by Jayne Rylon
Did he really belong there? Probably not.
Was he going in anyway? After that final performance, where Kason Cox’s gaze had snagged his as he sang “Secret Love” and appeared to stare straight into his damned soul? Hell fucking yes.
The singer had magic, that was for sure. It was what made him a star. He could connect with millions of people around the world. He was capable of manipulating their emotions in the best possible way with his voice and the stories he told through his songs.
Maybe that’s all that had happened tonight. It could be that Kason had moved Jordan with those lyrics about a love so strong and forbidden that you didn’t dare share it, not even with the person it was meant for. But to Jordan, it had seemed like so much more.
He hadn’t felt that kind of attraction—like he’d met and recognized a kindred spirit—since the life had poured out of Johnny onto the dirt floor of that warehouse masquerading as a corrugated metal barn in the middle of nowhere where the ambush had gone down.
Jordan thought about stepping out of line and continuing his trek up to the lake about a thousand times in the fifteen minutes it took to make it to the security team, who were vetting the people at the entrance to the after party. In the end, he simply couldn’t.
It had been a long five years of living alone, of feeling like no one else could understand his anguish. Long enough that he wanted to at least talk to Kason now that he’d realized the other guy just might get him.
If he didn’t take this chance, he knew for certain—since it had happened to him before—that he would regret it for the rest of his life.
When he saw the crush predominantly composed of flashy young women covered in sequins, with glossy lips, and big hair, he realized he was probably crazy. He could use a stiff drink if he was going to investigate any further. But as he pushed deeper into the throng, he realized there wasn’t a bar anywhere backstage.
He’d just about given up any hope of actually seeing Kason himself when a roar went through the gathering. So he followed the shouts and whistles, assuming Kason would be at the center of attention. Fortunately, the crowd kept growing louder as he plunged deeper into it.
The very last thing he expected to see as he rounded a corner was his beautiful Wren caught up in Kason Cox’s arms while they attempted to suck each other’s faces off. If anything could have made the man more attractive to Jordan than the moment they’d shared earlier, that was it.
“Wren!” he shouted without thinking as he tried to part the gawking throng and get closer. For a better look or maybe out of some crazy notion that she would welcome him into their circle with open arms.
If he’d thought about it for a half second, he would have realized how foolish that was.
She wasn’t his anymore.
Never had been, really. She’d been Johnny’s, and he’d elected to share her with Jordan.
None of that mattered to his instincts. They shut down his rational thoughts and drove him forward.
“Wren, is that you?” he yelled again. This time he was close enough to realize that soon she and Kason were going to need a room or risk being indecent right there in the middle of the backstage party. Maybe that’s what celebrities did. He wouldn’t mind staying to watch. By the way Wren froze when she finally heard his voice, she probably wouldn’t approve.
“What the hell are you doing?” A familiar woman drew his attention by calling, “Jordan!”
“Devra, hey.” He tried to brush past her but found the way blocked by several of the women he recognized from his visits to the Hot Rods garage as well as Devra’s wedding. “Nice to see you ladies again.”
He peered around Nola, trying not to let Wren and Kason out of his sight.
“Jordan, please. I know you love Wren.” Sabra tried to make him be sensible. “Don’t ruin this for her. She’s happy. She spent the whole night singing along, dancing, and…smiling.”
“I’d say that if you upset her, I’ll put my boot up your ass. But…” Mustang Sally whipped her long thick black braid over her shoulder. “I think she’s about to come do the honors herself.”
“If you want to change your mind and leave, we’ll slow her down so you can go without making any more of a scene.” Devra put her hand on Jordan’s forearm. “I’m trying to help you like you helped me.”
“If you want to do that, let me talk to her. To them.” Jordan flicked his gaze from Wren, who was indeed marching straight toward them, to Kason. Devra winced but stepped aside.
“Thanks, squad, but I’ve got this.” Wren flashed a tight, not-very-reassuring smile at her friends, then spun to face Jordan.
He probably should have said something profound or at least apologized. Instead, the thing that tumbled out of his mouth was, “You’re wearing a dress.”
Immediately, she blushed. If he knew Wren, and damn he did, that would only piss her off more. Her eyes turned icy in an instant. He hadn’t meant it as an accusation. It had startled him, that’s all. He hadn’t stalked her or anything, but especially lately—now that they had mutual acquaintances—he’d caught enough glimpses of her to realize that she’d reverted to her old habits after Johnny had died.
If it was Kason who was thawing her again and making her feel confident enough—as Johnny had before Kason—to dress like this, that was a good thing.
A great thing.
And here he was messing it up for her.
He really was the worst person possible for Wren.
Fuck.
Before either of them could say something, Kason beat them to it. He practically snarled when he neared and asked, “How’d you get in here?”
Funny, that wasn’t how he’d looked at Jordan during “Secret Love.” Was he afraid Jordan was going to mention their eye-fucking or the intimate moment they’d shared in front of 10,000 or more of their closest friends?
Jordan tried not to look guilty as he tapped the backstage pass in the flimsy plastic holder around his neck.
Kason peered at it, his eyes widening when he realized it was the autographed ticket he’d obviously given Wren. “Where’d you get that? Did she give it to you?”
Jordan shook his head. He wasn’t about to throw Wren under the bus when she obviously liked this guy, even if he was kind of tipping from hottie to jerk in Jordan’s estimation. “Found it when I went to visit my partner. Well, his grave I mean.”
Kason’s green eyes grew wide then flew to Wren. “Partner? Your ex was his partner?”
Why would Cox get so bent out of shape about that? Jordan narrowed his eyes, putting his agent skills to work now that his brain was starting to reengage.
“Jordan is a special agent for ICE,” Wren deadpanned. “They were literally partners.”
As much as they both knew Jordan had wanted it to be more than that, working together and sharing her was all he’d been able to claim about his actual relationship with Johnny.
“Oh.” Was it his imagination or did Kason Cox seem disappointed by that news flash? After the way he’d sung “Secret Love” to Jordan, Jordan wasn’t sure what the man was into. He certainly had seemed to be enjoying having his tongue stuffed down Wren’s throat.
Maybe he was bisexual, too. Or at least like Jordan believed himself to be even if he hadn’t had the right circumstances to test that theory.
“Son of a bitch, Wren. I’m sorry, okay. I should have realized you’d be here.” Jordan swallowed hard. “I wasn’t thinking. I was on my way to the lake, saw the ticket, and came right over. Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
No, he hadn’t done it on purpose. But he couldn’t say he was sorry he had. Because some base portion of his brain still thought of Wren as his.
Worse was the part that got off on watching her come apart in another man’s arms.
Maybe he shouldn’t have interrupted. Then he could have spied on them…
You’re a sleazy fucking asshole.
“Enjoy the rest of your evening together. I mean that, sincerely.” He
stuck his hand out to Kason, who accepted it grudgingly. The guy had a solid grip. Even that couldn’t account for the impact of his hand enfolding Jordan’s. Both of them released each other simultaneously, before they could acknowledge the zing that traveled between them. “The show was fantastic, Mr. Cox. Johnny would have loved every second.”
Wren didn’t say anything, but Jordan saw her throat flex as she swallowed down her emotions. She nodded brusquely. When he pivoted to leave, she called out, “Hey, Jordan.”
He spun around again so fast he got dizzy. It would have been impossible not to notice the protective and possessive hand Kason had on her lower back. “Yeah?”
“Make sure you put that back where you found it.” Her steely stare gutted him, and he deserved it.
“Of course.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then really did leave that time, stopping only momentarily to reassure Devra and the Hot Rods ladies that he was fine even if he clearly wasn’t.
It was more important to him that Wren was, though. So he said to them, “You’ll make sure she gets home safe?”
“Us Hot Rods and Hot Rides stick together,” Sally promised him. “We’ll be fine.”
For the first time in a long time, Jordan wished he belonged somewhere—anywhere—too.
13
Wren rolled over in the lofted bed of her tiny home on the Hot Rides campus. Usually, she was the first one up, and had even started doing yoga with Sabra and Holden most mornings. Not today.
She couldn’t bring herself to get out of bed.
Or at least she hadn’t been able to yet by the time a series of raps echoed from the front door, not twenty feet away from where she was trying to fall back asleep so she didn’t have to face the disaster the night before had turned into.
“Open up, Wren.” It was Devra. “I have a pot of fresh coffee…”
Tempting.
Wren opened one eye.
“And a whole tray of pastries I made for my class project…”
How was she supposed to resist that? Wren climbed down the bookcase ladder and flung the door open before stalking the few feet to the kitchenette and dropping into a seat at the two-person table.
“I thought that might get your attention.” Devra grinned as she made herself at home. Technically, this had been her house for a while, before she and Trevon had moved in with Quinn next door. She got out plates and cups. The aromatic steam from the coffee she poured into Wren’s mug had her feeling slightly more human.
“What’s this?” she asked as she reached for a square of dough with apples and chopped nuts on top. Whatever it was called, it was delicious. She moaned.
“Should I call it a Kason Cake?” Devra asked with a mischievous grin.
Wren choked and had to take a gulp of her still scorching coffee, which then led to more coughing. She gave Devra the finger as she tried not to die. Her friend only laughed.
“Please don’t. I’m already embarrassed enough as it is.” Wren groaned. “Last night was a catastrophe.”
“I thought it was going pretty well right up to the point where Jordan crashed your party.” Devra was quieter and serious when she said, “I thought for a moment it might end up being a party of three.”
“That’s because you’re a hopeless romantic.” Wren shook her head, then took another sip of her coffee before polishing off some more of the pastry. “Not everyone gets as lucky as you or the Hot Rods or the Powertools crew or Tom and Ms. Brown… Hell. I need some of that to rub off on me. Maybe it will eventually, but no. Nothing magical happened last night to take away all the shit that’s happened between Jordan and me. And Kason…well, maybe something could have developed, but it didn’t have a chance.”
“You just met. Maybe on your next date…” Devra plucked a chocolate croissant from the platter and took a bite.
Wren’s shoulders slumped. The truth had hit her hard this morning. She’d blown her only chance with Kason. “No. He’s gone. Not that I googled it or anything, but TMZ says his bus was sighted in Indianapolis this morning. They must have driven overnight. Even if I wanted to—and damn, I actually do, Devra—I can’t fix this. It’s too late.”
“So what if he’s not in Middletown? His bike is here. He’s got to come back sometime, and a man like him has the means to travel whenever and wherever he wants.” Devra stabbed her croissant at Wren. “Call him. Tell him you wish last night had gone differently and see if you can have a do-over next time he’s in town.”
“I can’t.” Wren wasn’t sure she was hungry anymore. She set down her apple thingy—she was definitely not going to call it a Kason Cake.
“Why not?”
“I don’t have his phone number. I never wrote it down since he said it was for personal use and I never intended to use it.” She looked out the window then, wondering if she’d ever find someone or if she was doomed to be alone forever. Until yesterday, there hadn’t been any question in her mind. She never planned to be interested in someone again. But now that she was, it was even worse than when she’d been resigned to a lonely fate.
Now she craved more.
“You would call him if you could?” Devra asked innocently as she took another nibble off the corner of her chocolate croissant.
“Well, okay, maybe I’d start with a text. But yes, I’d reach out. I feel terrible that I took off like I did. But Jordan…and Johnny…and the kissing and the dress… It was too much.”
“I understand.” Devra nodded. “It was an intense night.”
“Why do I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me?” Wren picked up her Kason Cake—damn it!—and chomped into it. Sticky sweetness flowed over her tongue, reminding her of exactly how damn good he’d tasted. She’d kissed him like a woman coming off a self-imposed hunger strike. Because, really, that’s exactly what she’d been.
And now she couldn’t help but want more.
A grin spread across Devra’s face. She looked so pleased with herself Wren didn’t mention the smear of chocolate at the corner of her mouth. “I remember his number. That day when he came to the shop, I could tell you were acting weird. And I’m good with memorizing stuff for recipes. I don’t really think about it, I just repeat things in my mind until they stick there.”
“You what?” Wren leaned halfway across the table.
“Yup. It’s stored in my brain.” Devra took another sample of her baking and tapped her temple with the index finger of her free hand. “I mean, we also have his email address on file at the shop, but I know you’d never use it for personal stuff when he specifically gave you the phone number for that. Besides, my backstage pass is the one he came back and jotted that number on.”
Holy shit! She’d forgotten all about that. Wren had been overwhelmed that day and it had slipped her mind. “Devra, you’re a fucking genius.”
“I know. So…better get those texting fingers ready.”
Wren fumbled her phone three times in her excitement. When she had it firmly in hand and unlocked, she opened a blank text. “Okay, go ahead.”
Devra recited the digits, then said, “Do your part. I’ll leave the rest of the Kason Cakes here in case you need them after your talk.”
“I’m going to apologize, not sext the man.” Wren rolled her eyes.
“I’m pretty sure he’d be glad to accept dirty pictures in lieu of an I’m sorry.” Devra stood. “I’ll be next door, studying, if you need anything.”
“You’re going to do great,” Wren reassured her friend. “You can remember phone numbers like it’s nothing, so that textbook crap is easy for you and these are the most amazing pastries I’ve ever had. I’m going to gain another ten pounds hanging out with you if I’m not careful.”
“Thanks.” Devra’s smile widened. “I appreciate you saying that. We’ve fought so long for me to go back to school, I don’t want to mess it up now that I have this opportunity.”
“Make your professors some of these Kason Cakes and you’ll pass with flying colors.” Wren dev
oured the last of hers enthusiastically, making Devra laugh as she headed out.
If only it was that easy to pump herself up. She stared at her phone and typed out three or four messages, deleting each one for being too pathetic, too nonchalant, or too serious.
So before she could change her mind, she simply wrote I’m sorry, then clicked send. Maybe he wouldn’t even bother to respond. He was famous, she didn’t mean anything to him, and they’d shared one brief—if fiery—kiss with a little bonus gropage. He’d probably already forgotten her. Might even have spent the night with one of the other fans who’d made it clear they were his for the taking last night.
Wren’s throat went dry at that thought.
It only got worse when he responded with Um…what for?
Until she realized he didn’t even know who he was talking to. Oh shit. This is Wren. And I’m sorry for bolting last night. I was really looking forward to…
What exactly?
Her finger hovered over her phone’s screen for a moment before typing …getting to know you better.
I’m still looking forward to that. He put a winky emoji after his statement, making her laugh. Both because he hadn’t written her off as a pain in the ass and because she knew he was intentionally trying to put her at ease. He wasn’t disturbed by the drama she’d brought to his party. How could she not think he was adorable and sweet and understanding and…extra sexy?
Wren took a long drink from her mug as she thought about what to say. She liked texting. It gave her time to consider her words and communicate more effectively than she sometimes did in person. Maybe she should have tried that with Johnny.
Then some of those difficult conversations that had been stuck inside her might have come to light. In the end, it probably wouldn’t have mattered, but now she would never know.
She wasn’t about to make that mistake again.
So even if it was hard, she was going to be honest about her feelings. I’m glad. I was scared I screwed things up last night.