by Ana Novak
“Can you blame me, sweetheart?” He turned toward me, raising an eyebrow. “When you’re sober, you’re always running away from me. When you’re drunk, you can’t keep your hands off me.”
I hadn’t thought about it that way before. “I guess I have been sending mixed messages.” My tone was rueful. “But have you thought about how scary it is for me? I spent one night with you and became a permanent tabloid fixture for over a year. I’m not too keen on letting that happen again.”
“It’s not gonna happen again. That’s old news,” he said dismissively.
“Oh, really?” I rolled over and grabbed my phone off the nightstand. “This is old news?”
I showed him the text from Dave. It was a screen capture of a gossip site’s homepage. In the picture, Shane had me up against the wall in J85. One hand was in my hair, the other at my hip. Our lips were locked. The picture was dark and slightly blurry, but there was no mistaking that it was Shane- and that I was quite obviously enjoying what he was doing. The headline read, “MOVING ON FROM COS ALREADY? TAYLOR MERRICK PACKS ON THE PDA WITH UNALIVE’S SHANE KRUGER.”
Shane pressed the back button on my phone and read Dave’s text aloud. “‘Guilt trip me for years over one mistake while you’re hooking up with Kruger behind my back? Classy.’” His mouth was set in a grim line when he looked up at me. “This fucker is asking for a beat down.”
“Simmer down, Rocky Balboa. I think seeing me like that with you is beat down enough for his ego.” I looked at the photo and its caption again, wondering why I didn’t have that same knot of dread in my stomach that I’d felt the last time I’d seen my picture underneath a demeaning headline. “I don’t think I ever looked that way when I was with him.”
“I don’t even want to think about you with him,” Shane said, shoving my phone away and capturing my lips in another kiss. He pushed me back onto the mattress, moving on top of me so that his hard body was covering me, skin on skin, mouth against mouth.
My stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday. Shane pulled away, grinning down at me.
“Sorry,” I said unhelpfully. “I didn’t eat dinner last night.”
“No wonder the shots hit you so hard,” he said, and sat up. “Come on. Let me take you to breakfast. Or brunch.”
“I’m having lunch with Van later,” I said. I sat in Easy Pose and ran my hands over my damp hair, trying to smooth it down. “Let’s make breakfast here.”
“You have food?”
I scoffed. “Do I have food? Are you kidding me?”
“What?” He followed me as I hopped off the bed and padded into the kitchen.
“You know I almost went to culinary school after high school, right?” I opened the fridge. “Come back tonight and I’ll serve you homemade pizza.”
“I thought you went to NYU.”
I didn’t stop to ask myself how he’d acquired that nifty bit of trivia. “Van talked me into applying all over the east coast. I never thought I’d make it as a writer and I wanted a career that would still let me use my…creativity, I guess you could say. I wanted to go to the Culinary Institute of America at Hyde Park.”
“Why didn’t you?”
I made a face as I set the egg carton on the counter. “My father. He thought the culinary arts would not make for a viable career.”
Shane leaned against the counter, shirtless and looking so unbelievably delectable that I had to avert my eyes. “And so you decided to be a writer.”
“No, I majored in music. Recorded Music, actually.”
A grin crept onto Shane’s face. “You’re joking.”
“Nope.” I took the flour down from the cupboard. “My father approved.”
“He thought a career in the recording industry was safer than a career as a chef?”
“Well, it worked out for him.” I shook my head as I cracked an egg into a bowl. “And Van did exactly what our father wanted him to. It turned out Arnold was right, I mean, Van’s band is huge now. But I couldn’t do it. It’s one thing if it’s your passion, but it would have been just a job for me. I couldn’t handle the constant performing, the schmoozing, the marketing...” I rolled my eyes. “I guess I’m eating crow now, since my publisher is making me go on this dumb book tour.”
“So you really are a musician?”
I looked up mid-whisk to see Shane regarding me curiously. “Did you think I was lying about that?”
“No. But I never…I mean, everything that’s been written about you, nobody ever mentions that.”
“I don’t talk about it much. Plus the media isn’t exactly playing detective right now. They haven’t even figured out that Van is my brother.”
Shane nodded. “It’s not that hard to figure out. Why don’t you just tell them? It might stop all the speculation.”
I turned on the stove and put a pan over the burner. “It’s complicated.”
Shane said nothing, and after a moment I looked over at him. His arms were folded, and he was listening attentively, like he expected me to launch into the full story any moment.
“I’m not kidding,” I said. “It’s a long story. I’d rather hear about you.”
“My entire life is on Google, just waiting to be picked apart. You’re a complete and total mystery.”
“You can Google me,” I said, mildly offended. “There are plenty of author profiles on me all over the internet.”
“Just the generic BS profile saying you’ve been writing since childhood and enjoy drinking wine and the company of your cat.” He looked around. “Speaking of, I don’t see a cat anywhere.”
“I’ve never had a cat,” I said. “My publicist said having a pet would make me more relatable to my audience.”
“So the profiles aren’t even accurate.”
“I guess not.”
“So tell me what the profiles don’t say. All the details.”
“You’re not serious,” I said. “You don’t really want to hear this.”
“I do.” He unfolded his arms and braced his hands against the counter, putting his impressively muscled torso on full display. “I want to know more about you, Taylor.”
“That sounds so cheesy.” I poured batter and let the silence drag out, debating on whether or not I should let him in on my less-than-squeaky-clean family history. “Okay, fine,” I said finally. “My father is Arnold Kane, which you probably guessed already. He was married when he met my mother. It was just a fling. Van was little then, and his mom was really sick…” I trailed off, feeling the same piercing sadness I always did when I thought about how he must have felt, losing his mother at such a young age. “Anyway, my mom ended things with my father once she realized that he wasn’t going to leave his wife for her, but they stayed on good terms, mostly for me, I think. She took me to California to raise me. I’m glad she did, because I can’t imagine growing up with the paparazzi chasing after me all the time, like they did with Van. He says I would have gotten used to it, but I don’t think so.”
I slanted a glance over at Shane. He was still listening intently, and his expression gave no hint of boredom. “You’re a surprisingly good listener. Didn’t I say something like that last night?”
“You said I was easy to talk to.” He flashed another heart-melting smile. “But you’re also easy to listen to.”
“Another line. Does this ever work for you?”
“It does.” He looked so smug that I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. “So you and Van grew up on opposite coasts?”
“We did, but we always kept in touch. On my first cell phone, there were only two numbers programmed into it: my mom and Van. We talked all the time and texted every day. My mom would sometimes take me to New York to visit my father, but…” I paused, trying to think of how to describe our relationship. “We’re not close.”
“Is that your choice or his?”
The question caught me off-guard, and I hesitated, flipping a crepe onto a plate be
fore answering. “I don’t know. Mine, I guess. It seems like nothing I do is ever good enough for him. But of course Van is perfect. He can do no wrong. It gets old, you know?”
“But you’re a bestselling author.”
“I know, believe me. He hasn’t said a word to me about it. We haven’t even talked since I’ve been back in the city.”
Shane watched as I pulled a carton of blueberries out of the fridge. “It’s his loss.”
“I’m not sure he shares your opinion.” I shook my head, running the blueberries under the tap. “What about you? Are you close to your parents?”
“Not really. We talk every couple of months. Sometimes I spend the holidays with them. But they’re busy with my sister and her kids. They don’t miss me much.”
“Is your sister the perfect one? I might know how you feel.” I smirked at him, licking whipped cream off one finger.
“She’s not perfect, but she made them grandparents first and that blew my chances of becoming the favorite.”
“Do you want kids?” The question was out of my mouth before I could stop it, and I blanched, feeling mortified. “I was not asking that as a…I didn’t mean anything by that. I’m sorry. You can just ignore me.”
He looked amused. “Too soon for the kid talk?”
“Definitely.”
“I do want kids,” he said. “I’m not in any hurry.”
“Van doesn’t want kids,” I said, trying to be subtle about changing the subject. “I think Mel does, though. Doesn’t the woman usually win that argument?”
“Usually.”
I presented him with a plate of blueberry crepes, and he accepted it, looking suitably impressed. “I think you missed your calling.”
“I only cook for people I like,” I said loftily. “That includes men who go out of their way to make sure drunk me gets home safe. Without you, I might have passed out in the stairwell.”
“Drunk you happens to be one of my favorites,” he said, putting the plate on the counter and taking a step toward me, a sly smile on his face. “Sober you is looking good, too.”
“They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I’ve got a direct line,” I said, cringing when I realized I’d just made yet another comment that more than hinted at commitment. “Not that I’m looking to get to your heart. I mean…”
He cut off my rambling with a kiss. “Stop explaining,” he murmured against my lips. “I chased you down. It’s my heart that’s in danger.”
That should have set off all sorts of warning bells inside my head, but somehow I couldn’t bring myself to pull away. Instead, I deepened the kiss, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him closer. His tongue danced against mine. When I felt his hands coming around to cup my ass, I leaned into his touch, letting him pick me up so I could wrap my legs around his waist.
“Is this round two?” I whispered into his ear before dropping a kiss on his neck.
“I think it’s more like round five,” he said, and smothered my laugh with his mouth on mine.
Chapter 9
Van’s towncar was waiting at the curb when I came out of my apartment building. The driver got out and graciously opened the door for me.
“Thank you,” I said, offering him a smile as I stepped into the car. The seats were every bit as luxurious as I remembered. I reached for my seatbelt and froze, suddenly recalling a previously-forgotten snippet from the ride home with Shane the night before. I’d curled into him like a cat, my hands roaming all over his body. He’d studiously tried to redirect them above his waist, making excuses about not taking advantage of me, but I’d been awfully persistent.
My cheeks burned at the memory- not just of that moment, but of what happened when we’d arrived back at the apartment. And what had happened this morning. And what had happened right before he’d left an hour ago.
I’d meant it when I’d told Mel and Mistral that I wasn’t looking for anything serious, but Shane was making it damned difficult to maintain my independence and refrain from calling and texting him every minute, asking him to come over again.
“Hello?” Van’s voice broke through my reverie. I buckled my seatbelt and glanced over at him, trying my best to look innocent.
“Are you daydreaming or just hung over?” he asked, clearly amused.
“Both,” I said, and tried valiantly to put Shane out of my mind. “You know I’m working with an editor to rush my next book out. I’ve got a lot on my plate. And I was out really late with Mel and Mistral last night.”
“Not that late, from what Mel said.” He looked at me over his sunglasses, letting them slide down his nose so I could see the seriousness in his eyes. “She said you took someone home pretty early.”
“Did she?” I knew I was failing miserably at pretending to be clueless, but I kept trying anyway.
“Who was it?”
Ah. Mel hadn’t told Van about Shane, and lucky for us both, Van lacked Dave’s tenacity when it came to perusing gossip sites for dirt on me. My phone vibrated, and I glanced at it, frowning when I saw a text from Dave.
“Just an old friend,” I said breezily, hoping that Van would buy my lie. “Anyway, the club isn’t really my scene anymore. I don’t quite blend in the way I used to.” Even though Shane and I had agreed to try a friends-with-benefits arrangement, I wasn’t quite sure Van should be privy to that particular bit of information yet. I did want to tell him that I was seeing Shane, though. It would be better if he heard it from me before it filtered through the gossip chain.
“Did you eat before you went out?”
“What?” That was the second time I’d zoned out during our conversation, and I directed my gaze back to my brother.
“I asked if you ate before you went out last night. You’ve lost a lot of weight. I hope you’re doing it the healthy way.”
“Oh. No, I didn’t eat, which is probably why the alcohol hit me so hard. But don’t worry, I’m being safe. I mean, healthy. I’m being healthy. You know how my mom eats. I basically survived on vegetables for two years. Did Mel tell you that my bridesmaid dress fits? No alterations required.”
“She mentioned that. And the fact that you’d lost weight, which I can see now.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You didn’t notice before?”
“You were wearing baggy clothes when I picked you up at the airport,” he said defensively. “And it was dark.”
“And you stood me up for lunch the other day, so you didn’t get to see me in clothes that actually fit.”
He groaned. “Shit, I knew you’d bring that up. Sorry, sis. This album has my head fucked six ways to Sunday.”
I should have taken pity on him, but I knew he was lying about something, since Shane had left the recording studio and had as much as confirmed Van had been finished, too. “It’s okay. I ended up running into Shane Kruger. Do you remember him? Your producer?”
I could actually see the moment when Van froze up, even with his dark sunglasses keeping me from seeing his eyes. His face fell for a split second before he pasted on a carefully blank expression, his voice dropping an octave as he tried to keep his cool. “I work with him sometimes, yeah. That’s the guy who caused a scene in front of the hotel with Dave, right? I try not to let my personal life affect my work, but I know he and Dave aren’t on great terms.”
“Actually, it was Dave who caused the scene.” I studied Van thoughtfully, wondering what he was hiding- and wondering how I could defend Shane without cluing Van in to our current involvement. “I know you guys are friends, but Dave isn’t exactly a saint.”
“I never said he was,” Van replied. “Give the guy a break, though, Taylor. He was really busted up over you leaving.”
“I’m sure he was.” I wanted to say more, but I didn’t want to drag Van into my personal drama with one of his best friends. “Did you make it to your tux fitting the other day?”
“I had to reschedule.” Van stared out the window, and I studied him for a moment. His curly
hair was getting long, almost to his shoulders now, and tinged reddish in the early afternoon sunlight. His jaw was strong, although the shadow of a beard helped significantly in contouring his somewhat boyish features, and his wide mouth looked ready to split into a grin at any moment. As I watched, though, I noticed the frown lines between his eyebrows, the slight downturn to his lips. His appearance was familiar and comforting, despite how different we looked, and it bothered me that I could sense something was amiss and could do nothing about it.
“Are you getting cold feet?” I asked tentatively.
“What?”
“Cold feet,” I repeated. “About getting married. Are you freaking out or something?”
“Are you kidding?” He laughed sharply, a short bark of derision more than any expression of amusement. “I’m about to marry the woman I’ve been with since college. She’s perfect. What kind of jackass would I be to get cold feet?”
“You wouldn’t be a jackass,” I said. “Just a normal guy. Marriage is pretty scary.”
“It’s just a piece of paper.” His nonchalance definitely looked feigned.
I shrugged. “If you say so. It felt like a lot more than that to me.”
“So the divorce was, what, a minor bump in the road?”
“Hey,” I said, offended. “It wasn’t like I got married planning to get divorced. It took me a long time to get to the point where I was ready to end it.” Dave and I had agreed on requesting the judge to seal the records, so no one had any idea that my divorce had been granted on grounds of adultery. Mel and Mistral had been reluctant about keeping it quiet, but they’d also understood my need for privacy. Van didn’t know that Dave had cheated on me, and I wanted to keep it that way. It wasn’t my place to jeopardize my brother’s friendship with my ex-husband.
Van didn’t seem interested in prying any further, though. “I just don’t understand why people need a ceremony and a certificate to make things official,” he continued, apparently oblivious to the fact that he’d just insulted me. “All it does is make things more complicated if you eventually decide to split up. If I say I’m in it for the long haul, shouldn’t that be enough? Why do we need this huge ceremony? Imagine what it’ll be like if you get married, invite all your friends, and then get divorced. Like, sorry I can’t handle commitment, thanks for all the gifts.”