Nashville Boxed Set #1-3

by Bethany Michaels

  “Becca, are you all right?” Ryan followed me.

  “Fine. Just give me a minute.”

  I pushed through the outside door and walked around the side of the house, concentrating on not passing out.

  Okay, so I was freaking out. I hadn’t expected a stupid song to hit me so hard. But I had to pull it together and finish the session.

  “Becca?”

  Ryan came around the corner. “Are you sick or something?”

  “Yeah. Bad tuna at lunch, I think.”

  “That sucks. I have Pepto in my desk, if you want some.” He paused. “You were sounding good in there. Really good.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. There was something…different about your voice when you sang that last one. I really felt it. It gave me chills.”

  I looked up at him, the squeeze in my chest easing a bit. “Really?”

  “Totally. Well, whatever it was, think you can bring it back tomorrow for another go?”

  “I think I’m okay now,” I said. It wasn’t a total lie. I was still a mess and the last thing I wanted to do was go back in to the studio and sing about a broken-hearted lover. But I would, if only to prove to myself that I could. I could do it and I could do it well. I was going to kick ass on this song if it killed me and when I heard it on the radio, I’d still hate it, but I’d know it was because I’d given the songwriter a great demo that got it picked up.

  I raised my head a notch and headed back to the front door. “Let’s do it now.”

  I got through the song in two takes, grabbed my purse and was feeling pretty damn good about myself and the fact that all the shit that had gone down between Dillon and myself was over.

  Ryan was over the moon. I could see his head bobbing along to the playback and a smile stretched from ear to ear.

  “Hey, Ryan,” I said before walking out the door for the day. “How ’bout we work on that stuff for me sometime?”

  “Seriously?”

  I shrugged. “Sure. Maybe it’s time to stretch a little. Take some chances.”

  “Yeah. Great.” He was tickled pink. “I’ve got a couple of things that would be perfect for you. Sexy, sultry. Really highlight that great bass undertone you’ve got.”

  “Okay. It’s date, then.”

  I walked out the door, terrified and elated all at once. So I might cut a track or two. No biggie. We’d just see how it went. Maybe nowhere.

  My cell phone rang and I checked the caller ID.

  “Hi, Syd,” I said, glad she’d called. We hadn’t talked since breakfast a few weeks ago and I missed her.

  “Hey. I heard about your mom,” Sydney said. “Is everything all right?”

  “For now,” I said. Dillon must have mentioned it to her. “Thanks for asking.”

  “Sure. I’ve been wanting to call you, Becca. I’m so sorry about what I said that morning at breakfast. It’s none of my business. Whatever works for you two is between you two.”

  “Thanks.” I switched to the other ear. “You were right, though, you know. It was more than just a hook-up.”

  “Was?”

  “Yeah.” I swallowed. “I’m sorry I walked out on you, though.”

  “We’re temperamental artists. We’re entitled to a few diva moments, right?” I could hear the smile in her voice and I grinned, too, walking towards Broadway and my apartment.

  “Wouldn’t want to let down generations of women by being rational all the time.”

  “Becca. You crack me up.”

  “I try.”

  “I’m sorry about Dillon, Becca. Want to talk about it?”

  I snorted. “No. But thanks for the offer. I think I’ll just pull out my toenails one by one, thanks.”

  “Okay, I know you’re not the touchy-feely type. But I had to ask.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Anytime. Call me whenever you need me.”

  “I will,” I said, meaning it. That surprised me. Maybe I was getting weak. It was like once I turned the sappy shit on, it wouldn’t go back off.

  Perfect.

  Chapter Fifteen

  After another day or so of moping around my apartment, I decided I needed to get back out there. I need to shake off this funk and hang out. I needed to get back to being the Becca I had been before Dillon had ever moved in. The tough, sexy, take-charge kind of Becca who didn’t mope over a guy, any guy.

  I peeled myself off the couch, showered, picked out a sexy outfit, and put on some makeup to cover the dark circles under my eyes. I smoothed on my favorite lipstick, humming “Hound Dog” to myself. By the time I walked out the door in a sassy short dress with a deep neckline and strappy heels, I was feeling a lot like my old self.

  I headed over to Willie’s, praying Road Kill wasn’t playing. If they were, well, downtown was full of clubs and I’d find one where Dillon wasn’t.

  For once, luck was on my side and some other second-rate band was on stage. I headed over to the bar, found an empty stool and ordered a beer. I scanned the room, looking for a familiar face. I saw a few, and nodded hellos. Then I saw him. The guy I’d seen on the first night Dillon and I had first decided to become roommates. He was just what I needed. A fast hard screw with no repercussions.

  I stared at the guy I’d passed on those months ago until I caught his eye. He smiled. I smiled. He grabbed his beer and headed my direction.

  “I’ve seen you here before,” he said, settling onto the stool beside mine. He leaned close because of the loud music and I caught the scent of beer and stale smoke. But the diamond stud in his nose and the silver hoop in this ear were still sexy.

  “I’ve seen you here before, too.”

  “Last time you left before we got to know each other.”

  “Yeah,” I said, sipping my beer.

  He leaned in closer, close enough for me to tell that he did indeed have a tattoo, as I’d originally predicted. I smiled.

  “I’ve been hanging out here watching for you.”

  This was a game I was familiar with. The overt flirting, the sexuality just beneath the surface of every word. We didn’t ask names; it wasn’t necessary. We were verbally dueling, gauging each other’s interest, letting fantasies run wild, but we both knew how the evening would end. Sex. Hard, sweaty sex. Then we’d each move on to the next conquest. It was beautiful in its simplicity, really. Predictable and safe, no connections, no expectations besides a couple of hours of physical satisfaction.

  I finished my beer and Tattoo Guy gestured to the bartender to refill my glass.

  “Thanks.”

  He nodded, finishing his own beer. Not much for words, this one, but I could live with that.

  “Want to dance?”

  There were a few couples staggering around the small dance floor up front, by the stage. The spot where I used to sit and watch Dillon play. I shook my head, trying to clear the image. This night was about forgetting, not remembering.

  “No? My kinda girl,” Tattoo Guy said, setting his mug unsteadily on the bar. Beer sloshed over the side. “Want to get out of here?”

  He got to his feet and I wondered if he could even walk home, let alone get it up. I hadn’t noticed how drunk he was before and I didn’t want him puling on my carpet. I was just about to make something up and get out of there when I glanced up and saw Dillon.

  He was with Hailey, of course, sitting at a table across the room. And he was staring at me. And frowning. I felt sick to my stomach, seeing him with her. I wanted to get the hell out of there. But that would only prove I wasn’t over him.

  So I turned to Tattoo Guy and smiled. “How about that dance first?” I ran my finger down the center of his chest just to keep his interest. And Dillon’s.

  He grinned back at me with those gleaming white teeth which sort of reminded me of a wolf about to devour a lamb. “Sure, babe.”

  I grabbed his hands and put them on my hips, and led the way to the dance floor. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I flattened my body full-length against his.<
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  “Damn, baby,” he said, and put his hand on my ass, grinding to the beat of the music. “You’re a sexy little thing. The things I’d like to do to you…” He growled low in his throat.

  In another time and place, I might have been turned on by his animal nature—it promised sex that was a little rough and raw and sometimes that was what I was in the mood for. But not tonight. Tonight, I was focused on another man.

  I felt Dillon’s eyes on me and when Tattoo Guy and I turned, I found him staring, none too happily.

  I smiled at him wickedly, then went up on tiptoes and kissed Tattoo Guy on the lips. He responded immediately, shoving his hands into my hair, holding me immobile and opening his mouth over mine. His thick tongue shoved inside my mouth and it was all I could do not to knee him in the nuts and get the hell away from his groping hands and tongue. Instead I concentrated on kissing him back, acting like I was really getting into it.

  I don’t know if it fooled Dillon, but it definitely fooled Tattoo Guy. He pulled back and pressed his erection into my belly.

  “Feel that, baby? That’s all for you.”

  “Joy,” I said before I could stop myself. “I’m such a lucky girl.” I didn’t know how long I could continue this little charade.

  I glanced at Dillon’s table and found I didn’t have to. He’d left.

  I smiled up at Tattoo Guy and took a step back. You know, I just remembered. I left something on the stove. I have to go. Sorry.”

  I left him standing there on the dance floor, confused and sporting a hard-on. “But—”

  “Sorry,” I called back over my shoulder, already heading for the exit. “Catch ya next time, okay?”

  I headed out the door, praying he wouldn’t follow me. Just in case, I walked down to another club I knew, had a beer, and when I was sure he’d either found another hook-up or passed out, headed back to my apartment.

  So much for getting Dillon out of my system. All I’d done was waste ten bucks on beer and get publicly manhandled by a drunk guy who wasn’t nearly as appealing as I’d remembered.

  I paused. Old Becca would have found his innuendo sexy, his dominance a turn-on. But I had changed, I discovered with more than a little alarm. Those one-night stands weren’t going to do it for me anymore. I needed more than sex, more than the rush of lust and a quick fuck.

  Yet another change Dillon had wrought in me without my even noticing. That was why I didn’t do relationships. They changed you. I was perfectly happy being Old Becca before Dillon and now he’d taken that from me, too.

  I climbed up the stairs to my apartment, feeling worse than when I’d decided to go out. Okay, maybe a few more days on the couch, then I’d try again. I just wanted to get home, get into some jammies and break out the cookie dough ice cream.

  But when I got to the top of the stairs, I realized that wasn’t going to happen.

  “Dillon.”

  “Becca,” he said as I came to a standstill outside the door. He moved aside so I could unlock the door. “I wasn’t expecting you home so early. It looked like you’d made a friend.”

  “His name is Steve,” I said, making the name up on the fly. “We’re hooking up later. I just came by to get condoms. A lot of condoms.”

  He frowned. But that was just too damn bad.

  I opened the door and went inside, then turned, leaving him standing in the hallway. I really didn’t want to invite him in. Nothing good could come of that.

  I didn’t expect him to be jealous or anything, but I did get a tiny bit of satisfaction over the ripple of unhappiness that flickered over his features. I didn’t feel so much like the chubby kid picked last for the kickball team.

  He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope. “I brought that rent money I promised. I was just going to slide it under the door.”

  His gaze didn’t meet mine and I knew he was lying. He was planning on staking out my place to see whether or not I came home alone.

  “Seriously, I don’t want it, Dillon. Save it for diapers or something.”

  He looked hurt, his gaze going down to his hands as he fingered the envelope. “Can I come in a minute, Becca? I think we should talk.”

  I leaned against the door. “You made your choice.”

  “Please, Becca. Just for a minute.”

  He looked directly into my eyes and for a heartbeat, I couldn’t breathe. “Fine,” I said, and stepped back, letting him in.

  I closed the door behind him but stayed right where I was, arms crossed over my chest. I tried not to stare at him, but it had been a couple of weeks and I was parched for a glance at him, no matter how pissed off I was at the whole situation.

  Dillon looked like hell. His boring button-down was wrinkled, his hair disheveled like he’d been running his hands through it about every five seconds. There were dark circles under his eyes, too, which let me know he’d been getting about as much sleep as I was. Was it thoughts of impending fatherhood that were keeping him up nights or was it Hailey? Not an image I really wanted to dwell on.

  “So what is it, Dillon? I have to go.”

  “I just wanted to say…hell, I just wanted to see you. That’s all.”

  “How am I supposed to respond to that?” I asked, getting angry. “You can’t take your toys to another girl’s playpen, then come back in here and say shit like that.”

  He looked a little lost.

  “Look, Dillon. I get it. I really do. It makes sense. You feel you need to be with her.”

  “Then why does it hurt so much?” He took a step towards me and my heart beat out a frantic rhythm of longing, of lust and something deeper.

  I dropped my arms. “I don’t know.”

  “It’s just…I have feelings for you, Becca. First it was friendship, but then…it wasn’t.”

  I nodded, my throat tight. “Yeah.”

  “I miss you.”

  He was only a step or two away now and his familiar scent of soap and male rushed my senses. I closed my eyes and inhaled.

  “I miss the way you make those little noises when you’re eating something you really like.” His voice dropped. “I miss the little noises you make when I touch you in a place you really like.”

  He moved closer, reaching out to stroke my cheek. His fingers sent shivers of pleasure up my spine as I remembered all the nights we’d spent eliciting sounds of pleasure from each other.

  I opened my eyes and looked up at him. His head was dipping, his lips parted. He was going to kiss me. And then he’d leave.

  I put a hand on his chest and stepped back before his lips could reach mine. He wasn’t mine and never would be.

  “You’re not free,” I said though a throat choked with desire and regret. “You said you needed to be with Hailey.”

  He stepped back, too running a hand through his hair. He blew out a breath. “Yeah.”

  I turned away, trying to gain back my composure, to still the pulse racing through my veins. I’d never said ‘no’ when I meant ‘yes’, but this time I had to. It was a matter of self-preservation.

  “Do you love her?” I squeezed my eyes closed not wanting to hear the answer. But I needed to hear it, needed to close the book on this thing for good.

  My apartment was silent except for the occasional whoosh of car tires on wet pavement outside and Dillon’s soft inhale and exhale of breath. Just when I was starting to think I’d imagined the whole thing, that he wasn’t really there at all and I’d hallucinated him into existence, he answered.

  “No. I don’t love her.”

  I turned and saw the raw pain written across his features.

  “Then why are you doing this?” I asked, getting angry now. “How do you even know it’s your kid?”

  “Because it is,” he said. He went to the couch and sat down heavily. “And I have to accept responsibility for it.”

  “Even if it means you’re miserable for the rest of your life?”

  He looked up and met my gaze. “Yes.”

 
“Well, that’s just bullshit.” I shook my head. “I appreciate and respect you trying to do the right thing. Really, I do. It’s one of the things I love about you.” He glanced up at me when the “L” word slipped out, but I kept talking.

  “But above all, we were friends, Dillon, and as your friend, I’m telling you, you think you’re doing the right thing, but you’re not. Regardless of what happens between us, staying with someone for any reason other than love is a huge mistake.”

  “It’s the right mistake to make.”

  “Damn it, Dillon!”

  “Look, I was raised that a man takes care of his responsibilities. Hailey is pregnant and I have to do the right thing. I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t. I can’t let myself down, or my family.”

  “Oh, bullshit. This isn’t some ’60s western, Dillon. Nobody is going to bring a shotgun to your house and insist you marry the woman you’ve compromised.”

  “I know you don’t understand. But it’s the way I was raised. A man takes care of his responsibilities.”

  I shook my head and wanted to laugh at the irony. The one guy in the world I thought was worth a shit was leaving me because he was not one of the usual scumbags I’d known in my life. He was everything I’d always thought a guy wasn’t—loyal, dependable, even honorable. And it was all those rare qualities that were breaking my heart now.

  I’d avoided becoming attached to guys because I’d been afraid I’d pick the jerk who would break my heart. I’d taken a chance on Dillon because I knew in my heart he wasn’t like that. Turns out being hurt by a non-jerk really sucked, too. More, because you’re not expecting the hit.

  “I have to get going,” I said, swallowing hard. “Late night, early morning, yadda yadda.”

  Dillon stood and looked at me with sad eyes that said more than words ever could.

  “I hope we can be…friends. Someday. I miss that.” He smiled.

  I wanted to throw up. I wanted to tell him to fuck off. I wanted to scream and stomp my feet and curse so long and so loud that it wasn’t fucking fair and the neighbors called the cops and I had to spend another night in the slammer with Betty the transvestite hooker and Syd had to get out of bed and come bail me out, then drink enough shots of tequila that I passed out and forgot any of this was anything more than a really fucked-up dream and I could go back to banging whatever guy took my notice and keep my heart locked up in a little safe that not even Houdini could crack.