteristic gooey moment is over, they get back to their seats, and I tell them all about what I’ve been going through the past few weeks. They listen, and support, and empower me, and never judge. My people, the best group of hens a girl can ask for.