Stand (Black Addiction Book 3)

by T Gephart

  “Say what?” Jules stopped her tugging clearly as surprised as I was.

  “Here read it yourself.” I passed over the card partly for confirmation I hadn’t either misunderstood or misread it. Yeah, because I had such a poor grasp on the English language that a few sentences would be too much.

  “Beth, hope you had a great Monday.” Jules’ eyes glided over the note as she read out loud. “Stopped into Matteo’s today, it’s the Italian place down the street. His kid is a fan so I took some photos and signed some stuff. Figured you and Jules might want a night off from cooking. Call Matteo and he’ll deliver whatever you ladies want. It’s on me. PS. I ran into your “friend” from the restaurant yesterday, he was a real catch. I told him we were still dating. Don’t be mad. Just remember what a nice guy I am—allowed you to poison me, and I am buying you and your roommate dinner. Smiley, winkey face.”

  Yep, she had read exactly what I had.

  “Girl, I have to tell you.” Jules handed me back the note that I stupidly reread. “Between this and the coffee, he is seriously winning some brownie points. He’s not even sticking around for the adulation.” She returned to tugging at my sleeve, her point of view not over. “And kudos on his work with micro penis. I wouldn’t be mad; I’d be giving him a round of applause.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Both gestures being incredibly sweet. “He has always been a great guy.”

  As Jules grabbed the phone—the allure of dinner cooked by someone else so exciting she couldn’t wait another minute—I tucked the note away in my purse, not able to bear tossing it away. Our order placed a few minutes later.

  The delivery came sooner than we expected. No doubt courtesy of a certain name that had organized the delivery in the first place. And the food had been absolutely beautiful. Jules and I even shared a bottle of wine, camping out on the living room floor as we watched television, the alcohol and full stomachs making us drowsy.

  “I should call him.” The thank you text I’d sent earlier not seeming thankful enough. “Should I call him?”

  “You should call him.” Jules nodded, fighting her own food coma. “And tell him I’m in love with him. Then tell him next time he needs to bring us dessert. I want banana cream pie, the nice kind from the place on 2nd.”

  Not that I needed Jules’ endorsement—I was totally going to call—my fingers grabbed my phone and dialed, my breathing increasing while I waited for him to answer.

  “Beth,” Max answered, my name the only hello I needed. “You enjoy your dinner?”

  “Yes, it was fantastic.” I rolled onto my side, the last mouthful of pasta one bite too many. “Thank you so much.”

  “Tell him that I love him,” Jules hollered from her place on the floor, not bothering to lift her head.

  “Jules said she loves you,” I repeated, almost positive he’d heard without my echo.

  “Tell Jules, thanks.” He laughed, the beautiful sound filling my ear.

  “And that he should bring us pie, the nice one,” Jules again called out, my foot managing to kick her but not before he’d heard.

  “What about pie?” Max asked, clearly amused.

  “She said next time you visit you should bring banana cream pie, from the bakery on 2nd.”

  I figured I might as well relay the message. Short of muzzling her, she was going to say whatever she wanted. I was surprised she hadn’t already grabbed the phone.

  “I’ll do my best,” he said, probably because he was too polite to tell Jules to take a hike. “But only if the two of you agree to come out and see us again Saturday night.”

  “Of course. What’s your name this time?” That deal, an easy one to make.

  “Dirty Secret.” His voice rumbled through the phone causing us both to laugh.

  “Okay, well send me the details through the week and I’ll make sure we’ll be there.” I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

  “Awesome, will do. Goodnight, Beth.”

  “Goodnight.”

  “I’m gonna kill you.” I tossed a pillow from the couch, my aim on target as it found its mark—her head. The blow not as hard as I would have liked but I was dealing with limited projectiles.

  “What? He knows I was kidding. Lighten up.” She tossed the pillow back and we continued to laugh.

  It had been fun and games on Monday night—the good food, the wine, the safety of talking through a phone—but the conversation with Max had been great. No sexual undertones, no innuendo—just friends.

  Tuesday brought its own surprise. Jules and I had noisily entered the foyer of our apartment building, still talking about work when Ben waved us over, calling our attention.

  “Hey Ladies, hold up a minute. I’ve got something for you.” Ben briefly disappeared into the office before emerging. A beautiful cardboard box placed on the counter in front of us.

  “He didn’t?” I looked at Jules as we both approached the box.

  This time there had been no note, there didn’t need to be. We all knew who it was from. My hand lifted the lid tentatively. Like there would be anything other than baked goods housed inside.

  “The pie, of course.” A perfectly-baked banana cream pie sat proudly at the bottom of the box, the freshly baked smell wafting up to my nose. “Thanks so much, Ben.” I don’t know why I was surprised. This was Max Reynolds, considerate, kind and a man of his word.

  If I was honest with myself, it was probably more neighborly than needed, and even with our history he was going a little above and beyond the call of duty. But at that moment I didn’t want to think about ulterior motives, the fact that I enjoyed it so much making me more than a little uncomfortable. I would happily bury my head in the sand a little while longer, I couldn’t stop what I wouldn’t acknowledge.

  “No problem, ladies; enjoy the pie.” Ben grinned, discreetly leaning over the counter to whisper. “He got me one too. It’s from that nice bakery on 2nd.”

  “Okay, I said I loved him last night but now I really love him.” Jules made ga-ga eyes at me, her hands clasped together like she was a Disney princess.

  “You are not allowed to ask for anything else.” I balanced the box while shoving her towards the elevator, happy to deflect my own feelings on Max’s generosity and attention. “I swear, you’re a menace.”

  “Hey no one is holding a gun to his head.” She shrugged taking a healthy sniff of the sugar, cream and banana laden air.

  The pie was delicious.

  And of course I called to thank him for his incredibly thoughtful—and completely unnecessary—gift.

  “Jules is considering replacing me with you as her best friend. Fair warning, not sure you’re ready for that kind of crazy.”

  Max’s chuckle played in my ear. “The pie was strategic. That transaction locks up our agreement. You don’t come on Saturday night to my gig, I can sue you for breach of contract.”

  “I would have come anyway.” I laughed, no intention of backing out having even entered my mind.

  “Well you have to now, my new best friend will insist, I’m sure.” I heard the smile in his voice, loving the easy conversation.

  “Hey, I haven’t been replaced just yet.” I scoffed, barely able to contain my giggles. “Steady on.”

  “It’s only Tuesday, sweetheart. You’re history.” He laughed before saying goodbye.

  Wednesday came with no surprise coffee, dinner or pie and I hate to admit, but I was disappointed. Not because I wanted something—well other than to talk to him. So when I finally said goodnight and crawled into bed, I did so with an irrational sense of sadness. Which was pathetic.

  Thursday morning came and so did my determination to not be a loser. He lived a few floors above me goddamn it, if I wanted to see or talk to him all I had to do was take an elevator. I also found it strange that in the past week I hadn’t seen him around. What was even alarming was how much I desperately wanted to.

  I checked my phone trying to rationalize if I had time before work—I could be quick, even if I w
oke him to say hello—when I saw there had been a text left through the night. The stupid thing had fallen under my bed and I hadn’t heard the alert, my heart pounding as I opened the unread message.

  Hey Beth,

  Working on new material so spending a lot of time at Angie’s. Everyone says Hi. I’d hoped to stop by and see you tonight but it was super late when I got home. Figured I’d let you sleep. Maybe dinner Friday? Well call it a take two, hopefully we won’t run into anymore of your ex boyfriends, I don’t think my body can take it. Tell my BFF I said hey. Talk soon. xx

  I smiled at the phone—because I was an idiot—just re reading the words over and over again. The warm feeling washed over me as I typed my response.

  Max,

  Weds was ordinary. We had staff meeting so my brain was fried when I got home. Would have loved to have seen you, you should have woken me. Dinner sounds great, no more ex boyfriends and I’m never eating another strawberry again. I’m still traumatized. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to go with your BFF? She’s free Friday, just so you know.

  I ignored the judgmental digital display of my alarm clock telling me I needed to hurry up and get ready for work as I hit send. Being a few minutes late would be worth it.

  Sadly my phone didn’t ping back a reply—the telepathic wishing obviously failing—so I got my ass in gear and went to work, my mood infinitely better.

  “Miss Hart,” one on my students raised her hand.

  “Yes, Monica?” I nodded my head waiting for her to go on.

  English always got the most amount of questions. For a language that we speak every day there sure were a lot of exceptions, trying to explain it to kids—well, we’d get there eventually.

  “Why is Miss Cornell at the door?” Monica pointed to the glass window of our classroom door, a very amused Jules waving from the outside.

  “Um. Please excuse me, class.” I rushed over to the door, expecting to hear someone had either died or she’d finally been busted for unauthorized playing with the instruments in the band room. It was probably the instruments.

  “What’s up,” I whispered, my body hovering just outside the doorway. “Why aren’t you in class?”

  “They had gym, get out here.” She pulled me out into the corridor, her face grinning so wide it might split apart.

  My students leaned forward in their chairs trying to catch a word or two, the excitement of the interruption too much for many of them as they started to giggle.

  “Everyone, sit down and read over what we were just learning.” I spun around letting them know the show was over, and with their synchronized groans they went back to their books.

  “Start talking.” I nodded, knowing we probably had five minutes before the classroom descended into anarchy.

  “Max sent flowers.” She pointed to the colorful box on the floor at her feet, five stunning pink gerberas standing proudly from the box. “Aren’t they beautiful?” She reached down and picked the box up bringing them to eye height.

  “Why did he send them here?” I looked around for a card. “And why do you have them?”

  “Because he sent them to me.” She hugged the box proudly; the card I’d been searching for had been in her hand the whole time.

  “What?” I tried to keep my voice lowered while trying to mentally calculate how long we’d been out in the hall. Three minutes? Four? And why did Jules get flowers and not me? Not that I was jealous. Okay, maybe just a little, which was crazy because there would never be anything between them. Okay so it’s probably been five minutes. Crap.

  “Hey, I’m just doing as instructed.” She smiled smugly. “Apparently you need to check your phone. I can take your class.”

  I had no time to ask further questions, the rumbles from the class were starting to grow so we both walked and explained that Miss Cornell would be filling in for a few minutes while I took care of an emergency. And with my phone in my hand, I made my walk back out of my room and down the corridor pushing open the main doors. After all, the last thing I need was the faculty assuming I was sending a tweet or replying to a snap chat, I liked being gainfully employed thank you very much.

  It was only once I was outside that I dared to look at my phone, the little envelope icon notifying me I had one unread message. Except I didn’t get that far, my eyes catching on Max’s Corvette parked across the street, the owner of the car relaxed as he leaned against the driver’s side door, amused as he looked at me.

  “Max,” I didn’t bother to read the message instead crossing to where he was parked, avoiding traffic so I didn’t end up someone’s hood ornament in the process. “What are you doing here?” I didn’t hesitate and threw my arms around him in a hug.

  “I wanted to give you these.” He pulled out a colorful box similar to the one he’d sent Jules, except instead of flowers there were a dozen chocolate dipped strawberries sticking out with the tissue paper. “I was concerned about your trauma.” He grinned.

  “You have a death wish.” I bumped his shoulder and accepted the box, my vow to never eat another strawberry in serious doubt. “And don’t you think bringing them here is going to make it worse.”

  “Nope, I checked with a therapist.” He pumped my shoulder back. “I have it on good authority that you can minimize the anxiety by . . .” He pulled out a piece of paper from his back pocket. “Presenting the stimuli in a relaxed setting with positive reinforcement.”

  “A therapist, huh?” I smiled; shaking my head he’d gone to this much trouble. “Thank you, they are beautiful.”

  “No problem. Just make sure you eat them before Friday.” He winked, a beautiful smile lighting up his face.

  “Consider it done. And Jules loved her flowers, I think she is probably wanting to marry you now.” I couldn’t help adding.

  “Well as much as I like Jules, the flowers were strategic.” He playfully bit his lip. “I knew you’d probably need someone to cover for you and she’d make sure you’d get out of class.”

  “And who would cover for her?” I asked. Unless he was either psychic or a stalker there is no way for him to have known she would have been available.

  “I knew she’d work it out.” He nodded, his assessment correct. She would have faked a fire drill if she were really under the pump. “See, I’m really not that nice a guy.”

  Oh nothing had ever been further from the truth.

  “I should go.” I looked between him, the box of strawberries and the school knowing I had run out of time. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “Of course, see you Friday and Saturday.” He didn’t make a move to hug me goodbye, his body staying glued to his car. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

  “Okay bye.” I gave him a wave before crossing back over the road. My heart was beating a little faster and not from the quick jog across the asphalt in heels, that’s for sure.

  It was going to be a long couple of days.

  Holy. Mother. Of. God.

  If I’d had a teacher like that I would have definitely stayed in school.

  I’d never had the pleasure—and I am talking pleasure—of seeing her in her work clothes. And it really had been a crying fucking shame.

  The white floral shirt she was wearing was made of some kind of flimsy material that, if I concentrated hard enough, I could see the outline of her bra.

  Which would have been worth the aneurysm it may have caused.

  But the show didn’t end there; the do-you-see-me-don’t-you-see me top was tucked neatly into a tight black skirt that went all the way to her knees, hugging her body like its life depended on it.

  Well done.

  The black patent-leather pumps were a nice touch too, adding not only a little height but also some rock and roll, which suited me just fine. And her beautiful long brown hair was pulled back off her face, the makeup kept minimal.

  Hard not to imagine yanking up that skirt and putting my hands all over her ass. It’s something I had lots of time to ponder as her hips Shakira-ed their way acro
ss the road as she headed back to class.

  The week had been busy. And that was putting it mildly. The band had decided it was time to start writing and feeling out some new material, a new album not far in our future. And while I loved the process, being holed up for sometimes twelve to fifteen hours a day sometimes sucked donkey’s balls.

  And given I was seriously committed to showing her we could be friends without the horizontal hula, it was pissing me off I hadn’t had time to see her. My work hours not syncing with hers forced me to get creative.

  Which is what I did.

  Her morning text gave me some extra inspiration.

  And I was up to the challenge.

  I didn’t have to look too far.

  Troy Harris.

  While he boasted a successful career as the cymbal smasher for international rock band Power Station, he was also part owner of the label we were signed to. Add into the fact we’d known him and his buddies for a bunch of years, I was fairly comfortable calling him and asking to speak to his wife, Megs, who happened to be a psychologist. A few questions here and with her good sense of humor, I had all the information and technical terms I needed. It was either in poor taste or fucking hilarious, and I was happy to roll the dice on the chance it might make her smile.

  Thankfully it had paid off and had given me an opportunity to see her, considering I was probably going to be working well into the night.

  I was a good boy too, keeping my ass planted against my car with my hands behaving themselves. But I wasn’t fooling myself into thinking my epic restraint was going to last forever. Or that my actions were purely platonic.

  Rearranging my dick in my pants—another reason my ass hadn’t been in a hurry to move—I got back into my car and headed to my office. The place I’d been clock-punching the past few days—Angie’s.

  The session was solid. It was the usual back and forth with Rus being a smart-ass and Joey being tired. Angie was somewhere in between, tossing guitar picks at us whenever we got off track, which was a lot, my head not in the game.

  “Hey, we’re going to need to push back tomorrow/later today. Kenzie is recording all day, so I’ll have Layla until six.” Joey put down his sticks, the long ass day finally over. It had to be sometime after one in the morning, maybe two?