by Emily Childs
The second we’re free to go, I hurry into the audience to find Parker. It’s not any better. He’s with Tate and Adam, but also Holly and Garett Cole. Bridger is ten paces behind me and there are congratulations all around.
“Lex, Bridge,” Holly says, slinging her arms around both of us. “You two did awesome.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Thanks,” I mutter.
“I bet Mom will be happy for you, Lex,” Parker says. But we know better. I didn’t even tell my mom I was a finalist.
“Come on,” Garett says. “Let’s celebrate and get some burgers.”
Parker and his friends cheer, running ahead. I hang back and pull out my phone. I have five numbers installed and I don’t know why he’s one of them, but I blast off the text as quickly as my fingers can type it.
Me: You took my safety net idea. Thief!
Ahead, Bridger takes out his silver flip phone—he calls it a Razor even if it doesn’t look like one. With a quick sneer over his shoulder, Bridger responds.
Bridger: You didn’t even know the word. And—safety net moment—those lyrics actually took a long time to come up with.
I frown and furiously type as I walk.
Me: Well, you suck.
Me: But the song was good.
Bridger doesn’t look at me, but responds.
Bridger: Thanks.
That’s it? I roll my eyes and start to put my phone back into my pocket when it buzzes again.
Bridger: I got the story. The room was the past and the window is escaping it, right? Cool, Al. Really cool. Now stop texting me. I don’t have unlimited.
Chapter 8
Alexis
My new—temporary—bed is designed for a queen.
No other way to describe it. As if the mattress knew my shapes and curves, it molded to me, hugging me all night long. I’m pretty sure I didn’t move. I’d still be asleep if my mind hadn’t decided the gray misty dawn was the perfect time to wheel through the events of yesterday in slow motion.
My teeth grind together and I’m gripping a coffee mug tighter than I ought to be. The worst part of it all is the tears. A hot sting blurs my sight.
Heartbreak robs the breath, splits the ribs, and pounds the softest places of the soul until it’s physically hard to move.
Is this heartbreak? Or am I simply really, really ticked off?
The way my fingers curl around the mug, causing my knuckles to whiten, I’m guessing it’s closer to the latter.
The tears coating my lashes aren’t from heartbreak. A twinge of rage mingles with a hint of coffee. Bryce’s selfishness is one for the books. Who comes to Vegas with the plan to set up his apartment with his soon-to-be-wife, then marries her stepsister?
The worst part is I pushed him to Cami. I asked Bryce on his way back from a business meeting in Phoenix to stop at my mom’s house and grab a pot and pan set I forgot. Even if Mike and my mom divorced six months ago, Cami still hangs around like a bad dream.
Bryce left the house with more than a skillet.
I’m not romantic, never have allowed myself to be. I’ve been witness to what passion brings. It’s unstable and usually founded on cheap, physical emotions. When I think love, the people I think of are Zoey or Parker. They are my loves and I’d be lost without them. They are worth loving and breaking for in a platonic, my tribe kind of way.
My eyes scan the white kitchen. Speckled marble countertops and stainless-steel appliances. It’s a large space, but strangely homey. I grin and sip the Italian roast. I suppose Bridger Cole can be included in my people, too. He’s simply the deliciously handsome antagonist. Villains are usually sexy, though.
I sniff and wipe a tear off my cheek. After all this time, after all his fame, after . . . things, Bridger came for me and, to be honest, it’s confusing.
He’s supposed to be a face of the past. My brother’s friend who tolerates me, but I’m embarrassed that he isn’t. He never was. Bridger is my villain, but also my hero. The lines can get blurry sometimes.
How stupid to have hormonal reactions to his handsome face when I’m an educated, independent woman and he, well, he is the Bridger Cole. Doubtless five hundred women would put a hit out on my head if they knew I was here, drinking his coffee, sleeping in his bed. Spare bed, I mean spare bed.
But back to my anger.
With a glance at my phone, it intensifies like a stoked fire. Not even a single text or attempt to call.
Another tear drops into my coffee. I startle when something heavy plops into my lap, but laugh in another breath.
“Poppy girl, good morning beautiful. Gosh, you’re a pretty dog. Did you know that?” My voice tips into baby talk and I scratch her floppy ears, crooning. The dog’s tail beats against the wall like a thick rope.
My nose is buried against her blocky head when his voice wraps around me like hot chocolate.
“I think my dog likes you more than me.”
My eyes flick over Poppy’s head. He’s such a sight and I’ve missed seeing it.
Bridger scratches his head, yawning. His hair is tousled and gathered over his brow. The white T-shirt stretches over his chiseled chest and arms; the colors in his tattoos practically glow in the sunlight.
He smiles at first, reaching for a coffee mug, but stops. He takes in my face, no mistake, peeking inside my head. “Al? There are tears in your eyes and I need you to tell me what dragons to slay to make them go away.”
He’s been saying that since I did a report on the mythology of dragons my freshman year. I bark a laugh, not a pretty sound, but it’s what comes out. “Slaying would be a missed opportunity. I’d rather you rob the dragon, not kill it. They’re notorious for being jewel hoarders.”
Half of Bridger’s mouth curls into a grin as he pours his coffee. He joins me at the breakfast nook. “Lay it on me, Al. You said we needed to talk, right? Let’s talk. Then, we can move into me telling you why he doesn’t deserve your tears.”
I smile and nudge his shoulder. “Don’t look now, Bridge, but you can be charming sometimes.”
“Take it back.”
I need to remember that getting too comfortable again will blow up in our faces. I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
“It’s embarrassing.”
A furrow gathers between his brows. Bridger adjusts on the bench, facing me, one leg tucked beneath him. “You and me, we do embarrassing.”
Safety nets. The thought is fleeting and, gosh, it stings. I draw in a deep breath through my nose. “Truce?”
The corner of his mouth curls into a smirk. “It’s too early to argue or think of comebacks. Truce, Al.”
Poppy nudges my leg as if she knows I’ll need her smooth ears to rub. I oblige and stare at my coffee. “I don’t think my fiancé was attracted to me.”
Bridger has his coffee mug halfway to his mouth, but stops. “What?”
“Do guys like to kiss a lot? I didn’t really think about it much at first, but now I’m stewing, so all the memories are coming back. Bryce told me most guys, once they’ve found the one, they don’t really like to kiss or do anything. The physical stuff is more when they’re hunting—his words, not mine.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard, and—”
“I didn’t mind, really. It made some sense,” I barrel on. “Why do people need to be all over each other when they’re already committed? We did stuff, don’t get me wrong, but it wasn’t like the movies. And it’s not like I was left fumbling all over myself. It was just something to do, I guess. I think what’s making me mad is I took him at his word. But now I’m thinking it’s more he didn’t want to do anything with me. I think I might not be very good at kissing and touching and all of it.”
I take a breath, heat in my face, my neck, everywhere. It stabs saying it out loud. I’m humiliated more than anything. More so, now that I’ve placed it all at the feet of Bridger Cole who, no doubt, has enough practice with lips to make him a master.
He returns his mug to the table. A breath of silence. Another. And one more. Then, Bridger grips my elbow and urges me to face him. “Al, that isn’t possible.”
“You can’t know that, though. We barely tolerate each other, and the last few years we’ve hardly seen each other at all. Maybe I turned into the wicked witch who doesn’t brush her teeth and makes it so the man who asked her to marry him doesn’t want to touch her.”
Bridger grins. I’m keenly aware his hand is still on my arm. His thumb traces small circles around the joint of my elbow. “I’m going to say this once, so listen.” He leans in closer. “The problem isn’t you.”
My eyes bounce between his. My throat is dry and tight, my head is spinning. Why doesn’t he move back? Why don’t I?
This is not the first time I’ve seen that look in his eyes, nor is it the first time my body has burned for him. But we can’t open those wounds again. We barely survived before, and somehow managed to brush things under the rug and return to our snarky remarks and distaste.
At least I pretended to put it all behind me. Even got engaged to prove to myself I didn’t need reckless rockstars. I didn’t need passion and mess and uncertainty.
Bridger says nothing, simply studies me. Pierces me with the past is more like it. I might do anything to know what thoughts are buzzing in his head. His knee presses against my thigh. I lean in. Our shoulders brush. Bridger’s hand travels up my arm. The callouses of his fingertips send a shock to my head when he touches the line of my jaw. My hand glides over his chest. The rapid beat of his heart stirs something in the pit of my stomach.
I’m doing this. I’m going to kiss my brother’s best friend. My nemesis. My safety net. A guy on magazines. The guy who told me my braces were ugly, but hugged me after I cried when the shark died in Jaws.
My lips part, wanting this, needing this. All this rush of heat and sensation sends my head into a spin.
“Al?”
I pounce out of my skin and pull back, breathless. Bridger looks at me curiously, sipping his coffee. One thing is certain, he’s not urging me onto his lap.
Oh. My.
I blink as through a fog. What is wrong with me? I daydreamed a make out session with Bridger.
I need more sleep. Shaking my head, I force a smile. “What? Sorry, I dazed for a second.”
“I asked how you slept.” He’s studying me in a way that tempts my mind to fall back into daydreams of his breath on my neck, his hands on my hips.
I go to answer but jolt when Poppy booms a deafening bark.
Bridger drags his fingers through his hair, unsettled. “Uh, someone’s at the door.”
He leaves me, and it’s a good thing. My body trembles. I clap my hands to my cheeks, a sinking in my gut. Parker would blow through the roof if he knew I was being this ridiculous about his best friend.
I need to get my logical, unneedy mind back on straight. I don’t need validation.
Thinking more of Bridger will lead to problems.
It’ll lead to putting down the swords and admitting that once upon a time, he meant everything.
Chapter 9
Bridger
My palm is sweaty when I grab the doorknob. What happened back there? Al stared at me with those eyes, and all I wanted to do was touch her. Sort of like my mind went blank and I went insane.
For a split second I wanted those soft, full lips more than I wanted Nadia’s tell-all to burn up in flames. More than I wanted to write music. The idea of my fingers tangled in Alexis’s hair, her mouth on mine, body close—I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
With my face, no doubt, flushed and red, I open the door.
“Heya, bud.” Ellie flashes me a bright grin and steps inside without invitation.
“Hey, uh, did I forget plans?”
“Nah,” she says and holds up a cardboard box. “I was out getting a treat for my niece and thought I’d stop and bring you sugary strength.”
She opens the box and shows off rows of gourmet donuts from a shop across town. Ellie takes one with crumbles of bacon and drizzles of maple over the top and takes a loud bite.
“Strength for?” I ask, setting the box on the table.
“Dude,” she says through her mouthful. “It’s excerpt day! Good Morning America day.”
My blood chills. How could I forget? Maybe those full lips, chocolate eyes, and inappropriate thoughts about my best friend’s sister had something to do with it. I groan. “I forgot.”
“How . . .” Ellie stares at me, her eyebrow ring lifting with her brow. “Never mind. Good. Forget. Don’t worry about a thing, my man. She’s a total—”
“Elle, you’re taking your niece for two weeks this summer, practice your kid words, yeah?”
She closes her mouth into a bloodless line. “You’re right. Finn already said Micah has a swear jar ready.”
I laugh, it’s a little squeaky because I feel more like puking than laughing. Micah is Ellie’s six-year-old niece who comes backstage all the time and can outwit half of us. Especially if it’s trivia about Walt Disney.
Finn doesn’t talk about what went wrong with Micah’s mom, and we don’t ask. It had to be something rough, though, since he works himself to death on our label.
Busy as her dad stays, Micah has been more a mascot for rockstars than a normal kid.
Ellie pats my arm. “Seriously, Bridger. You’re going to be okay. Where is your band? Shouldn’t they be here for moral support?”
I snort a laugh. “I told Tate and Adam if they even tried to be the shoulder to cry on, I’d kick them out of the band, so.”
“Good move. Adam’s busy being fiancé and Hawkins, well, he wouldn’t know what sympathy meant even if it had its tongue in his mouth.”
“Be fair,” I say. “Tate isn’t that bad.”
She tilts her head.
“Okay, maybe he is,” I admit, “but I’ve known him since I was a kid. He’s got something inside his chest.”
“Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it. Anyway, this isn’t about Hawkins. I just wanted you to know if you need to scream and rage, you can always call.”
I drop my gaze to the carpet. Nadia can spin this any way she wants. It’s a good reminder not to fall into the trap of feelings again. I ought to remember and not be stupid and try to kiss my friend’s sister again.
“Hey,” Ellie tries again. “Everyone who knows you isn’t going to believe the crap she’s about to spill.”
“So maybe ten people.”
Ellie offers a sympathetic look. “Who was there when that fan photoshopped those really, really convincing pictures of me snorting drugs? Or that time when someone released a pregnancy announcement and I had to turn down those lucrative offers for all the prenatal sponsors? I mean, I was ready to take one for the team, but you were the guy reminding me having a real baby for monetary gain was probably not a selfless act.”
I grin. “You’re right. I’m a hero.”
She grips my bicep and sighs dramatically. “A white knight. And don’t forget it.”
I open my mouth to say something, but the kitchen door creaks and Ellie’s eyes go wide.
“Sorry,” Alexis says. “But Poppy is whining. My official duties need to begin, but you neglected to tell me where the leash is and poop bags. You better have poop bags because it’s super impolite to leave the mess behind. Oh, hey, you’re Ellie Walker. I love Take Me Out. It’s a total belt-it-out-in-the-car song. Anyway, Bridger—poop bags?”
Ellie’s eyes bounce between me, then Alexis, then me again. A knowing grin spreads over her blue lips. She thinks she knows but she doesn’t. She has the wrong idea entirely.
“Um, Elle.” I clear my throat. “This is . . . this is—”
“Alexis Knight. He seems to have forgotten my name. Wouldn’t that be embarrassing if I was some one-night stand right now? I think I’d be offended. Brid
ger, that would be rude. Then again, look who I’m talking about. He’s usually rude.” She holds out her hand and take’s Ellie’s. “Don’t worry, he knows my name. He’s known me since I was two.” Alexis smacks my arm and I jolt. “Leash. Poop bags.”
“Uh, the drawer b-by the back door. Al, you don’t—”
“Nope, stop there,” she says, holding up a hand. She grins and that same pinch of heat twists in my chest. The kind that almost had me claiming her lips as mine ten minutes ago. Alexis makes a move for the back. “This is my rent. I will be the best dog walker you’ve ever seen. It was so good to meet you, Ellie Walker. I mean, we didn’t really meet, but if you’re still here when I get back, we can try again. It’s just . . . nature calls.”
When Alexis and her whirlwind leave us, the silence starts to put pressure on the walls. As if the room is caving in. It takes a good minute before Ellie clears her throat, face red from biting back a laugh.
“So, uh, I didn’t realize you had company. What happened to our signal? If you’re not alone we’re supposed to signal so the other can get the heck out of there.”
I roll my eyes and take the box of donuts into the kitchen. “It’s not like that, Elle.”
“Right,” she says with wide eyes. “I get it. Let off a little tension, no judgment here but—”
“No,” I interrupt, something sour and gross in my mouth at the thought of Alexis tucked into a category of guitar chasers. She’s not that, she’s . . . so much more. “Al’s brother is my best friend from home—”
“Wait. Knight? Your best friend as in Parker Knight? Gorgeous pitcher with honeypot eyes that melt my clothes right—”
“Yeah. Easy, geez. Alexis had a bit of an emergency yesterday and needed a place to stay.”
“Ah,” Ellie says. “And is now your dog walker.”
“You need to understand Alexis to understand how that happened.”