All the Best Nights

by Hanna Earnest

  “What was she like?” A wince or something like it passed over her face. “I never met my grandmothers.”

  That honesty in her voice—Bran couldn’t resist it, his walls bent to serve her. “You wanna know about Faye Kelly?” Nelle nodded, squeezed his hand, and the details stuttered out of him. Things nobody mentioned at the funeral. Things that made her his gran. “She loved coffee.” The house always smelled like it. In the winter the kitchen windows would fog over with the steam from the kettle. “She had a little French press. Brewed two cups a day. Morning, and night—the evening one she ‘watered down’ with whiskey.” For my health, she’d say with a shrug, then raise the glass, winking as she added, Sláinte!

  “She liked clear mugs. I got in the habit of buying her a set every year for her birthday because she’d carry them with her and lose track of them.” She’d leave one on a neighbor’s porch or—more likely—put it on the roof of the car as she was loading in her purse and coat, forget about it, and come home to smashed glass in the driveway. “I got her a travel mug one year. She hated it.” Gran’s voice floated through his head, thinned from age but spiked with conviction: It keeps coffee too hot! Undrinkable, Bran—only thing it’s useful for is leaving some on the counter so I have a hot cup when I get home.

  “She liked things her way,” he said after a moment, savoring the memory. Nelle’s eyes had gone a little watery and she squeezed his hand again. Bran cleared his throat and tried to change gears. “She liked you.”

  “Me?” The misty look cleared from her face, replaced by surprise.

  “That first single, ‘Say Yes.’ That was her jam.”

  “Your gran liked a club beat?” Nelle lowered her chin skeptically.

  “Oh yeah, Faye Kelly could get down. Lots of knees and hands.” He was gratified by Nelle’s laugh. “I didn’t waste my time with her. I don’t want to waste my time with you either.”

  “It’s a waste—telling me about yourself?”

  “It’s a waste for you to worry about me. I’m fine.”

  “Oh sure. You’re a big boy who can take care of himself?”

  “You know I’m a big—”

  She laughed again before glaring at him and he touched one of her yellow nails to his tongue, half expecting to taste fancy lemonade like he had when they’d kissed in the car.

  That’s what they should be doing. Not talking about how he’d had a hard week. How it was only going to get worse.

  Nelle looked thoughtful again. “It must have been comforting to be with family today, to remember her together.”

  Comforting. Not exactly. Not with his father, standing at the pulpit, appropriating Gran’s words, “Mom always said: We Kellys may fight, but we always unite.”

  Bran exhaled, letting Nelle’s hand go. “I’m gonna shower, you rest up for the encore.”

  Nelle pulled his face to hers. “I’m sorry. For your loss.”

  He nodded, his throat tight. But the shower eased his tension. The water rained down on him and he turned his face into it, feeling the spray against his eyelids, his cheeks, a quiet sting that lessened the longer he endured it.

  After roughing a towel over his hair, Bran pulled on a plush white robe and returned to the bedroom, expecting to find Nelle where he’d left her. The blanket and sheets were in respectable shambles, but the bed was empty.

  Bran opened his mouth to call her name and snapped it shut. Her voice reached him from the door, just on the other side of the wall. He leaned into it, listening.

  “Was there anything else you needed?” That voice was familiar, sweet as pastel sugar coating dark licorice.

  “This is it—thank you so much,” Nelle responded sincerely. “I know it’s late and cold and—”

  “Of course, the hotel is happy to be of service.”

  Bran waited to hear the door close before stepping into the sitting area. “Who was that?”

  “I got snacks.”

  The white T-shirt that landed at the top of her thighs was his. When she tried to breeze past him, he caught her around the middle. “Are you not the snack?”

  “You need fuel. You’ve made promises.”

  “So what did we get? That’s not room service—”

  Her shoulder pulled up as he nuzzled into her neck. “Chicago-style hot dogs.”

  Her face reddened the tiniest bit when she said it, as if she was embarrassed, having been caught in some sentimentality. But honestly a Chicago-style hot dog after sex was just about the hottest, most romantic thing anyone had ever done for him.

  The yellow-striped paper bag rustled as she released it into his grabbing hand. “I would have gone myself, but I think we used up our luck—”

  He paused, his hand halfway in the bag. That’s what she felt bad about? Who was this girl? “You used your fame to make some poor bellhop go out and get us hot dogs. For shame. The worst abuse of power I’ve ever heard. Did you demand that the desk lady deliver them up here, personally?”

  She snatched the bag back. “No. There was another guest on the ninth floor she was on her way to check on, actually. So I’m not the only one—what?”

  “Ninth floor?” He laughed. “It was the desk attendant with the blue eye shadow?”

  Nelle nodded and he grinned.

  “Yeah, me, she’s going to check on me.”

  “What would—oh. Right.”

  Her eyes darted to the ground and her shoulders stiffened, making the whole thing a lot less amusing.

  Bran pushed his hands into the robe’s pockets. “I didn’t invite her. She slipped me her number with my key.”

  “And you didn’t mention it?”

  “It wasn’t worth noting.”

  “People do it all the time?” Her eyes pinned him to the spot, daring him to remind her: present company included. The intense set of her mouth loosened into a frown. “So she’s going to your room. But you aren’t there?”

  “Would you prefer I were?”

  “I mean, she’s going to wonder where you are.”

  “She’s not going to wonder anything. She’s going to knock and when I don’t answer she’ll think I’m drunk and passed out and she’ll leave.”

  Nelle paced, and Bran worried about the delicate steamed buns as her grip crushed the air out of the hot dog bag. “Unless she uses her key card to let herself in.”

  He’d tell her that was insane, but it had happened before.

  Bran let his jaw drop open. “You’re right! Help me with this window—I’ll climb up the balconies back into my room—” He was wrestling with the slatted shutters when she tugged on his arm.

  “Stop, okay—I get it. I’m being over the top and you’re competitive.”

  Bran widened his legs, bringing his eyes down to her level. He set his hands on her hips. “There is nothing to worry about here. The only thing we have to do is get me out of the room without anyone seeing. That’s it. And it wouldn’t be the first time I snuck out of—forget that anecdote, pretend I said something reassuring. I’ll leave unseen. Until then, we’re in the room. Let’s not bring them in here. Keep them out there.” He nodded to the door. “They don’t belong in the room. That’s the whole point. The room is nice. The room has been the best part.”

  Nelle worried her bottom lip and bent her ankle. “I’m in your shirt—if she—”

  “I was wearing layers—she didn’t see it.”

  “But your jacket, and the bag—” She gestured helplessly to his duffel on the floor next to the chair.

  “She couldn’t have seen them from the door. Okay? Nelle, we’ve got this.” He brushed her hair back and tilted her head up. “I got you.”

  That generic hotel silence rang in his ears and Nelle shivered.

  She put her hands over his on her cheeks, seeming to forget the bag of hot dogs.

  He inhaled and clos
ed his eyes. “Those smell amazing.”

  “We should eat them. Before they get cold.”

  “You’re cold.”

  “This shirt is thin.”

  Very thin, her nipples showing dark through the fabric like it wasn’t even there. Bran swallowed and dropped his hands to his sides. Food first.

  Settling herself on the rug next to the fire Nelle opened the bag and offered him a hot dog wrapped in see-through paper. He peeled it back to reveal a mildly smashed dog, the mustard and relish running together, but the tomato and peppers were still tucked safely into the bun. Bran waited for Nelle to take the first bite. She angled her head, searching for the right entry point. Then she closed her eyes and went for it, crunching through the pickle, onions falling sideways. Forgetting the chair, he lowered himself next to her instead, waiting for her to open her eyes.

  Her face flushed when she caught him staring. “Is it the phallic nature of the hot dog or are you one of those guys who gets off on a girl wearing your clothes?”

  “Take it off and we’ll see.”

  “Bet you’d like that.” She took another bite. “I’ll try not to spill on it, if that’s the problem.”

  “You’re a gesture person.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Bran took a bite and chewed to avoid the question, but her patience outmatched him. His face heated as she watched him. Or maybe it was just the hot peppers. “You like to do things for people.”

  “Yeah, I do.” She lifted her hand, hesitated, and then wiped mustard off his cheek.

  They ate side by side, their backs warmed by the fire, the bed staring back at them across the room.

  Nelle cleaned herself with a paper napkin, balled it up, and replaced it in the bag. She looked at his duffel again, probably still wondering if the desk lady had seen it. He almost choked in surprise when she asked, “You’re traveling without a guitar?”

  Bran coughed and swallowed. “Short trip, didn’t need it,” he lied. God, she noticed everything. Even what was missing. A few months ago he’d have forgone clothes and traveled only with the guitar if he’d had to. It was vastly more important cargo to a musician, a songwriter. But there had been no point in lugging it with him. Not when he hadn’t played it in weeks, when the music refused to flow from his fingers.

  He finished the hot dog and lay down, resting his head on her inner thigh, not meeting her eyes.

  “You’re having trouble writing, though, right? Hence the mind clearing?” Her fingers played in his hair, untangling the wet strands.

  Bran didn’t answer, busy lifting the edge of his shirt and rubbing his nose over the soft skin between her legs. Grasping the back of her thigh, he bridged her leg, opening her silky pink insides to his curious tongue. He’d deal with that tomorrow, tonight he’d deal with her.

  After a minute under his mouth, Nelle tensed and squirmed. “The hot peppers—”

  He pulled back. “Should I stop?”

  Her hand in his hair urged him back against her. “No fucking way.”

  The room was dark, the fire glowed yellow, they had more night left. He helped her strip out of his shirt and she untied his robe. Their kiss tasted of salt and spice. Reaching sideways to drag his jacket closer, Bran freed another condom from the button-flap chest pocket. And then he was inside of her again, thrusting over her, the flames lighting his back. Tangled hands above their heads, in her hair, in his. He kept a slow, languid pace as she writhed under him, building the heat even as his muscles burned from the exertion.

  Later she’d prove to him there was a reason he’d been obsessed with her mouth for the better part of a year. Knowing that he had been right about it wasn’t going to make it any easier to walk away.

  The room was nice. He wasn’t leaving it until he had to.

  Chapter Ten

  “Make it stop.”

  Nelle flailed for a pillow, curling around it and burying her face in the soft fluff. Her hair hurt where it had been flattened to the bed and her eyes felt coarse like sour candy as she squeezed them tighter to block out the light. The bed shook as Bran fumbled towards the sound, a phone rattling against something as it rang and rang and rang.

  “It’s just Aya. Again.”

  Nelle tested the name with her groggy tongue. “Aya.” Hoping he didn’t note the hint of possessiveness in her tone, she continued, “Do you need to tell her about the celibacy?”

  Bran fell back into the bed and she bounced, loosening her hold on the pillow long enough for him to grab it away from her. “Aya is my team. Manager, agent, publicist—”

  “Those are all different jobs.” Nelle unfurled, pulling at a triangle of sheet that had tornadoed between her feet.

  “Not for Aya. Now I know that she’s hounding me to congratulate me on my Note nominations—”

  “I cannot with the complaints in that sentence.”

  She squinted into sky blue eyes. Bran drew up one cheek to smile at her, a perfectly lopsided look that twisted her stomach more than it should have for someone who had seen the most unseemly emotions take residence on his features last night. He tugged at the sheet, revealing one of her breasts to the sunlight streaking in through the blinds and covering it with his mouth instead. He was shameless, insatiable, and he had to go.

  “Bran Kelly, they’ve turned on the house lights, time to unplug and move on to the—ah!—next town.”

  “This is the last stop on my farewell tour, let me play a little longer.” He nipped at her tightly budded peak and she bucked her hips in response, her sore muscles screaming at her to just stop moving.

  “What time is it?”

  He rolled over her, his torso pressing her into the mattress as he reached for his watch on the nightstand.

  “There’s a phone right next to you,” she said with the air that hadn’t been crushed from her lungs.

  “I like watches. It’s almost noon. What time do you have to be at the jam?”

  “I think I have sound check at one? I have to get moving. And you should have been out of here hours ago. Bran, are you listening to me?”

  He wasn’t. His mouth had moved to her neck, sucking on the skin just below her earlobe. She put her hand on his shoulder, with the intent of pushing him away, but it slipped up, her fingers digging into the soft mess of his hair and urging him closer. She arched under him and Bran groaned, grinding into her, the evidence of his interest hard and demanding.

  “You’re not human,” she moaned.

  “Think of it like my last night on earth—”

  “It isn’t night anymore. It’s midday. And I don’t know how you’re going to get out of here—”

  He was inching the sheet lower. “I’m much more concerned about getting back in there.”

  Nelle released his hair and pushed at his chest, her fingers curling into the dip of his collarbone. She stared up at him, mesmerized by the reality of him in the daylight. His hair had dried wavy and wild, looking like a beach after a storm, and she had a sudden thrill that this was what Bran Kelly looked like unfinished, behind closed doors. Then there was the smell of her shampoo coming off of him—she breathed in peonies and felt her chest contract. Impossible wetness warmed her aching, exhausted center and Bran must have caught the melting conviction in her eyes because he grinned again and swept the sheet out of the way.

  “Antonella!” The rattling phone had nothing on the bang bang bang of Benj pounding on the hotel room door. “You better be in there naked and not murdered!”

  Bran glanced in the direction of the sound with a frown. “There wasn’t anything on Reddit about me murdering someone, was there? People keep bringing it up like it’s a thing. It’s not a thing.”

  Nelle reached up to stroke the bristle of stubble on his cheeks. “You’re a bit of a Salinger lately, what do you expect?”

  “Salinger was workin—” H
e shook his head, changing his argument. “Salinger didn’t kill people.”

  His arm trapped her waist as she scooted to the end of the bed. “Get off—”

  “I was trying to.”

  Nelle had to close her eyes, it was the only way to be sure that smile didn’t get to her. She could still feel it, pressed into her shoulder blade, along with his knuckles tripping over each knob of her spine. She lunged blindly forward as the knocking continued, opening her eyes only when she reached the safety of the little closet off the bathroom. A foolish glance back at the bed revealed Bran had rolled to his back, crossed his legs at the ankles, and locked his hands behind his head. His dick stood tall, beckoning her back to the rumpled sheets. Naked and washed in sun, he was every inch the sex god he claimed to be—he proved to be—and her resolve to get him out of the bed faltered.

  “An-to-nel-la!” Benj was going to break the damn door down.

  “Get dressed,” Nelle hissed, shrugging into her bra. She called in the direction of the door, “Hold on, Benj!”

  “So you’re alive, then?” came the retort from her best friend. “Just your phone is dead? Do you know what time it is?”

  “Just. Hold on! One minute!”

  Nelle stumbled around the closet, finding a pair of leggings and an oversized cable-knit sweater. She turned to scold Bran again as she yanked the sweater over her head and slammed into his chest.

  That frantic panic eased out of her as he stood over her, blocking the light from the other room.

  “We got this,” Bran said quietly, freeing her hair from the sweater’s neck. “I got you.”

  “Why are you so calm?”

  “Eggplant emoji. She already knew. Just let her in. I’ll get out of here and we’ll...”

  They would nothing. This was the end of it. That’s what they’d agreed. One night. And a morning, that was bonus. The real victory was the secret, if they could keep it. She should be glad. And she would be, as soon as he was gone, and she was sure no one had seen. That worry had to be the reason her stomach tightened, twisted like the sheets behind him.