I smile and pull out my phone. I tap in a message and then raise an eyebrow at him. “If I hit Send, I’ll have to stay over. What do you say?” I can’t believe I’m actually standing here, propositioning Seth for a sleepover.
He frowns and takes another step away from me. The heavy weight of rejection settles over my chest. Shit! Had I totally misread the situation? Maybe he’s not that into me. More likely, he’s used to a few hours of pleasure and then a quick send-off. No muss, no fuss. Ugh. What had I been thinking? Of course he doesn’t want a random person inviting herself to stay over. Idiot.
I set my phone on the counter, disappointment eating away at the delicious ache he’d ignited in me. “I see,” I say. “Okay then.” Sidestepping, I move to grab my empty coffee cup and the whiskey. The Kahlúa isn’t going to cut it if I’m going to make it through the rest of the night.
The clatter of my boots against the tile fills the silence as I move, trying to get as far away from Seth as possible. I’m halfway to the coffeepot when Seth’s hand wraps around my wrist. I spin, ready to give him a piece of my mind, but he’s got my phone in the other hand, holding it up. My message to Jax is highlighted in green, marking it as sent.
“What…?” I don’t even know what I’m asking him. Why did he send the message? Does this mean he’s expecting me to sleep with him? Because after that awkward exchange, I’m no longer interested in falling into bed with him. The moment has passed.
My phone buzzes with a response from Jax. L, whaat teh hell? R U being stoopid?
I laugh at her drunk typing. Clearly her autocorrect is turned off. Before I can type in a message, another comes through.
Jusst ass weel. Tooo drunk to remmemeber anthying. C U timmorow.
I stare at the phone. She’s way too far gone to be coherent if I call. Now I don’t know what to do. If she manages to tell Derek I’m staying, he won’t be coming for me. She probably will. She’s chatty when she’s drunk. Chances are slim to none that I’ll have a ride to anywhere before morning.
“So that’s settled?” Seth, still holding my wrist, gently pulls me toward him until our lips are inches apart.
I lick mine and immediately regret it when he grips my hips possessively and yanks me the rest of the way to him.
“Whoa.” I put a hand against his chest and gently push him away.
His brow creases as he frowns. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say automatically. Liar. Everything’s wrong. Ten minutes ago, I was ready to give myself to this guy. And yet the expression on his face when I suggested sleeping over was one of pure panic. He didn’t want me to stay. That was obvious, but clearly his desire for easy sex had won out. Now I have to deal with the mess I just made.
He laughs and stuffs his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “If you say so.”
“I say so.” My voice is low, unsure.
Seth studies me. After a moment, he holds out his hand. “I’d like to show you something.”
I stare at his outstretched hand, then look up, finding desire still lurking in his eyes, but it’s shadowed by something calmer, something closer to curiosity. “Can I take my coffee with me?”
His lips twitch with humor. “It’s almost a requirement.”
“Good.” I sweep back to the coffeepot, refill both our mugs, and before I can ask, Seth has the Kahlúa in one hand and the whiskey in the other.
He shifts his gaze between the two. “Got a preference?”
My gaze lingers on the hand holding the Kahlúa, the hand that had been sneaking its way under my skirt, then moves to the whiskey. I could definitely use a shot, but if I’m going to be shut up in this house with Seth and all the sexual tension still sparking between us, I need to keep the hard stuff to a minimum. “Kahlúa, please.”
The whiskey slips to the counter with a soft thump. “Ready?”
“For what?”
He grins. “You’ll see.” His free hand lands lightly on the small of my back as he guides me through the kitchen and toward the adjoining room. We walk through the door into a poppy-colored room, rich in red accents. It’s a color explosion and totally unexpected. Bright yellow pillows line the red couch. Silk fuchsia scarves hang from rods over the picture window in a messy, casual style, and everything about the room screams vibrant and full of life. I could happily stay here for the rest of the night. But Seth continues, and we enter another door into a room lined with natural wood. A large, widescreen TV fills one wall. Directly across from it sits a black leather couch. If it weren’t for the kitchen and the living room, I’d swear the house was inhabited by a bachelor. Because this is a man cave if I’ve ever seen one.
“Have a seat,” Seth says and sets the Kahlúa on the table.
I tuck my feet under me, curling into the corner while Seth opens one of the doors on a large cherrywood entertainment cabinet. Blu-ray movies stacked tightly together fill all three rows. He turns and eyes the cabinet. “What are you in the mood for?”
You. But I don’t say that. Not two minutes ago, I decided nothing would happen between us. I push it aside. If I can just get through the next eight or so hours until Jax is sober enough to rescue me, I’ll be fine. The alcohol will have left my system, along with all the inappropriate thoughts I’m having right now. Like what it would feel like to have his weight pressing down on me as my hands explore the planes of his back muscles flexing under my fingertips.
“Lucy?” Seth asks. His eyes crinkle with worry. Or is that suspicion?
“Sorry. Um, anything really. Except slasher flicks. I’m not really in the right frame of mind for cheesy B-movie gore.”
His lips turn up in a half smile. “Do you normally watch slasher films?”
I shrug. “Sometimes. They’re funny when I’m in the mood.”
“Good to know.” He scans the movies for a few seconds. Then he pulls one from each shelf. “Pick one.”
I’m not all that caught up on current movies. While on tour with Cadan, we’d spent most of our spare time writing lyrics and rewatching long-running TV series. Stuff that didn’t take too much brainpower or require a lot of attention, so I don’t recognize any of the choices he offers. One of them stars my favorite actor, Wes Chadwick, so I just point to that one. “Once Again.”
Seth puts the other two down, glances at the back of the movie case, and frowns. “Really?”
I laugh. “Dude, you’re the one who gave me the choice. Suck it up and put the movie on.” At this point, I’d rather do anything other than stare at him. My body is growing warm again and it has nothing to do with the temperature in the room.
He glances down at me. “Have you seen this before?”
“No. I’m painfully out of date on current movies, but I like Wes Chadwick. He was absolute perfection in the remake of Casablanca. So I figure even if I don’t like the movie, at least the acting will be good.”
He stares blankly at me for a moment and then shakes his head as if to pull himself out of a trance. “Fair enough. Once Again it is.”
I eye him suspiciously. “Have you?”
“No. I pulled it out because it didn’t look familiar. Now I know why.”
“Romantic comedy?” There’s laughter in my voice.
He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Looks like I’m doomed by my own stupidity.”
“I’m sure you’ll live through it. If not, there’s always more alcohol.” What is it with men and romantic comedies? Do they think watching two fictional people work out their issues for an hour and a half means some sort of commitment?
The movie starts and Seth sits a few feet from me on the couch, his mug in one hand and the Kahlúa in the other.
“Do you think you might need the whiskey?” I say, teasing him.
“Probably. But I’ll stick with this for now.”
A soulful, gut-wrenching melody fills the room with the opening credits. The scene flashes to a graveside service. Yikes. I thought he’d said this was a romantic comed
y.
My phone vibrates on the side table where I’d dropped it. This should be good. Drunk Jax. She doesn’t drink often, but when she does, the entertainment is priceless. I know because since I’ve been away, every time she gets even a little tipsy she blows up my phone.
I’m about to hit Accept when I notice the caller. Cadan.
Chapter Six
Seth
Lucy stiffens as she stares at her phone. She seems paralyzed and worry lines crease her brow. It can’t be anything other than bad news with that look on her face.
I can’t help myself. I reach for the phone, intending to intercept whatever it is that’s waiting for her on the other end, but she grabs it at the last second and punches the Decline button, abruptly making the vibration stop.
“Sorry,” she says. “It was Cadan. I changed my number a month ago. He probably managed to steal Jax’s phone long enough to get it. No one else has it. Not even my mother.”
“Why not?” I can’t imagine a scenario in which I wouldn’t hand over my number to my own mother. Even in the horrific days after the accident, when I’d pushed everyone else away, I’d always taken Mom’s calls, if for no other reason than to keep her from worrying so much. She’d been hurting too, everyone had been, but I couldn’t stand to be the one to cause her more pain. The familiar ache throbs just below my breastbone and it takes me a moment to push past it. The therapist had said this would get easier. He’d lied.
Lucy lowers her gaze to the phone in her hand. “She’d just give it to Cadan the first time he called her.”
“Really?” I say incredulously. “Even if you ask her not to?”
“Yeah.” Her brilliant blue eyes are ablaze with anger when she looks up. “Mom is a firm believer in sticking with your fated one no matter what happens. Never mind if he’s a cheater and a thief. We’re soul mates. Therefore I should forgive anything, ’cause we’re meant to be.”
“Shit.” I run a hand through my hair and glance at the television, not sure what to say to that. Immense relief washes over me as I realize the funeral scene has ended. The movie has progressed to a year later, and the main character has stopped grieving. She’s out with her girlfriends for a Sunday brunch, drinking mimosas while her friends try to talk her into signing up for an Internet-dating site.
“Exactly,” Lucy says. She places her phone on the table and it immediately starts vibrating again. This time she doesn’t hesitate. With one quick glance, she declines the call and closes her eyes.
“Will he keep trying?” Because if he does, I’m going to have to go back to that bar and beat the shit out of her ex. Maybe break his dialing finger. That would be satisfying. Not only would he maybe get the message, but he’d also be unable to play that slick guitar of his for a few months.
“Probably.” She gets up and heads for the kitchen. “Does your sister have any food? I’m feeling a little nauseated.”
I’m surprised it’s taken this long, considering she’s had a variety of different kinds of booze. But she doesn’t really even appear to be tipsy anymore. Maybe it’s just her ex that’s upsetting her. That and the mom talk. I jump up. “I’m sure we can find something.”
Her phone buzzes again, but she doesn’t even look back. I glare at it and contemplate throwing it against the wall. But then Lucy would likely take out all that barely suppressed anger on me. And right now, I want to be the one who comforts her. Panic trickles into my brain. Careful, Seth. That sounds a lot like giving a shit.
“Coming?” Lucy asks from the other room.
“Yeah,” I choke out and follow her. Once in the kitchen, I pull open the fridge and scan the contents. “We’ve got leftover pizza, Chinese, an enchilada, or I can make pasta.” I open the cupboard and gesture to a row of ramen noodles.
“Pasta?” She shakes her head, her eyes full of mock pity. “Top Ramen is not pasta. That stuff has its place, especially when we’re talking hangovers, but don’t try to dress it up. It is what it is.”
Pleasure winds into that ache that never goes away. I freeze, staring at her with wonder, but thank God she’s too busy pulling plates out of one of the glass-front cabinets to notice. Not one person in the past two years has been able to even come close to affecting me this deeply. I’m both awed by her and undeniably resentful. That place was reserved for E. Not this wounded singer who would likely get back together with her ex given enough time. Most people, once they meet their soul mates, never find happiness with another. She’ll be no different. Someday that ass, Kinx, will come to his senses and she’ll forgive him.
“How long has your sister been away?” Lucy asks as she spies the chicken fried rice. “Or do her eating habits mirror those of a man who wouldn’t know a vegetable if it bit him in the ass?”
“My sister?” I ask before I can process what she’s said. Oh, right. “About a week or so. But I’ve been here off and on.” I grab the rice from her and point to a green onion. “There’s a vegetable.”
She leans over and eyes the onion. “How old is it?”
“A few days, I think.”
“You think? Are you willing to risk the certain vomit if it’s gone bad?”
“What are you talking about?” I make a show of sniffing the rice as I hold in laughter. I’d seen my parents have a version of this same conversation a dozen times before. “It’s fine.”
She purses her lips, then pulls out the other two containers of Chinese food. “All right, but if I lose it, you’re holding my hair back.”
Her dark glossy hair shimmers in the kitchen light, and I have to remind myself I don’t have the right to run my hands through it. No matter how much I want to right now.
“Deal?” she asks, turning around.
“Deal.” I lose the battle and brush a fallen lock of hair behind her ear. Her body jerks with a tiny shiver that elicits a response from deep inside me. The desire to lift her into my arms and carry her upstairs hits me hard in the gut.
Our eyes lock. I forget everything but the vulnerability shining back at me. Shit. What am I doing? This is not me. Not anymore. I don’t do relationships. And this? The undeniable protectiveness I seem to feel for this girl feels entirely too much like something more than a one-night stand. I drop my hand and take a step back. “Go on back to the den. I’ll heat this up and bring it in.”
She narrows her eyes at me and gives me a look that makes me think she sees right through me.
I shift under the uncomfortable scrutiny of her gaze.
Then she blinks and turns back to the fridge. She grabs a Diet Coke, the one Lillian, my sister, left among the regular ones. “See you in a few,” she says, heading back out of the kitchen.
Her hips sway and my eyes stay glued to her rising hemline. Christ. She’s intentionally trying to kill me. Damn that skirt.
Five minutes later with two steaming plates of Chinese food, I rejoin her in the den. She’s curled up on her end of the couch, fidgeting with her phone. It’s buzzing, but she makes no move to answer it.
I set the plates of food on the table and gently pull the phone from her fingers. “Are you expecting an important call?”
She shakes her head, sadness haunting her expression. Anger vibrates through me. Cadan Kinx. He’s the bastard who’s responsible for the look in her striking eyes. It takes every last bit of strength to not stalk over to the bar and pound my fist into his pansy-ass face. Fucking dick.
I power her phone down. “If you’re not going to answer, it’s probably better to just turn it off. No need to torture yourself.”
“But what about Jax? What if she needs us?” Her voice is small, as if she isn’t sure of anything in this moment.
I pull my phone from my back pocket and tap out a text to Jax, letting her know if she needs Lucy to call me. “Is this okay?”
Lucy takes the phone from my outstretched hand. “She’s going to think something’s going on.”
Neither of us says anything. There is something definitely going on, but would either of
us act on it? “She’s a big girl,” I say. “Besides, she’s either too drunk to care or she’s already home asleep.”
“True.” Lucy leans back into the couch and closes her eyes. “I can’t believe how tired I am all of a sudden.”
I hit Send and sink into the couch, closer to her this time.
Her eyes fly open, clearly surprised I’ve invaded some of her personal space. If she isn’t careful, I’m going to invade a whole lot more of it. Given half the chance, I’ll do my best to get her mind off that douche mate of hers. At least for a few hours, anyway.
“Eat.” I hand her a plate and take the other for myself.
She smiles, and though she isn’t exactly the sassy, confident singer she’d been earlier in the night, the tension has drained from her face. Her muscles relax as if she’s settling in for the night. She looks comfortable.
I try to ignore how content the scene makes me. It’s temporary. She’s only relaxing because she has a safe haven for the night. Tomorrow she’ll be gone, and so will all the alcohol-induced feelings. Except I’m painfully aware I’m not all that drunk. And neither is she.
She picks up the remote and restarts the movie. She must have stopped and reset it because it starts up roughly where it was when we first left the room. We eat in silence as we watch the protagonist go on date after date, chronicling all her disasters on a blog. She has quite the following before Wes Chadwick calls her to do an interview for a national news outlet about dating after you’ve lost your soul mate.
I cringe and glance at Lucy, desperate to turn this shit off. Everyone knows it’s next to impossible to find a love match after you’ve met your mate. This movie only serves to torture us into thinking there’s a second chance at love. Right. No one can compare to E and everything she was, everything that we were. I take Lucy’s discarded plate and my own. “I’ll be right back.”
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