by Layne Harper
Silence falls over the table before she breaks it by asking about Jude.
“She’s great. Sophomore at Vanderbilt. She’s set her eye on qualifying for the Olympics in equestrian jumping.” Shrugging, I add, “Who knows if she’ll make it.”
“That’s wonderful,” MK says. “I’m sure you’re so proud.”
“What dad wouldn’t be?” Talking about Jude to someone who has only met her a few times is still a rather foreign concept. I’ve actively avoided mentioning her name to anyone but the band and family for so long that I’ve kept Jude partitioned off in my heart. Changing the subject, I ask, “How’s your family?”
“My sister’s pregnant.”
I barely know her sister. She’s a pediatrician who asked my angel foundation for a grant. I gave it to her hoping it would give me an in with MK. “Planned?”
Her face twists. “What kind of question is that?”
Taking a sip of water, I state, “She’s got like two already. I just can’t imagine with her practice and her organization that she would have time for a third kid. I mean, I could barely keep up with one.”
My explanation must have made sense because her face relaxes a fraction, and I think she was about to yell, but changes her mind. “I don’t know if the baby was planned, but they’re happy. She’s having another girl. She’s even floated the idea of naming her after me.”
That seems bizarre. “Right, but you’re Mary Kay. Your grandma and mom are Mary Katherine and Mary Kate. Isn’t it your job to carry on the naming trend?”
Before she can respond our dinner is interrupted by a fan. The girl looks sheepish as she approaches us. “You’re Johnny Knite.”
I nod.
“I thought so. I told my friend that it was you. Mind if we take a selfie? I have tickets to your show here next month.”
MK’s doesn’t look upset so I use the white napkin to wipe my mouth before I turn towards the girl. She bends down and places her face next to mine. Before I know it, she’s kissing my cheek as the flash goes off, momentarily blinding me.
“Thanks,” she calls over her shoulder as she walks back to her table.
Then, it’s like nothing happened, MK responds to my question about her name. “Yeah. I guess it’s sort of my job to keep the naming trend going, but let’s check reality. I’m thirty-one, not married, not seriously dating anyone. The chances of me getting married and having a child—girl child at that—are slim. It’s okay. I was kinda flattered.”
My fist slams down on the table surprising even me. “That’s bullshit. It’s your name.”
Her mouth hangs open. “Um . . . I don’t particularly like Mary Kay. Hence, why I go by MK. If my sister wants to take that burden from me, I’ll gladly let her.”
I have no idea why I’m so pissed, but I am. How dare Bethany just assume MK isn’t getting married or having a baby girl. It isn’t her right to take this privilege away from the girl that I love.
Tossing my napkin on the table, I lean in. “Tell your sister that’s our decision, not hers. We’ll choose if we want to keep the Mary K. tradition going.”
She laughs. “That’s awfully presumptuous of you, Mister Emerson. As far as I’m concerned this is a two-old-friends-catching-up kind of evening. I don’t think we’re at a place where you’re naming our children.”
“Then let’s get to that place. I’ve been without you, and it was shit. I tried dating, and it was also shit.” I toss my hands up in the hair. “Just quit being a scaredy cat and ditch the Vince guy and be mine until we’re ghosts. And maybe then we’ll be lucky enough to haunt the same house.”
The waiter walks up to the table right as I end my rather poetic plea. I ask for the check hoping to get out of this public place and back to where the outside world doesn’t exist.
When he walks away, she leans forward resting her elbows on the table. “It’s that easy for you?”
“Fuck, yeah.” I lean back crossing my arms.
“What if we try again, and we screw us up? I mean we did sabotage us after only two weeks.”
“I’m sure that’s some kind of record. We just won’t fuck us up again.”
“But I’m starting a whole new journey. You’re on tour. We’ll never make this work.” I think she’s trying to convince herself that she should not give us another chance. I’ll have to work on her negative thoughts.
With a half-smile, I lean forward and take her hand. Her warmth spreads through my chest. “Pessimist.”
“No, I’m a realist, Aaron. You’re going to be leaving for Europe and Asia. I’m here in New Orleans filming my show. You and I both know that long distance relationships don’t last.”
Swallowing, my head screams tell her you’d give it all up for her. Instead, I reply, “Cara and Rock make it work. We can also. Look, I’m not going to pressure you into anything. This is supposed to be a congratulations dinner. Let’s just see where it goes.” I also add in my head and don’t see the contractor again.
She seems to like my answer because she replies, “I can do that. Ready to go?"
I’ve never been more ready in all my life, but I don’t think she means it like I interpret it.
Chapter Twenty
MK
September
Rock Star Groupies @RockStarGroupies
@RealJohnnyKnite spotted at the nightclub @VibeSeattle. Back off girls, he’s mine.
Rock Star Groupies @RockStarGroupies
False alarm! @RealJohnnyKnite where are you hiding?
Laurie Smith @AccountantsHaveMoreFun
@RockStarGroupies Pic of me with @RealJohnnyKnite. He’s in #NOLA with @NoPinkCaddy
He sits on one side of the SUV, and I push myself so tightly against the other door that a particle of air couldn’t fit. “I’ve an eight a.m. call time tomorrow.”
The city is dark. Rain clouds blanket the sky not letting the moon do its job. Seamus is driving. I expect him to turn on the street where Aaron’s house is, but he doesn’t. He passes it and turns on mine.
“We aren’t going to your place?”
“I didn’t have Seamus get it ready.”
“What? I didn’t know you had to get houses ready. What does that even mean?” I turn towards him.
“No one’s been in it since it was cleaned and locked back in November.” Aaron’s voice is soft. When he talks, sometimes it sounds melodic. I love it.
“I thought the bands signed on your label sometimes recorded there.”
He chuckles. “Only with my blessing.”
“So you didn’t allow them to record there?”
The car stops in front of my gate. He doesn’t answer my question.
“Thanks, Seamus. I’ll see you in the morning.” He opens the car door and slides out.
“Yes, sir. Text if you need anything.”
Aaron climbs out first and offers me his hand, and I take it as I slide out from the backseat. “You’re crashing at my place?” I’m not entirely sure I’m okay with this. When we’re together, the chemistry is off the charts. My hormones suffer from short term memory loss and think a good night of Aaron loving is just what we need. Fortunately, my brain is still in control and told them to take a hike.
The street lamp gives off just enough light that I can see his shadowed face as I use my key to let us through the gate. He continues, “If that’s okay with you. If it’s not, I can go get a hotel room.”
“It’s fine, but I feel like this was planned,” I reply as Seamus pulls away from the curb.
“I’d planned to sleep on your couch.”
Rain drops splat against the sidewalk. I squeal and laugh. “I love the rain.”
“Race ya,” Aaron yells over his shoulder and takes off down my brick path. We run up the stairs, through the front door, and go crashing into my living room. Our combined laughter bounces off the walls. Without me having soft furnishings to absorb the echo, one last reminder of our happiness sounds when we’re both quiet.
He brushes the damp
strands of hair from my face. His tongue swipes over his thick, full lips as he spreads his legs making us close to the same height. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers as his finger traces my scar.
Before my brain can tell my hormones to back off, my hands lace around his neck as his wet hair brushes my knuckles. “You must have a thing for wet girls.”
Realizing what I said, we both laugh at my inappropriate comment.
“I do like my girl wet.” His smile is dirty.
Pulling his face to mine, I can’t resist his filthy mouth. A moan sounds deep in his throat as he presses his body against mine. His arms wrap around my back securing us together. My tongue finds his and our sweet, soft kiss becomes more fevered as his hardness presses into my stomach.
I step back. “We’re not doing this again. Last time, we made everything move so fast. If we have a chance of surviving your tour and my crazy filming schedule, we’ve got to do this the right way.”
He smirks, looking sexy as hell. “You’re the one who kissed me.”
“Jerk,” I call over my shoulder as I walk into the bedroom. That kiss was too good, and my body is begging for one more round.
He follows behind, carrying his bag.
“So just to make sure I’m clear . . . Making love is moving too fast.” He sits down on the edge of my bed and slides off his motorcycle boots.
Choosing a modest over-sized T-shirt that I received for volunteering at church and pair of workout shorts, I head to the bathroom to change. Through the closed door, I yell, “Sex complicates a relationship. Plus, you’re on tour. I’m not naïve to what goes on out on the road.”
I take off my clothing and lay each piece over the lip of the tub to dry.
The door flies open just as I slide the fresh shirt over my head. Tugging on the hem, I make sure it covers my lacy thong—one always needs to be prepared. His eyes are wide, and the scowl on his face lets me know that he’s not the least bit happy.
“Do you think I’d cheat on you, MK?” His shirt is off revealing the swirls of colors on the left side of his upper body. Denim jeans hang on his hip bones. Bare feet go toe to toe with mine.
Not wanting to bend over because he would clearly see the white lacy strip of my panties, I try to do this weird little move where I use my foot to grasp my sports shorts.
“Oh for God’s sake,” he booms as he bends down and picks up the material. He hands them to me and then turns around as he drags his hand through his damp hair. “My tongue has tasted every bit of your body, but by all means, I’ll give you your modesty.”
I pull them up my legs not really sure how to respond to that comment. “Thank you. I’m dressed.”
When he turns back around, his lips are turned down and his shoulders slumped. “I’m trying here. I’m trying to be the man . . .” He stops himself before he says the ugly word deserve. “You’re who I want. No other woman compares. I’m the one who should be worried. I’m the one who shouldn’t want a relationship with you. You’re seeing someone you work with yet you’re standing in your apartment bathroom with me.”
My eyes narrow at his accusation. “That’s not fair, Aaron. Vince and I have gone on a few dates. We’re not exclusive, and I’m certainly not cheating on him. For all I know, he could be standing in another girl’s bathroom right now. Dear God, I’ve told you this already. Quit bringing him up.” Swallowing, I reach out and place my palm on his stubbly cheek, and he leans into my touch. “I’m trying to make this fresh start easy for you. When we can swing it, we’ll see each other. I can’t leave New Orleans. You’ll be in town in a couple of weeks. We’ll go to dinner and text and just play it by ear.”
He removes my fingers from his cheek, placing sweet kisses on my knuckles. “We’ll do this however you want. But you need to know that there’s no one else. There aren’t fan girls or groupies or models or actresses.” The back of his hand runs across my cheek and over my scar again. “There’s only one girl who I want, and I’ll wait for her to realize that she can’t live without me either.”
With those powerful words, he turns around and walks back into my bedroom leaving me feeling very much like an impulsive teenager. As I brush my teeth, I wage an internal war with myself. I should have asked him to go to a hotel. There’s nothing good that’s going to come out of him in my bed. I go over all the reasons that I should kick him out, and there are many. The most important one being, I don’t have the ability to cater to him. As I found out last time, he’s demanding of my time and attention. Everything I have inside of me is completely focused on Burnt Sugar. I can’t stop filming to hop on a plane to see him because he’s bored. If I decide to cautiously take the next step with him, will he be okay with having to take a backseat to my career? I have a feeling that’s a lot to ask.
Also, I know that while he’s on tour that he’s constantly surrounded by temptation, and it’s not just the women. We’ve yet to talk about what ultimately drove us a part—his addiction.
Flipping off the bathroom lights, I walk over to my bedside table in the dark and turn on the lamp. A clap of thunder causes me to jump, and I grab my heart with a laugh. The storm is getting closer.
Aaron’s laying on top of the new comforter my sister bought me for my birthday. She said that the salesperson called it boho chic. She laughed and said she didn’t know about me being chic, but it looked like something I’d love.
“Do you want to change out of those jeans?” I grab my hand lotion and lather my palms.
“Since we’re doing this whole modesty thing, I was waiting for you to get out of the bathroom.” He stands and picks up his small bag disappearing behind the door.
I could point out that he got my comforter wet, but I don’t. I just mentally cringe and will myself to move on.
There’s no doubt how attracted I am to him. A younger version of me would have followed him behind the shut door and helped him undress. I’d have thrown caution to the wind and just enjoyed a one night stand. Sighing, I flop against the thick pillows on my bed reminding myself that he’s much more than just sex. He’s everything, and that’s what’s so damn scary. I can’t open myself back up to that level of pain.
“Are you okay with me sleeping here? I really can get a hotel room.” He exits the bathroom and drops the bag at the foot of my bed. He has on a pair of red soccer-styled shorts and nothing else. My necklace rests on his right collar bone. I’d love to snatch it off, and then it would be mine again, but I decide to let it go—for now.
I pat the mattress next to me. “You’re fine. Nope. No hotel for you, but I do have to go to bed. Morning is going to be here soon.”
He slides close to me, but we don’t touch. I want to hold his hand and bury myself against his side. Instead, I lie next to him paralyzed by my desire and terrified to trust him with my heart again.
It’s so awkward. Finally, I get the nerve to ask, “Do you mind if I rest my head on your chest?”
Aaron leans up on his elbow. “I want to ask a question, and I don’t want you to go all MK on me.”
Wrinkling my nose, I ask, “What does that mean?”
“It means that I just want you to answer and not include a five-minute lecture along with it.”
“I don’t do that.” I shake my head.
His head turns and slanted eyes tell me that maybe I do.
Swallowing he asks, “Do you still nothing me?”
I don’t reply immediately because I don’t know what to tell him. I don’t nothing him, and the truth is, I never did. Even when I was purposely ignoring all the media attention about ACE, I still had feelings. They were just ragey and stabby emotions. I also don’t want to let him in. My life is simpler without Aaron Emerson.
“Your silence is scaring the shit out of me, sweetheart.” The way he’s gnawing on his bottom lip confirms his confession.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.” I stare at the ceiling for guidance. “It’s not as easy as a yes or no answer. I mean . . .”
&nbs
p; “Stop it, MK.” He cuts me off with a single finger placed over my lips. “Do you still nothing me?”
Taking a deep breath, I reply, “I kissed you, didn’t I?”
“I’ve kissed girls who I didn’t even know their names. Do you think that means shit to me?”
His words are shocking, but I know they’re legitimate. And if I’m honest with myself, I’ve done the same thing, just not in the same numbers as him. I think about the football player that I had a one-night stand with, and we had sex on his balcony in the Quarter for anyone to watch. I’m sure I kissed him, and it meant nothing.
He grabs a piece of my hair and twirls it between his fingers. “Just say the words. Just tell me that you no longer nothing me.”
I admit the truth. “Aaron, I no longer nothing you, and I never felt that way.”
His smile lights up his whole face, making his blue eyes twinkle. “That’s what I thought.” He smirks and says, “Of course, you can lay on my chest.”
He flops back against the mattress, and I sit, examining his tattoo in the lamp light. I’ve seen it on his album art. I’ve also seen it on billboards, signs, and images on the Internet. Now, I get to see my name inked on his sculpted chest in person.
I’ve always admired the fist gripping the anatomical heart tattooed over his real heart. The letters MK are a beautiful shade of reddish-pink. They’re on the fist’s ring finger. Leaning down, I kiss the ink. When I look up, he’s staring at me with the softest, most gentle expression on his face.
“Cara asked me if I was sure at least ten times before she’d do it. She even made Rock examine me to make sure I was sober,” he chuckles.
“Were you?” I ask as I rest my ear on top of the tattoo. He combs my hair with his fingers pausing each time at my scalp to give it a rub.
“Stone cold sober.”
“Speaking of sober . . .” I hate to have this talk now, but if he’s still using, then I need to snatch my heart off the chopping block before we get any further.
His hands pause still wrapped in my hair. “Are you asking if I’m doing coke?”