by Gina Watson
“Okay. Rule number two…no one else.”
“No one else?”
“Yeah, I don’t wanna come home from work and find you in here with one of your fangirls. I don’t think my heart could take it.”
“Meg, I would never do that. It’s you, or it’s no one.”
“Well, not no one. I know you’ve been with other girls.”
“Not very often. And every time I am…it’s your face I see.”
She frowned and looked away from him. He thought he’d heard her sniffle, but she swallowed and coughed, playing it off. “And no guys either.”
She laughed dryly. “That’s funny.”
“Agree to it.”
She looked at him, exasperated. “Fine. Agreed.”
Silence invaded her bedroom. “Was there a third rule?”
“I’m thinking.” She stared up at the ceiling. “Ooh, I know…you make me dinner every night.”
“Do I have to make it or can I get takeout?”
“No takeout. It means more if you prepare it yourself. But don’t go leaving me a mess to clean. Ooh, you can clean too. Vacuum and dust.”
“Wow. Those are some steep conditions here at the Price Hotel.”
“It’s a bed and breakfast.”
“Am I responsible for breakfast too?”
“We can take turns with breakfast.”
“Well, that seems fair.”
“There’s one last thing.” She wrung her hands together, seemingly nervous or upset about this next part.
“What?”
“You have to go with me Thursday night to see Dad. It’s his birthday dinner at Ruth’s Chris.”
“Ah, with the dreaded stepmom I presume.”
“Yeah.”
“You know you could have just asked me and I would have done it.”
“I know you would have, but this is more fun.”
“I don’t wanna take away the fun. I think we should get dressed though because I’m hard and want you again. Your nakedness is painful for me.”
“Oh, sorry.” Her eyes were big like new shiny coins. She jumped up from her spot on the bed and bent to retrieve her clothes from the floor, killing him all over again in the process. Her feminine parts, slick with his cum, shot straight to his cock and he growled like an animal. She stood with her clothes in her arms and made intense eye contact with him. Realizing her error she swiftly padded from the room, gathering a pair of pants from a chair near the door. He had a shot of her retreating back and tight ass. Rolling over, he pushed his face into the pillow and groaned. These next two weeks were just going to kill him. He stood and dressed in his underwear and T-shirt. He didn’t relish the thought of wearing denim to bed so he dug through her closet, finding a pair of hot-pink sweatpants. They were snug, but he made them fit and they had the added benefit of telling the world, in silver sparkles, that his ass was JUICY.
“Oh, my God!” Meg erupted into a fit of giggles, pointing at his bottom selection. He bent slightly forward and wiggled his ass at her.
“What do ya think? I’m so juicy.”
Tears tracked down her cheeks, “Oh, God. Please let me get a picture.” Walking to her bedside table, she gathered her phone and took a shot as he wiggled some more. Once her giggles quieted she asked, “Where’s your stuff anyway?”
“In the back of Ashton’s truck.”
“He went to your show?”
“He did.”
“Cam…you didn’t tell me.”
“I’m telling you now.” She placed her phone back on the charger, and then walked to him and gathered his hands in hers.
“That must have made you so happy.”
“It did. But then you weren’t there and I was sad again.” He exaggerated a pout, eliciting her beautiful smile.
“I’m sorry. I won’t miss ever again. My plan sort of backfired anyway. I’ll just have to think of another way to ward off your charms.”
“I’d rather you not try to ward them off.”
They climbed in bed. True to her word, she spooned behind him and he enjoyed the feeling of having her arms and legs wrapped around him. Sated and happy, they fell into a deep sleep.
Chapter 3
As Cameron watched Cheyenne Cooper squeeze Megan’s knee he stabbed at the cucumber with his knife. “Fucking prick. Get your hands off her,” he yelled at the television.
He was preparing shrimp Alfredo, her favorite. He’d gone all out and purchased David Seafood shrimp. He’d even gone to the Italian restaurant they enjoyed and bought her favorite Neapolitan cookies.
Her Saturday show had started at noon and ran until three. Thankfully it was ten minutes until the credits would roll. “And tell the viewers what a day is like in the life of Cheyenne Cooper.”
“Well, I sure wish I could show you. He hitched his thumb at her but stared into the camera, “I’ve been inviting Meg to the ranch for months, but she won’t take the bait. I think it’d make for a really good show.”
“Ugh!” His slow southern drawl made Cameron nauseated. “Just get on with it,” he hollered.
“I think the viewers should tweet their desire to have you shoot live from the ranch. If you’d be in favor of seeing some live-action bull riding send a tweet to @MeganPrice with the hashtag CooperRanch, and let her know you’d tune in for that action.”
“Mr. Cooper, I think you’ve missed your calling. You’ve got a future in television.”
The slime patted her thigh. “Motherfucker!” Cameron threw the kitchen towel at the television.
“I’d have to be as pretty as you and I don’t think that’s possible.”
“I want to thank you for being on the show today. It was quite…interesting.” Megan was using her I’m-dying-inside-but-smiling-for-the-camera face. Mr. Cheyenne fucking Cooper didn’t pick up on anything however because Meg was über professional.
They stood and the closing music started playing. “Don’t forget next Saturday I’ll have a special guest on the show, Cameron David. He’s going to bring his guitar so you’ll definitely want to tune in for that. My sources tell me his voice is like fine wine. She smiled adoringly and his insides melted.
Next to her Cheyenne frowned. He placed his hand on her shoulder, pulling her to him. “Get on twitter now.” As the credits rolled, he spoke to her, but they’d cut out and now only the show’s theme song could be heard. Meg seemed nervous and if he wasn’t mistaken had tried to pull from Cheyenne’s hold twice. The song ended and on the blue screen Meg’s twitter handle, along with Cheyenne’s hashtag were displayed.
Cam pulled his phone from his pocket and composed a tweet.
@MeganPrice no one wants to see old guy break a hip bull riding at #CooperRanch.
Goddammit…Cam needed to hit that guy and hit him hard. He sniffed. “Shit!” Behind him smoke billowed from the oven. He opened it to find two burnt bricks that had been garlic toasts. Using the towel wrapped around his hand, he removed the baking sheet from the oven. The towel proved ineffective against the heat of the pan and it hit the cooktop with a crash. “Fuck!” Cameron shook his hand to relieve the heat. Loud beeping and squealing pierced his already throbbing head. Looking up, he saw the smoke detector. He reached up and pressed the only button on the unit, but the damn thing still squawked. He grabbed a chair from the small kitchen table and climbed up to inspect the unit. He forced the cover off and it flew across the kitchen, hitting the wall and busting into two pieces. He removed the battery and immediately the god-awful noise quieted.
He climbed down from the chair and opened windows at the back and front of the kitchen. In her bedroom, he grabbed the tabletop fan and carried it to the kitchen bar. Turning it on he adjusted the angle to allow for the most removal of smoke.
He opened the door to her apartment and used the kitchen towel to fan out as much of t
he smoke as possible.
Well, this sucked. He’d wanted to impress her, but he’d be doing the opposite. Maybe she’d find his questionable grasp of all things in the kitchen endearing. He sighed. Things with Meg would need to change. The thought of her being with another man cut right to his jugular, causing it to throb. He’d use these two weeks to convince her for the last time that they could make a relationship work between the two of them.
***
“Hey.” Meg stood in the doorway of her apartment.
“Welcome to La Bella Luna.”
Smelling the odor, Meg’s nose scrunched. “Smells more like the Smoking Pig.”
He nervously laughed. “I had a little mishap with the garlic bread.”
She gasped when she saw what he’d done. “Look at the table.” She walked over to the small kitchen table and took the checked tablecloth between her fingers. Her hand moved to the classic Chianti bottle, complete with wicker basket. “Just like my twenty-first birthday.”
He walked to the kitchen while she still admired his work at the table. “And I made shrimp Alfredo.” He carried two wine glasses to the table.
“Mmm, I’m starved.”
“May I pour you some wine?”
“Please.” She took off her jacket, exposing her arms in the sleeveless silk top she wore. He took in her red skirt and the way it rode up her thigh as she delicately sat. He swallowed thickly and reached for the wine. She smiled, enjoying the effect she had on him.
Pouring the wine, he said, “I caught your show.”
“Oh yeah?” She pulled the white linen napkin from the table and artfully placed it across her lap. “I hate that bull rider. He’s always touching me. Today makes four times I’ve interviewed him. I wouldn’t have called him today, but I had Mr. Metz on the books and he’s in the hospital.”
“Mr. Metz—my high school baseball coach?”
“Yes. He had a stroke.”
In the kitchen, he deposited pasta in deep bowls. “That’s terrible. He used to drive me home after games and practice.”
“I went to see him. He’s doing okay. I think they caught it early enough. I couldn’t understand exactly what his wife was telling me, but they gave him some medication that repaired the damage in his brain.” She gestured at her head.
From the fridge, he grabbed salads he’d made and her favorite dressing. He set everything out on the table and took his seat. She grabbed the bottle, “You picked up my favorite dressing.”
“I did.” He smiled proudly. “Wow, this is…amazing. You’re amazing.”
“You haven’t tasted it yet.”
She gathered her fork and twirled the pasta around the tongs, poking a shrimp. Her mouth erupted with the rich flavor of the sauce and the fresh ocean taste of the shrimp. Moaning in delight, she chewed with vigor, slightly biting the inside of her lip in her haste. She set her fork down and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “It’s wonderful. I can see it was a stroke of my genius to enact the ground rules. I’ll benefit myself right out of my clothes.”
Across the table, he simmered at her, his green eyes almost molten. “You know Meg, I can be here for a couple of weeks quite a bit. Now I blow through town once every few months, but there are enough venues that I could make that trip once a month. I could stay for a few days. We’d be great together as a real couple. We’ve been lying to each other and everyone else since we were kids. We belong together…you and me.”
“I know we do, Cam.”
“I sense a but coming.”
“No buts. Everything you said is right.”
“Then why are we not an exclusive couple?”
“I don’t know. I guess we’ve never gotten this far into the discussion before. You’ve never offered to come home that often.”
“No, I guess I haven’t, but I’m in demand here at home. Enough to pass through once per month. I could stay a week.” He reached across the table and grasped her hand.
His touch electrified her skin. “Do you know how badly I want to say yes?”
“Then say it.”
“Can you honestly handle only seeing one another for one week per month?”
“It’s a start. We may find we’re able to find more time together.”
“What future would we be building?”
“I don’t have an answer for that question.”
“I won’t abandon my work.”
“I know.”
“And you won’t abandon your music.”
“I know.”
“So why should we start something that has no foreseeable future? You have no idea how hard it is for me to say goodbye to you every time you leave my bed. If we were to drop our walls and go at one another full throttle and then it didn’t work out, I’d be devastated. Literally—they’d have to scrape me up from a puddle on the floor. I wouldn’t survive a breakup with you.”
He winced. His mouth opened slightly, but he didn’t speak. Instead, he looked at their joined hands. His thumb caressed her palm. He whispered something, but she couldn’t make out his message.
“What did you say?”
His sad green eyes met hers. “I said you’ve got us failing before we even take the chance.”
When he spoke those words, she realized she’d hurt him. “I’m sorry, Cam. I’m just trying to be realistic. It’s hard because I want to jump into a relationship with you. I burn for that closeness, but once we go public it’s real, and then it becomes frightening.”
“What if we try it without going public?”
She smiled at him, shaking her head. “You’re so good at talking me into bed with you. Somehow we always end up back there, tangled in the sheets.”
“That’s not what this is about. If you want me to prove it to you, I will. Say that we are going to be an exclusive couple and we’ll refrain from sex until I come back.”
“Okay, Cam.” She sipped her wine. “I want to soak up every drop of you before you have to go. And you promise you’ll be back next month for a week—that’s seven whole days.”
“I promise.”
“Okay…we are an exclusive couple.” She loved Cam. More than she’d ever loved anyone. She would have also added, more than she’d ever loved anything, but she was sad that their careers seemed to take top priority.
“You don’t sound entirely thrilled about it.”
The thing of it was…if she thought he’d give up his career for her, she’d give up hers for him. However, she knew that wasn’t the case. He’d never give all that up for her, and so she wouldn’t either. It wouldn’t do for her to wait on a tour bus while he played gigs all across the South and came to her in the wee hours—wrung out from the high of performing. She refused to be a doll on a shelf to be utilized only when the time was convenient.
She stood and walked herself over to his waiting lap. She clasped her hands around his neck. “I’m rock god Cameron David’s girl. How could I not be thrilled?” He bent his head down to hers and took her lips in his. Their food grew cold in favor of making out. He was a gentleman. His hands caressed her arms and shoulders and her skirt clad thigh, but roamed nowhere else.
Massaging the cloth of her skirt he said, “Did I tell you how beautiful you look?”
“Maybe, but I’ll let you tell me again.”
“By the way”—he said between kisses—“Never put me anywhere near Cheyenne Cooper. I’ll kill him, slowly.”
“He’s a creep.”
“There’s no way in hell you’ll be going to his fucking ranch.”
She smiled against his lips. “No way.”
“I’ve actually got a gig tonight.”
“Do you? Where?”
“Duke’s.”
“Ah, is that going to be a new one for the circuit?”
“I think so. They sold out in an hour.”
/> “How many people?”
“Two-fifty.”
“Not bad, rocker.” She kissed his cheek.
“You’ll come.”
It was said as a statement, not a question. “Of course I’ll come. I’ve gotta keep the vultures at bay.”
“There are no vultures.”
She laughed. He was precious. “I’ve been to countless concerts, Cam. I know what goes on. The Ole Miss girls are the worst.”
“They are.”
“They never miss a show.”
“I know. It’s disturbing.”
“It’s a direct product of your rock god status. Stalkers are next.”
He grimaced.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He smiled, attempting to shake off his former dire demeanor.
“Tell me why you went pale when I mentioned stalkers?”
“I sort of have one of those. It’s kind of gross. She sends me weird shit.”
“Like what.”
“It’s gross.”
“Tell me.” She placed her fingers beneath his chin and forced him to look into her worried eyes.
“The first time she sent me a pair of her panties…they weren’t freshly laundered.”
“Ew.”
“I told you.”
“The first time? How many things has she sent?”
“She’s also sent some shells.” He swallowed, the action making a thud sound in his throat.
“Like seashells?”
“No, artillery shells.”
Megan tensed on his lap. “Bullets?” she whispered, her mouth drying as if full of cotton.
“Yeah.”
“Did you report it?”
“I did, but there’s almost nothing that can be done. I was told to get a bodyguard.”
“But you didn’t get one. Did you?”
“No, Meg. I don’t need a bodyguard.”
“But you do. You absolutely do.”
He moved to disentangle her from his lap. “Let me reheat our food.”
He grabbed their pasta bowls and she sat in her chair and considered his admission. “Is that all she’s sent?”
“A few letters. I submitted those as well. She’d signed them in something red and crusty. I thought it was blood but was told it was tempera paint.” He shuddered. “Freaked me out.”