by Cari Quinn
But he liked the look of the bed.
A white cotton quilt covered the king-sized mattress. Silvery blue threads were sewn in a design he couldn’t name. Clothing lines and brands he understood, but the quaint was definitely not in his spectrum.
It looked wide, inviting, and warm—all the criteria he looked for when his ass was currently the temperature of ice cream. It was tempting to climb into the bed with her and shut off the evening. They were going to be there for a few more days, but he knew Margo wanted to talk to Lila.
She needed her friend. Needed the connection of the people who had been cut out of her life because of him. Because he couldn’t face the idea of his old life.
He pulled back the covers and plopped her in the center of the mattress.
“We can’t go to bed.”
“I know.” Simon flipped the cover over her towel-clad body. He’d much rather spread her out and taste her freshly scrubbed skin, maybe even hear a few of those screams again, but he stepped back. “Just warm up for a minute while I go grab our bags.”
“Oh.” She pulled up the sheets. “I agree with this plan.”
“I figured you would.”
He headed for the door.
“Simon?”
He turned, his hand on the doorknob. “Yeah?”
“We’re not home. You actually have to put clothes on.”
He looked down. “Huh. I suppose that’s a good idea.”
“Ya think?”
He shrugged. “Not like people haven’t seen every part of me these days.”
Modeling had peeled away the little modesty he’d had going into his career. He was often stripped to the skin during photo shoots with little warning.
“Just in case, let’s not show off your wares to Mrs. Ronson. I wouldn’t put it past her to bring something over here.”
He looked around and grabbed the fluffy white robe from the hook. He ran down the stairs to the living room, and through to the vestibule where he’d dumped their bags.
The doorknob turned and a snow-covered head peeked in. “Oh, there you are.”
It was really annoying that Margo was right all the time.
Simon pulled his belt a little tighter. “Hello.”
She glanced at his bags, then his robe. “Did you warm up from your snow escapade?”
“Getting there. We just got out of the show—um, we…” He wasn’t used to having a mom staring him in the face with so much earnestness. Judgment and disdain, he was well acquainted with. “Margo’s upstairs and needs clothes after her shower.”
There. That didn’t sound the least bit perverted.
“It’s a nice big shower. Glad you two could enjoy it.”
Simon felt a flush climb his neck. “Yeah,” he cleared his throat. “Well, the snow definitely kicked my ass—” He winced. “It’s cold,” he finally said.
Mrs. Ronson laughed. “I live and work in an orchard with many men. Swearing doesn’t bother me. Don’t worry about it. Besides, I don’t think it was the snowbanks that gave you a fat lip and shiner.”
Simon licked the corner of his mouth. Now that he was out of the shower, it was swelling up. Not to mention a very bloodthirsty wif—Margo—that hadn’t curbed her rough kisses.
He still didn’t like the wife word. He felt married, felt bound to her, but he hated to admit that he wished he had the paper to back him up. Man, he was an emo shit tonight.
“Boys will be boys?”
Her lips twitched. “Sure, we’ll go with that.”
Simon winced.
“I came over to remind you of the Open House going on over at the store.”
His eyebrows shot up. “In this?”
“Oh, honey. This is just a regular night for us upstate New Yorkers.”
“Wow. Okay, well…we’ll get dressed and make our way over.”
She clapped her mitten-clad hands. “Excellent. Lila ran into town, so your friend is a little out of sorts with all the townies over there.”
“Right. Yeah, Nick doesn’t mix well with others.”
“He’s trying for Leelee’s benefit.”
Leelee? He tried to put that nickname to Lila—because, it couldn’t be anyone else unless they were talking about a dog. And somehow he didn’t think so.
“And the mutt?”
Laverne sighed. “Currently drenching my bathroom. Nick is trying to give him a bath.”
“Are there pictures?”
“Maybe.”
Simon snorted. “I like you.”
“Feeling’s mutual, Mr. Kagan.”
“Simon.”
She inclined her head. “Simon. So come on over. The store is filling up. We’re already through one round of hors d’oeuvres.”
“Food?”
She laughed. “All men are the same. There’s tons of things with apples of course, but plenty of bacon-wrapped scallops, stuffed mushrooms, and my specialty—cider-drenched pulled pork bites.”
His stomach growled. “Real food?” He was used to model functions where cucumber sandwiches were the main course. “We’ll be over in ten.”
“Excellent.”
“Mrs. Ronson! How bad is it out there?”
Simon craned his neck up the stairs. A blonde woman, who might’ve been legal, was wearing head-to-toe white—jeans, fuzzy boots, fuzzy sweater and…yep, fuzzy hat. If not for the boobs, he’d have guessed her age to be twelve.
Even with the advanced puberty of the current crop of women, there was no way that set was a teen’s boobs.
Not that he was looking or anything.
Much.
Laverne waved. “Hi, Traci. My, don’t you look cute.”
The girl preened. “Thanks. Daniel thinks I’m a little crazy with the whole white wardrobe thing, but I can’t help it. You only get married once.”
“That’s the plan usually,” Laverne said easily.
Or almost once, he thought.
“Well, come over to the store. People are arriving.”
Traci nodded. “Let me just go get Daniel.”
Simon put on his charming smile. “Guess I should actually put clothes on.”
“I know a guest or two who would hate that, but it’s probably for the best.”
He snorted. “You’re all right, Mrs. Ronson.”
“Laverne.”
He inclined his head. “Laverne.”
“Good, then we’ll see you soon.” She slipped back out the front door as quietly as she came in.
Simon climbed the stairs two at a time, bags in tow. When he got to the top stair, an older woman was closing her door.
She turned and her eyes widened. “Oh. Well, hello there.”
“Hi.” He had both hands full and his robe’s belt was definitely loosening. Time to go.
She came closer, lifting glasses that were resting on her chest. She put them on and blinked at him again. “Oh.”
He put down one of the bags. Recognition sparked, as well as a gleeful twinkle. He should be used to this kind of thing. Between the music and the modeling, he was noticed a helluva lot more often than he once had been. He tucked the lapel of his robe down into his belt before the stupid thing swung open and all his wares were on display.
Somehow he was pretty sure this cute little grandmother-looking woman wouldn’t mind. At least not how her gaze was dragging over his body behind her thick lenses. “You’re that young man in the…” Her lips pursed. “The Audi commercial.”
It was his turn to blink. “That was last year.”
“I remember because I made my Larry buy a car just like yours. Of course, he doesn’t look like you in the front seat.”
Simon laughed. “Well, I’m sure Audi would be pleased.”
“He does look rather dashing, but not like you. No…” Her gaze dropped to his belt. “Nothing like you.”
“Probably better,” he said helpfully.
“Oh, honey. Not a chance, but a girl can dream.”
Their door opened behind the wom
an and Margo peeked out. “Sim—oh, sorry.” She cleared her throat. “Think I can borrow him for a second?” she asked the lady.
The older woman sighed. “Figures you have a hot young thing with you.”
Simon laughed. “My wife.”
The little wrinkle formed between Margo’s eyes. His jaw tightened. The same one that always formed when he said wife. What the hell else did he call her? Girlfriend didn’t cut it. Ceremonially tethered without a license?
Bonded mate?
Sounded like a fucking romance novel.
He dropped the other bag and tightened his robe. “Margo meet our fellow lodgemate, Mrs.…”
“Tremaine. Kathleen Tremaine, but you can call me Kay.”
“Kay, this is Margo Reece.”
Margo clasped her robe lapels tight against her neck. “Nice to meet you.” She darted her gaze to him.
“Right. Well, we’ll see you at the party, Kay.”
“You sure will.” Not even a hint of propriety as she peered into the shadow of his robe.
Wow.
Margo held the door open. “Glad you put the robe on now, huh?”
“Not sure it would have mattered. I’m pretty sure she has x-ray vision.”
She tugged at his belt. “I don’t. Maybe I need a refresher.”
His eyebrow spiked up as she closed the door. “Short memory?”
She lowered to her knees and flicked the lock before taking him in hand with a long, leisurely stroke. “Quite long actually.”
9
Nick
“Shh, shh, just a few more seconds. I’m sure you have more of these suckers around here somewhere.” Lila’s dog Lola wiggled her sizable golden rump as Nick fumbled off her unfortunately pink and purple-flowered collar. It was unfortunate because Klepto the mutt had a very obvious set of baby makers hanging out beneath his tail, so he probably wouldn’t prefer the girly colors. But hey, whatever. Beggar dogs couldn’t be choosers, and Nick needed a way to drag the dog around. Specifically, right into the luxury bathtub in the room he was sharing with his missing girlfriend.
His girlfriend who had made sure to find his gloves in his bag and give them to her father to pass on to Nick before she’d vanished to parts unknown.
When Lila’s dad had handed over the gloves, Nick had nearly decided to seize the moment to ask for Fred’s permission to marry his daughter while Lila was gone. If not for the fact he had a huge ass hole in his jeans and more than a few scrapes and bruises thanks to his former best friend, he would’ve gone for it. But snow had soaked clear through his boxers and the kidney-sized bruise on his hip from one of the times he’d met the floor had been aching enough he’d decided to liquor and medicate up first.
Besides, that wasn’t exactly the impression he wanted to leave Lila’s parents with. So he’d found Lila’s trusty first aid kit—she never left home without it—and sent her a quick text to ask where the hell she was. Then he’d gone to wrangle the dirty mutt, which was an altogether better practice than pretending he was a decent son-in-law to be or dealing with Simon, who was probably getting banged since Nick had seen him sneaking off with Margo.
Figured. The guy started a fistfight, and he got prime pussy for his trouble. Nick, on the other hand, had been nursing a condition of blue balls for so long that he was pretty sure they’d retracted. Yeah, so it’d only been a few days since he’d had sex. His new reality was the more the better, and he’d gotten used to the good life. Wasn’t that why he wanted to get married?
Married. He fought off a shudder. Why was that word so…ominous?
Now he was in such shitty shape after the fight he wasn’t even sure he could have sex. His hands were a mess, his body ached, and his face wasn’t exactly one to inspire sensual thoughts at the moment.
“You stay.” Collar in hand, Nick pointed at Lola as she leaned forward to peer at the mutt currently cowering in the corner. The dirty, soaked mutt who apparently was scared of Lila’s giant fluffy golden dog. “No intermingling until he gets a bath. Lila would kill me if you got fleas or whatever the hell dogs get from living outside.”
The mutt whimpered and dropped his head to his paws, but immediately slid his gaze to the side to eye the stack of toilet paper rolls.
“Uh uh, thief. No dice.” Nick approached the mutt, who maintained his hunched over stance while Nick slipped the collar around his neck. He fastened it and the dog stood up, big black nose wriggling. “Yeah, yeah, it’s pink and purple. But it belongs to that hot chick, and it shows you’re comfortable in your manhood if you can rock feminine stuff.”
The mutt lifted his head and gave Nick a dubious look. Nick shrugged and pried out his phone as it vibrated. Hope surged that Lila had resurfaced and was squashed at Gray’s name on his readout. Someday he’d really have to set up ringtones like Lila had for everyone from her manicurist to Donovan.
“What’s up, asshole?”
Gray laughed. “Merry Christmas to you too.”
“It’s not Christmas yet, though you wouldn’t know it looking around this place.” Nick peered out the bathroom door at their suite, narrowing his eyes on the blue-and-white strand of lights strung up around the windows and the tree in the corner, bedazzled in every color of light of the rainbow. There were boughs of real pine everywhere, giving the rustic room an outdoorsy feel, and the mutt had tried more than once to curl up on the soft mat of fake snow piled under the tree.
Then there was the obligatory mistletoe, hung between the bedroom and en suite bathroom. Mistletoe he hadn’t yet gotten to try out with his girlfriend because she was MIA.
“Having fun?” Gray asked.
“Yeah, I guess you could call it that.” Nick started to tell the mutt to back up as he approached Lola to sniff and rub noses, then bit his tongue. Sniffing probably wouldn’t cause flea transfer, and the mutt would be clean soon, assuming Nick didn’t lose a layer of skin in the process. “Guess who showed up here to cause general chaos?”
“Elvis?”
“Think this is a little north of his regular haunts,” Nick said drily. “Try again. I’ll give you a hint. His last name is Kagan and his first is What-the-fuck.”
Gray whistled. “No shit. Really? He finally resurfaced, huh?”
“Yep. Him and the almost-missus.” Who had not said one word to Nick other than to grace him with a dismissive glance as she passed him by with her better half in tow.
So they’d gotten into a fight. Big deal. How many fights had they been in over the years? Millions. At least this time no one had been stuck holding an ice bag over his face to stop the bleeding.
“Both of them? Merry Christmas.”
Nick only grunted. Gray knew quite well how much Nick had been dreading seeing Simon again. And that was with Nick barely saying squat about the situation. Jazz’s husband had to be all intuitive and shit.
“Guess they figured the time’s come for them to start hanging with us again. Seeing as we’re all going into the studio in less than—”
“Hey, why don’t you and Jazz come out here?” Nick rubbed his aching fist over the condensation forming on the porthole-style window in the bathroom. Too much heavy breathing, and not for a fun reason.
Panic attack 101, so not nice to see you again.
“Uh, what?”
“What are you guys doing for Christmas? It’s not like you have the whole family deal to handle other than Molly, and she can come too. Ricki’s hoping to make it up here in a couple days if she can, and Michael too.” That accounted for half of the members of the fledgling band Warning Sign. Might as well have everyone around so if Lila said no to his proposal, he’d get to suffer maximum mortification.
It was sad that he’d rather risk that than have to spend one day shut in with Simon without his other friends around as ballast. Especially since he’d gone through whole fucking years of his life where Simon had been his lifeline to the outside world.
Now? Now he was just living proof of all that Nick no longer had.
> “Did you forget our son? We kind of have to bring him places too. It’s a legal thing.”
“Yeah, yeah. Bring Dylan too.” Nick only winced a little at that one. A screeching baby dropped in the center of a Christmas wonderland should go just awesome, right?
Besides, it’s good practice for when—
Nick cut off his thought before it could fully form. He’d endured enough trauma for one day already. He was not going down the childbirth and parenting road too.
“You feeling all right, man? It’s not like you to want us to bring our kid.”
Nick had to grin. “Well, he’s a little young to stay home alone, so yeah, what the hell. I’m going to call Deak and Harp too.”
“Another baby? Okay, now I know you must be feverish. Did you get pneumonia up there or what?”
“Nah, it just seems like we should all be together. Since Simon’s here already.”
“Ah ha. Simon-related. I should’ve known.”
Nick shrugged off the itch between his shoulder blades. Better than the burn in his ribs. “Okay, maybe that factored in. But you guys should be here anyway. We need to act like a band again soon, so might as well start now. You and Jazz are the only ones I’ve seen with any regularity, so fuck it. Band Christmas for all.” He swallowed over the dust in his throat. “It went okay last year, right?”
“Yeah. We had fun. But things were different.”
“No kidding. You hadn’t knocked up the pink princess yet again.”
“Feel free to tack on a gift for that, by the way. Since there’s push presents, I think there should be delivery donations.”
Nick had to snort. “You fucking wish. No one is buying you shit because you got lucky.”
“Had to try.”
“So are you coming or not?”
“I’ll talk to the little woman and let you know.”
“The little woman with the big belly?”
“It’s not that big yet. Later.”
“Later.” Nick clicked off and called Deak before he lost his nerve. Sucked that it took nerve to call a dude he’d known since they were kids, but there it was.