Flirting with the Rock Star Next Door

by Nadia Lee

  “I’m your biggest fan,” Mom gushed. She lunged forward, grabbed his hand in both of hers and stared up at him like he was a rain cloud she’d found after days of wandering in the desert.

  Killian smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Breckenridge.”

  “Oh, no! Call me Abby.” She laughed and looped an arm through his. “I had no idea you lived in Kingstree.”

  “Just visiting,” he said. “And…could this be our little secret? I don’t want any reporters or paparazzi showing up.”

  “Of course. Like I said, I’m your biggest fan. I only want what’s best for you,” she said breathlessly.

  It was awkward to watch my mom cling to a man I’d clung to just hours ago…even if the context was totally different. But at least she wasn’t so desolate over Dad anymore. That was a good thing, even if her fawning over Killian gave me an uncomfortable urge to look away.

  “Are we going to have something other than carbs?” one of the Barbie Sextet said.

  “He always has a lot of food options,” Devlin said, finally walking up to the rest of us. “Let’s go, babes.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Emily

  The brunch turned into a madhouse. Killian’s place wasn’t big enough for so many people. Or so many egos and pouts and endless snapping of photos.

  Mir walked in soon after and stared at the group like she couldn’t believe it. “Where did they come from?” she demanded. “I only got one tub of ice cream!”

  “We don’t do ice cream,” Red said with a sniff. “It always turns into hips.”

  “And belly,” Purple added.

  “Hey, I can eat it,” Devlin said with a grin.

  Mir shot him a look frigid enough to freeze water. “I said only one tub.”

  “We can share, babe.” He grinned harder, but she ignored him, shoved Bouncy Bare Monkeys in the freezer and shut the door. Maybe he’d insulted her before. Probably called her work junk.

  The number of people didn’t seem to bug Killian, who whipped up bacon, eggs and bagels for everyone. He ended up sitting between me and Mom, which was good, because it made her forget why she’d been crying on her way to Kingstree. Mir ended up directly opposite me and next to Devlin. She scowled and looked like she wanted to move, but all the other seats were occupied by the women.

  The Sextet didn’t eat much. Just two strips of bacon each, like they’d already agreed on a menu beforehand. Then they took lots and lots of selfies with the bacon. I didn’t understand the obsession, but maybe with the right hashtags—#keto, #JustSayNoToHips, #NoCarb—they’d get a million likes on the pictures. Who could possibly hate bacon?

  “I’m so stuffed!” Brown announced, patting the concave wall that passed for her stomach.

  “Me too! So much food!” Pink said.

  Mir gave them a look. I inwardly agreed with her sentiment, then took a large bite of a bagel, laden with lots and lots of cream cheese, since I’d already polished off four strips of bacon.

  “I think I overate.” Purple finger-combed her hair. “I feel a little sick. I should probably get up and walk.” She went into the living room and started walking in a large square, elbows high.

  “I’m going to do some cardio later,” Red said, then sipped her coffee, which she had taken black.

  Blondie nodded.

  Amazing. If I ate like them, I’d weigh, like, two pounds. I couldn’t decide if they went on about how much food they ate because it was some kind of weird bragging competition. After all, they were trying to stay skinny and young.

  “That’s a lot of carbs,” Blondie said to me as I bit into my bagel again. “I’m serious. Carbs will make you old.”

  I’d rather look old than eat only six bites of food a day. Life was too short.

  “Not to mention the bloating. Gluten does that,” Red added.

  “Do you have a degree in nutrition or something?” I asked, wondering what made them decide to give me unsolicited advice on my food choices. Weirdly enough, they didn’t sound judgmental. Just really concerned, which was bizarre and awkward. I couldn’t even get angry with them, even though I had every intention of ignoring their advice.

  Pink made a small I can’t believe this sound in her throat. “You don’t need to go to college to know. It’s common sense.”

  “I like women with hearty appetites,” Killian cut in before more unasked-for comments could come my way. “And I love eating carbs with Emily. She makes the best shrimp scampi.”

  I smiled. The remaining five girls looked at Killian and me as though we’d just announced we performed sacrifices of jelly-filled human biscuits and ate the remains afterward every full moon.

  Purple returned to the table with a book in her hand. It was mine—The Very Bossy Engagement that I’d let Killian borrow. “I didn’t know you read, Killian,” she said, sitting down with the book with a small frown.

  “In fact, I can,” he said dryly. “Count pretty well, too.”

  I smothered a laugh, as it hadn’t been that long since he’d equated watching TV shows and movies based on books to reading. He’d come a long way. He actually changed in order to read my stuff. Thinking about that sent a curl of warmth around my heart. No other boyfriend had expressed enough interest to read my stories until Killian.

  “Is it good?” She flipped through a bit. “It has a lot of words.”

  “It’s amazing.” If Killian were a peacock, his chest would be puffed out and tail feathers fully fanned. “I loved it. Emily wrote it. She’s an amazing writer. A bestseller.”

  “How many do you have to sell to make it?” Blondie said.

  “A lot,” Killian said before I could. “Readers love her work. The only way her books could be better was if they were longer.”

  I patted his hand. A lot of my readers said that, but if my books were actually longer, the stories would drag with filler.

  Red frowned like she couldn’t understand him, then turned to me. “You should turn them into books with fancy photos. You’ll sell more. People love visuals. And they like to show off books like that on coffee tables.”

  I almost laughed. One of my novels as a giant coffee table book. I could just imagine the kind of photos required for the sex scenes.

  “She doesn’t write that kind of book. Besides, you’re supposed to use your imagination,” Mir cut in, her tone snotty.

  “Pictures help,” Red said. “Nobody wants to read this much text.”

  “Her books are perfect the way they are,” Killian said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “If you disagree, you’re wrong, and that’s that.”

  Mom beamed.

  I finished my coffee, heart fluttering, and used the mug to hide a smile I couldn’t suppress. I loved it that Killian was defending my writing—and praising my career. Not to mention it was sexy as hell. The modern-day equivalent of a knight defending his lady’s honor.

  Killian stole a quick look at me, and I grinned. He smiled back, his blue eyes shining with something I couldn’t quite decipher. But it didn’t matter because, oh God, he was gorgeous.

  As our gazes fused and the moment lengthened, I sensed a new emotion welling up inside. It was so sweet and warm that I wanted to hold on to it. And share it with Killian, because I knew he was the reason I was feeling this…this…whatever it was. The people around us receded into the background, and I reached over and brushed my fingertips along the corner of his mouth. His eyes followed the movement, then lifted back to mine. He looked at me like I was the only person on the planet who mattered, like I was the sun in his life.

  He held my hand, his thumb stroking my pulse. My mouth dried, the air in my lungs hot.

  “Stop it!” Red screeched.

  I started, and the moment was broken. But that didn’t lessen the impact of what I’d felt.

  The Sextet squabbled, then started to take selfies with my book. If their followers were curious enough to check the book out, I hoped their heads didn’t implode from the excessive number of words between the cov
ers.

  Mom watched Killian, her eyes bright with celebrity love, and got up to help him clean up afterward. I let her have some time with her favorite rock star, since that was an order of magnitude better than her thinking about Dad and the new assistant he was banging. I stayed in the dining room, while the babes from Spain and Mir argued over what to watch on TV. The Sextet had wanted to go into the kitchen with Killian, but he’d told them, rather firmly, that they should stay out for everyone’s safety.

  Devlin, who’d been four seats away, moved over and sat right next to me, taking Killian’s chair. “Hey. Is it okay if we start over?”

  “Do you want to, for real?” I asked, surprised.

  “I might be an idiot from time to time, but I’m not blind. I can see K’s crazy about you.”

  He noticed that? So that moment at the table wasn’t just me? The fact that Devlin noticed made me feel good. It made it seem less like something I might’ve imagined.

  He continued, “I don’t want any bad feelings between us. Really sorry for what happened earlier.” His voice was steady, and he didn’t try to avoid eye contact or shoot me a pretty smile to get me to forgive him.

  “Apology accepted.” Devlin and Killian were band mates, and ultimately, they had to work together. I didn’t want to be the reason they had a falling out, especially when Devlin was apologizing.

  “You aren’t going to hold it against me for the rest of my life, are you?” He gave me a slightly suspicious look. “You’re saying it in a tone that says you might.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t do or say things that require an apology.”

  He shrugged. “Wouldn’t have been necessary if Killian had just flown out to Spain like I told him to.”

  “Why didn’t he?” Kingstree wasn’t bad, but Spain had to be gorgeous. If I’d been burned out and had a lot of money like Killian, I would’ve gone to a beach in Spain to recover.

  “He gets really anxious every time he has to fly. Absolutely hates it. I mean, it isn’t like we fly crammed next to a toilet or anything. But no matter what cabin we’re in, or even if we fly private, he acts like we’re about to die. I sent him some studies on airline safety.” He laughed. “Didn’t help.”

  Devlin’s explanation made sense. Sympathy stirred. I remembered what Mir had told me about their parents’ death. It must’ve been traumatizing, enough to make Killian avoid flying if he could.

  “You should’ve just left him alone,” I said. “Then none of this would’ve happened.”

  Devlin frowned, then looked at me like he didn’t understand what I’d just said. Maybe he couldn’t compute why he’d have to take responsibility for anything.

  Then he shrugged again and grinned. “You’re different than I thought.”

  “Why? Are you sad I’m not the type to fall to my feet at the fame and good looks of Killian and you?”

  He leaned closer. “You think I’m good-looking?”

  I almost rolled my eyes. Should’ve known he’d latch on to that. “You’re missing the point.”

  “No, I’m not. You think I’m hot.” He sat back, all smug and self-satisfied.

  “Careful. If your head gets too big to fit into an airline cabin, you might have to check it.”

  “It’s not bragging if it’s true.”

  “No, it’s still bragging. You’re just bragging about something true.”

  He laughed. “Okay. So only Killian’s worth banging?” I almost choked. He continued, “Don’t be shocked. Pretty much every woman in the world thinks it’s her life’s goal to bang him.”

  This was such a weird conversation, but maybe he was trying to shield Killian, in case I was a gold digger. Killian was filthy rich and handsome and young, and hadn’t he said that women had tried to take advantage?

  My gaze darted briefly to the Sextet, who were busy channel-surfing. If Killian and I had never met, they’d be banging him, as Devlin had put it.

  I looked back at Devlin. “Banging someone isn’t a life goal,” I said. “It’s a bonus, frosting on the cake at the most.”

  “Huh. Figured you’d be more sentimental about it.” He propped his chin in one hand. “You’re a romance writer.”

  “I’m surprised you haven’t snorted any coke yet.” When he raised his eyebrows, I added in my extra-sweet voice, “You’re a rock star.”

  He laughed. “Okay, you have a point. And I like you. So I’ll make it up to you.”

  “How? I’m not interested in your body or anything else you could offer.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t want your body either. I don’t bang my buddies’ girls, and I don’t like women who don’t look at me like I’m on their bucket list. But I’ll think of something, ’cause I’m awesome like that.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Killian

  My gut tightened as I watched Dev move next to Emily and start talking with her. What was he saying? Probably nothing about the orgy he’d invited every band mate to last year. That had been embarrassing. And resulted in over a hundred thousand dollars in damage at the hotel because some of the girls who’d attended got out of control. Devlin was totally over Ashley, but he’d been hooking up with more and more unsuitable women even though he could do a lot better. It was as though he was purposely trying to avoid a situation where he might fall for a woman he was with.

  The urge to quit cleaning up and evict him and his harem swelled. I hadn’t wanted to invite him or the girls in for breakfast. If Abby hadn’t shown up, I would’ve told them to go feed themselves somewhere else, because I was still annoyed about the way my morning with Emily had been ruined.

  But Abby smiled at the girls like they were wondrous, mythical creatures, and I hadn’t had the heart to kick them out. And if I asked them to get out now, that would make me look like a dick. I was experienced enough to know that pissing off the mother of a woman I liked was a terrible idea.

  “I can’t believe Emily’s dating a rock star!” Abby’s voice shook, her eyes still wide and bright. “She never even hinted.”

  “Really?” Emily had thought I was a pest trying to steal her ice cream and shatter her peace and quiet, but wouldn’t she have had a chance to tell her mom about me? Or tell everyone, for that matter? Every woman I’d dated since the band’s breakout hit had bragged everywhere about dating me.

  My reactions used to range from mild irritation to outright hate, depending on the result of such bragging. But now I was annoyed Emily hadn’t said anything about me to somebody as important as her mother.

  Inconsistent, but there it was.

  “She didn’t know who I was when we first met,” I said, as I took the plate she handed to me and loaded it into the dishwasher. For some bizarre reason, I didn’t want Abby to think Emily hadn’t mentioned me because I wasn’t important enough.

  “She didn’t?” Abby straightened. “Well, she isn’t into music.”

  “Yeah, she told me.”

  A soft sigh. “It’s Brandon’s fault.”

  Brandon? Some ex-boyfriend, or…?

  Abby saw my expression. “Her father. My husband.”

  “Oh, okay. He doesn’t like music either?” I asked cautiously, not wanting to trigger another bout of crying. Consoling a woman who was sobbing over a cheating husband was beyond my experience.

  “Oh, he loves music. That’s why she stopped listening to it. That’s also why she eats junk food rather than cooking for herself.”

  I remembered how competent Emily had been in the kitchen when she made me the scampi. And how much she’d enjoyed herself at karaoke night. She’d never said anything about her dad, but I already hated the man for being a cheater and the cause of Emily giving up things she liked. When a man had a family, he had responsibilities—to nurture, to provide and to protect. Emily’s dad apparently hadn’t done any of that.

  “He isn’t a great husband…or father, frankly.” Abby sounded a little sad. “He only supports Emily when she does what he wants her to, what makes him look good. He
was so proud when she got into Harvard. Then he was furious when she graduated and told him she was going to be a romance writer. Apparently he’d told all his buddies she was going to work for Goldman Sachs.”

  My mind conjured up Emily working. Her hair a little messy. An old T-shirt. Yoga pants. Candy wrappers and cracker bags everywhere. Muttering to herself more often than not.

  Probably not a Goldman Sachs look.

  “But he should be happy with how she’s doing,” I said. “She’s a Wall Street Journal bestselling author. That’s a big deal. A huge accomplishment.”

  Abby laughed, then shook her head. “That’s not success in his view. He loves to brag that Emily is successful because of him, and her writing ‘mommy porn’ isn’t what he had in mind. He’s determined to ensure she fails, so he can say, ‘I told you so.’ Emily and Brandon made a bet. She’s supposed to hit number one on Amazon within four years or she’s going to take out full-page ads in the Wall Street Journal, New York Times, USA Today and L.A. Times.”

  “Ads? Saying what?” I asked, my mouth dry with something that felt like dread for Emily and loathing for her dad.

  “She has to admit that her dad’s right—that romance is stupid and its readers are silly and she should’ve listened to him.”

  What the hell? “That would ruin her career!” And she worked too damn hard to set fire to it like that.

  “That’s the point,” Abby said, like it was par for the course. “He believes that it’ll make her rethink her career choice and force her into doing something more ego-boosting. For him, that is.”

  What a dick. My hatred for Emily’s dad doubled. “But she doesn’t have to take out the ads for real, does she? Who’s going to make her?”

  “There’s a lawyer with an escrow account with sufficient funds to cover the ads. She’s going to make sure.”

  I ran a hand across my mouth. This was freakin’ serious. “So what happens if Emily does hit number one?”

  “Then Brandon has to take ads out in those papers and admit that she’s right—that romance is a lovely genre, its readers are smart and so on.”