Break Me Down: Silver Tongued Devils Series Book 2

by Samantha Conley

  “Go get dressed then. Unless you want to wear that,” he says, looking me up and down. “I don’t mind.” He grins, and I roll my eyes, then hobble to my bedroom, realizing I’m in a large shirt, shorts you can’t see, and don’t have a bra on. Perv.

  Grabbing a maxi dress out of the closet along with a cardigan, I change, then head to the bathroom, brush my hair, and pull it into a messy bun. Not wanting to give myself any time to talk myself out of going, I add a dab of powder and a coat of lip gloss before grabbing a flip flop to wear on my right foot. It’s just thick enough that I don’t have a weird gait when I walk. Walking out into the living room, Jason is looking at the painting on the wall. He’s facing away from me, and all I can do is stare at his ass. Those jeans love his ass. Lord, I wonder how many squats he does to get it that perfect. “I’m ready.”

  “Do you need to bring anything with you? Pain medication?”

  “No, I should be good.” Turning toward the door, he interrupts before the first step.

  “What about a purse or bag?”

  “I’m glad one of us is thinking straight,” I laugh, turning back to grab my purse from my room.

  As he locks the door behind us, I being to descend the stairs when his voice halts me.

  “Wait for me before you head down. I don’t want you to lose your balance.” Grasping my arm, he steps down, making sure I’m safely at the bottom.

  “Let me go get the truck.” He jogs across the lot and around the corner. A loud rumble reaches me just before he pulls up in his lifted black Dodge Ram, the vibrations from the bass making the windows tremble. The music becomes louder as the door opens, then diminishes with the slam as he rounds the front, heading my way.

  “Hold up. Let me get that for you.”

  Got to love a southern gentleman.

  Looking up into the truck, I reach for the handle inside the door, already knowing there is no way on God’s green earth I’ll be able to. Jason moves in behind me, and I stiffen.

  “May I?”

  Peering over my shoulder at him, our eyes connect, the heat of his hands warms my hips. He gives a light squeeze, bringing me back to the present.

  “You ready?”

  Taking a breath, I nod, and before I realize it, I’m up in the air and placed onto the seat. As I put on my seatbelt, he climbs in and shifts the truck into drive.

  We drive for about twenty minutes, the radio breaking the silence of the cab. Pulling into the parking lot of a little café I’ve never heard of, Jason parks the truck and gets out, heading to my side. As I reach down to unbuckle my belt, he opens the door, then helps me from the truck, our bodies brushing as he lowers me to the ground.

  He pauses when we are face to face, and the irresistible urge to lean in and kiss those pouty lips runs through me. Our eyes lock, and I swear, for a second, he leans in toward me, but then catches himself. As soon as my feet hit the concrete, he steps away, but keeps his hands on my hips until I’m steady, and I shake my head, wondering what the hell even came over me. With a hand at the small of my back, he steers me toward the café.

  We are led to a booth in the back corner, and Jason waits for me to pick a side before sliding in opposite me. As Jason sits down, the lady flips over the coffee cups sitting on the table and pours him a cup, steam rising from the top.

  She looks toward me, lifting the carafe. “You want coffee, sweetie?”

  “Just some water with lemon, please.”

  She gives me a nod and moves toward the counter. Jason reaches over by the napkin dispenser, grabs one of the laminated menus, and hands it to me without getting one for himself.

  “You already know what you want?”

  “I get the same thing every time I come here.”

  Nodding my head, I scan the menu. There are a ton of options, but nothing sounds good to me.

  “Anything looking good? All of their breakfasts are delicious,” he says as I continue perusing.

  “There are a lot of options. It makes is hard to choose one. Maybe just a bowl of oatmeal.”

  “You need more than oatmeal, Mal. Are you allergic to anything?”

  I shake my head, and the waitress walks back to the table, her shoes squeaking on the linoleum. She places my water down in front of me.

  “The usual, Jason?”

  “Please, Gladys. And bring her the same with a side of pancakes.”

  Gladys’s eyes widen for a second in surprise as she looks me over.

  “You’ve got it.” Her retreat from the table is barely noticed as I look at him with surprise.

  “Did you really just order for me?”

  “You were taking too long, and I’m hungry. I’m used to eating after I work out and it’s about an hour later than usual.” He sips from the cup, his hand dwarfing the white, chipped ceramic.

  “You didn’t have to wait on me.”

  “No, I didn’t, but I wanted to have breakfast with you. It’s a warm day out. The sun is shining. We need to enjoy the warm weather while it’s here.”

  “I missed Texas weather. Being able to wear shorts and flip flops most of the year. It’s in the eighties today and could be in the thirty’s next week.”

  “Speaking of next week…” his finger taps against the cup, “what are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

  “It’s time for Thanksgiving already? Man, time flies. I don’t have any plans.”

  “How about we spend it together? I’m thinking about driving down to my sister’s in Katy.”

  “Oh, no, I don’t want to impose.”

  “Mallory, I want you to come with me. You don’t need to spend the holiday alone. Unless you are going to let Kris and Camryn know you’re back, you’re coming with me. My sister is very nice, and my niece is a handful. They won’t mind you coming with me.”

  “If you’re sure she won’t mind…” I hear myself saying, then turn my head toward the table, wondering what the heck I just agreed to and why. Before I can spend too much time thinking about it, Gladys returns with three huge plates, placing one in front of Jason and the other two in front of me. Mounds of scrambled eggs, sausage links, bacon, biscuits covered with gravy, and three fluffy pancakes with butter melting over the top...my eyes widen at the sheer volume of food.

  “Are we feeding an army? You actually eat like this and look like that?”

  “Not all the time, but I usually eat here once or twice a week. I try to stick to a healthy diet, but I allow myself a cheat meal or two. Eat up. You need some meat on your bones,” he says, gesturing to the overflowing plate in front of me.

  “Excuse me?!” I choke out, affronted.

  “Mal,” he huffs out, “you’ve lost a lot of weight since the last time I saw you. You were already skinny, but now I’m afraid a strong wind will blow you away.”

  He tucks into his food, and I pick up my fork and spear some scrambled eggs, indignation riding high, though I can admit he’s probably right. Placing the bite in my mouth, I nearly moan at the taste.

  “Mal. Mallory.”

  My eyes dart up from my food, connecting with Jason’s.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I was apparently having an affair with my food. Didn’t hear you,” I laugh, and he smiles.

  “You’re fine,” he says, amused. “I just want you to know I wasn’t trying to be mean, I’m just worried and don’t want you getting sick because you are run down.”

  “You’re right. I guess I hadn’t thought about it that way. But there is no way I’m even going to make a dent in this much food.”

  “Eat what you can.”

  Grabbing a slice of bacon, the crunchy, saltiness is quickly devoured before I move on to the pancakes, drowning them in syrup. As the bite melts on my tongue, another moan escapes.

  “Good, huh?”

  “Oh my god. I don’t know if I’ve ever eaten a pancake this good before.”

  Several minutes later, my plate is nearly empty and my stomach is stuffed, almost uncomfortably.

  “I think y
ou needed that.”

  “I think so too. Now, I need a nap,” I chuckle. He raises his arm to signal for the check as I rest my head on top of the booth. As footsteps approach, Jason stands, hands Gladys some money, then gives her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Blushing, she smacks him on the arm and he smiles, then helps me rise from the seat. He leads me to the truck, and I almost immediately doze off, waking at a slight touch.

  “Wake up, sleepy head. We’re back.”

  I peer around, blinking sleep from my eyes, and stretch before letting him get me out.

  Slowly moving up the stairs, we arrive at my door. As I unlock it, I ask, “Do you want to come in?”

  “I better not,” his says, his voice tinged with…disappointment, maybe? “You need to rest. This is probably the most active you’ve been in a while.”

  Opening the door, I step inside, aware he’s still behind me, the heat radiating off him, warming my back. His boot scrapes the concrete as he steps away, and the loss of his heat makes me shiver.

  “Get some rest. I’ll come by later, okay?”

  The door shuts, and I lean against it, listening to Jason’s footsteps fade.

  Jason

  When she goes inside, I walk to my door, regret and want weighing heavily on my mind. Checking my watch, I have about an hour before I need to leave to meet the guys.

  The band is meeting at the studio to work on the finishing touches for our newest album—the best one yet—since touring begins in the next couple months. Being on tour is great, but I’m always ready to come back home to my bed—silence and solitude, if I desire. This time, even more so since Mallory is back. First, we must make it through Thanksgiving. Grabbing the phone, I shoot off a text to let my sister know Mallory will be joining me on my trip down there, then login to check our Facebook and Instagram accounts to kill time before I leave. We have a PR person who maintains these sites, but I like to drop in from time to time to see how our fans are reacting. Do they love our new single? What do they want to see more of? Things like that.

  Arriving at the studio, none of the other guys’ vehicles are parked outside, though Brian may be here since the studio is on his property. Heading inside, all I hear is silence. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, then head down the carpeted hallway toward the sound room. Sitting behind my drums, I pick up my sticks and start to warm up. We’re supposed to lay down some basic tracks today for the last two songs left on the album. The other eight are complete.

  Starting off with a simple beat, I tune out everything else and just concentrate on pounding out the rhythm. Music is in my blood, my heart beating in time to the pattern of the strikes on the drum skins. By the times the others roll in, I’m finishing up Avenged Sevenfold’s Nightmare. The guys mill around the room, Brett singing along, Derek and Isaac playing air guitar in time with me. As the last strike rings out, I wipe the sweat dripping from my brow, my heart rate and breathing slowing as the adrenaline wanes. Placing my sticks down, Derek saunters over. “It always fucking blows me away when you play that, Jase,” Derek tells me as he clasps my hand.

  “It’s a good warm up.” I chuckle.

  “All right, guys, we’ve got two songs to get laid down today, and the hard part is over. Let’s get this shit done so we can enjoy our time at home before we leave for months,” Brett says as he grabs his headphones and goes to the microphone.

  Working on laying the drum track for the first song, the beat comes naturally. Derek’s up next to play bass, then Isaac, and Brett’s up last. Brett’s part is always the hardest since he’s the lead singer. He must hit the notes and nuisances of each lyric he sings spot on. Derek and Isaac work on some of the harmonies, but for the most part, it’s all Brett. He is the face and voice of the band.

  After six hours, most of the work is complete, there are just little things that need tweaking. This is the best work we’ve done to date. The singles we’ve already released have risen to the top of the charts like a rocket. We’re booked to play Octane Unleaded next month, and I’m looking forward to being back in New York City. We say our goodbyes for the night, knowing we’ll see each other in the morning at the gym.

  Since it’s still warm, grilling out sounds good. Nothing beats the smell of charcoal burning and the sizzling of grease dripping on the red-hot coals. Dropping by the store, I pick some steaks, potatoes, salad, and asparagus. I carry everything up the stairs to my apartment, eyeing her door as I pass by. Placing the grocery bags on the kitchen counter, I gather my courage, then head over to Mallory’s. With each step I take, my heart pounds and my palms sweat. How can I be nervous to talk to this girl? It’s like I’m back in high school trying to talk to the cheerleader.

  Knocking on her door, I drum my fingers on the doorframe, impatiently waiting for her to answer. Just as I’m about to knock again, the locks turn. Leaning against the frame with my arms crossed over my chest, I try to look nonchalant. The door swings wide and my heart skips a beat. She looks gorgeous. For no other reason than it’s her. Her hair’s up in a ponytail with little tendrils hanging down, softly brushing her cheeks. The tight blue tank top she’s wearing reveals her tight little nipples unhindered by a bra, and black pants hug her thighs before flaring out around her tiny bare feet. She can put a cover model to shame. My fingers twitch with the need to pull her into me. I raise my eyes back to hers, finding pink flushing her cheeks as she realizes I’m looking her over.

  “Hey, Jason,” she says, tucking one of the tendrils behind her ear.

  Clearing my throat, I say, “I’m grilling out some steaks tonight. Thought you might want to join me.” I point my thumb over my shoulder toward my apartment like a doofus.

  “Okay,” she answers timidly.

  “Mal, you need to—wait, you said okay?” I stutter, surprise apparent in my response.

  She smiles up at me. “Yes, I did. I thought a lot about what you’ve been saying, and you’re right. I’ve been cooped up in here for too long. I need to start getting out more.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Come over in an hour?”

  “Sure. Do you need me to bring anything?”

  “Just yourself. Or if there is anything special you want.”

  “See you in an hour then.” She moves back and shuts the door. Did she just agree that quickly? Taking a step away from her door, I hurry toward my apartment before she opens the door and tells me she’s changed her mind.

  Changing out of my clothes, I throw on some black basketball shorts and an old Metallica concert shirt, then head into the kitchen to start prepping the food. By the time I’m finished, a hesitant knock at my door has me rushing in that direction.

  She’s thrown on a hoodie and some shoes, but that’s all she’s changed. Gesturing inside, I say, “Take a seat, Mal.”

  “Do you need any help?”

  I shake my head. “I think I have it almost ready. Just need to put the food on the grill. You can sit at the counter or outside so we can talk.”

  She follows me into the kitchen and hops up onto the stool. The slider’s open, the aroma of the burning charcoal wafting into the apartment along with the distant sounds of traffic and kids playing on the playground behind the complex. Grabbing the platter with the steaks, I walk out onto the balcony.

  “Do you need me to help bring anything out?”

  “No, I’ve got it. You just sit down and relax. You want a beer?”

  She nods. “I can get it. You want one?”

  “Please.”

  She follows me out with a bottle in each hand. There are two plastic chairs out on the balcony with a little table in between. She sits in the chair closest to the wall and leaves the one by the railing for me as she places one of the bottles on the table. She struggles to twist the top off the one she’s holding without luck. Taking the bottle from her, I twist the lid off and hand it back to her.

  “Thanks.”

  Nodding at her before turning back to the grill, I place the steaks and asparagus on the rack, then sit in t
he chair beside her, taking a long pull of the bitter, icy cold brew.

  “What did you do today?”

  “Slept, watched TV, and snacked. You?”

  “After I dropped you off, I met the guys at the studio. We’re wrapping up the new album.”

  “That means you’ll be off touring soon, right? To promote it?” Worry tinges her voice. Glancing over, she’s slowly peeling the label off the bottle, piece by little piece.

  “Yeah, we’ll be stateside for a few months starting in January. Then we head to Europe for about four months.”

  “You’ll be gone for a while then?”

  “Yes, most of the year. Donna had a job secured for you here before y’all left Colorado, right?”

  “Yes, in the ER at Baylor. I don’t start until after the first of the year. We wanted to make sure I was healed up. It’s a physically demanding job, and I need to be able to lift and walk around without my walking boot. Luckily, I was able to put away money while I was in Colorado, and I have my dad’s life insurance policy. I’m not hurting, but I think going back to work will be good for me. Give me something to focus on.”

  “Have you talked to anyone about what happened?”

  “Besides you and Donna?”

  Giving her a nod, I take a sip of my beer before standing up and stepping over to the grill. Flipping the steaks, the meat sizzles when it touches the hot grate.

  “Not really. I think I’m doing okay. I know staying in my apartment isn’t doing me any favors. I’m going to try to get out every day, at least while the weather is warm. Is there a gym in the complex?”

  “There’s one over by the pool. It has some basic stuff, but not a lot of options.”

  “It’ll do for now. I have to see the doctor Donna set me up with next week before I can get clearance to do anything strenuous.”

  “How are you going to get there? You don’t have a car, right?”

  “I hadn’t even thought that far ahead. I guess I can get an Uber. But I’m going to have to find a car before I start working.”

  “I can give you a lift to your appointment. I’m free until we go to New York next month. And we can see about getting you something to drive. Or I can take you and pick you up until you’re ready to get one.” Why does it make me happy to want to do things for her? The idea of her being dependent on me makes me feel virile, protective, but that’s the last thing that she needs right now. She must be able to find her own way.