Laurel's Bright Idea (Billionaire Baby Club Book 3)

by Jasinda Wilder

  This was…slow. Delightfully boring, in the best way. Nothing to do at all for hours on end but cuddle with Titus and watch movies. He had a mobile Wi-Fi hotspot built into the rig, of course, using cell signal, so he had access to all the streaming services. And he let me pick the movie, nine times out of ten—and never complained when I picked girly rom-coms or silly reality TV. I’d concede to his masculinity every once in a while, of course, and he’d pick a shoot ’em up action flick or something like that, usually an older one from the glory days of action movies. Rarely did anything we watch get steamy, because that was just playing with fire, right?

  Portland, Oregon. His first show was an acoustic pop-up in a park. Just Titus, a stool, a mic, an amp, and a guitar. The morning of the show, Jeremy started posting all over Titus’s socials about it—he liked to make it a kind of scavenger hunt. He’d post hints of the location, and force the fans to figure out where it would be. By the time Titus plugged in his guitar and sat on his stool, the park was packed. People had brought chairs, blankets, picnic supplies, beach balls. There was a group of guys playing frisbee, people passing joints around…it felt like a festival.

  I was sitting on a blanket a few feet away from Titus, to his right and near his feet, where I could gaze adoringly up at him as he sang love songs to me.

  Which…is what he did.

  “Today is gonna be different,” he said, by way of introduction, as he strummed chords and adjusted the tuning. “I may play some favorites toward the end, but hopefully you guys will be cool with this, but I was thinking I’d do some covers. I almost never play covers, if you know me, you know that.” He gazed down at me. “But I’ve got someone special with me today—my girlfriend, Laurel. So, today is about her.” He grinned at the crowd. “If anyone gets a good photo of her looking up at me like she really, really loves me, tag me in it.” He winked at me. “Okay, this one is ‘Love me Tender.’ If you don’t know this song, well…I can’t help you.”

  The man could do Elvis, that was for damn sure. He did his own arrangement of it, a slow deep croon in that rough beautiful voice of his, fingers picking the melody with an occasional show-off run of fingerstyle wizardry. He did “Unchained Melody,” “Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You,” “Wonderful Tonight” (for which he traded his acoustic for an electric, and did incredible justice to the original guitar licks by Eric Clapton), “I Wanna Be Your Lover,” “I Don’t Want To Miss a Thing”…if there was a hot, sultry, sweet, or romantic love song from the past fifty years, he covered it. And yes, his Instagram feed was overrun with photos of me, sitting on the blanket near his feet, not taking my eyes off him for a single moment.

  He did end up doing acoustic or solo versions of his top five or six hits, the ones that get requested on the radio most, the ones that traditionally would be reserved for encores, since they always got the crowd pumped up and singing along.

  The show ended, and we went back to his rig. I expected him to want to go out and celebrate a successful show, but the moment he got onto the rig, he kicked his boots off, tossed the shirt aside, and flopped onto the couch.

  “Hold me,” he murmured.

  I’d never seen him immediately post show, before—I always figured he’d be pumped up, manic.

  Instead, he was…

  Exhausted.

  “You wouldn’t think a sitting-down acoustic show would be that draining, right?” he gazed up at me as I slid behind him, taking his head onto my lap and stroking his hair. “But it does. It’s the being on, you know?” He closed his eyes and just breathed a moment. “I’m not actually an extrovert. I’m a homebody. I like being alone, or with a small number of people.”

  I hummed a small laugh. “Really? You seem so confident, so full of energy when you’re performing.”

  “It’s a weird thing. I love performing. But…once it’s a real crowd, more than like a few dozen people, it kind of stops being…people. I don’t know how to put it. It’s a different part of my brain. It’s not individuals, at that point, it’s a crowd. A part of me turns on, right? I’m on, I’m not Titus anymore, I’m Titus Bright. I’m Bright Bones. I’m Tommy’s legacy, those songs we wrote together and performed every night for twenty fucking years. I put it all out there, all of me, every performance. Whether it’s fifty people in a coffeehouse, or two thousand in a park like today, I’m all the way on, putting on the best show I can.”

  “I can tell,” I said. “And so can your fans.”

  He smiled. “Thanks. But once I’m done, I’m just…beat.”

  “I did kind of expect you to be more jazzed-up afterward.”

  He shrugged. “With a full band, a sold-out stadium, fifty thousand people on their feet and screaming for two and a half hours? Yeah, there’s a rush afterward. Especially when it’s four of you all meshing, jamming, just in the zone, you know? You get this…yeah, a jazzed-up energy, you feel kinda crazy when it’s over. It can be hard to come down from it, honestly, and that’s part of why people in this industry have substance abuse problems—you crave that high when you’re not performing, but then once the high is over you can’t come down from it, so you end up using uppers and downers and all that…on top of the fame and no one to tell you no and just the lifestyle.”

  “Your way seems better,” I said.

  He nodded. “It’s not as crazy. You’re not in a different city every night. Not as big, not as loud, not as much pressure. I don’t get the rush quite as much, which I do miss, honestly. There’s nothing like nailing a show in a sold-out stadium. Nothing in the world. But this is better. I can manage this. The trade-off is, the energy and the pressure of the performance is all on me. And I’m just beat afterward, I guess.” A glance up at me. “Hope that’s not a disappointment.”

  I continued stroking his hair. “A disappointment? Hell no, Titus.” I bent forward and kissed his forehead. “I’m a homebody myself, actually. You know how I grew up, I told you everything. Well, it meant I never really felt at home. I never had a home. Even when I was home, it wasn’t…home. It was a house where my parents lived, but they didn’t really give two shits about me, not really. I never felt safe, I never had anywhere that was mine, that was safe. So, when I got out of college, the first thing I did was buy a condo. And that was my place. I never let anyone in, not my friends, not my hookups, no one. Ever.”

  He blinked up at me. “Really?”

  “Oh yeah. I’m still that way. Obviously, I have the girls over sometimes. They’ve all been to my house, but very rarely do they ever go into my actual bedroom. Sometimes to help me pick an outfit, but…yeah. My room especially is…” I shrugged. “It’s sort of…sacred, I guess, I don’t know a better word for it.”

  He went still. “So that day you brought me to your house, and let me into your room?”

  “That was a really, really big deal.”

  “And that’s why you sort of freaked out.”

  “And giving me regular access to your home, giving me space in the closet, a key…”

  I laughed. “It’s unthinkable. If you’d have told me a year ago I’d be giving up closet space and making a key for a man? I’d have laughed until I passed out.”

  “I actually know what you mean. You, here, on this bus with me? I still call it a bus even though it’s not, but anyway—like you said, I’d have laughed you out of the room. I stopped the whole backstage girls thing years and years ago. It was exhausting. If I wanted to…meet someone, it’d be another time. At a bar, or a coffee shop. I’m just never in the mood after a show.” He tangled his fingers into mine, into the fingers of my hand that wasn’t stroking through his hair. “I like to be alone after I’m done performing. Especially this style of show and tour. So having you here? I’d never have imagined I’d be even comfortable having anyone on this bus with me, let alone a woman. But you’re…you comfort me, in a way I didn’t know I needed or wanted…in a way I didn’t know was even possible.”

  I leaned over and kissed him upside down, a slow sweet intimat
e kiss. “You’re my comfort too, Titus.”

  “I honestly don’t know how we ended up here, you and me, but I’m glad. I’ve never been so happy in my life as I am with you in it.”

  That got me choked up. “You already won me, Titus. You don’t have to keep sweetening me up.”

  He laughed. “I’m not! I’m telling you how I feel.”

  He twisted with me and suddenly, somehow I was lying on his chest and we were stretched out on the couch together and breathing, and my chest was tight, my throat hot.

  “I’ve never been this happy, either. I honestly didn’t know I could be.”

  Like I said—luckiest girl in the world.

  11

  Two months later

  I woke to the smell of coffee.

  “Wakey-wakey, babe.” That voice, rough and rumbling. “Time to get up.”

  He’d been gone for a week and a half, doing a series of pop-ups on the East Coast. It was Sunday, early.

  We had continued to abstain from sex, and while it hadn’t gotten any easier, we’d found some habits and patterns that made it doable—and the strength, depth, and intensity of our emotional relationship had proved the value of the experience. Made it all worthwhile.

  “Why.” My voice was hoarse, sleepy, raspy. “Too early.”

  “It’s ten a.m., babe.” A laugh. “I haven’t been to bed yet.”

  I scooted up to sitting position, heedless of the fact that I’d taken a bath late last night and had fallen into bed naked and damp. So I was naked, and my hair was still half wrapped in a hair towel.

  “Fuck, babe, why you gotta be naked?”

  I tucked the sheet under my arms. “Sorry. Better?”

  “No, it’s not better. I’d rather see them sexy tits of yours.”

  I dropped the sheet, baring the body parts in question. “Well, then, don’t complain.”

  “I wasn’t. Just getting hard to resist you.”

  I smirked at him. “Babe, I’m waiting on you to call it. I’m ready to ride that dick whenever you are. Say the word, and I’ll jump your bones so fast you’ll be coming inside me before you know what hit you.”

  He snarled and paced away from the bed. “I have a plan for that.” He turned back to me, handed me a to-go coffee. “Get some clothes on. We got shit to do.” A growl and a huff. “I’ll be waiting in my truck.”

  I laughed at cranky, sex-starved Titus as I hauled my ass out of bed and stuffed it into black leggings, a T-shirt, and a hoodie, with my hair pulled through a trucker hat. I mean, I understood the crankiness, because hell, I was getting cranky about it, too. My girls had all pointed out over the past few months that a sex-deprived Laurel was not a fun or pleasant to be around Laurel, sometimes. Was it worth it, knowing Titus and I were establishing a good strong foundation of friendship and trust? Hell yes. Did I like the fact that I hadn’t had sexual intercourse or even any fun times with hands or mouths in the past three and a half months? No, no I didn’t. Not at all. I wanted his cock. I wanted his mouth on me, I wanted that talented tongue that could give me six orgasms in as many minutes. I wanted to be naked in bed with him. I wanted to kiss him until neither of us could breathe.

  But I wanted to know he was ready—we were ready.

  And I was trusting him for that. Which was hard—putting that in his hands. Waiting for him. Trusting him for the status and future of our relationship. But it also felt good. It was scary, and hard, but it was also…kind of like the soreness you get after a brutal workout. It hurts, but you’re proud of yourself for going hard and getting after it.

  Yes, I’d finally started actually working out. Titus, it turned out, was an exercise fanatic. I mean, look at him—you didn’t get a body like that sitting around eating Lays: he was into kettlebells, and running, and yoga, and pushups, and barbells, and more running. And healthy food. Just to support him and spend time with him, at first, I’d gotten into all that stuff. Wonder of wonders…I’d discovered I loved it. If only, or at least partially, because between healthy eating, less alcohol, and regular exercise, my ass had begun to shrink back to its former glory, and my abs had tightened and come out and gotten visible for the first time since I was a teenager with that annoying metabolism I’d taken for granted.

  Also, if we weren’t having sex, I needed to get that energy and aggression out somehow, right? And so did he. Yeah, I was still jilling of with Grimace two and sometimes three times a day, thinking about Titus, and I often texted him when I was doing so, and he’d join me. No sexting, because that made it too difficult. No sexy photos either, because that also made celibacy too difficult. But we’d know the other person was thinking of us, and was touching themselves, and it made it all the more hot and sexy. Easier to get off, knowing Titus was in his bathroom in his trailer, fist around his cock, imagining me in my bed with my fingers on my clit and a big purple vibrator deep inside me—wishing it was him.

  I also knew I wasn’t going to last too much longer with this abstinence thing. I needed…not just sex, although god knew I needed that. But I needed him. I needed Titus. I needed closeness and nakedness and connection.

  I didn’t want to just fuck him—but, granted, the first time we got it on, it’d be straight-up no-holds-barred fucking—I wanted to make love to him. I wanted to hold him. To be with him.

  I needed it.

  I collected my thoughts, stuffed them back into the box inside where they belonged, and headed out to Titus’s truck.

  He didn’t drive us far, only a few blocks away. To a similar house as mine—small, Ranch-style, two-bedroom, two-bath…and listed by Teddy. Who was standing beside her car in the driveway, waving as we pulled in.

  I glanced askance at Titus. “What…um. What is this?”

  He shrugged. “A symbol.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “I’ll explain. But first, I need you to have your realtor hat on.”

  I snorted. “My realtor hat is always on, babe. I can’t take it off.”

  He nodded. “Good. I want your honest opinion.”

  I hugged Teddy as we ascended the three steps to the porch. “Still selling these, huh?”

  She gave a nod and a shrug. “Sure. I move quite a few of them. I figure if it takes a lot longer to move the more expensive properties, why not spend the time in between flipping these? I can list and sell two or three in the time it takes to move a property two or three times the price. Smaller commission, of course, but more of them. And it keeps me busy.”

  “Smart, actually,” I said. “I may steal the idea.”

  Teddy unlocked the lockbox and let us in. “So it’s dated,” she said by way of introduction as we entered. “But it has great, great bones. I already had my contractor Darren in here and he confirmed that this wall here,” she tapped the one between the kitchen and living room, “is load-bearing, so you’d have to put up a beam, but the span is doable. There’s nice original oak under this atrocious nineties carpet, and it runs throughout. You can see what it looks like in the master, because for some reason they carpeted out here but not in the master.”

  I was looking around, seeing the potential. “You could flip this easily.” I glanced at Titus. “Are you looking at it as a flip? Flip and rent?”

  He shook his head. “Neither. Let’s keep looking before I give you my idea.”

  My heart twisted, rose and sank. “Okay.”

  Teddy showed us the kitchen. “This needs a total redo. I’d take it down to studs and subfloor, take out the wall, and completely reconfigure.”

  I took in the nineties oak cabinets with gold pulls and cheap laminate counter. “Yeah, absolutely. But there’s space here, so if you open it up, you’d have a pretty killer open plan living area.”

  Titus just nodded. “And we could do it pretty quick?”

  “Between Teddy’s guy Darren and my guy Mark, yeah” I nodded, heading for the hallway, “I think we could have this renovated in a couple or maybe three months, if there’s surprises.”<
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  “That’s what I was thinking,” Teddy agreed.

  The master was equally dated, but that was just furniture. New paint, a nice rug, and a small reno of the en suite bathroom, and it would be nice. The other bedroom and nonattached bathroom both needed similar cosmetic attention, but overall, it was a solid house with no egregious problems.

  We headed out to the backyard, which was a decent size, with a nice big elm and a privacy fence. There was a tire swing hanging from the tree, and I sat on it, letting it spin me.

  “So, Titus,” I asked, eyeing him, “what’s the plan with this?”

  He smiled, eager. “I want to buy it, redo it.”

  “Okay. I assumed, since we’re here.” I swallowed hard. “But why?”

  He frowned, confused. “Um, to live in?”

  I held back my reaction. “Oh, I see.”

  Teddy held up her phone. “I have a, uh, call to make. I’ll be inside.”

  Titus held the ropes, stopped my lazy twisting motion. “To live in. To be near you.”

  “That’s…” I couldn’t hold back anymore. “I guess I don’t understand.”

  His frown deepened. “I don’t understand what you don’t understand. I’m saying not living on my rig anymore. Settle down. Be near you. Just blocks away.”

  My eyes were misty, my throat hot. “Yeah, no.” I tried to smile, left the swing and headed for the back door. “It’s a great plan, Titus. I’ll make sure you get a good price, and we’ll get Mark here ASAP. You can be moved in within eight, maybe twelve weeks.”

  He caught me, stopped me, spun me around. “Hey, what am I missing?”

  “Nothing.”

  He growled a wordless gruff sound of disapproval. “You’ve never played bullshit mind games before, Laurel—don’t you fuckin’ start now.”

  I groaned. Wiped my face with both hands. “Why would you not want to just live with me?”