As You Were (Rising Star Book 2)

by Lee Piper

  “What the…?”

  My overnight bag is next to the sink, and it’s packed full of my belongings. Clothes, toiletries, my phone, a collection of flavored teas, even—Leaning forward, I snort. Even lingerie. And not just any kind. My laciest, sexiest sets. Both amused and weirded out by Zeke rummaging through my underwear only to include the raunchiest pairs, I go about my shower. Particular care is taken when washing my long tresses and shaving any and all unwanted body hair. I don’t know why. It’s not like I’m planning on—

  Stop it, Wil.

  I might be grateful for his help and touched by his kindness, but Zeke needs to earn my trust before, no, if anything happens between us. I mean, we’re not starting a lifelong romance; Zeke already made his view on love perfectly clear. But even casual hookups deserve respect, and that takes time.

  Sadly, time is running out.

  One week and one day. That’s all we’ve got left. After that, the boys and I are preparing for a month-long, nationwide tour of our recorded album. Sighing, I distract myself from that conundrum by rubbing my dewy skin with a towel. Next, I shimmy into a silky jade G-string and matching push-up bra, before throwing on my signature denim cutoffs and a loose T-shirt. The neckline is so wide it hangs off one shoulder, exposing the freckles peppering my collarbone. After applying some mascara and clear lip gloss, I stare at my reflection in the mirror and nod. Pretty damn good.

  I don’t spend long admiring myself because I’ve got more important things to worry about, Mom being one of them. Deciding it’s way past time, I turn my phone on. “What the…?” The screen lights up with a myriad of missed calls and unanswered texts. Ignoring the texts, I dial the nursing home.

  When Jeanette answers, I sigh with relief. “Hey, Jeanie. It’s Willow.”

  “Willow,” she exclaims. “How are you feeling, honey? Your tall drink of water tells me you’ve been sick.”

  I grip the phone tighter. “My what?”

  “You need to hurry up and marry that man, love. He’s a keeper.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about Zeke. That’s his name, right? Please don’t tell me I’ve been calling him by the wrong one these past few days. That would be so embarrassing.”

  I shake my head, beyond confused. “No, you’ve got the right name. I’m a bit lost, that’s all.”

  “Oh, honey,” Jeanette gushes. “The way he doted on your mom. It makes me teary just thinking about it.”

  Scrubbing my forehead, I try to make sense of the last two minutes. “Wait. Are you telling me Zeke called my mom while I was sick?”

  She laughs. “Lord no, he didn’t call her. He visited her, every day like clockwork. Yesterday, your mom even read his tarot. Very enlightening.”

  Speechless.

  Jeanette spends the next few moments gushing over Zeke while I try to assimilate the man I know with the one she’s describing. Gotta say, they don’t match up. I mean, there are glimpses of kindness in Zeke’s behavior—the past three days are testament to that. But he always holds parts of himself back. Whether he’s trying to hide his true self, I honestly don’t know. But what I desperately want to know is, who’s the real Zeke? And if it’s the caring man who visited Mom, why is he keeping it from me?

  Distracted, I thank Jeanie for the intel and hang up. Slipping the phone into my back pocket, I go in search of the man in question, my determined footsteps pausing in the lounge room. He’s not there. Neither are knickknacks or personal items of any kind. I shake my head; the place feels like a looted museum. But when my gaze lands on the balcony, a bolt of energy swarms my stomach and a smile tugs the corner of my mouth.

  “There you are,” I whisper.

  He’s lounging on the bench seat that runs the length of the terrace. His white T-shirt might as well have neon signs pointing to his ripped upper body, while those worn blue jeans do little to disguise the definition of his… thighs. I shake my head. A laptop sits open beside him, and he intermittently types on the keyboard, his fingers a blur.

  In a few long strides, I’m outside. “Morning.”

  Zeke’s eyes leave the screen. They linger on my painted toenails before journeying upward, and don’t stop until every curve of my body is memorized, caressed, aflame. By the time they reach my face, his eyes are molten. “Afternoon,” he rumbles.

  “Afternoon?” Tearing my gaze away, I stare at the clear sky. Damn, he’s right. The sun is directly overhead. “Huh. Must have been more tired than I realized.”

  But then I’m distracted by the view. “Sweet Poseidon, look at that.” Transfixed by the horizon, I walk to the edge of the balcony, my hair swirling about my shoulders with the cool breeze. Inch-thick glass is the only barrier separating me from the crashing waves, storm-weathered rocks, and blinding sand below. It’s rugged, raw, and so freaking beautiful I don’t know where to look first.

  “I haven’t seen this in the daylight before.” My voice is soft, reverent as I lean over the railing and glance left, then right. “It’s always dark by the time we finish recording, so I never get a chance to admire the ocean. I can hear it,” I continue. “The waves are thunderous, so it’s hard to ignore them, but this is the first time….” I breathe in the salty tang of the ocean, delight in the sun kissing my cheeks, and shiver when the wind picks up, causing goose bumps to pebble my skin.

  I sense rather than hear him approach. The nerves on the back of my neck spark, then flicker, growing stronger with each step. Zeke stops a hairsbreadth away. He doesn’t touch me. No. A wall of heat warms my back, soft breath tickles my neck, and my stomach decides now is the perfect time to salsa—but he doesn’t touch me.

  Shivers tingle down my spine, pooling at the base. When I look at the railing, it’s to see Zeke’s hands on either side of my body. He’s caging me in. My breath hitches.

  Summoning up some courage, I face him.

  He’s. Right. There.

  The bright flecks encircling his dark pupils are liquid gold, dark lashes surround his eyes, and I can’t remember what I wanted to ask him. Heck, I can’t even remember if it’s my turn to speak. But I have to say something. We can’t stand here staring at each other, it’s weird. And tempting. I’m seconds away from sucking his bottom lip.

  Swallowing, I murmur, “You must love living here.”

  His eyes dart between mine. It’s as though he’s searching for a hidden meaning, an ulterior motive I’m trying to hide. I’m not, I’m simply stating a fact.

  “It’s true,” I say. “People would do anything to own a place like this. You’re a lucky man.”

  His brows furrow. Reaching up, I trace the indented skin with my fingertip, smoothing the lines away. “You’re annoyed. Why?” I smile. “How could you possibly be upset on a day like this?”

  Zeke’s eyes flicker closed as he leans into my touch. Seconds later, he shakes his head and steps away. When he next speaks, his voice is hard. “Hungry?”

  For answers? Sure.

  “Zeke, is everything okay?”

  “Fine.”

  I contemplate the tension in Zeke’s posture. Make no mistake, his taut muscles are glorious. They’re a piece of art I never tire of admiring. However, they’re bunched in irritation, and somehow I caused it.

  “You sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes. Now drop it.”

  “But—

  “Swear to fucking God, Willow.” He turns, his expression fierce. “I said, drop it. Now park your fine ass down so I can feed you.”

  Placing my hands on my hips, I raise an eyebrow. And wait.

  He growls.

  And wait.

  Agitated fingers rake through his hair.

  And wait.

  Then scrub the side of his face. Zeke curses under his breath, then barks, “Please. Park your fine ass down, please.”

  I nod, trying not to smile at his frustration. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  Muttering obscenities, he turns his back and storm
s inside. Grinning, I focus my attention on the ocean. It’s probably best I don’t ask him about Mom yet. He needs to be in a better mood if I want to extract any kind of information.

  So, after removing the phone from my pocket, I relax into the bench seat, glorying in the soft canvas cushions as they mold to my body. Stretching pale legs in front of me, I wiggle my toes, delighting when the ocean air tickles them. This place is nirvana.

  Thinking it’s best to sort through the unread texts, I swipe my finger across the home screen. And snort. Most of them are from Drake, demanding to know what’s going on. As usual, his messages range from sweet to downright ridiculous.

  Drake: Hey, Wil. Zeke’s gonna be here soon and he’ll lose his shit if you’re not in the studio. Hurry up. Oh, and I went out after I dropped you back last night. Pussy called.

  Drake: Zeke says you’re sick. Reckons we’re not allowed near you coz you need to rest. Then he said something about our dicks being cut off with a rusty nail—guy’s a psycho. Has he locked you in a sex dungeon or some shit? Call me.

  Shiloh: Hey hon, just checking in to see how it’s going with that producer of yours. Please tell me you’ve kept your girls to yourself. And in case you’re lusting after him despite what happened at the gig last night, HE’S YOUR BOSS. Love you!

  Drake: Wil, you didn’t call. Zeke keeps leaving every half an hour to go “check on you.” Dude’s either got insane stamina, downed some Viagra, or you’re really sick. Want me to get you some Pop Tarts? They always make me feel better when I’m sick. That and porn.

  Reid: You okay, Wil? Drake’s googling Pop Tarts again—never a good sign.

  Shiloh: You haven’t replied. You always reply. Even when I use shouty capitals you message me back saying I’m a rude bitch. Are you pissed with me? You know I’m just trying to look out for you, right? Love you.

  Drake: A package will be arriving soon. You’re welcome.

  Those were from the first morning. Day two gets more interesting.

  Drake: I owned the mic today. You should’ve heard me. Even Reid said it sounded on point, and you know it’s easier getting a nun pregnant than getting a compliment out of him.

  Shiloh: Hey babe, Reid told me you’re not feeling too hot. I’m so sorry! Is there anything I can do? Apart from cook, I mean. You know I’d only give you food poisoning if I tried. Let me know what you need and I’ll get it for you somehow. And yes, even when you’re a germ factory, I love you.

  Drake: Are you better yet? It’s so booooorrrrriiiinnnngggg when you’re not here. I even read the comments on my fav porn site. The COMMENTS, Wil. Nobody reads that shit. Ever.

  Reid: Hope Drake’s not pestering you too much. Since you’ve been sick, he’s on his phone more than usual. If he’s a pain in the ass, let me know and I’ll handle it.

  Drake: Music doesn’t sound the same when it’s just vocals and drums. And Zeke’s in a fucking mood. Said Pop Tarts have “no nutritional value” and he’s returning the twenty boxes I had priority shipped. Asshole.

  Laughter bubbles up inside me at Drake’s antics.

  Drake: You’ve been MIA for three days! You’re not dying, are you? Call me already.

  Shiloh: How are you feeling, babe? If me and my band weren’t working crazy hours getting this album done, I’d go all Florence Nightingale on your ass. You know that, right? Love you.

  Drake: I played like a boss today, so did Reid. Reckon I’m gonna get laid to celebrate. Since Zeke’s kidnapped you, I might even fuck the lucky woman against his front door just to piss him off. Either that or I’ll connect my phone to the amp and play my fav porn clip on repeat. He’ll freak.

  Reid: Just so you know, I’ve confiscated Drake’s phone.

  Drake: Got my phone back. Reid and Zeke are a bag of dicks, wouldn’t know humor if it fucked them up the ass.

  Drake: Holy shit! Zeke’s ex-wife just rocked up!

  Drake: That chick’s fucking INSANE! Even had the balls to threaten Zeke. Something about him using and then dumping her. Dunno. I was too distracted by the vein on his forehead. Thought it was gonna burst for sure.

  Drake: Zeke said Reid and I have the next four days off. I’m going stir crazy here, Wil. Zeke gave me his word he’s doing everything he can to get you better, and the dude actually looked sincere when he said it. Do you mind if I go home for a while? I’ll keep my phone on, so if you need anything, call me. Okay?

  Drake: Okay?!

  Drake: Damn it, Wil!!!

  I hastily shoot Drake a text, confirming I’m alive and more than happy for him to return to Bayside for the next few days. He replies with so many emojis and gifs my screen freezes, forcing me to restart my phone. Once it’s powered up again, I message Reid and Shiloh before placing it on the cushion next to me.

  Shaking my head, I grin. Drake’s one of a kind. I love him like a brother, but it’s going to take a special kind of woman to put up with his shenanigans.

  I don’t have long to ponder the chick brave enough to enter into a relationship with Drake because a plate is placed on the low table beside me.

  “Whoa.” Slipping my feet to the floor, I lean forward, inspect the mouthwatering dish, then stare at Zeke. “Did you make this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Just then?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Yes.”

  My eyes take in the stack of fluffy banana pancakes with summer berries, vanilla yogurt, and honey drizzled on top. He’s even garnished it with mint. I meet his stoic expression. “Can I keep you?”

  Zeke snorts.

  “I’m serious. When I’m rich and famous and so far removed from reality that I genuinely think the sun shines out of my rear, can you be my professional chef?” Noticing there’s only one plate, I raise an eyebrow. “Wait, aren’t you having any?”

  “No, I’ve already eaten.”

  “Your loss.” I take a healthy bite of deliciousness, groaning in pleasure. Zeke’s eyes darken when my tongue darts out to lick a droplet of honey from the corner of my mouth. “Don’t get me wrong—” I inhale another mouthful of food. “—I can cook. It comes with the territory of choosing not to play God with innocent animals.” I swallow. “But sweet Sophrosyne, everything you’ve served so far could feature in a gourmet restaurant.”

  Shaking his head, Zeke sits beside me, his long legs stretched in front of his muscular body. He crosses his arms, eyes locked on the horizon. Distracted, I watch him. I’m fascinated by the enigma before me, by the way the sun hits his face, long eyelashes kiss his skin, and how he draws me closer without meaning to.

  “Eat.”

  I jump, embarrassed at having been caught. Zeke’s eyes slide to mine, but there’s a playful glint in them, so I shrug off the discomfort and do as he says. Within minutes, there’s not a crumb to be seen.

  Leaning back, I rub my full stomach. “That was delicious. Thank you.”

  He nods.

  I tilt my head to the side. “You can’t say it, can you?”

  “What?”

  “You’re welcome, please, thank you—any kind of pleasantry, really. The words get stuck at the back of your throat, huh?”

  He levels me with a flat stare.

  I lift my chin, daring him to refute me.

  Scowling, he grabs my plate and stalks inside. Trying to hide my smile, I stand and follow him.

  I take a moment to admire Zeke’s ass as he bends over to place my dish in the dishwasher. Once I’ve had my fill, I shake my head, lean against the marble benchtop, and rest my chin in my hands.

  There’s so much I want to ask him. My brain whirls with unanswered questions: why did he visit Mom? Why didn’t he tell me about it? Did Selena really threaten him like Drake said in his message? Oh, and let’s not forget, am I expected to stay in his apartment for the next three days while it’s just us recording? Heat pools between my thighs at the thought.

  I clear my throat. “Can I ask you something?”

  Zeke glances at me, wary.

  “I’m not asking
for your firstborn or a kidney.”

  He rolls his eyes.

  Figuring that’s as close to a green light as I’m ever going to get, I start with a neutral topic. “Where is everything?” I gesture to the space. “I mean, apart from the couch, TV, and the appliances in the kitchen, this half of the building’s empty. Surely you’ve got photos and mementoes you want to put around the place? There’s plenty of room.”

  Zeke stares at me.

  And stares.

  And stares.

  It’s unnerving. His eyes explore the deepest, most secret parts of me as though searching for something. Whether I took part in sacrificial pagan rituals as a child? Whether I’m a natural redhead? Whether I’m worthy of his trust? Dunno. But what I do know is that it’s impossible to remain still under his scrutiny. So yeah, I squirm.

  “What? What is it?” I ask.

  More staring.

  “Can you stop doing that? It’s making me feel—”

  “Follow me.” Without waiting for a response, he turns and stalks down the hallway. The man doesn’t even wait to see if I’m following. He simply walks, shoulders back, a slight swagger to his hips, with me scurrying along behind.

  We pass several doors, all of them closed, before reaching the one opposite his bedroom. Pausing, he considers it, his entire demeanor changing from confident to hesitant the longer he studies the polished wood panel. Straight white teeth worry his full bottom lip, the movement both touching and hot as hell.

  Reaching out, Zeke’s large palm hovers above the door handle.

  His indecisiveness breaks any resolve I had to keep my distance. Though if I’m being honest, it flew out the floor-to-ceiling windows when he held me last night. Acting on instinct, I place my hand on top of his, gently encouraging Zeke to grip the cool metal fixture.

  Caramel eyes dart to my face. They’re wild, agitated, and a little bit lost. The sight of this proud man reduced to frustrated hesitancy tears at my insides, and the tattered fabric of my heart wants to sew itself together into a patchwork quilt for him.

  “It’s okay,” I murmur, pouring everything I have, everything I am, into three syllables. I can only hope it’s enough to convince him to trust me.