by Piper Lawson
His presence shouldn't suck the air out of the kitchen, but once Ryan’s gone, all I see is the guy who lives in the pool house. Gray sweatpants cling to his hips, and the white T-shirt outlines every plane of his torso, leaving his arms deliciously bare.
I remember that chest bare last night, too close to ignore.
His body’s beautiful, but it’s the way he uses it that’s impossible to forget. The control in everything he does.
Tyler uses that body like he’s had it before, like it’s his favorite suit of armor and they’ve been through countless battles together.
His hair isn’t falling across his forehead like it was when I left his bed hours ago, but standing up as if he woke the moment I walked out the door and has been running his hands through it since.
Which is impossible.
I clear my throat. “Why did I wake up in bed with you?”
Tyler lifts his chin, assessing. “Why did I wake up in bed without you?”
The way he says it sends shivers up my spine.
“You passed out,” he goes on, setting the guitar against the wall before rising and crossing to the counter next to me. “I didn’t want you to wake up somewhere unfamiliar alone.”
I shift a few inches, giving him access to the coffee maker and cupboard overhead. “I would’ve figured it out.”
“But the seconds before that are the worst.”
I take a sip of my coffee, burning my tongue. “What do you mean?”
He reaches over me for a mug and to change the coffee pod. I don’t think he’s going to answer, but finally, he does.
“My dad used to padlock the door if he was drunk or in a mood. Never knew until I got home from the label or school or hanging out if it was one of those nights. The worst part wasn’t finding a place to crash. It was waking up and not knowing where I was.” He grimaces. “Especially somewhere cold.”
I set my coffee on the counter, my stunned gaze never leaving his face as I think of the T-shirt he must’ve pulled over me after I passed out, the blankets tucked in around me. “Tyler—“
“Annie! Your dad wants to talk to you.” Ryan’s voice comes from down the hall.
“Be right there!” I shout back, then lower my voice. “I didn’t mean what I said about you living in the pool house. It was cruel and insensitive, and I’m sorry. You said that thing about my garbage bag, and I lashed out.”
The machine finishes brewing, and Tyler reaches past me to toss the pod. His shoulder brushes my breasts in a way that sends awareness flowing through me. I tuck my hair behind my ear, swallowing as I sneak a look up at him, but he’s oblivious, and before I can respond, he continues.
“We all do shit when we’re hurting. It’s a good reason to keep from getting hurt in the first place.”
I go to the giant fridge for cream, setting it in front of him. He stares at it as if he’s surprised I know how he takes his coffee.
I turn away, going to the cupboard for cereal. “I said I hate you. I don’t. I envy you. You take what you want, and you don’t feel bad about demolishing whatever’s in the way. Like friendships.”
“If we’re not friends, tell me how we’ve talked more this week than in the past four months.”
I freeze in the middle of the kitchen, watching him add cream to his coffee. “Because lately whenever I get into trouble, there you are.”
He puts the cream back in the fridge without so much as an indication he’s heard me. I shake my head to clear it as I set the cereal on the counter. “Listen—don’t tell my dad about Kellan.”
“Or what?”
His words have me stiffening.
If my dad finds out I can’t handle myself, it’s more evidence I’m not as capable as I should be, as capable as Tyler.
Tyler might be the Prince of Oakwood, but he’s in my castle now.
I close the distance between us, stopping when my bare purple-painted toenails graze Tyler’s socks. I tilt my head up to take in every line of his handsome face, his chocolate eyes bright with challenge.
“If you tell Dad about Kellan,” I murmur, “I’ll tell him I woke up in your bed.”
My dad is protective. The day he finds out I’m not innocent, heads will roll.
Tyler’s jaw tics because he knows that too. He reaches up to brush a thumb along my cheek, tracing beneath the pale red scratch I saw in the mirror this morning.
“You’re not built for games,” he replies at last, his breath light on my face. “You’re too earnest.”
“You don’t know me anymore. You said it yourself. Dad would freak if you let me ride your bike. He’d lose his mind if he found out I was riding you.”
Tyler reaches for his coffee on the counter and takes a long sip while I wait impatiently.
“What?” I say sharply, and his mouth twitches.
“I think you’d lose your mind if you were riding me, too.”
His gaze traps mine, and heat floods my body, hardening my nipples, settling between my thighs.
My small victory gets smaller because I’m vibrating from his words.
Our friendship never came with barely veiled innuendos. No sexy, loaded provocation.
So, what the hell is this?
The rules of what’s between us are changing…
But I’m not the one who changed them.
“Annie!” Ryan hollers again.
I take a step back, still staring at Tyler. “Your T-shirt’s in the washing machine. I’ll leave it by the back door.”
All day Monday at school, people are talking behind my back. I’m dreading rehearsal that afternoon, but it’ll be a relief too, because I’ll find out what they’re saying.
Turns out I don’t have to wait long.
Jenna leans over in calc, when the teacher steps out, to whisper, “Are you okay? There’s a rumor going around that you begged Kellan to punch your V-card, he said no, then when he tried to leave, you crawled after him.”
I cut a look at Carly across the room. “That’s how it happened,” I deadpan. “I planned the whole party so some jock would stick his dick in me.”
Jenna goes back to her book. My gaze lands on Pen’s empty seat. I really wish she were here.
By the time I make it through lunch, then fourth and fifth periods, Carly and her minions have been spreading gossip all day, but it’s Kellan I’m dreading most.
I don’t want to look him in the eye.
I don’t want him to touch me.
Not because I’m afraid, but because he’s a reminder of how stupid I was to think I could win these people over.
Miss Norelli calls us to attention. “Since Mr. Albright doesn’t have lacrosse today, we can run the rowboat scene.”
The one where they nearly kiss. Perfect. I get to beg for Kellan’s attention on stage, too.
Miss Norelli looks around as I drop my bags on the corner of the stage. “Where is Kellan?”
There’s no Kellan in sight.
She checks her watch. “He must be running late. Annie, a word.”
I cross to her, and the rest of the crew goes about their preparations.
“It was kind of you to host the party this week, which makes it hard to say this.”
The hairs on my arms lift. “Say what?”
“I’ve been thinking long and hard, and I’m not ready to put you on stage in the leading role after your inconsistent performance this past week.“
Every muscle in me tightens at once in denial and panic.
No. Shit, no, she can’t take this away from me.
I want to say it’s hard to focus when someone’s threatening to poison you with your own water bottle or point out that Kellan misses more rehearsals than he makes.
But Kellan’s good when he’s here. I hate that it’s true.
“I know I haven’t been consistent recently,” I admit, “but I’ll fix this. I swear. Just give me two weeks.”
“We put a premium on words, but actions speak louder.” Norelli sighs, checking somet
hing on her phone. “I can give you ten days, but I’m making sure Carly is well-versed in the lead. If your consistency doesn’t improve, I’m making an executive decision and putting Carly in your place.”
I nod because I can’t find the words to speak.
Before I can, Kellan strides in the door. He makes his way up to the stage, and I drag my feet to meet my prince, who’s taking his sweet time shrugging out of his blazer. When he straightens, my gasp isn’t the only one in the room. His eye’s so swollen it’s almost shut, fresh and pink and angry.
“I trust you’ll be more careful leading up to opening night. We can’t have our prince looking like he was bludgeoned,” Norelli chides.
I swear this day can’t get worse until Kellan’s good eye narrows as he lowers his voice. “You can wave your ass in my face and then fuck someone else, but tell him he doesn’t need to run interference. You’re not worth it.”
I shake my head to clear it. “What…? That’s not from lacrosse,” I realize. “Someone hit you.”
Kellan grimaces. “Don’t pretend you don’t know.”
We put a premium on words, but actions speak louder.
I told Tyler not to tell my dad about Kellan.
It never occurred to me he’d take matters into his own hands.
The boy I’ve never seen lose his temper finally lost it.
I should be sickened or angry, and part of me is.
But there’s a surge of conviction underneath.
Kellan’s expensive cologne makes my stomach turn, but I step closer. “I know what you think happened, but I’m going to do you a favor and tell you the truth.
“I didn't pick Tyler Adams over you.”
Kellan opens his mouth to respond, and I cut him off.
“But I would.”
A gasp comes from the wings. I don’t look to see if it’s Carly or Jenna or the minions.
“He’s twice the man you are,” I press, “because he doesn’t let petty bullshit get in the way of what matters.
“Now, I know you’re no prince, but for the next hour, do us both a favor and pretend.”
5
You ever have a dream that's so real you can't tell it apart from the truth?
That’s the kind I’ve been having.
Dark, seductive shapes.
Whispered promises of things I told myself I never wanted.
I never used to dream, but lately I can’t stop, and every time I dream it’s the same.
Tonight in the headmaster’s office after school is no dream. It’s a nightmare.
“Mr. Jamieson, there’s been an incident.” The headmaster’s imperious tone has an apologetic edge, like he’d rather be getting a colonoscopy than delivering the news.
Most people don’t like pissing off Jax Jamieson. I get it.
“What kind of incident?” My mentor’s voice is whisky on the rocks. The guy could chew you out without losing that smoky depth.
I wish I could shove out of this too-low leather chair and stalk the hell out of this “look how rich we are” office. Instead, I force my gaze to the blotter in on the headmaster’s desk.
“Mr. Adams assaulted another member of the senior class. Mr. Albright is a member of the lacrosse team,” the headmaster drones as if that matters.
“What’d he do to you?” Jax demands.
I don’t answer, but my knuckles grip the arm of the chair.
Since moving to Dallas, I’ve gotten a read on everyone at school.
Kellan Albright? The blond douche talks a big game, and we moved in the same circles, went to the same parties the times I bothered to attend them, but he always seemed harmless.
Until this weekend.
“You tell him about Kellan, I’ll tell him I woke up in your bed.”
I rub my good hand over my jaw. They’re still waiting on an answer.
“Nothing.”
The headmaster sighs. “Mr. Jamieson, we accommodated your… charge for his final semester. It’s highly unorthodox to admit new students mid-year, particularly for seniors. We can’t let this kind of behavior slide. It’s for Mr. Adams’ benefit, but also for the other students and their parents.”
“Then suspend him if you need to.”
The headmaster’s brows rise. “Fine. Thursday’s a PA day, but you’re suspended from school for the rest of the week.”
That’s less than ideal. I’m not a stellar student, which means I’ll need some extra studying time so I don’t fall behind more than I have before exams.
I’m going to graduate high school if it kills me. Everyone else in my family did, and if they can, I sure as hell can.
The parking lot is almost empty at this hour, and Jax doesn’t say a word until he’s at his car and I’m at my bike.
“You’re not here to fuck around. You’re here to work.”
I hate that he’s the one to remind me. “I know.”
Most musicians would kill for the chance to work with Jax Jamieson. Every time he picks up his guitar, or lays down a phrase, or picks up the headphones to listen with a critic’s ear, I’m reminded.
Music’s my path forward. It’s how I’m gonna be independent, distance myself from my upbringing and my dad’s reach.
After eighteen years of shitty luck, when I’d practically tossed in my chips and given up for good, life dealt me a straight flush: the biggest rock songwriter and performer of the last two decades not only invited me into his studio—he invited me into his home.
Jax is more than a boss or a mentor. He’s the father I could’ve had.
Except I couldn’t have. He made sure of that.
I shake off the dark thoughts and flex my hand.
His gaze narrows. “You’re a musician. You know better than to fuck up your hands.” Jax prods at my palm, and pain spikes up my arm. “Now you’re home from school, and you can’t even play. Was it worth it?”
I remember the look on Kellan’s face when I slammed my knuckles into his entitled jaw.
“It was my best work all week.”
I shift over my bike and reach for my helmet, but Jax hasn’t moved.
“Tyler, I care about your future, but I don’t want this shit happening anywhere near my kid.” I could laugh at the irony. “If anything else happens under my roof, you’re out. We clear?”
I nod.
The world isn’t a just place. Some people, like Jax, try to make it fair. They’re only soothing their guilty consciences.
What about the ones who want to make the world better?
They’re deluded. Admirable, beautiful, and deluded.
I take the long way home so Jax’s Bentley is parked when I pull into the garage and cut my engine.
I walk around the house and through the gardens.
Rose petals cover the ground in one spot, and I stop, thinking of what put them there Saturday night.
I pick up a rose that’s broken off its bush and lying on the path. The petals are intact, the purple rich and royal and defiant in the twilight.
My hand squeezes into a fist, and I clench my jaw at the pain before setting the rose carefully on the flagstone wall bordering the garden and continuing on my way.
The hum from the pool drifts into my brain, and it takes me a second to notice the splashing as I emerge onto the open patio.
Through the pool’s electric-blue water, her body is just visible. Her hair billows behind her like a cloud, her dark-blue bathing suit has me remembering the red one that made her legs look miles long Saturday night.
I pull out my phone and type out a text to the soph I met at UT Dallas back in January.
* * *
Tyler: Come over tonight.
* * *
I move through the pool house in the dark, dropping my phone on the bed. In the bathroom, I strip off my clothes and step into the shower. The spray washes away a day of frustration and anger.
Kellan’s lucky. He might not think so icing his face tonight, but he has no idea what I’d have done if he’d
hurt her.
When I moved to Dallas, I hadn’t planned on being the rich kids’ fascination, but it made everything easier—catching up in school, blending in.
It’s easy to stay on top when people don’t know what you care about.
When they know how to hurt you…
You’re weak.
I can’t afford weakness. Not when I’m so close to making something of myself.
I want to get through graduation and leverage my work with Jax into session gigs in LA, New York. I’ll have enough to provide myself, enough to leave my shitty home life behind and be free.
“Spoken like someone who’s afraid.”
Annie’s wrong. I’m not afraid of fame, but I’m not dumb enough to think it’s for me. And even if it wants me… I don’t want it.
So, why does it bother you so much?
Because I don’t want to want it. I’m never going to make the same mistake my father did.
When people get a taste of that life, it fucks with their head, destroys them and everyone around them.
When the prospect of six figures turns to seven turns to eight… it stops being about the music and starts being about something ugly.
The spray goes cold, and I step out and towel off.
Despite my current surroundings, I don’t accept kindness easily. A favor is a debt in disguise.
The favor Jax did me by bringing me here isn’t a new debt.
It’s a payment on an old one.
I’m drying my hair when I jerk open the bathroom door and step out.
The hall light’s on. I realize it a second before the sharp intake of breath has me freezing.
Annie Jamieson’s in the doorway, her eyes round with shock. The dark bathing suit is painted on her slow curves. Her wet hair is the color of melted toffee, and she’s dripping on my floor. “Holy shit.”
Her attention isn’t on the puddle she’s leaving beneath her. It’s not even on my face.
It’s squarely between my legs.
I wrap the towel around my hips, taking longer than I should. “Hi.”
“Hi.” But her gaze lingers below my waist. “I needed a towel. The cabana’s… big.”
“It’s big,” I echo.