I’m glad to have an excuse as the bride to stay out of the crowds and hang out in the pool house with my attendants. Oona, Rowan, Jordan, and Nick’s baby sister Katie are here, and we’ve been swanning around in matching robes for hours, getting our hair and nails and makeup done. It’s ridiculous and indulgent, but fun anyway. Keeps my mind off the hordes of people in my yard. Okay, so there are fifty. But for me, that may as well be the entire state of California.
There’s a brief knock, and then Nick is coming through the door, looking awfully dashing in his suit. Of course he hasn’t buttoned up his shirt all the way or tied his tie, which is draped around his neck, but I can do that for him. I’m just happy he’s still got the rest of his clothes on. He promised not to take them off until the reception. Then he can do whatever he wants. Not like anyone here will be surprised by his antics. It’s almost guaranteed that he’ll end up in the pool with Fi by the end of the day, and that’s fine.
His gaze darts around the room before it lands on me, and he smiles, his mouth stretching wide and his eyes lighting up. He’s the cutest. It only takes him a few leaping strides to reach me, and then he’s encircling me in his arms and planting a kiss on my lips. Good thing this lipstick won’t come off without a power washer because this isn’t a polite peck or an affectionate smooch. No, this is enough to make Katie groan.
“Ew, you guys. Come on. There are other people here. Save it for the honeymoon. Gross.”
To which I’m pretty sure Nicky responds with a middle finger. Somehow I don’t think getting his younger siblings to mind their manners was ever his forte so I don’t bother to scold him. After he’s had his fill of me—for the moment, of course—he pulls back and grins again. “You ready?”
Right. Can’t just hang out in the pool house all day, must get this show on the road. I’ve gone over and over my strategies with Vivian and talked through the plan with Nick and Oona, and all of our attendants know the drill and basically all the guests are quietly aware that this is going to be a challenge for me.
“I think so?” My heartrate is speeding up, and my breathing’s getting shallow because the prospect of going out there with all those people is—
Nick takes my chin between his thumb and the knuckle of his forefinger and tips my head back slightly. “Hey, babe. Look at me.”
I close my eyes, take a few deep breaths, and then I do.
“Good job.” On some days I’d punch him for being a condescending dickbag, but today I need all the reassurance I can get so I’m grateful instead of grumpy. “You know every single person out there. You’ve met them all, talked to them all, and they’re all here because they love us. Nothing bad is going to happen, and you know what? Even if you decide that this is not a thing you want to do, we’ll just call off the ceremony and have a party. No one will care because, let me tell you, the food is incredible and we’ve got an open bar that won’t quit. Plus, a pool. What’s not good about that?”
“Nothing.”
“Exactly.”
I nod, and he takes my face in his hands while I curl my fingers around his wrists. I can feel his pulse, which is fast—because it always is, there aren’t many things Nick does slowly—but steady as the way he plays guitar.
“So what do you say? Want to go out there and do this thing or do you want to call the whole thing off and let Fi get into the pool? She’s giving poor Jake a run for his money.”
“I think…”
Looking up into Nick’s face is bracing. I can see my future there, and it looks very much like a man who loves me with everything he has, would do anything for me, accepts me as I am, is grateful that I take him as he is, and will make me laugh every day of my life.
“I think yes, let’s do it.”
Nick
* * *
Dempsey’s got a death grip on me with one hand and is strangling her bouquet with the other. I told her we didn’t have to do this and would’ve honest-to-god been fine if she’d passed. This is as hard for her as it is for me to think in a straight line. But here she is, here we are, walking down the aisle to where a bunch of our closest friends are already standing. And of course Fiona the flower dog who has flopped down on Jake’s feet, probably getting his shiny shoes all wet.
“Just look straight ahead, babe. Like no one is here besides the regulars. Or hell, you can ignore them too if you want. Just you and me and Fi. Like you know when you’re walking over something high up and people say don’t look down? It’s like that, but just look at the dog. Did you ever play lava floor when you were a kid?”
Dempsey looks at me like I’m speaking Greek.
“You know, the floor is lava, and if you step on it, you die, so you have to jump on the furniture?”
“I’m sure your parents were big fans.”
I shrug. “Eh, we could’ve been doing way worse things. They were probably relieved we were only jumping on the furniture.”
We’ve made it all the way up the aisle and to where our friends are waiting. If you would’ve asked me two years ago which member of LtG was going to get married first, it sure as hell wouldn’t have been me. And yet here we are.
I’m not sure about a lot of things in my life, and my brain still runs away on me all the time—exhibit A: lava floor. Probably wedding guests wouldn’t be up for playing lava floor, huh? Kinda hard to jump around when you’re in suits and fancy dresses, and the folding chairs don’t look super-sturdy so probably best not. But there is one thing I’m sure of and that I know down to my bone marrow will be a constant thing in my life. You don’t get any steadier than Dempsey. Or any smarter or prettier or more willing to roll with whatever I throw at her. I mean, she barely blinked at lava floor.
We get through the ceremony with Fiona schnarffling inappropriately only a couple of times, and then I get to kiss Dempsey. Press my lips to hers in front of all these people and be happy and satisfied and content. From the way she kisses me back, I think she feels the same. In this one thing, our minds can be quiet. Together.
* * *
***
* * *
Thank you for reading The Inside Track! I hope you enjoyed Nick and Dempsey. Turn the page to see the cover, blurb and an excerpt for Love on the Tracks, the first book in the Snow and Ice Games series, featuring Zane and Rowan. Followed by the cover, blurb and excerpt from Thrown Off Track, Christian and Teague’s book from the License to Love series.
Welcome to the Snow and Ice Games where the competition is fierce and the romance is HOT.
* * *
Rowan Andrews is the unexpected darling of the Denver Snow and Ice Games. Luge has never captured the American public’s imagination as much as figure skating or even hockey, but her outsized personality and dare-devil ways have got everyone’s eyes glued to the track. Including a certain chart-topping heartthrob.
Zane Rivera is the lead singer of License to Game, the hottest band in the country. When Zane finds out Rowan Andrews has had some complimentary things to say about him, he arranges to meet her while he’s in Denver enjoying the games. And when a photo of him kissing Rowan on the cheek goes viral, they both see the advantages of faking a relationship for the publicity.
After Rowan’s injured in her final race, their relationship starts to feel all too real to Zane. But is this rock star ready to fall in love?
* * *
***
* * *
An hour later, we’re sitting on the couch and it’s abundantly clear Rowan shouldn’t quit her day job.
“No. Your middle finger needs to go here.”
Rowan scowls while I adjust her hand. “I have a different idea of what I could do with my middle finger.”
I drop my mouth wide open in a face of overblown disbelief. “Rowan Andrews, I would’ve never thought America’s favorite SIG athlete would be so crass.”
“Bite me.”
After I finish laughing, I have an idea. Not at all motivated by my sudden flood of desire to get my hands and my mouth on her. No
pe, not one bit.
“Okay. Clearly this isn’t working. Let’s try something else.”
I pull the pillows out from behind her on the couch, and wedge myself between her body and the hard back. It’s not the most comfortable, but having Rowan’s spine pressed against my chest, with the smell of her hair drifting into my nose—and yeah, her phenomenal ass backed up into my crotch—is worth it.
I slip my arms under hers, and hold the guitar. It’s awkward, but I think this will work. If it doesn’t, it’ll be fun to try. “Put your hands over mine.”
She does as I’ve directed, and I like the feel of her callused hands resting on the backs of mine. Even wearing those spiky gloves, she’s still got the evidence of all her hard work rising from her skin, much as I do mine.
I find C, and strum a few times, Rowan’s fingers moving like a second skin or maybe a strange puppet. “I’m sure it’s probably the same for athletes, but when you’re learning to play an instrument, muscle memory is helpful.”
Switching to a different chord, I keep strumming and hook my chin over her shoulder to talk in her ear. Low and quiet, because I want to give her a thrill. Girl deserves that. Even if her runs don’t go well and she doesn’t place, I want her to remember these two weeks at the SIGs forever.
“If you practice enough, your body will remember how the note feels. Not how it sounds, and not the painful placing of every finger on the correct string, and the right fret. You’ll just feel it.”
With her back against me, I can feel Rowan’s breathing, and it gives me a kick that it’s sped up, gotten shallower. Yes, I think she’s enjoying herself.
“Does it work that way for you sometimes? On your sled?”
I switch chords again, her fingers following, and she takes a deeper breath. “Yeah. On tracks I know really well—like the one at home—I could probably do runs there with my eyes closed. That would be stupid, but I bet I could do it. After going down so many times, I know all the turns, know the angles of the banks, exactly how long I’m in the straightaways, how I have to shift my body to take advantage.”
“Exactly.” On the next switch of the chord, I tilt my head and kiss her under her ear. There’s the possibility I’ll get an elbow to my ribs for distracting her—because if there’s one thing Rowan is, it’s focused—but that’s not what happens. Oh no. She rests her head on my shoulder, giving me more access to that graceful column of smooth skin.
If I were smart, I’d take a selfie of us to post on social media, because this is the kind of thing that would set the world on fire. Somehow that feels wrong to me, though. I want this to be a moment Rowan can have to herself. Not for the cameras, not for the press, and not for her sponsors.
I switch from basic chords to playing one of LtG’s hits, and I feel her laugh before I can hear her. It vibrates through my whole body, and it’s transmitted through the fine muscles of her neck and into my mouth, my tongue. Being like this with her . . . I’m getting hard.
She probably wouldn’t argue if I asked to have her right now. But I want to make her Jell-O, have this crazy strong woman turned into a boneless puddle by my voice in her ear, her fingers on mine. Yes, it’s fun she’s a fan, but it’s more than that. How much more and in what way, I haven’t quite nailed down.
So I sing to her, and play, and at some point, her hands fall away from mine. I could scold her for not finishing her lesson, but I don’t care. Not with her resting against me like this, and especially not when she strokes the outsides of my thighs. If I was half-hard before, I’m rock hard now.
Despite being ready to go, I take my time. When I’ve finished going through a half dozen of our biggest crowd-pleasers, she squeezes, hands so high up on my thighs I can imagine her gripping me in another way, urging me on, and—
“Will you play the other song?”
There is no title yet, so of course she doesn’t know it, but she doesn’t need to. I know exactly what she’s talking about. I won’t deny her that either, because it’s as much her song as it is mine. So I play the first few notes and then she’s singing along with me. Not in a way any professional musician would, but it’s all the sweeter for that. She’s memorized all the words and only falters a couple of times on the simple harmonies she’s made up, correcting herself quickly. Even though I’ve had the pleasure to jam and perform with some of the greatest musicians in the world, it’s one of the best things I’ve ever felt in my life.
When I’ve strummed the last chord, I lean us forward to set my guitar on the coffee table, and then kiss behind her ear before murmuring, “Can I take you to bed?”
* * *
Click here to read Love on the Tracks now!
Singing about love is one thing. Finding it is another.
* * *
Teague Martell has been License to Game’s bassist for over a decade, and he’s played Casanova for just as long, sleeping with almost everyone in his path. But unbeknownst to even his bandmates, it’s always felt like going through the motions.
His best friend and LtG drummer Christian Vogel has secrets of his own. Like that he’s had a crush on Teague for as long as he’s had crushes. And while LtG’s lead singer may have made his solo plans public and sent the band into a tailspin, Christian’s got a side gig as well—one he’s been keeping under wraps.
A nude photoshoot for a charity calendar has Teague seeing Christian in a different light—suddenly he knows what it is to want. But disagreements about the future of the band could impact their future as a couple. Christian and Teague have to decide whether their differences of opinion create a sweet harmony or if there’s too much discord in the duet they’re finally playing.
* * *
***
Right on cue, Christian comes out from his partitioned-off dressing area. He’s got a robe on too, and it’s too big for him. Looks almost like it could get wrapped around him twice. It doesn’t help that he’s as pale as always and his hair’s dyed black with some blue layered in at the front. It looks good on him. I like it better than the blond he’s had for a while. Maybe that’s what my increased…awareness of Christian for the past few weeks has been about. I’ve always liked him, but lately…
Nah. Nothing special is going on. It’s just a blip or something. Maybe that haircut. Sure as hell doesn’t have to do with the phone call he took the day before yesterday. Or his subsequent obsessive checking of his voicemail.
Tasse smiles at Christian, and he waves in our general direction. I hope she’s not offended by his lack of enthusiasm. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t like her. He… This isn’t his favorite part of being in show business, is all. But Tasse doesn’t look offended. No, she sets to work.
I expect her to put me on one of the front two chaises—because not to be a dick about it, but I’m usually in the front of the pictures since I work out way more than the rest of these jokers and it’s common knowledge I’m “the hot one.”
But no, she takes Zane by the arm and steers him over to the bottle-green seat at the front. He looks sheepish as he shrugs off his robe, and then he’s standing there in nothing but a sock. Yep, he kept his on. An assistant is there, but he hands his robe off to Rowan who leans in and says something before giving him a quick peck on the cheek and backing up.
That might be nice. To have someone around like that. But I’m not going to think about it much, because clearly Tasse was saving me for the next chaise. It’s a plum purple, and yeah, Zane would never be able to pull that off. But she doesn’t gesture for me.
“Nick? We’re going to put you here.”
Nicky trots up the couple of steps to where she is like he’s Rocky or something. When he gets to the top, he puts his arms up in the air, butt-naked and hopping around, as if he’s ever boxed a day in his life, waiting for Tasse to tell him what to do. She gets him situated in one of those poses that hides his dick and then hands him a book.
“Hey, Nicky,” I shout, cupping my hands around my mouth. “I think that’s the first time I’ve
ever seen you hold a book.”
People laugh, and Nicky gives me a cheerful middle finger. “Same, bro. Make sure you’ve got yours right side up.”
Fair enough. I’m not a big reader. I was happy when I got my GED, and then I was done. I know everything I need to survive this business, and that’s about all I have use for. I’d rather play video games or hang out than read. Especially a book. They’re so…long. I mean, really, what’s the point? It’s like trying to have a conversation with someone, but they’re the only one talking, forever.
And Tasse, I’ve heard you’re a genius, but what the hell? Putting Nicky in front of me isn’t a genius move. I am far, far studlier than Nick.
Then she’s putting Benji on the burnt-orange chaise above that, and I’m resigned to being in the back. Does she hate me?
At long last, she calls for me, and I head up to the platform she’s standing on. I jog over, taking the long platforms like they’re steps. Once I’m there, I toss my robe aside, and she sets me up, arranging my limbs like I’m one of those drawing figures Christian has. At least the way she gets me settled isn’t uncomfortable. Arm draped over the curled back of the way-too-fancy-for-the-likes-of-us furniture, one leg bent at the knee and the other stretched out. My legs are so long my foot still hangs over the edge of the navy-blue velvet. Yep, big, dumb Teague who doesn’t fit quite anywhere.
The Inside Track: A License to Love Novel Page 23