by RC Boldt
He finds this hilarious because he tosses his head back with a hearty laugh.
I simply stare at him, waiting for the damn loon to get control over himself. Once he finally does, he shakes his head, starts to say, “No—” but then gets cut short when Simone opens her bedroom door.
“Sorry, I was just FaceTiming with Zoe.” She rushes out, face down as she focuses on smoothing the fabric of her dress. Her hair drifts forward in a curtain, hiding much of her features.
Matthias’s eyes light up like a damn kid on Christmas morning when he sees her. Immediately, he starts in with a breathy imitation of Marilyn Monroe’s “Happy Birthday,” sauntering over like the iconic star with his hands on his hips as he sings.
Christ’s sake.
When I shift to gauge her reaction, I’m rendered speechless and robbed entirely of breath.
Ho-ly shit.
Amusement sparkles in eyes a more vibrant shade of green enhanced by her eye makeup and the strapless green dress that falls to just above her knees. Her legs seem impossibly long, her feet in some strappy black sandals with no heel. Hair is tousled and hanging loose, her lips are painted glossy red. An image bombards me, those endless legs wrapped around me while my body pins her against the wall, her dress hiked up to her waist, and…fuck.
Then I realize I’m staring, practically salivating over her like I’m some goddamn creep who’s never seen an attractive woman before in his life. I whip my head back to where it’s safe—to glare at Matthias—only to find him watching me. With a smirk, he arches an eyebrow at me as if to silently say, Yep, I caught all that, Windham.
I scramble to recover, clear my throat, and force myself to offer a polite, “Happy birthday, Miss King.”
Of course, Matthias has to pipe up. The smartass sounds scandalized as if he’s just discovered his Rolex watch is a knockoff or some shit. “What?! You didn’t get her a birthday gift?”
I bristle beneath his scrutinizing look. “Not really familiar with the gift registries for pop princesses these days.”
His eyes go wide before he cups his hand to the side of his mouth and says in a loud whisper to Simone, “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Did Mr. Burly Bodyguard himself just make a joke?”
She snickers, and something about the sound has the edge of my mouth ticking up. Her friend is much too observant because he catches sight of it and grins at me. I immediately flatten my lips and narrow my eyes on him. Not like it has any effect, because his smile grows so wide, he looks like he’s auditioning for a damn toothpaste commercial.
Focusing on Simone, I strive for composure. “You’re headed out for the night?”
“It’s tradition,” she answers.
“Yep.” Matthias pops the “p.” “Pays to make friends while still a peon, playing dive bars and such.” He tosses Simone a wink. “Although I’m still a peon compared to our diva here.” She scoffs, rolling her eyes.
Matthias continues. “I got one of the owners of a small club where I used to play to let me rent the place for us to”—he hip-checks Simone playfully—“get our groove on.” She just shoves at him with a laugh. Suddenly, he takes an abrupt step back from her, finally taking in the full effect of her in the dress.
“Damn, Sim.” He shakes his head slowly. “You trying to keep your reign as People’s Most Beautiful Person of the Year?”
Her eyes flick to me so briefly that I wonder if it actually happened. But then a hint of a blush rises on her cheeks as she gazes at her best friend. “Stop it.”
Matthias pulls an envelope from his back pocket and hands it to her.
“You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“I know.” He lets out a long, dramatic sigh. “It’s tough to shop for the pop diva who has everything. But somehow, I managed.”
A mixture of curiosity and excitement highlight her features as she opens the envelope and slides out a gift card.
Her brow furrows before she tips her head back, peals of laughter spilling from her lips.
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful in my life.
20
Simone
It’s been over two weeks since that…moment with Kane and me. Er, Mr. Windham.
Well, it’s been precisely seventeen days, but who’s counting?
Ever since that night, when we came back from running, he’s been his usual polite, professional self. Never overstepping. Never interrupting interviews if a question veers into the intrusive category. No longing glances my way. It’s almost like it never happened.
Except it did. And every time I look at him, I think about how his mouth felt on mine, how his kiss was so different from any other I’ve ever experienced. It had been filled with such raw passion. The way he’d gripped my ponytail as if desperate to guide our mouths together. How he’d felt—thick, heavy, and prodding—against me. How he’d toyed with my nipple, making me crave more of his touch.
I’d scrambled to cover it up and try to make it less awkward for us both. Because after what he’d confessed to me earlier on our walk back, I knew it couldn’t be more than a connection and the two of us being starved for affection.
So, I pushed him away by classifying it as a weak moment for both of us. Because if I was to willingly to put myself at risk for a world of heartache yet again, I’m not entirely certain my heart would survive. The damn organ is like a car battery on its last leg. It might crank, but it barely has enough power to start the engine and keep it running.
I can’t deny that I put a smidge more effort into getting dolled up tonight. Sure, it’s my birthday, but a part of me wanted to see Kane’s reaction. It might be stupid since he’s seen me with three tons of makeup and in sequined outfits for my shows, but this is different. It’s me dressing up like I would to go out on a date or a girls’ night—if I had girlfriends I could actually trust like a normal person, that is.
Hell, just admitting to my lack of real friends is depressing. Inwardly, I shake off the maudlin thoughts. No time for that on my birthday.
“Might wanna change, Windham,” Matty tells Kane, his tone ever so helpful. “Maybe a blue shirt and black slacks. Tie’s optional—wait.” He turns to me. “What do you think? Would Windham look better with a tie or no tie?”
My mouth parts to say, “He’d look great either way,” but I catch myself in the nick of time.
Praise the gods.
Of course, my best friend knows me like the back of his hand, so nothing slips past him. Dammit.
Matty turns to Kane with a bright expression. “Either way, you’ll be passable.” He glances at the Rolex I bought him two Christmases ago. “We’re due to leave in about twenty minutes. Think you can be ready by then?” Gesturing to Kane’s loose-fitting athletic pants and sleeveless shirt with a look of pure innocence, he adds, “Not sure how long it takes to beautify or if you need to manscape.”
Kane looks like he’s grinding his teeth. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”
Matty’s smile is blinding. “Great.” He turns to me. “Now, my lovely diva, let’s plan all the dirty dancing we’re gonna do tonight.”
The sound of Kane’s bedroom door closing with a bit more effort than necessary makes my friend grin from ear to ear.
It’s our tradition that Matty rents a small club out for my birthday, and we hook up our iPhones (usually mine since he claims I have a better variety of music) and cue the playlist to blast through the sound system. We dance like dorks while the fancy lights do their own dancing. It’s one of the few times, aside from being cooped up inside a hotel or at our homes, when we truly let loose. With no one to snap a photo of us, it’s relaxed and comfortable.
At first, I struggle to be as carefree as I normally am for this occasion, but my best friend calls me out on it right away.
“Woman, you could sprout a massive zit in the middle of your forehead and have spinach stuck in your teeth, and that man would still be entranced by you.”
I shush him even though I doubt Kane can hear us wh
ile we’re out here in the center of the dance floor. With a quick glance over my shoulder, I can barely focus on where he sits at the unmanned bar, his barstool at the far end near the back wall, partially hidden in the shadows. He’s moved the stool so his back is to the wall and he has a full view of the bar and dance floor.
I shouldn’t feel this way. Regardless of what happened between us, it was an isolated incident. Not only that, but he’s still nursing his wounds from another woman.
Reminding myself of that fact helps me to push past whatever obsession I’m suffering for him. Matty and I sing along and dance for the next few hours, employing every single ridiculous dance move we’ve ever seen done, changing the songs on my playlist when he cups his hands around his mouth and boos if it’s a slow song or deems it “lame.”
From time to time, Matty playfully grinds his ass against me, but I shove him away as both of us nearly double over in laughter. He refills our cups with water, seeming to understand my reticence for not wanting to go near the bar—to be in proximity to Kane tonight.
When another slow song comes on my playlist, Matthias glances past me a split second before he tugs me closer and smiles down at me. “Happy birthday, Sim.”
“Thanks for this.” I press a light kiss to his cheek and lean back to meet his gaze. “And for the gift card.” Recalling the note included with it, I can barely contain my smile. It had said:
Amazon Prime Pantry will see to it that you are supplied with the necessities to make your famous French toast.
Of course, that wasn’t all he gave me. The gift card was accompanied with a mysterious P.S. at the bottom: “Check your Instagram at ten thirty tonight.”
“It’s time.” Matty grins and releases me to head over and pause the music. Withdrawing his cell from his pocket, he directs me to sit on one of the nearby chairs and swipes his screen a few times before settling into the chair beside me. When he hands me his phone, I peer at him in confusion, but he lifts his chin, gesturing for me to check Instagram.
Then I see that @matthiastobinmusic has tagged me in something. Evidently, he’d scheduled this post specifically for my birthday.
A video starts up, and Matty comes on the screen, playing a ukulele and singing. Flashing in the upper corner above his shoulder are snapshots of the two of us together, some that we’ve posted on social media and others I’d forgotten about. A multitude of amazing memories bombards me. His lyrics are funny and sweet and so typical Matty.
It’s my best friend’s birthday
What can I possibly say
She writes all the hit songs
I’ve got my guitar to play
You say she’s a hottie
But she’s like my sister
I’d be violently ill
If I ever tried to kiss her
Today’s her birthday
I really wanna celebrate
By showing how much I care
By saying I’m glad that fate
Brought our lives together
’Cause it’s plain as day to see
We’re like two birds of a feather
Best friends for eternity
It’s your birthday, girl
I’ll be makin’ the French toast
Just kidding, girl
I’ll be brewin’ the French roast
You’re the Princess of Pop
And I’m your number-one fan
Your hits will never stop
Just admit it now, girl
I’m your favorite man
He laughs on screen as he strums the final chord. “That’s the worst song I’ve ever written, but it’s from the heart. Happy birthday, Sim.” The video ends, and I turn to find him watching me.
“You totally one-upped me, you jerk!” I admonish with a laugh. No way could I ever top this. And I thought getting Beyoncé to give him a shout-out at the VMAs last year would be the top tier.
“Happy birthday.” Matty drops a quick kiss to my temple before he jumps up and starts up the music once again, selecting a slow song. After he steers me to the center of the dance floor, we sway to the music.
I smile up at him. “Thank you for this.”
“You know I’d do anything for you.” He winks with an affectionate grin.
“Likewise.”
As we dance, his eyes continue darting past me. Finally, I huff out an exasperated breath.
“Seriously, Matty. Would you stop—”
“Throw your head back and laugh really loud for me.” His gaze locks with mine, holding an odd intensity, and his grin appears a tinge maniacal.
“What?” I stare at him as though he’s crazy. Because right now, that’s not so far-fetched.
The hand he has at my hip suddenly shifts upward, and his fingers tickle my side. I twist, my peal of laughter loud, overpowering the music in volume.
“Matty!” I breathe through my giggles.
His attempt to look innocent is laughable. Belatedly, I realize he’s not directing his innocent expression at me, but to something—or someone—over my shoulder.
Suddenly, Matty’s mouth forms a wickedly mischievous grin. “Think you can out dance me?”
The resoundingly deep voice sounds from behind me with utter confidence.
“Any day of the week.”
21
Kane
This is all wrong.
I shouldn’t let myself get pissy over another guy making her laugh. Over another guy having his hands all over her. Dancing with her. Making her smile.
I shouldn’t. Yet I am. Because the entire time—all two fucking hours and forty-seven goddamn minutes of it—I sit with my hands fisted, resisting the urge to stride over and push them apart. To take her in my arms. To dance like a goddamn fool with her and make her laugh. To spin her on the dance floor and see her face light up.
It also serves as a reminder of how things used to be. God, it’s been so damn long since I went out with Fos and the others in downtown Fernandina and danced like a bunch of fools without a care in the world. I didn’t realize how much I missed that until now. How much I miss that me.
Simone seems to be the one person who pulls the old me out of this damn shell I’ve retreated inside.
She doesn’t appear to pick up on my feelings or the conflict plaguing me ever since that night. I wonder if she just didn’t feel it—didn’t feel that same pull between us that I did. That I still feel.
When Matthias eyes me from across the room, it’s a challenge I can’t back down from. Something’s shifted, and it’d take an act of Congress to stop me from seeking her out tonight. Some unearthly force continues to draw me to Simone King, and I need to find out if it’s one-sided.
I approach, and he dishes out his usual smartass shit. Reckon my answer must suffice because he bows dramatically and steps back.
Meeting Simone’s surprised gaze, I offer, “Mind if I join you?” because the last thing I want or need is to be the guy not only stepping out of line in his job, but also pushing himself on a woman who doesn’t want a damn thing to do with him.
Already been there. Done that. Got the fucked-up heart to show for it.
“I’ve actually gotta head out.” We both turn to Matthias who offers Simone an apologetic smile. “I thought I’d check on my buddy Rafe’s new restaurant.”
“Oh, o-kay.” Simone’s words come out slow and hesitant, as if he’s caught her off guard. She tosses me a quick glance before turning back to Matthias, uncertainty etched on her features. “You don’t want me to come along?”
“Nah.” His tone is casual. “You two dance all the slow songs, and I’ll see you in the morning.” He winks.
Her eyes grow wide. “Matty, I don’t think Mr. Wind—”
“I don’t mind,” I interrupt calmly. When she peers up at me, a hint of vulnerability breaks through.
“See? It works out perfect.” Matthias flashes a toothy grin. “Happy birthday, Sim.”
Her smile is soft with affection as she gives his hand a
quick squeeze. “Thanks, Matty.”
Damn if that innocent gesture, that simple touch, doesn’t fucking grate on me. When he doesn’t relinquish her hand but tugs her closer to whisper something in her ear, I stiffen, wondering what the hell he’s up to.
Especially when she eases away from him, her smile from seconds before slipping and giving way to a perplexed expression.
“Mr. Windham?” Matthias’s overly polite tone makes me uneasy. “A quick word, please?”
I cross to where her friend has now moved, a few feet away from Simone. His sharp, somber assessing look is a distinct contrast to his usual mischievous smiling, happy-go-lucky personality.
Even with the undeniable threat and protectiveness threaded in his words, his voice is hushed enough to prevent Simone from overhearing. “Don’t fuck with her.”
“Don’t intend to.”
He holds my gaze for a long moment—lengthy enough that Simone calls out, “Hey? You guys okay?”
Matthias breaks into one of his trademark smiles. “All good! See you tomorrow!” With a final pointed look at me, he spins around and weaves his way around the tables, heading to the exit.
And now we’re alone. Well, aside from Jed and Vance, who are manning the outer doors.
I turn around to approach Simone, who looks all sorts of uncomfortable. “I, uh, guess it’s time to call it a night.”
I frown. “Thought we were gonna dance?”
She offers me one of those polite smiles that I’ve come to despise. “You don’t have to.”
When I step closer, her eyes widen. My voice sounds raspy, hoarse with need for her. I have to see if she feels even an ounce of what I’m feeling. “I want to.”
Her lips part in a breathless-sounding, “Okay.” Then she hesitates, glancing over at where her phone is hooked up to the sound system. “This might not be the greatest song to…” She trails off when I close the distance and settle a hand at her waist. Holding out my other hand to her, Simone slides her palm into mine.