He lets out a low, rumbling laugh that vibrates through me, making me want to kiss him again. “Something like that.” I become achingly aware of his height, his bulk, the sheer maleness of him. My eyes drop to his lips. The strength of my want for him almost knocks me sideways.
He leans down and brushes his lips against mine. It’s slow, gentle, tantalizing. I wrap my hands around his neck and pull him into me, kissing him back. Completely swept up in him, I forget where we are, standing in the middle of Times Square, people buzzing around us, traffic, horns blaring, commotion.
“You know you’re pretty darn good at that,” he tells me when he breaks our contact.
“Thanks. I’ve been working on my technique.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Really? Who with?”
“Some guy from Tennessee.”
“Oh, him.” His easy smile returns, slow and sexy.
I reach up and kiss him again. “I wish we could do more of this.”
“Why don’t we then?”
I let out a sigh. “Because I’ve got to get some dresses from the cleaners, and I need to get this shoe back before Sylvia notices I forgot to pick it up yesterday.”
“That shoe.”
“Yup, that shoe.”
“You know something?” He pulls me in for another kiss. “I’ve got so much going on in my life right now, but you? You, Gabriella Davis, are the perfect distraction.”
The perfect distraction? I try not to let his words sting, but they do. I remind myself I’ve already decided Cole can only be a short-term thing, that I’m in this for fun. But hearing it from him, hearing him say the words? Well, it doesn’t exactly make me want to do cartwheels in the street.
I paste on a smile. “I’m happy to be your distraction.” I plant a kiss on his cheek before I turn to leave.
As I walk away from him through crowded Times Square, I hear him call out, “Hey, Kermit!”
I turn back to face him. “What?”
“Feel like distracting me some more when you get off work later?”
“Sure. I’ll text you.”
His smile lights up his whole face. “I’ll be ready.”
My misguided heart flips over. I tell it not to get attached, not to want something from him he can’t—or won’t—give. This is for fun, just a fling.
Despite knowing this can only end in heartache, I want so much more from him.
Chapter 12
Cole
I watch Gabby walk away, her cute butt encased in those jeans of hers, her long, dark ponytail swinging. People fill in the space that she leaves in her wake, and I lose her before long. The image of her sticks firmly in my mind.
What was I thinking, calling her a “distraction?” And right after another incredible kiss, the type that leaves my body aching, wanting so much more from her.
I don’t need a magnifying glass to see I’ve upset her. I wring my hands. Yeah, I know I came here to meet my father, to get to know him, to try to deal with the bombshell of his existence. But calling her a “distraction?” Not cool, not cool at all.
If I’m honest with myself, I knew what I was doing. I was in self-protection mode. Labelling Gabby was my way of keeping her where I need her to be. No strings, no complication, no commitment. I know I can’t afford to get tangled up with her right now.
And yet there’s something about her that draws me in, that makes me want to know her, to get under her skin and see who she is inside.
Sure, she makes me smile, and when I’m near her, my belly warms with a potent mixture of excitement, hopefulness, and lust. Definitely lust. And who would blame me? She’s beautiful and sexy. One look from her and I’m left hungry and wanting more.
Yeah, I’ve got it bad.
A group of tourists stops beside me. Their excited chatter, in a language I don’t recognize, adds to the incessant buzz. They’re dressed in matching shirts with cameras slung around their necks. They start snapping pictures, oohing and ahhing at the brightly-lit billboards, and the sight and sound of the buskers’ songs.
It’s my cue to leave.
I plow down the street, dodging a seemingly endless stream of people. As exhilarating as it was to see Times Square, part of me wants to be home, home where I know what’s what, I know how the world works. Home, where I’m in control.
But that home doesn’t exist anymore. Not since I found out about my father.
My phone vibrates in my back pocket. While I’m not the kind to believe in things like cosmic coincidences or that crap, the name on the screen is “Rex.” I could not get a timelier reminder: Rex is why I’m here, Rex has got to be my focus.
“Good morning,” I say into my phone.
“Cole! How are you today?”
“I’m great, thanks.”
“Where are you today? Sounds loud.”
A couple of people in Cookie Monster costumes breeze by me, followed by Ironman and Batman. “I’m in Times Square right now. It couldn’t be anywhere else.”
“Taking in the city sights, huh?”
I push the memory of my kiss with Gabby here only minutes ago from my mind. “Yeah, that’s right. What’s up?”
“I need to apologize for having to cancel this morning. Life is crazy right now, but I want you to know you’re important to me. So, I was hoping we could get together. I have some time this morning if that suits?”
“Yeah, that works for me. What did you have in mind?” I fail to keep the eagerness from my voice.
“I’m heading out for a run in the park soon. Want to come with? We can grab a drink afterwards or something. Talk.”
“You know what? I’m a five-miles-a-day guy, more when I’ve got the time. I haven’t exercised at all since I arrived, and I could really do with blasting the cobwebs out.”
“Sounds like you’ll be able to put me through my paces.”
“One problem: I didn’t bring my running clothes. I left in a bit of a hurry.” I’d been so focused on getting to New York all I’d managed to pack was a toothbrush, a handful of shirts, and some boxers.
“Well, I guess that makes me your fairy godmother,” Rex says with a laugh. “I’ll get Nashville to bring you some stuff over.”
I smile as I think of Nashville dressed as a fairy. A great look on him.
“I’m figuring you’re the same size as your old man in the shirt and short department. What’s your shoe size?”
I smile at his use of the term “old man.” I like the way it sounds. “You don’t have to do that for me.”
“I know I don’t. I want to.”
Having my father offer to give me things feels good. I tell him my size and we arrange to meet in an hour. I make my way back to the hotel where Rex assures me Nashville will be waiting with a choice of running clothes on my arrival. Considering I’m pretty sure Nashville would prefer it if I didn’t exist, I can’t help feeling amused by the fact he’s got to run this errand for me, my fairy godmother with a man bun.
As I step out of the cab back at my hotel, I do my usual head bob at the doorman and make my way through the large revolving doors. In the lobby, I scan for Nashville. I spy Subtle Courtney behind the reception desk. She’s serving a customer but still manages to wave.
Nashville slinks up to me. “Looking for these?” He holds a bunch of brand name bags up.
“Yeah, thanks, Nashville.” I take the bags in my hands. “How did you get all this so quickly?”
“Rex gets sent this stuff all the time. I have some running shoes for you.” He passes me another three bags. “There are a few choices there.”
“Thank you so much. This is great.”
“You should thank Rex. He’s the one who supplied all this.”
“Sure thing.” I shoot him a sideways glance as a thought occurs to me: does he think I’m going to take his place with Rex?
“I’ll work out what I need to borrow for today and will bring the rest back down.”
“No, dude. They’re a gift. All of them. I’ll b
e out front in ten minutes. Is that enough time for you to get ready?”
“I should have my hair and makeup done by then, yeah.”
“Riiiight.” He shoots me a look that tells me we don’t share the same sense of humor.
In my room, I drop the bags on the bed and pull some of the clothes out. They’re all brand new, their tags still attached. I select a pair of navy shorts and a gray top with a bright yellow tick across the chest and pull them on. Perfect fit—Rex was right about us being the same size.
I pull the shoes out of the boxes and recognize a pair I’d seen in the window of a sports store back home. I’d liked the look of them but not the price tag. Getting them for free seems wrong, somehow. But right now, they represent time with my father, so I’m not arguing. I put them on, tie them up, and notice they fit like a glove.
I smooth down the shirt in front of the full-length mirror. Seeing myself in clothes Rex has given me makes me wonder how my life may have been with him in it. Not only knowing who he was, but having him in my life, a role model for me, showing me how to be a man. Filling that void I’d sung about last night. In his stead, with a single mom, I looked for other role models, finding my grandpop, who taught me so much; my guitar teacher, Luke, who introduced me to the healing power of music. No dad. My chest aches with the loss of Rex for the child I was, and for the man I’ve become.
Out front of the hotel, I find Nashville waiting in a slick, black German car. I slip in the back seat next to him, saying hello to the driver.
“We’re meeting Rex in Central Park,” Nashville says.
“Sure.”
We sit in uncomfortable silence for a couple of blocks before I decide to make conversation. “How do you know him?”
“Rex? Oh, we go way back. Before you were born, actually.”
“High school?”
“Yup. Hamilton High. We were in the same year. Played in a rock band together, actually.”
“You’re from Tennessee? You don’t sound like it.”
“I ironed my twang out a long time ago, like Rex. You could do the same, you know.”
I don’t feel the need to iron out anything. “I’m good.”
“Your choice.”
“Yeah, it is.”
After what’s got to be seen as an awkward power struggle, we return to uncomfortable silence. I have so many questions about my father, his past, who he is, it seems a wasted opportunity not to try to learn what I can.
“You said you were in a band in high school. Did you help form Wrong Side of the Tracks with Rex?”
“I did.” He looks out the window.
There’s clearly a story there, one Nashville doesn’t care to share. I let it slide.
The driver pulls up at a different park entrance from the one Gabby brought me to yesterday. Once out of the car, Nashville and I walk into the park. There aren’t as many people in this part, and I spot Rex doing some stretches against a park bench. He’s with a totally buff looking guy in a white sleeveless shirt that shows off his impressive arms.
Rex greets me with a quick hug and a slap on the back. “It’s good to see you, Cole. I see the clothes fit.”
“Thanks for these,” I pause before adding, “Rex.”
Calling him “Dad” still feels wrong since I’ve spent only ten minutes of my life with him, even if that’s who he is genetically. I’m beginning to realize there’s a lot more to being worthy of the name “dad” than just fathering a child you’ve had nothing to do with for a quarter century.
“This is Jayden. He’s my personal trainer.” Rex acknowledges the guy next to him. “He puts me through my paces. Right, man?”
“That’s my job.” He nods at me. “You must be Cole.”
“I am. It’s good to meet you, sir.” I extend my hand and we shake.
“Let’s get started then,” Jayden says.
After a few stretches, Rex collects a New York Knicks cap from the bench and positions it on his head. “Got to at least try to fly under the radar.”
Even I know doing a workout when you’re famous can turn into a photo op.
Rex, Jayden, and I leave Nashville waiting by the park bench. Dressed as he is in his black shirt and pants, he looks about as out of place in this situation as I felt yesterday. Well, until Gabby made me feel at home.
We run at a comfortable pace, making our way deeper into the park along one of the paths. Just like yesterday, my lungs fill with fresh air, and I feel a pang of homesickness, reminded of the wide, open spaces of Tennessee.
We don’t talk as we run, other than responding to Jayden’s occasional instructions or encouragement. Eventually, we slow to a stop under a tree by a lake where people are rowing boats, enjoying the warm June sun.
“Okay, give me ten,” Jayden says, and I follow Rex as he immediately drops to the ground and begins to do push-ups. I push out ten fast ones to keep up.
Back on our feet, Jayden gets us to perform a bunch of exercises, from squats to burpees to sit-ups. Rex’s athleticism is impressive, and by the end of it, I’m feeling the workout in my muscles.
“Okay, gentlemen, let’s stretch it out now.”
Back on the grass, I follow Jayden’s routine, the stretches feeling good. “You’re in pretty good shape,” I tell Rex.
“I do what I can. With this tour kicking off at The Garden next week, I need to try to stay on top of my fitness. Despite what I might tell myself, I’m not twenty anymore. And tour schedules can be grueling.”
“I bet.” I stretch the tips of my fingers to my toes, feeling the burn along my hamstrings. “Where do you go after New York?”
“We’ve got two concerts at the Garden, Saturday and Sunday, then we head to Boston a couple of days later. It’s a country-wide tour, so it’s going to be huge. It’s been years since I toured.”
“Why did you stop touring and recording? Your career was on a high, right?” Though I think I know the answer from what I’ve read about him, I ask it anyway. Better to hear the real story from the horse’s mouth than believe some reporter.
“Are you telling me you’re the one person in America who hasn’t read the stories about me?”
I let out a light laugh. “I’ve read them. But I don’t know the truth in them.”
He pushes himself up off the ground and wipes the grass from his shorts. “Want to go grab some water or a cup of coffee? We can talk.”
I stand. “Yeah, that would be great.”
Jayden walks with us across the lawn and down the path, through the trees to the other side of the park, the side I haven’t been to. It looks different, with mom-and-pop cafés, and more regular looking stores. It’s still fancy as hell and a far cry from where I spend my days.
Jayden comes to a stop. “See you tomorrow for more of the same, Rex.”
Rex shakes his hand. “Thanks, man. That was a good one.”
“Great to meet you. Nice form,” Jayden says to me.
“Nice form” is a major compliment from a guy who’s built like The Rock. “Thanks for the workout.”
As we continue walking, Rex says, “I know a great little coffee shop at the end of this block. My guess is you’re a straight up coffee kind of guy, no twists, no extra froth, none of that crap. Am I right?”
I laugh. “Am I that easy to read?”
He comes to a stop outside a busy café. “This place good for you?”
I glance at the large window with black trim, the sign above the door reading Neon Coffee. “I’m easy. I’m good with whatever.”
“If only my wife were more like you, I’d be a much happier man,” Rex replies with a chuckle and a slap on my back.
We enter the café and I offer to buy us coffee.
“Thanks. I’ll have what you’re having. I’ll grab us some water.”
I wait in line at the counter as Rex goes to find us a spot to sit. A few minutes later, we sit together by a big window with our steaming coffees on the small table between us. Rex surprises me by removing
his cap and messing up his hair with his fingers.
“I thought you wanted to fly under the radar,” I say.
He looks around at the people near us. “I think we’re good. Now, how’s the coffee?”
I take a sip and burn my lip. I place the mug back on the table. “Hot.”
“There’s nothing worse than lukewarm coffee, right?”
I can think of a few things worse, like your mom lying to you all your life. Instead, I agree with him and then gently change the subject. “Can you tell me why you gave up your career?”
“Sure. It was about ten years ago. I was more successful than I’d ever dreamed, touring the biggest cities in the world, playing stadiums, my singles at the top of the charts. But it felt hollow, you know?” He puts his hand to his chest. “Like I was going through the motions, but not really living it, not really feeling it anymore.”
I don’t know what to say, so I simply nod.
“It struck me that it was all meaningless, the whole fame thing. People acted like they loved me, but they didn’t know me, they only had an idea of who I was. I knew I could never live up to people’s expectations. I’m ashamed to say I made a few poor choices, and being who I was, my behavior went unchecked.”
“What did you do?”
“Drink, drugs, sex. The full fucking cliché. You know how the story goes. I’d dabbled in drink and pills for a while, mainly to deal with what I later learned was my depression, but it started to become more than a habit. I started to need it.”
“So, you went to rehab?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. I went on benders, lots of ’em. Ended up losing a shitload of money, my wife left me—basically, I screwed up my life. I had sex with anything that moved—well anything female under the age of twenty-five and legal—I did whatever drugs were offered to me, and then went back for more.” He takes a sip of his coffee and places the cup back on the table. “Then I went to rehab.”
My belly twists with the thought of him suffering. “Sounds terrible. I’m sorry you went through that.”
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