by Jenna Sutton
While Mercy donned her red-and-white polka dot sleeveless dress, Ava Grace hung up the wedding gown and shoved it into a clear plastic bag. As she zipped the bag, she said, “By the way, you didn’t look awful in this dress. You looked gorgeous.”
“Really?” Mercy’s dark eyebrows lifted. “That’s not what I saw when I looked in the mirror.”
“What did you see?”
The petite brunette ignored the question and stepped into a pair of red open-toed flats. “So are you going to stay in San Francisco after the concert?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“I’m sure Beck would be happy to have you there for a while.”
Ava Grace wasn’t so sure about that. But there was only one way to find out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Sweat dribbled into Beck’s left eye, making it burn. Unfortunately, he couldn’t do anything about it since his hands were occupied with a heavy cardboard box.
Thank God Ren and Gatsby’s new apartment was on the first floor of the three-story Victorian. And thank God it was in Northern California.
Moving was never a pleasant experience, but it would’ve been even worse if they’d been in Kentucky. In late August, the temperature would’ve been in the low-nineties with ninety percent humidity. Here in San Francisco, it was cloudy and overcast, and the temperature hovered in the low fifties.
Beck entered the apartment and set the box on the floor. As he wiped his forearm over his sweaty forehead, his phone chimed with a text message.
He reviewed the images Ava Grace had sent. She and Amelia flanked Gatsby, their heads close together. Their huge smiles made Beck smile too.
Gatsby’s first day of school was later this week, and Ava Grace had offered to take the little girl shopping for clothes. When Amelia found out, she begged to come along.
Ava Grace had been staying with Beck for two weeks now. Initially, she planned to stay in a hotel because she hadn’t wanted to impose on Quinn and Amelia for such a long period. Even though the married couple hadn’t minded, Ava Grace had balked at being a permanent guest.
When Ava Grace had mentioned her plans, the words stay with me formed deep inside Beck and clawed their way up his throat. He hadn’t even known he wanted her with him until the words emerged from his mouth.
Once they were out there, floating on the air, he’d held his breath, hoping she’d accept his invitation. And she had.
Beck quickly adjusted to sharing his space with Ava Grace. Her expensive shampoo and brown sugar body scrub sat next to his cheap bar soap and value-size shampoo in the shower. Her short dresses and silky blouses hung next to his jeans and button-down shirts in the closet.
He found scraps of paper all over his apartment—receipts, envelopes, takeout menus—covered in her swirly handwriting with ideas for songs and music lyrics that just popped into her head. This morning, during the drive to Ren’s old apartment, he discovered some in the console of his Jeep.
He never threw them away because one of those pieces of paper could be her next hit song. Instead, he shoved them into his pockets, and every night, he emptied them into a zippered pouch printed with big sunflowers. He’d bought it at an office supply superstore specifically for that purpose.
Seeing Ava Grace’s stuff in his apartment gave Beck a weird feeling—a mix of pleasure and satisfaction and bewilderment. He didn’t know how he’d ended up with one of the most famous women in the country—possibly the world—living in his apartment and sleeping in his bed.
Whenever she smiled at him … whenever she said his name … whenever she welcomed him into her body and cried out her pleasure, a voice inside him asked, How the fuck did this happen? He wished he knew the answer.
Beck’s phone chimed again with another text from Ava Grace. In this picture, she, Amelia, and Gatsby were making silly faces. Ava Grace’s eyes were crossed, Amelia’s lips were pursed like a duck’s, and Gatsby’s tongue stuck out the side of her mouth.
Beck read the message that accompanied the photo: “Me & my girls! Best day ever!”
He huffed out a laugh. While he, Gabe, and Ren were busting their asses, lugging furniture and boxes around, Ava Grace and “her girls” were having the “best day ever.”
He wasn’t going to complain, though, not when his day started off with a bang—literally. This morning, he’d done Ava Grace against the wall in his walk-in shower, and he’d come so hard his ears rang.
Hopefully, he’d have enough energy to repeat the experience tonight. And if he didn’t, maybe she’d do all the work and ride him hard and fast.
The thought made his cock twitch eagerly. Shaking his head, he silently ordered himself to stop thinking about how good she smelled and the sexy sounds she made when she came—something she did frequently when she was with him.
Every time they fucked, she came the moment he got inside her. He wanted to believe he was the only one who made her that hot, but he knew that was unlikely. It’d probably happened with her past lovers too. But that was something he didn’t want to think about.
Beck heard footsteps outside the apartment. A moment later, Gabe marched through the open door, his arms wrapped around a large cardboard box. Ren followed, carrying an identical box.
“This is it,” Ren announced. “The last of the boxes.”
Gabe moved deeper into the apartment and placed the box on the hardwood floor. Lifting his faded blue University of Kentucky T-shirt, he wiped his face and hair with the hem.
“I’m never doing this again,” Gabe groused. “We’re adults who own a small business, not poor college students. Adults hire movers.”
Beck nodded vigorously. “My thoughts exactly.”
As Ren deposited his box on top of the one Gabe had just set down, he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think I had this much shit.” He grimaced. “There’s another dollar for the swear jar.”
Shortly after Ren had returned to San Francisco with his daughter, he established a no-cursing mandate. Every time he, Beck, or Gabe said a dirty word, they had to pay a one dollar fine, even if Gatsby wasn’t around.
Ren was determined to provide a wholesome environment for Gatsby. He’d enrolled her in one of the best private schools in the city and deliberately chosen an apartment in a family-friendly neighborhood.
The new apartment was a huge improvement over the old one. The contractor who’d renovated the Victorian had done an excellent job. He’d managed to create a somewhat open floor plan by widening the doorways between the kitchen and dining room and the dining room and living area.
By San Francisco standards, the apartment was huge. Ren and Gatsby had their own bathrooms, and he could use the small room off the living area as a home office.
A knock sounded on the open door, startling all three of them. Their heads swung toward the noise. A woman stood in the hallway, just over the threshold. The dim lighting made it difficult to see her clearly.
“Hello, I’m Sasha Ryan. I live upstairs.” She lifted one hand, which held a cardboard carrier with six glass bottles. “I brought beer.” She lifted her other hand, which held an aluminum-foil covered plate. “And brownies. I wasn’t sure which you’d like better.”
Gabe strode toward the door. “We like both.” He removed the beer from her hand and pressed his back against the front door. “Come in. I’m Gabe.” He pointed to Beck. “This is Jonah Beck. Everybody calls him Beck.” He pointed to Ren. “And this is your new neighbor, Ren Holt.”
Sasha hesitated. “I don’t want to bother you. It looks like you’re still moving boxes.”
“We just finished,” Gabe said. “Come in and have a beer with us. We’re harmless, I promise. And we’ll leave the door open, okay?”
Visibly relaxing, she said, “Okay.”
Sasha took a few steps into the apartment. She was young, probably in her mid-twenties.
Gabe towered over her, so she couldn’t be more than a couple of inches over five feet. If she were taller, she probably wouldn’t look s
o plump.
She wore a loose black sweater that hung off one shoulder, revealing the strap of her black tank top and a colorful tattoo on her collarbone. If Beck wasn’t mistaken, the body art was a dragonfly. Her bottom half was clad in skinny dark-washed jeans and black ankle boots.
Beck took the plate of brownies from her. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sasha.”
“Beck, right?”
He nodded, and she smiled widely, showing off straight, white teeth. Two tiny silver hoops pierced the corner of her bottom lip, and diamond studs highlighted the skin below her arched brow. Her eyes were a remarkable shade between blue and green, a little darker than the turquoise water surrounding The Maldives.
Her hair was styled in uneven chunks that ended above her shoulders. Blunt-cut bangs fell short of her eyebrows.
Her hair was so dark it looked black. Beck couldn’t tell if it was her natural color or if it was a dye job, but the electric blue highlights shooting through the inky strands definitely came from a bottle.
Sasha’s attention shifted to Ren. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
Beck slanted a sideways glance at Ren, who hadn’t moved or replied to her greeting, before bringing his attention back to Sasha. Her smile faltered, and she licked her lip rings, obviously uncomfortable.
Beck darted another look toward Ren, whose gray gaze had locked on Sasha’s mouth like a heat-seeking missile. Beck wondered why Ren was being rude to a woman he’d just met—a women thoughtful enough to bring a welcome gift to her new neighbor.
Sasha gave a tremulous smile. “You know what? I just remembered I’m late for … something.” She lifted her hand in a quick wave. “See you around.”
She darted past Gabe and out the door. Her boots thumped as she ran up the stairs.
Gabe deposited the beer on the dining table. “What was that about, Ren?”
“What?” Ren asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
Gabe pulled a bottle out of the carrier. “Why were you so rude? She brought us beer and brownies.”
“I wasn’t rude,” Ren protested before glancing at Beck. “Tell him I wasn’t rude.”
“Sorry. Can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you were rude.”
Gabe twisted the cap off the beer. “You didn’t even thank her.”
“I’ll thank her the next time I see her, okay?” Ren tilted his head toward Beck’s phone. “Have you heard from our girls?”
In response to the question, Beck held up his phone so Gabe and Ren could see the picture of Ava Grace, Amelia, and Gatsby. The guys moved closer to get a better view, and smiles flashed across their faces.
“Are there more?” Ren asked.
Nodding, Beck passed his phone to Ren. With Gabe looking over his shoulder, Ren swiped through the pictures.
“I’m glad they’re having fun,” Ren murmured.
Earlier, Ren had admitted he was relieved and disappointed he didn’t have to go school shopping with Gatsby—relieved because he didn’t know anything about little girl’s clothing and disappointed because he’d been looking forward to the excursion with his daughter.
“I hope Ava Grace knows how much I appreciate her taking Gatsby shopping,” Ren added.
After Beck and Ava Grace spent the weekend in bed together, following their trip to LA and her appearance on Roarke, Beck had bitten the bullet and told Ren everything. To Beck’s surprise, Ren’s first question had been: “How was it?”
Apparently, Ren and Gabe shared a brain, since that was the same question he’d asked when Beck came clean with him about fucking Ava Grace in the rickhouse.
Of course, Beck hadn’t answered Ren’s invasive question. His buddies didn’t need to know sex with Ava Grace blew Beck’s mind and shredded his soul.
When Ren asked if Beck planned to do it—and her—again, he’d answered honestly, confessing he was going to have sex with Ava Grace every chance he got. Until she no longer wanted him, that is.
As Beck had expected, Ren hadn’t approved. He lectured Beck for an hour about the consequences of getting involved with Ava Grace, citing the negative impact on Trinity if things ended badly.
Beck listened without interrupting, knowing his friend and business partner was right. Once Ren finished his rant, Beck assured the other man there was no question things were going to end badly—it was a sure thing. Ren stared at Beck for a long time before responding with a simple okay.
Ren returned Beck’s phone. “Your girlfriend is sweet for spending the day with Gatsby.”
“She’s not—”
“What?” Gabe challenged him. “Not your girlfriend? Or not sweet?”
Ren laughed softly. “Yeah, Beck, which is it?”
“She’s not my girlfriend. And if you knew her better, you wouldn’t describe her as sweet either.”
Beck wasn’t being entirely fair. Ava Grace was sweet. But she was tart too. She was a million different flavors, and all of them appealed to him.
Suddenly, Beck recalled when Ellis had compared women to bourbon. A good one is warm and smooth and just a little sweet. But she’s got some kick to her … a bite that makes you flinch. She makes your throat burn and your chest tight, and then she settles in your belly and glows like an ember.
Oh, yeah, Ava Grace was just like good bourbon. And Beck was going to savor every mouthful of her as long as he could.
“It doesn’t matter what you call Ava Grace,” Gabe said. “She’s living with you, and you’re sleeping together. Neither of you is seeing anyone else.”
After Ava Grace’s invitation-only concert for Trinity, Beck overheard her talking to the head of River Pearl Records. Unfortunately, Lexington Ross hadn’t abandoned the whole Win-a-Date-with-Ava Grace idea.
When he’d brought it up, she shut him down by explaining she was seeing someone. Beck wondered if he was a convenient excuse or if she really had no interest in being with anyone but him.
The music exec had been angry to hear Ava Grace wasn’t available for the contest and demanded to know whom she was dating. When she refused to tell him, he berated her and made snide comments about her looks and her talent.
Even though Beck knew Ava Grace could handle herself, he hadn’t been able to stand there and let Lexington Ross disrespect her, especially after she’d just finished one of her best performances.
Beck casually interrupted the insulting exchange between Ava Grace and Lexington Ross and offered to give him a tour of the distillery. During the tour, Beck mentioned Ava Grace’s work ethic, talent, and professionalism. His compliments were genuine, not just fake praise to get her boss off her back. She really was incredible.
“You and Ava Grace aren’t friends with benefits,” Gabe continued. “You’re a couple.”
Beck sighed. “It’s just temporary … until she goes back to Nashville. She doesn’t want anything more.”
Ren arched his dark blond brows. “Do you?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The jams and jellies section of the neighborhood supermarket was well stocked with everything from blueberry and pineapple to jalapeño and red pepper. Apparently, Beck’s preferred spread—plain ol’ grape—was unsophisticated and unexciting.
“What are we looking for?” he asked Ava Grace.
“Peach preserves and orange marmalade,” she answered without looking away from the shelves.
The grocery store was crowded this sunny Sunday afternoon. Tomorrow was Labor Day, and it seemed as if everyone in the city was out food shopping in preparation for a holiday get-together.
That was why he and Ava Grace were there. They’d been invited to a Labor Day gathering at Quinn’s parents’ home in the upscale neighborhood of St. Francis Wood.
Ava Grace was determined to try a couple of her cookbook bourbon recipes on the crowd. She’d decided to make meatballs with peach bourbon sauce as an appetizer and bacon-and-bourbon baked beans as a side dish.
She’d asked Shy to he
lp her concoct new recipes, but she was determined to test every single one herself. Beck admired her commitment to the cookbook project, especially since she had so many other things to do. She worked hard, even harder than he did.
“Excuse me,” a female voice said from behind him. “Can I squeeze in there? I need some strawberry jam.”
Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted a dark-haired woman about his age with an overflowing grocery cart and two small children. “Sorry,” he replied, stepping out of her way.
The brunette shopper plucked two jars of strawberry jam from the shelf, placed them in her cart, and hurried away. Her kids trailed along behind her, dragging their feet. They probably didn’t want to be there anymore than Beck did.
Grocery shopping didn’t rank high on his list of favorite things to do. Ava Grace did though, and he was willing to suffer the busy store for her.
This wasn’t the first time they’d gone grocery shopping together. They ate most of their meals at home because it was easier than going out to a restaurant. Unless they went to one of Shy’s establishments, her fans constantly interrupted their meals. It bothered Beck a lot, but she never seemed to mind.
Spotting the peach preserves on the top shelf, he asked, “How many?”
“Just one.”
“Do you have a preference?”
She shook her head, and he nabbed a jar of peach preserves with a vintage-looking label. After placing it in the cart, he resumed the search for orange marmalade.
She found it before he did, and as she bent down to grab a jar, the waistband of her jeans gaped a little, revealing the top of her lacy black panties. A gentleman probably would’ve looked away, but he didn’t feel like a gentleman with her. In fact, there had been a few times when he’d been so desperate to have her he’d been more animal than human.
After placing the jar of orange marmalade in the cart, she consulted her phone for the shopping list. She looked down, and the angle of her head drew his gaze to the nape of her neck.
Since she’d chopped off her hair, her nape had become his favorite part of her body. The baby-smooth skin just begged for his attention, and he had a hard time keeping his lips and tongue off it.