by Jenna Sutton
Beck thought about lying but decided he needed to be honest with Gabe. More than likely, Ava Grace would want out of her agreement with Trinity now, and that would affect all of them.
“I had sex with Ava Grace,” he announced baldly.
Gabe stared at him unblinkingly for several seconds before jerking open the freezer door and grabbing another ice cream bar. He made his way to the small circular table in the corner and dropped into one of the red plastic chairs. Leaning back, he set the cold treat on the tabletop and propped his ankle on his knee.
“So how was it?”
Gabe’s question was so unexpected Beck barked out a surprised laugh. “That’s what you want to know?”
The corner of Gabe’s mouth lifted in a rueful smile. “I have a few questions, but that’s the first one that popped into my head.”
Beck rolled his eyes in exasperation. “What was the second question?”
“When?”
“During the tour.”
Gabe’s eyebrows crawled up his forehead. “Where?”
“Are you working your way through the five Ws of basic information gathering: who, what, when, where, and why?”
“I’m more interested in the how … as in How the hell did this happen?”
“I am too,” Beck muttered as he sat down across from Gabe.
He was a normal guy with a normal sex drive, but he’d never slept around. His mother’s propensity to fuck strangers steered him away from meaningless sex. He’d never been into one-night stands or hookups, and he’d never had sex with a woman he wasn’t in a serious relationship with. This was a first.
Today, he’d wanted Ava Grace so badly he’d done her on top of a bourbon barrel. Another first.
Gabe’s lips twitched. “You don’t seem too happy about it.”
“I’m not happy about it. I’m not interested in getting tangled up with her.”
“A small part of you must have been interested,” Gabe noted with a smirk. “A very small part.”
Beck sighed, knowing Gabe was right. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t blame Ava Grace for what had happened. He was equally responsible.
Yes, she’d come on to him. But he could’ve turned her down. He could’ve laughed it off. But he hadn’t. Instead, he’d fucked her as hard and as deep as he could.
He had no excuse for his behavior—nothing except mind-numbing lust. He couldn’t think of another occasion when he’d been so turned on. Every bit of sense he possessed had disappeared the moment she’d put her hands on him. She made him forget all the reasons he needed to stay away from her.
“If you gave Ava Grace what she wanted, why was she so mad?” Gabe didn’t wait for Beck to respond. “The sex must’ve been bad.”
“It wasn’t bad,” Beck replied flatly.
And that’s the biggest understatement of the century.
“She didn’t look like a satisfied woman when she left,” Gabe noted dryly.
“I said some things afterward I shouldn’t have.”
“What did you say?”
He repeated what he’d said to Ava Grace, or as much as he could remember. When he finished, Gabe shook his head in disgust. “Shit, Beck. Couldn’t you have just said, ‘Thanks, babe. That was great, but let’s not do it again’?”
“I wasn’t thinking,” Beck admitted. “The words just spewed out … like projectile vomit.”
Gabe grimaced. “That’s vivid.” He settled his hands over his flat stomach, linking his fingers together. “You really fucked up.”
“I know,” he acknowledged, meeting Gabe’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I fucked it up for all of us.”
“Yeah, you did.” Gabe sighed. “The agreement between Ava Grace and Trinity allows either party to terminate within the first ninety days for any reason without any financial consequences. We’ll probably get a call from her manager tomorrow morning.”
“I’m going to apologize. Maybe that will—”
Gabe shook his head. “It won’t do any good. You’ll probably just piss her off more. Or you’ll end up having sex with her again.”
“That’s not something I want to repeat.”
Gabe smiled knowingly. “If you say so, brother.”
*****
Something was stuck under Ava Grace’s skin—something other than a tall, dark, and handsome asshole. She thought it was a splinter from the bourbon barrel, but she couldn’t tell for sure since she couldn’t see the back of her thigh.
Gripping the handheld mirror, she bent over in front of the full-length mirror on the back of her bedroom door and tried to get a better look. All she could see was raw, abraded skin in the shape of the barrel’s rim.
Beck’s version of a rim job, a naughty voice inside her whispered.
“Ugh,” she muttered, disgusted with herself and the entire world.
Just then, a soft knock sounded on the door. “Ava Grace? Are you in there?”
Ava Grace straightened and opened it. Amelia stood on the other side, a big smile on her freckled face. Since she’d married Quinn, it seemed as if she had lost the ability to frown.
“Hey,” Amelia chirped. “How was your day?”
“Hey,” she replied flatly.
Amelia glanced at Ava Grace alertly, taking in her wet hair, oversized T-shirt, and bare legs. Catching sight of the mirror dangling from her left hand, her best friend asked, “What are you doing?”
“I think I have a splinter in my leg, and I was trying to look at it.”
Amelia’s eyebrows drew together. “Where is it?”
“On the back of my thigh.”
The shorter woman tilted her curly red head toward the queen-size bed. “Lie down, and I’ll take a look.”
Ava Grace did as Amelia instructed, stretching out on her stomach on the black-and-white floral duvet. Turning her head sideways, she rested it on her crossed arms.
“Dwight David Eisenhower!” Amelia burst out. “What happened to your legs?”
Despite Ava Grace’s bad mood, Amelia’s “curse” made her smile. “Do you see the splinter?”
Amelia’s hands were gentle as she inspected Ava Grace’s leg. “I see it.”
Ava Grace sighed, relieved the source of her irritation had been identified. Who knew such a tiny piece of wood could be so painful and annoying?
“Will you fix me up?” she requested, her voice muffled by her arms. “Tweezers and supplies are on the dresser. I already disinfected the tweezers.”
Ava Grace heard Amelia gather the supplies. Seconds later, she was back, depositing alcohol, cotton balls, antibiotic ointment, and bandages on the bed next to her.
Amelia swabbed the back of Ava Grace’s leg with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball. The antiseptic stung her raw skin, and she flinched.
“How did this happen?” Amelia asked, blowing lightly on the stinging flesh.
Ava Grace knew she couldn’t continue to ignore her best friend’s questions. “I sat on a bourbon barrel during my tour this afternoon.”
“Ouch. Guess you should have worn pants. Or picked another place to sit.” Amelia pressed a hand on Ava Grace’s thigh. “Okay, I’m going to get the splinter now. Don’t move.”
Ava Grace did her best to remain motionless while Amelia played surgeon. After several minutes of excavation, she crowed, “Got you, you stubborn splinter!”
Amelia leaned over and held the tweezers near Ava Grace’s face. The shiny metal tips gripped a sliver of wood about a half inch long.
“I didn’t think it would be so big,” Amelia said.
An image of Beck’s erection popped into Ava Grace’s head, and she groaned under her breath. She didn’t want to think about that … or how good he’d felt inside her.
She didn’t want to think about him.
Ava Grace jerked in surprise when Amelia dabbed more alcohol onto her wound. “Sorry, chickadee. Almost done.” After smearing antibiotic ointment on Ava Grace’s leg, Amelia applied the bandage and patted it. “There you go.”
Ava Grace rolled over and sat up. She scooted backward until she could recline against the puffy pillows and crossed her ankles. Amelia crawled up onto the mattress and sat cross-legged facing her.
“Does it hurt?” Amelia asked, her chocolaty gaze loving and sympathetic.
Yes, it hurts.
Suddenly, tears welled in Ava Grace’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks. Her throat ached, and when she tried to swallow, a sob escaped from her mouth.
Amelia’s eyes widened in horror. “Ava Grace!” She lunged across the bed and grabbed her shoulders. “What is it?” she demanded, her voice panicked.
Ava Grace understood Amelia’s alarm. She was rather alarmed herself because she didn’t cry … not when she was sad and not when she was happy.
In fact, she couldn’t remember ever crying, not even when she was a little girl. She hadn’t cried when she broke her arm when she was seven, or when she burned it on the commercial press at the dry cleaners. She hadn’t cried when her dad missed her birthdays and Christmases, and she hadn’t cried when she won American Star.
But she was crying now, huge gulping sobs that almost choked her. Her eyes were so blurry she could barely see Amelia kneeling in front of her, and her chest ached so badly she wondered if maybe she was having a heart attack.
Amelia shook her a little bit. “Tell me where you’re hurt.”
Ava Grace buried her face in her hands, and her best friend wrapped her arms around her. “You’re scaring me, Ava Grace,” she whispered.
And that was enough to stop her tears. “I’m fine,” she croaked. “I’m fine.”
Amelia sat back on her heels, and Ava Grace swiped the tears from her face. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
“I’ve never seen you cry like that … not once in twenty-six years.” Amelia searched her eyes. “This must be really bad. What happened?”
“I had sex with Beck.”
Amelia’s eyes narrowed. “Consensual sex?”
Her voice held a note Ava Grace had never heard before—one that made the fine hairs stand up on her arms. “Of course. I would have said rape otherwise.”
“Thank God.” Amelia blew out a relieved breath. “I didn’t want to have to ask Quinn to help me hide a dead body.”
Ava Grace laughed soggily. “I love you, Millie.”
“I love you too.” Amelia’s freckled nose wrinkled. “It must have been really bad sex if it made you cry like that.”
Ava Grace looked down and picked at the hem of her T-shirt, an old ragged one from her first tour. “That’s not why I was crying.”
“So the sex was good?”
Ava Grace brought her gaze to Amelia’s. “I’m not going to discuss it.”
“Why not?”
“Because when I asked you the same thing, back when you and Quinn first got together, you refused to tell me.”
Amelia’s lips quirked. “I’ll tell you now.”
“I don’t need you to tell me. Your bedroom is right above this one.”
Amelia’s cheeks turned red, and she smacked Ava Grace’s leg. “Just tell me what happened with Beck.”
She recounted the events in the rickhouse, making no effort to censor. She told her best friend everything, from discovering the condom in Beck’s pocket to knocking him on his ass.
Amelia sighed softly. “What a disaster.”
Anger simmered inside Ava Grace, right alongside the hurt and humiliation. “He could have said no. It’s not like I forced him into it. He was there with me. I didn’t give myself three orgasms.”
“Three?” Amelia’s head snapped back. “How is that possible? Wasn’t it kind of … quick and dirty? And weren’t you uncomfortable, sitting on that barrel? You got a huge splinter.”
Ava Grace could feel the blood rushing into her face. “I was really into it. I haven’t had sex in six years,” she added defensively. “I was overdue for a few orgasms.”
Amelia giggled. “You’ll get no argument from me.”
Just then, the doorbell chimed. As Amelia scooted off the bed, she said, “I’ll be right back. It’s probably just the mailman.”
Ava Grace’s damp hair was making her neck clammy, so she grabbed a ponytail holder from the nightstand and twisted her hair into a messy bun. She wished she could terminate the arrangement with Trinity, but she knew Lex would throw a fit if she did.
He’d demand to know why, and she couldn’t admit she’d had sex with Trinity’s founder and CEO. She’d just have to cowgirl up and try to limit her interactions with Beck.
Amelia rushed through the open door and shut it behind her. She leaned against it, her eyes huge.
“He’s here,” she said in a loud whisper.
“Who?”
“Beck!”
“Oh, my God!” Ava Grace leapt from the bed, her inner thigh muscles twinging in protest. “Tell me you’re joking!”
Amelia vigorously shook her head. “He wants to talk to you.”
With her heart pounding, she begged, “Please, please, please tell me that you said I wasn’t here.”
A grimace flashed over her best friend’s face. “I told him I would see if you were available. He’s waiting in the living room.”
“Oh, my God, Millie!”
“I’m sorry! I didn’t know what you wanted me to do!”
Pressing her palms against her hot face, she asked, “Why is he here?”
“Probably because he knows he acted like a jerk and wants to apologize.”
A distressed whimper escaped from Ava Grace’s mouth. “Look at me!” She gestured to her bare legs. “I can’t see him like this! I’m half-naked!”
Amelia made a funny noise, a mix between a snort and a laugh. “Seriously? You had sex with him on a bourbon barrel.”
Closing her eyes, Ava Grace focused on her breathing and willed herself to calm down. She did the same thing before she performed, but talking to Beck was far more nerve-wracking than singing in front of fifty thousand fans. She hadn’t had sex with any of them.
“What do you want me to do?” Amelia asked.
Ava Grace opened her eyes. “Can you tell I’ve been crying?”
She didn’t want Beck to know how badly he’d hurt her. That would only give him more power over her, and he already had too much.
Amelia’s gaze skipped over Ava Grace’s face before she huffed out an incredulous laugh. “You are the only woman on the planet who actually looks better after you cry your eyes out.” She arched her eyebrows. “Are you going to talk to him?”
“Do you think I should?”
“Yes, but if the first words from his mouth aren’t ‘I’m sorry,’ you need to drop-kick him out the door.”
“Right.”
Ava Grace straightened her spine. She was strong. She could handle Beck.
She stomped toward the door and stopped in front of Amelia. “I can’t talk to him if you don’t move.”
“You might want to put on a bra and some pants first.” Amelia’s lips twitched. “Unless you want more than an apology from him.” She turned and opened the door. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”
Ava Grace took Amelia’s advice, donning a bra and relaxed black running pants before walking barefoot down the hall. She stopped just inside the living room, her gaze immediately landing on Beck.
He sat on one end of the brown leather sofa, his hands clasped between his knees and his chin dropped to his chest. His right leg bounced up and down, the movement betraying his nerves.
“Amelia said you wanted to talk to me.”
His head jerked up, and he vaulted to his feet. His dark eyes found hers, and she remembered staring into them as he moved inside her. The room seemed to pulse with sexual tension. She crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for him to speak.
“You were right,” he blurted out.
“I’m usually right.”
He nodded. “I am an asshole.”
“I know,” she replied, unwilling to make this any easier on
him.
A laugh rustled in his throat. “I guess forgiveness isn’t one of your finer qualities.”
“I haven’t heard an apology.”
“I’m sorry, Ava Grace. I shouldn’t have said those things after we … after we … finished.”
Leaning her shoulder against the bright white trim framing the wide doorway, she said, “I knew you’d fuck up my life.”
“What?”
“That’s what you said: I knew you’d fuck up my life.”
His face flushed. “Yeah. That’s what I said.” He sighed loudly. “I wish I could get a do-over.”
“If you got one, what would you say instead?”
A frown contorted his face. “I’m not sure I’d ever say the right thing, no matter how many do-overs I got.”
“You never know ‘til you try.”
He slowly made his way across the room and came to a stop in front of her. Looking down into her eyes, he said, “That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”
All the breath in her lungs rushed out. That was the absolute last thing she’d expected him to say.
“But it never should’ve happened,” he continued.
It took her a moment to find her voice. “Why? Because we have a professional relationship?”
“That’s a big part of it, yes. But it’s more than that.”
To her shock, he brought his thumb to her lower lip and brushed the pad back and forth in a ticklish caress. His touch made her aware of her tight nipples and the swollen, slick flesh between her legs.
“I like you, Ava Grace. More than I should.” He dropped his hand to his side. “But our lives are like bourbon and olive juice.”
His comparison stumped her. “What does that mean?” she asked.
“Do you know what makes a dirty martini dirty?”
“Umm … no,” she replied, wondering where he was going with the question.
“Olive juice. To make a dirty martini, you mix olive juice with a little vermouth and either vodka or gin. But you never use bourbon.” He shook his head. “Bourbon and olive juice are a bad combination. They just don’t mix.”
“And you think we’re bourbon and olive juice?”