“I bet she was gorgeous.”
“She was. Tall and sort of willowy. She had really thick, long, dark hair. Her eyes were unnaturally blue.” I get a flash of her smiling face, leaning in to kiss me good night, and it shakes me to my core. “I can still smell her—jasmine powder and mint. She had an addiction to Doublemint Gum.” I laugh. “The nasty one in the green package.”
Korie cringes. “That stuff’s the worst.”
“Our house was always filled with music. We’d wake up to it, go to bed to it. She loved classic country most: Reba, Patsy, Dolly…but she could belt out a good Whitney or Mariah ballad like nobody’s business too.”
“How old were you when she taught you to play?”
“I started off just singing along with her…girly shit.” I scoff. “My first performance in front of a crowd was fucking, ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow.’ I was six. Pretty sure Dad still has it lying around on video somewhere, even though I demanded he burn it. If that shit ever got out…” I wince.
She cracks a smile, and I can tell she’s imagining it. “I think you should sing that for me right now,” she taunts.
“Not a chance.” I give her a hard look, letting her know I’m serious. “Anyway, we never had much money, and the guitar she played with belonged to the church. When she realized I could actually sing, she pawned the jewelry she’d inherited from my grandmother to get the money to buy me one. I was too young to realize the sacrifice she was making. I still have it,” I say, rising from my seat and wandering inside to retrieve it from the leather case in my closet, suddenly having the urge to strum its tattered strings.
I sit sideways on the lounge chair, propping the old guitar on my knee, and tuning it by ear. After I’m done, Korie holds her arms out, wiggling her fingers in the space between us, like she just can’t wait to touch it.
My heart swells, filling up the entirety of my chest as she runs her small hands over the oiled wood, examining the instrument as if it were an ancient artifact. I’m moved by the way she takes her time, fully appreciating how special it is. “There’s an inscription,” she says, eyes glistening as she reads it silently to herself.
I nod, staring off in the distance to avoid the sudden onset of emotion.
“For my sweet boy, Rhett. One of these days I just know you’re gonna be a big ol’ star. Let this inscription serve as my, ‘I told ya so.’ I love you, Boogy, always, forever, and big like the sky. Love, Mom.” As she finishes reading out loud, the tears fall unchecked in a steady stream down her cheeks. It’s a silent cry, like the one crippling me inside. My well dried up long ago, and while I may have gotten good at hiding any outward signs of grief, I have yet to discover a way to condition my heart not to feel the immense pain of her loss.
“Argh,” I growl, shaking away the moisture that’s building behind my eyes. “Yeah. So, she told me so.”
“Jesus, Rhett. She has to be so proud, looking down on her little boy and all that you’ve accomplished.”
“I sure hope so,” I say, taking the guitar back and settling it in my lap.
Korie’s tear-soaked face splits into a wide grin when she recognizes the beginning chords to “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”
Chapter 28
Korie
“Why even bother writing your own songs? You could just stand up there on stage, singing nursery rhymes, and women would still throw their panties at you.”
As if the boy could possibly get any cuter, his cheeks flush with a rosy shade of embarrassment. He props the guitar against the outer wall of the house, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees—his face now mere inches away. “You think?”
“Oh, I know. I’d throw mine, but they’re lost somewhere in your room.” His nearness causes my throat to dry and my words come out gravelly. I swear, the man keeps me in a constant state of arousal. I’m not even sure this is healthy.
His answering grin is predatory as he lifts both of his hands to cup my sticky cheeks. Goosebumps ripple across my skin in waves, while his fingers gently progress to the nape of my neck. My body trembles as the pads of his thumbs brush my ear lobes, and he leans closer still. Starting from the corner of my right eye, he begins peppering whisper soft kisses, blazing a path over every inch of my overheated skin. Then he’s hovering near my mouth, staring so deeply into my eyes that I feel naked and exposed. I swear he can see right into the very heart of my soul.
I wish that I could read his thoughts—to know exactly what’s going through his mind—as he stares at me with such intensity that I feel it in my marrow.
Motionless but for the heavy rise and fall of my chest, I await his next move.
Rhett’s tongue takes a leisurely stroll across his lips, like he’s savoring the flavor of something sinfully delicious. “I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything sweeter…” he rasps before clamping his lower lip between his teeth.
My tears. Dear God in heaven, he is licking my tears off his lips!
“…than the taste of your empathy, Korie Potter,” he continues, rendering me speechless.
What does one say to that?
Nothing. There is no appropriate way to respond. I don’t know whether to feel embarrassed or disturbed by what’s just happened, or to swoon into a freaking puddle at his feet.
Thankfully, he doesn’t give me long to worry over the matter. With my chin gripped between Rhett’s thumb and forefinger, he brings my mouth to his, pulling me in for a long, sensual kiss. We take our time pouring our heightened emotions into each stroke of our tongues, every brush of our lips.
I don’t know where this is going or what these intense feelings swirling around inside of me might mean, but I do know for certain, whatever happens between us, I’ll never visit the ocean again without reliving every detail of this perfect moment. Never will the sea breeze whip through my hair without reminding me of the way his hands feel fisted tightly in the strands. And when I hear the steady rhythm of the waves crashing the shores, I’ll recall the way they synced seamlessly with the beating of my heart. For as long as I live, when I taste the ocean water, it’ll be the salt from my eyes to his lips.
“Y’all need to calm it down,” Aiden growls, pointing the slice of cold pizza he just took a bite from our way as we enter the kitchen. “I didn’t appreciate being woken up to the headboard knocking against the wall. Some of us need our beauty rest.”
My cheeks flush ten shades of red. I hope he couldn’t hear me. Oh, God…
“Fuck off, Aid.” Rhett gives him the finger. “Don’t listen to him, Stick. His room’s on the other side of the damn house.”
“Just like fucking with ya,” the lanky brunet says with a snicker, dropping his food on the paper plate in front of him and pushing back from the table to greet me with a hug. His gray sweats are hung low on his hips, his tatted chest on full display. I have the sudden urge to tug on the little bars speared through his nipples. Ouch. “Welcome to our humble abode.”
I glance around the stark white kitchen: white granite countertops with flecks of black and gray throughout, white cabinets, white- and gray-swirled marble tile floors. The appliances are top of the line black stainless steel, without a print on them. I don’t think Raven and I have ever seen our kitchen so clean. The ceiling is dome-shaped and made of gray brick with pendant lights dangling over the island. A rectangular crystal chandelier lights an eight-seater weathered wood table with ten white pin-tucked chairs surrounding it. Floor to ceiling windows make up the wall behind the table, framing a breathtaking view of the ocean as far as the eye can see. This house is anything but humble. It’s rich. Immaculate. Daunting.
“Korie…” Rhett snaps his fingers to draw me back to the land of the living. “Would you like me to whip you up some eggs and bacon?”
“You actually cook in here?”
The boys both look at me like I’ve sprouted a horn, or wings, or maybe both.
“You don’t use your kitchen to cook?” Rhett asks, half joking.
; “Of course, but it doesn’t look like anyone’s ever used this one. Everything is so white and pristine and…perfect.” There’s literally nothing out of place. No piles of bills, no basket with keys and fingernail clippers, and other odds and ends. There’s no can opener, toaster, or coffee pot littering the counters. No phone charger wires laying around. Not one thing that makes this place look lived in.
“We use the kitchen,” he laughs. “We just have the world’s best housekeeper, Rosy. You’ll see her lurking about. Short little Latina lady that follows us around tidying up. Anika brought her in after less than a week of living with four guys.”
“Rosy is a lifesaver! My favorite human.” Speak of the devil. Anika promenades into the kitchen, already dressed in a beige pencil skirt, four-inch nude heels, and a teal blouse. It’s not even nine a.m. and her long, dark hair is braided down the side, and she’s wearing a full face of makeup.
Her put-together state has me examining my own ensemble: Rhett’s faded navy Fender tee and a pair of his boxers, aqua with big purple eggplants, rolled at the waist. My hair is sex tousled and windblown, piled on top of my head in the messiest of buns. At least I put on a bra.
“’Morning, Anika,” I greet, smiling despite the lingering tension between us.
Her face splits into a huge, unexpected smile. “Korie.” She nods, like she’s actually happy to see me, which I know is bullshit and all for the boys’ benefit. “I’ve taken the liberty of purchasing a few items of clothing for you. They’re hanging in the far right of Rhett’s closet in case you feel like dressing up or anything. Not sure what y’all’s plans are.”
Fucking snake.
“That’s so sweet,” I grit through a smile. “You shouldn’t have.” And I fucking mean it. How dare she try to dress me? Cunt.
“Annie is the best.” Rhett grins at his manager and longtime friend.
“Anything for my boys,” she says, walking over to the corner cabinet and retrieving a Keurig. From the door above, she grabs a mug, and in the drawer beneath is a vast array of pods.
Coffee. Thank God.
“I’ll just have a coffee, and maybe we can go out for pancakes?”
Rhett gasps. “You that scared of my culinary skills, Stick?”
“No, I just don’t really like eggs…or bacon.”
“Say no more,” he says, flinging various cabinets around the room open and littering the island with ingredients. “Who doesn’t like bacon?” he mutters, throwing a lace-trimmed floral apron on over his wife beater, tying it around his waist. Then, he begins measuring out the milk, oil, flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt.
I post up on a stool, resting my elbows on the cool granite, my cheeks in my hands and observe him as he works. There’s something unbelievably sexy about watching this muscly man, in his girly apron, cracking eggs with delicate precision. The way the veins protrude on his forearms as he whisks it all into a fluffy batter is whipping something up in me.
He puts a skillet on the stove then cuts a bowl of fresh strawberries and fills another with blueberries. Finally, he grabs a bag of miniature chocolate chips from the pantry and pours them into an identical bowl.
Nick chooses that moment to trudge into the room, still wiping the sleep from his eyes. It’s like he smelled the food that’s not yet cooking. “Morning fuckers…Annie,” he says, nodding to where she’s scrolling on her iPad across the room. “Cuz.” He nods. “You sleep okay?”
I nod, giving him a one-armed hug as he takes the stool beside me. We chat while Rhett busies himself making three platters of pancakes. One plain, one with blueberries, and one chocolate chip. I can barely focus on Nick’s chatter as I watch my boyfriend maneuver his way around the kitchen. It’s still crazy to think of this thing between us as anything other than pretend. But this is real. He’s mine for as long as I want him—or until he moves on.
Life is weird.
“Ladies first!” Rhett orders when Aiden creeps up behind him, trying to load his plate.
He hands me a real plate, rather than the disposable ones, which I wouldn’t have minded eating off of at all. It’s what Rave and I use at home. But he’s trying to impress me, and it’s cute. “Thanks,” I say, taking it from his hand and serving myself two chocolate chip cakes with a dollop of whipped cream and a cherry, and douse it in all maple syrup. Finally, I sprinkle a light dusting of powdered sugar over the top. It’s beautiful, and my mouth fills with saliva as I inhale the sweet aroma while making my way back to my seat.
Anika, on the other hand, fills a small bowl with the strawberries and blueberries, and cuts herself half a pancake with no syrup. Half. A . Pancake! Just one more thing about the girl to drive me batty.
“That’s my cousin,” Nick shouts, clapping me on the back. “She knows how to eat.”
“She’s going to give herself heart disease,” the bitchy brunette snaps before taking her food out to the patio. I can’t be more relieved to see her go. I don’t know why she hates me so much, but I’m beginning to suspect she may have feelings for Rhett. The fact that they live together and work together…that they have more history than we’ll ever have with each other…well, I can’t say it doesn’t make me feel some kind of jealous.
I don’t like it.
Chapter 29
Rhett
My dick twitches as I watch Stick fork a giant blob of cream-covered pancake into her mouth. I shift in my seat. Giggling, she brings a napkin to her chin to swipe at the syrup that’s leaking down her face. If we were alone, I might have licked it off myself.
I find it incredibly sexy, the way Korie lives her life without conforming to anyone else’s expectations. She’s a total badass at a sport that’s very male-dominated. The girl wears a T-shirt and jeans better than most women do a cocktail dress. And here she is in a house full of men, stuffing her face full of sugary goodness, moaning and sighing with contentment at every bite, not giving a damn who’s watching.
“Good morning, boys!” Rosa slips in like a ninja, getting to work on the disaster I just made. I feel bad. It looks like a damn batter bomb went off in here.
“Wait, I’ll help—”
“No, ma’am,” our housekeeper orders, lightly swatting Korie’s hand away from the mixing bowl she was about to pick up. “I’ve got this. You go enjoy yourself.”
“I really don’t mind…”
“Give it up, girl,” Lyle says, laughing as he finally joins us at the table with a loaded plate. “Rosa has her own way of doing shit around here.”
“Mr. Lyle is right. I do shit my way.” Rosa winks at Korie as she piles the soiled dishes in her arms to let her know it’s nothing personal. “I am very OCD.”
With a little hesitation, Korie nods, sinking back down into her seat.
“Let’s get out of here?” I suggest once she has all but licked her plate clean.
“Sure. Where’re we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“Ugh,” she scowls. “You and your damn surprises. You know how much I hate them.”
“Well, you’re gonna love this one,” I say, guiding her up the winding staircase and back to my room to get changed. “Bring enough clothes for a few days.”
“Watch your step.” Alex, our charter captain, takes Korie’s hand and helps her from the dinghy into the boat.
He’s a few years older than me, tall, with a shaggy dirty-blond mullet and deep blue eyes. He dresses like he stepped right off the set of Gilligan’s Island, with his floral button downs and sandals, but he’s a cool guy. The band and I have sailed with him in the past, so I know that he’s trustworthy and discreet. He’s also one of the few private charters with access to some of the most beautiful protected islands off the California coast.
Before setting sail, Captain Alex gives us a quick tour of the upper deck of the Catamaran, introducing us first to our chef, Mal, a leggy brunette with kinky curls and tanned leathery skin. She’s already busy preparing our dinner in the kitchen, located at the center of the shi
p. The scent of sizzling onions and garlic makes my stomach growl. I have no idea what she’s cooking up, but it already smells delicious.
On the rear deck is a covered outdoor seating area with a square table at the center and benches on each side. At the front of the ship is a white leather sectional and tanning deck, where we meet his first mate, John.
John can’t be but twenty at most. He’s buff, dressed in a muscle shirt and khaki cargo shorts. His brown hair is clipped in a short fade, and his dark brown eyes are wide with wonderment. I’m used to people’s initial reaction to meeting a celebrity, but it surprises me that Korie isn’t giving him shit over being starstruck.
Alex then takes us back through the kitchen, where I’m again assaulted with the tantalizing aromas. We continue down a narrow stairway leading to our cabin. There’s a small bathroom with a stand-up shower, toilet, and sink to the left, and a closet to the right. The rest of the room is largely taken up by a queen-sized bed made up with plush sea green linens and nautical-themed throw pillows. After depositing our weekend bags in the closet, we complete our tour with a quick view of the crew’s cabin, consisting of four bunks and a bathroom of their own.
“Rhett, this is incredible.” I watch her wide-eyed smile grow impossibly broader.
“Wait till you see our first stop,” I tease, linking my fingers with hers to help keep her balance as the motor roars to life and the boat begins to pull away from the dock.
After nearly two hours on the water, John finally joins us on the deck with snorkeling gear in hand and a smile to rival that of the Cheshire Cat. The guy’s a looker. I’ll have to keep my eye on him. “Hey, guys. We’re almost to Mystic Cove. I wanted to bring out your gear and go over a few things before we drop anchor.”
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