by Quinn, Cari
I found the noise comforting, and Sammy was delighted with the audience for his antics to get a scrap of food. Hunter was an easy mark, but I caught Tristan sneaking him bits of filet as he was carving the little pieces into thin slices.
He taught Hunter how to build the little crostini things, and punched him in the arm when he was sloppy.
“You want to impress the lady, it’s all about presentation.”
Hunter licked his thumb, then held up the piece of toasted bread dripping with pesto and a piece of steak hanging off the side. “You’d eat this, right?”
I tried to keep a straight face, but his face was priceless. Proud and a little put out that it wasn’t quite perfect. He started to push up the steak with his finger and Tristan slapped it away with a spoon.
“You touched it with your fingers,” he groused.
“With clean fingers. You just licked yours.”
“I did?”
I laughed. Hunter grinned back at me, dimple in full effect. He held it out to me. “It’s delicious.”
Tristan moved back to the risotto on the stovetop, giving us his back.
I leaned across the island. Hunter shook his head when I reached for the crostini. He held it up for me to bite.
Too intimate.
I wasn’t supposed to be encouraging him.
So when the pesto and bread slipped between my lips, I couldn’t help but groan. The flavors exploded on my tongue as I bit down. I made a little squeak when the meat didn’t come apart. Hunter slid his tongue along my lips and I took the rest of it in.
He watched me as he licked his thumb.
Tender and salty, my senses came alive, including the ones that had nothing to do with my tastebuds. He gripped the edge of the counter as I backed up and sat down on my stool.
“Regardless of presentation, that was delicious.”
“See?” Hunter said.
Tristan rolled his eyes. “Amateur.”
Hunter laughed, and so did I. From then on it was a tag-team event with Tristan and Hunter making plates, feeding me until I begged for mercy.
“I’m going to bust out of this dress if you keep it up.”
Hunter came around the table and found the tab of my zipper unerringly. “Time to leave, Tris.”
I elbowed him and he sat back down. The men had swapped out wine for barley wine after the last course. When I was pretty sure I couldn’t breathe, Tristan then pulled out the sticky toffee pudding.
“Are you kidding me?”
“I’m just making sure you can’t run.” Hunter pushed over the small dish.
I laughed. He was outrageous and charming. Watching them cook brought back all the emotions from the first time we’d met.
The lure of a man who cared about feeding a woman couldn’t be denied. The fact that he brought his friend as a buffer left me at ease and off-balance at the same time.
This would have been the perfect way to seduce me, but that hadn’t been his intention. Instead, I was just touched that he thought about making me a meal.
And more importantly, I’d been the focus.
There’s been no talk of work, of shows, of anything other than cooking exploits between the two men as Hunter went from useless to apprentice.
We sat in the living room and chatted until dark. Dessert had been consumed, and my head grew muzzy thanks to decadent food and a Jameson-laced café au lait.
I must have dozed off because suddenly I was being lifted. I startled awake, looking around the room. Tristan was in the kitchen packing, and Sammy was sound asleep in his favorite chair.
“Hunter…”
“Shh.” He gathered me up against his chest. “I’m just putting you to bed.”
“I can do it.”
“I know you can, Kenny. I know you can do most things alone. It doesn’t mean you have to.”
I tucked my face into his neck. The lingering hint of coffee and caramel infused his skin and clothes. He carried me into my room and set me on the side of my bed.
He traced the back of his knuckles against my shoulder and neck, then around to my zipper. He tugged it down slowly, and his misty gray eyes heated as my dress fell forward in the front.
I was helpless against his touch. I’d been starving for it for days.
He drew the straps of my slip down as well. The lace snagged on my nipples before whispering into a pool at my waist.
I didn’t care that Tristan was down the hall. I didn’t care that Hunter shouldn’t be here. I didn’t care about being strong. I just wanted him.
He drew me off the bed and the silk and cotton drifted down my hips to the floor, leaving me in a scrap of white cotton. “Jesus.”
I didn’t cover myself. He’d seen everything, tasted all of me. It felt like a million years ago, and yesterday all at the same time.
“God, I missed you,” he whispered.
I wanted to say it back to him. Everything inside of me wanted to lean into him and let him back in. That little niggling doubt wouldn’t let me.
He sighed and reached for the nightshirt on the chair beside my bed. He dropped it over my head, helping me slide my arms into the sleeves. In fact, he didn’t touch me until the shirt covered me to the tops of my thighs.
He cupped my cheeks, his thumb brushing my lower lip. “I’m not giving up on us.”
I closed my eyes. I couldn’t face the certainty in his eyes. Not after I’d managed to hold out against the want. “Hunter…”
He kissed my forehead, then my closed eyelids, and finally my lips. It was soft and sweet and he was already straightening up before I could react.
When I opened my eyes, he was gone.
I dropped back down on my bed, my body and my heart conflicted enough that I slid under my sheets and let myself find oblivion.
I woke to a familiar tongue bath from Sammy. The only good thing about Hunter putting me to bed was that I’d slept the whole night through for the first time in days.
I got up, let Sammy out, showered, and dressed for the day. My front door opened at ten. Carter shoved his arm in, waving a pen with a white paper napkin like a flag.
“Get in here,” I said.
“Is it safe?”
“Yes.”
Carter pushed open the door. “Are you sure?” He frowned as he closed the door behind him. “Did you let them cook for you?”
“Yes.”
He looked around, then went to the fridge. “You didn’t leave me any?”
“Hell no.”
He grabbed a Hint water and shut the door. “Mean.”
“You’re the one who let the enemy in my house.”
“He’s not really the enemy.”
I sighed. “No. I wish he was. It would be a lot easier.”
“That’s because you’re jonesing for that sweet-sweet rock star lurve.”
“You’re an ass.”
The fact that he was correct pissed me off. He’d had every opening to take me to bed last night, but instead, he’d done what was best for me. Even beyond me knowing what was best for me.
How was I supposed to hold up against that?
“By the way, I got a call from Love & Paws. They want you to do the Fourth of July adoption push again. You in?”
“Of course.”
“I figured. Already told them you were available.”
“Is that the only thing pressing?”
He nodded. “The usual client whining, but nothing that requires you handling it personally.”
“Exactly what I like to hear.” My doorbell rang. I frowned at Carter. “What did you do now?”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t in on this one. And I wasn’t really in on the last one either. I just let them in,” he called after me.
“Still a traitor,” I shouted over my shoulder. I checked my peephole, then opened the door to a uniformed woman. “Can I help you?”
“Ms. McManus?” She looked down at her tablet. “Kenny McManus.”
“Kennedy, yes.”
/> The woman frowned, then looked back down. “It says Kenny.”
“From Hunter Jordan?”
Her eyes lit. “I thought it was a joke.”
I sighed. “Nope.”
“Lucky lady.” She held out the tablet. “Can you sign here?”
“What am I signing for?”
“Tickets.” She pulled out a slim envelope from her bag. “Have fun.”
“Thanks. Oh, wait. Let me get you a tip.”
“No need. All taken care of. Have a good day.”
“You too.” I closed the door. I flipped open the envelope and leaned against the door. “Well, then.”
“What?” Carter came around the island.
“Looks like I have a trio of second row tickets to Mumford & Sons tomorrow night.”
“Holy shit. They’ve been sold out for months.” He snatched them out of my hands. “Three, you say?”
I laughed.
“There’s a note in here.” He handed it over to me.
I scanned the typed words and shook my head.
“What did he say?”
“How do you know they’re from him?”
Carter snorted. “Come on. Even I couldn’t get my contacts to cough up tickets for this show.”
“Okay, okay, they are from Hunter. ‘Have fun at the show,’” I read aloud. “‘I got comped the tickets and can’t use them. Have to work. You told me you loved them.’”
“Girl, marry him.”
“They’re just tickets.” I took them back and tucked them back into the envelope. “I’ve had clients send me tickets before.”
Carter’s eyebrows shot up. “Shitty tickets to a Lakers game are not the same as second row to one of the most sought-after shows on tour right now.”
I tapped the envelope against my thigh. “No, they aren’t.” The fact that he remembered an offhand comment I’d made weeks ago should not have warmed my heart.
“Call Felicity, see if she’s available.”
“She is.”
I laughed. “You don’t want to check?”
“Are you kidding? If I said no, I should pack my bags now.”
“Looks like we’re going to a show.”
“Yes!”
“Can we work now?”
He sighed. “If we must.”
I’m not sure why I bothered. The rest of the day was a bust. We went to dinner and rocked out to the amazing show. During the encore, I snapped a picture of the three of us and texted it to Hunter with a thank you.
That was only the start.
For the next three weeks, I was inundated with gifts and handwritten notes. Though the last ten days he seemed to have settled on photos he’d taken, and then had printed on glass. On the back, he wrote why he thought of me that day.
I started putting them up in my hallway. I couldn’t even say why exactly. There were seven of them now, and the pop of color always drew my eye. From various animals, to an action shot of a playground with the entire band on swings in mid-flight, to a sunset in the mountains.
He’d only missed a few days. I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about him on those nights. And it was usually me who started up a text message war with a side of name-that-body-part.
He was really good at that game.
I never let it go beyond suggestive snapshots. I’d been in the business too long to put naked pictures out there for anyone to find.
The fact that I’d started dressing for him and our nightly chats was troubling, but I couldn’t stop. Then he missed last night.
I’d been off the entire day. I was getting used to finding a new text from him on my phone. Even a rude picture that made me laugh was preferable to the silence.
I climbed the steps and recognized the square package sitting on my stoop. I rushed forward and ripped it open before I opened the door. I backed inside, then gave Sammy a distracted pat on the head as I let him out the back.
The picture was of a marquee with The Breakfast Club in old black letters. I gathered the box to put it in the recycler and found a movie inside.
I frowned. What the hell?
I flipped over the picture.
Watch with us at 9:05. Thirtieth anniversary or some shit. The whole band is going to watch it with Molly Ringwald. How cool is that?
Missing you in Orlando,
H
I had a dinner date scheduled with a few of my old college friends. I didn’t hesitate cancelling. Right now I didn’t want to focus too hard on the fact that I was staying home to watch a movie with a bunch of people I wasn’t physically with.
I made popcorn, settled into bed at six, and texted snarky commentary with Hunter. When Bender was under the desk with his face in between Claire’s legs, I was treated to a play-by-play of what Hunter would have done to me instead.
The fact that I had proof of his technique left me gasping. The texts devolved from there, and I went to bed so wound up I almost took care of my own needs for the first time in a month.
Not good.
Not good at all.
Thirty-One
Hunter
“Would you stop grinning at your phone? It’s getting pathetic.”
I glanced over at Wyatt. “Jealous?”
“Of your twisted teen action with Kennedy? Hardly.”
“Hey, I have to woo with states between us. There’s only so much I can do.”
Wyatt stretched out his legs. “Still pathetic.”
I flicked through the pictures I’d taken in Nevada. “What kind of picture do I send to a girl who’s from Vegas?”
“Picking out the next glass print?”
“Yeah.”
“You know we’re actually going to be home tonight.”
“I know.” I still wasn’t quite sure of my welcome. We’d been doing promotional gigs for the last three weeks. The original schedule had been for a week, but the sales had been so good, Dex had extended it to a mini-tour.
My original plan had been to put myself on her doorstep as much as possible for the last few weeks. I wanted to show her how much I needed her in my life. Unfortunately, my schedule had been less than conducive to that.
I only hoped that she saw through the notes and late-night video chats to understand that I’d do whatever it took to make her see how important she was to me.
And if she didn’t show me that green bra and panty set from last night in person, I was going to go out of my mind. Green should be associated with money, Kermit, or a football field—it shouldn’t be making me think of curves and a downy-soft triangle of red hair.
But as with most things that had to do with Kenny, I was left holding my dick and praying for a turn in the tide.
It wasn’t even just the sex—though I had to admit a lot of it still included that as a goal. I was only human after all.
I was also greedy for the throaty laugh she gave me when I amused her. I could honestly say I was as attracted to her brain as I was to her banging body.
She trounced me in Words with Friends on a daily basis, she knew an obscene amount of dialogue from eighties movies, and even got me watching Supernatural with Keys and Owen.
I got to know her more without being in her airspace than I had with any other woman in my thirty-two years, including Victoria. And more importantly, I knew I’d never meet another woman like her.
The flight attendant did a last minute check through the cabin, dragging me back the present. I ordered a print of a vintage headdress I’d snapped when we’d gone to the Bellagio for an intimate concert. Impulsively, I added a second photo of the trunk of guitars that had been overturned. We’d been pissed at first, but then we’d all grabbed a random guitar and played one of our oldest songs, “Hide the Scars” to a packed room.
It had been the first time the band had actually found some of the magic we’d had as kids. Fame, the magazine, life, and fights had definitely changed some of our dynamic.
We’d played like a garage band for the first time in years. And I found that
I wanted that back more than I realized. To get back to basics in more ways than one.
I pulled out my iPad Pro pencil and wrote my usual notes to Kenny and added them to the back of the print. I finished my order just as the pilot announced our descent.
The local print company in Los Angeles was making a mint off of me. One more order and I was going to be eligible for platinum status. But I liked that they got it to her within six hours.
Sometimes I didn’t mind using my name to get things done.
As soon as the doors opened on the tarmac, Bats was out of his seat and down the stairs.
“Are you ever going to talk to him?” Wyatt asked as he pulled down his bag from the overhead storage.
“Now he’s the one avoiding me.”
“Maybe because he’s sick of being yelled at.”
“Fair enough.” I was sick of yelling. I was also sick of Victoria bringing nothing but misery to our doors, but I’d been so focused on Kenny that I hadn’t had time to keep watch over Bats.
Keys and Owen were cleaning up piles of Uno cards from their chairs and the floor. Keys had packed her card canon. She was our queen of board games on the bus and flights.
“Please tell me you’re going to see Kennedy,” she said as I passed her.
“Maybe.”
“Good, because I’m tired of moody Hunter.”
“I’ll tell her you said so.”
“You do that,” she called after me.
Wyatt followed me down the stairs to the tarmac. “You’ve got two days to get your shit together.”
“I know. I will.”
“You better. I can’t handle you giggling on the phone with her anymore. Get your girl and let me have peace.”
“I do not giggle.”
“Oh, Kenny, I miss you so,” Wyatt said in a falsetto.
“Fuck off.”
We walked through the airport to long-term parking. Neither one of us liked relying on a car service after a flight. Wyatt climbed into his Alfa Romeo Spider. “I’m not bailing you out either.”
“All right, Dad.”
“Seriously.”
“No arrests, no jail time, no SOS’s.”
“Good, keep it that way.” He revved his engine, then shot out of the parking lot, zipped around cars and to the ramp before I could get my damn seatbelt on.