Surrender

by Rachel Van Dyken

  I truly hadn’t recovered from that first meeting for weeks, and then when they went on tour and made a stop in Portland, and I had backstage passes, it was like living in a fantasy.

  Drew always had smiles for everyone, but when nobody was looking, all I saw was a darkness in his eyes and an ability to make everyone and everything look totally fine when you were conversing.

  “What do you get out of this?” I finally found my voice.

  “I thought that was clear.” He slid his hands down my arms. “You.”

  “One week.” My voice shook. Was I really going to say yes?

  Is a sexy rockstar basically just whoring himself out to me in my living room?

  Am I really tempted?

  He tugged my braid, causing my head to fall back as he slowly bent over and kissed my forehead. “Say yes.”

  He continued peppering kisses across my brow.

  I was consumed by the way his warm lips felt against my skin. “Y-yes, but we have to have rules.”

  “I don’t like those.”

  “Color me shocked,” I said sharply, risking the mood that was building.

  He moved away from me and took his seat again. “All right, Bronte, give me your rules.”

  It was so damn hard to focus with him watching me the way he was, as if I was the only person in existence, and made for him.

  “Did they teach that in rockstar school? The ability to just melt panties right off a woman’s body?”

  “Actually, they teach us that and how to unhook a bra with two fingers, and yes, you did totally say that out loud.” He grinned.

  My eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t mean my panties. I mean, that is to say, that—”

  He leaned forward. “May I check?”

  “At least you sound polite,” I grumbled. “And no.”

  His eyes blazed a slow trail from my face all the way down to my thighs. He looked so sad I almost changed my mind. What was this addiction that was Drew Amhurst?

  “Later, then.”

  I gulped. “No sex.”

  He crossed his arms. “Define sex.”

  “Um…” I frowned. “…I’m confused. What do you mean?”

  “Well, there are lots of things we can do that are sexual but not penetration, so does that mean I can lick your tight—”

  I clapped a hand over his mouth as if someone might hear him when it was just us. I’d never felt older or more like a mom than at that moment.

  His eyebrows shot up as I slowly pulled my hand away, my face on fire. I’d never had a guy do that. It wasn’t like my ex was generous, and I was too busy raising kids.

  I felt the slow burn of embarrassing tears fill my eyes and slowly blinked them back. “No penetration.”

  “Deal.”

  “Really?” I expected him to fight me on it.

  “But…” He drummed his fingertips along the table. “…I’m allowed to take you out on dates, wine you, dine you, touch you, tease you, lick you from head to toe on a Tuesday morning just because you look so damn delicious. But if you ask me to — know, I’m in.”

  “I won’t ask you.” I hoped. Prayed.

  He just smiled. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.” He moved my plate closer to me. “So, we’re clear — no strings attached, no falling in love, and I only get seven days.”

  What? What was this falling-in-love business? He didn’t let me answer as he nudged my plate toward me. “Now, eat your breakfast and pack an overnight bag.”

  “What?” I almost choked on my eggs.

  “Operation Bronte Connors Gets her Groove Back starts now.”

  “But… Amelia has a doctor’s appointment the day after tomorrow…”

  “What time?”

  “Eleven-thirty, but—”

  “Plenty of time.” He winked. “Oh, and I’d hydrate. We don’t want you getting a stress headache.”

  Stunned, I watched him get up and walk out the front door.

  I scrambled to my feet and went to the window. He was pulling bags out of a brand-new white Audi A7 and then walking over to the guesthouse. It was locked and the key hidden on the patio, of course. Braden. Drew grabbed the key from its spot under the potted plant and let himself in along with his bags.

  And I stood there and watched him, wondering what the hell I’d just agreed to.

  Operation get my groove back?

  Tempting.

  I had just assumed that would be more of a solo trip to Italy.

  Not a week-long adventure with one of the sexiest men alive who, for one reason or another, was willing to give me everything I’d never had — except love.

  CHAPTER 5

  Andrew

  It wasn’t planned.

  That was all I kept thinking when I had chatted with Braden last night and then showed up this morning at Bronte’s. It was not like I said to myself, Wow, you know what would be really great? To sex up my friend’s mom and show her how ridiculously beautiful and brave I think she is.

  I originally had thought of sending her on some sort of girls’ trip.

  And then I immediately got jealous thinking about all the dicks that would hit on her. Plus, have you seen that movie? No, just all the nos.

  Plan B, the smarter, albeit safer plan, included a spa day.

  But then I got jealous about some dick touching her naked body.

  It was then that I realized that I wanted to be a part of this. That I wanted to be the man that held her hand just because he could. Kissed her like his life depended on it because maybe it did.

  Braden said he’d rarely seen his mom smile when he was little, and that he’d never seen his mom and dad kiss in public.

  That thought alone made me want to find the guy’s social security number, send it to my cousins in New York, and ask them to do me a favor.

  I mean, if you can’t utilize your mafia connections, what’s the point, am I right?

  I sighed and looked around, the guesthouse was at least twenty-two hundred square feet, with a master loft that was draped in black and whites with random pieces of greenery set on the dresser and nightstands.

  It was beautiful.

  Much like its owner.

  Wow, I really need to rein it in.

  I dropped my worn leather notebook onto the bed and reached for my guitar. I figured that Bronte was probably overwhelmed and trying to think of all the ways she could get out of our little agreement, so I was going to at least give her an hour before I grabbed our bags, tossed her over my shoulder, and put her in the car for the start of day one.

  My only goal. Get her to forget.

  Get her to smile.

  I pressed my lips together in a firm line as something pierced my chest. It was painful, but it was constant. I was so used to the pain that if it wasn’t there, I had anxiety, because what would I worry about when I had nothing left to worry about?

  Stupid, but accurate as hell.

  A part of me wondered if I was doing this as some sort of penance. God knew I was attracted to her, but this was completely out of character for me. I didn’t just invite myself into people’s lives.

  I’d never been this impulsive.

  And it was totally possible that I was having a midlife crisis since all of my friends were married and popping out kids, but I’d never looked forward to a week more than I was right now.

  So, what did that say about fame and fortune? When you’re counting the minutes until you can treat someone the way they deserve to be treated? When you can’t stop thinking about all the ways you’re going to make her orgasm using nothing but your hands, tongue, and ingenuity.

  I strummed a few chords and stared down at my notebook.

  There was also another reason.

  The fact that after talking to her, something broke inside me, and suddenly I wanted to write. I felt inspired to write something other than the or huh.

  And all it had taken was seeing her smile.

  Staring obsessively at her hair.

  And getting
her phone number.

  I wasn’t lying when I’d said she inspired me.

  And now, I was wondering how the hell I’d stay inspired if I let her go.

  See? Anxiety is such a bitch!

  The hour passed quickly as I got lost in the music, the way it filled me, made me whole, only for that feeling to leave with the very last note.

  Like always, the feeling of goodness left, and the hollowness returned, along with the feeling of nails inside my chest walls scraping to get free.

  I liked to call them my demons, not that I believed I was possessed. Hell, I wasn’t into any weird shit, and I still had my Bible my grandma gave me for my fifth birthday. Nah, it wasn’t like that. It was just all the shit I’d never dealt with slowly coming to a head.

  The mistakes I’d made. Lies I’d told. Life I’d lived, all in an effort to fix what couldn’t just be fixed with happy songs of love and laughter or fame, money.

  With a sigh, I grabbed my overnight bag and made sure to lock the door to the guesthouse as I walked around the pool and toward the front door. As much as I wanted to go through the slider to the master, I knew that she’d probably murder me on site. So, into the front entrance, I went.

  I wasn’t surprised to see Amelia on the couch watching Netflix.

  “To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before.” I put a hand on my chest. “My favorite. Noah Centineo’s a god among men, am I right?”

  She turned around and gave me a bright smile. She looked happier today. “I take it my mom hasn’t murdered you in the back yard yet.”

  “You know, it’s almost as if I’m not famous when I talk to you. Not sure I like it.” I plopped down onto the chair and gave her a huge grin. “So, is this the part where I tell you I’m going to clean my gun if any boys show up while we’re gone tonight?”

  Yes, I’m that good. I even got Amelia’s blessing after grabbing her number from Braden.

  All parties were in on this.

  Damn, I should get an award.

  Or at least sex.

  Ah, did it always come back to sex?

  Of course it did because I was so damn celibate that I was actually worried my dick might fall off from lack of use.

  Bronte came around the corner wearing her hair loose around her shoulders, diamond studs in her ears, lip gloss, and some high-waisted skinny jeans with a white blouse tucked in.

  Then again, I never promised I was a saint.

  Plus, hadn’t giving up drugs been enough?

  Amelia cleared her throat.

  I jerked my head away. “What? I was just appreciating your mother’s beauty.”

  “Uh-huh.” She narrowed her eyes. “Maybe I should be the one cleaning guns.”

  I scoffed and put a hand over my heart. “I’m genuinely wounded.”

  “You’re genuinely full of it.”

  “Also true.” I nodded my head. “I’m serious though, no guys. Guys are bad — all guys. They lie, they cheat, they steal—”

  “Mom can hear you.”

  “I’m a man, though, so I don’t count. I already sowed those oats, made all the mistakes and asked God for forgiveness. He granted it, by the way, just in case you were wondering.”

  “Did He, though?” Amelia tapped her chin with her iPhone, and I grinned at the new case, yesterday was a bunny, but not today. Today it was Adrenaline, and there my face stared back at me, and for some reason, that made me feel uncomfortable.

  A first.

  I cleared my throat. “Did you, uh, draw a heart around Will’s face?”

  Her face lit up red. “Jealous?”

  “Depends. Is there an X on mine?” I laughed.

  She rolled her eyes. “If you don’t treat her right, then I’ll do more than that.”

  “Amelia!” Bronte scolded in that perfect mom tone that had even me jerking back and holding up my hands as if I was being arrested.

  Swear, my heart even picked up speed a bit while my mouth went dry, and then I noticed the fear in Bronte’s eyes.

  Was she scared of me?

  Of what we could have?

  Of the one-week deal to help her experience what she should have all those years ago?

  “Mommmmmmm.” Amelia drew out the word. “We’re verbally sparring. He’s fine. Look at him,” She pointed at me with a helpless expression. “He’s Drew Amhurst. He’s made of solid steel.”

  “Are we talking about my six-pack? Just curious,” I voiced. “Because if we are, things just got weird.”

  “No.” Amelia pulled a pink scrunchie from her wrist and put her hair into a ponytail. “I mean like, you’re a celebrity. You’re used to everyone talking about you, making fun of you, worshipping you. You’d need nerves of steel to survive.”

  Or a very serious cocaine addiction, I wanted to add. Instead, I just nodded my head. “You’re right. I’m basically Superman, just better looking.”

  “My psych teacher would have a field day with you, wouldn’t she?” Amelia smirked.

  “Scouts’ honor, I should probably be institutionalized.” I turned toward Bronte. “And on that romantic note, you ready?”

  She licked her lips nervously, pulling the gloss away with her tongue, making me curious about what it tasted like. “I think so? I didn’t really know where we were going, so I packed light.”

  “Perfect.” I got up and grabbed both our bags. “And it’s not like we can’t buy something if we need it — and by we, I mean me.”

  Her face flushed.

  “Mom…” Amelia hopped up. “…real quick. The guys, Sarah, and Min are headed to the beach for a bonfire in a few. Can I go? PLEASE? Pretty pretty please?”

  “Is your room clean?” I interrupted with my arms crossed, earning a glare that made me so uncomfortable I backed up and questioned my desire to father children.

  Bronte sighed. “I got this, Drew.”

  “What guys?” I just had to ask, earning another glare.

  “Do you mind?” Amelia said through clenched teeth and closed fists.

  I had to laugh at her exasperation. I liked her spirit. Bronte may have been a young mom, but she did a good job with her kids.

  “Is your room clean?” she repeated with a smirk.

  “Define clean?” Amelia winced and held her breath.

  Bronte tilted her head down and raised her eyebrows. If she had been wearing glasses, she would have been peering over the top. She didn’t say one word.

  Amelia released a blustery sigh. “Okay fine. If I clean it, can I go to the bonfire, then have Sarah and Min over tonight? I swear, no boys, plus Ryan started hooking up with Brooke, and we hate Brooke.”

  I made a mental note.

  We hate Brooke.

  Brooke, such a typical popular girl name.

  I didn’t want Amelia hanging out with any Brookes, or Britneys for that matter!

  Or Ryans. I shuddered.

  “Okay.” Bronte took a few steps toward Amelia and pulled her in for a hug. “Just promise you guys don’t stay up too late watching Adrenaline videos and pausing on abs.”

  I choked on my laugh, earning a glare from both women, so I raised my hands in surrender and said, “No worries. I do it too.”

  I mean, what else could I say?

  “That’s weird.” Amelia shook her head. “All right, you two have fun. Drew, keep your hands to yourself, and Mom, try not to be such a… mom.”

  Bronte glared.

  “And yet the stare just gets more intense,” I muttered under my breath, earning a laugh from Amelia.

  “Stay safe, sweetie, and text me, okay?” Bronte pulled her in for a quick hug and kissed her on the forehead.

  Something twisted in my chest.

  I frowned.

  Was I jealous of a child getting a kiss? I mean, really.

  It wasn’t even sexual. It was the fact that the very chaste kiss showed more emotion than several of the make-out sessions I’d had in my lifetime. It showed actual care rather than lust and a need to get off.

  An
d I truly could count on one hand with fingers left over how many times I’d experienced that sort of kiss.

  I’d always been close to my grandma before she died, but my parents? They literally only saw me as a cash cow.

  Even had said that to my face when I threatened to quit the band when things got bad with Will and Angelica, which of course, meant I’d made everything worse because I was a selfish jackass.

  “All right.” Bronte turned toward me. “Ready?”

  “Yup.” I carried the bags to the door and was just getting ready to set them down to open it for her, but Bronte beat me to it.

  Her cheeks were rosy-pink as she tugged her full bottom lip between her teeth. I caught a whiff of Dolce perfume when I walked by.

  I was a man who knew perfumes, and while I’d always hated that scent on other women, it fit her perfectly.

  My white Audi A7 was waiting in front of the beach house. I went to the back to toss the bags in and noticed she just let herself in the car — no waiting for me, no expectations. Why did that bother the hell out of me?

  With a frown, I walked over to the passenger side and knocked on the window. She jerked in her seat and then frowned, slowly unbuckling her seatbelt and opening the door. “Um, we are taking this car, right? You just put the bags in so—”

  I held up my hand. “Can you do me a favor?”

  She looked terrified but nodded. “Sure.”

  “Can you get out of the car so I can do this right?”

  “Do what right?”

  “This.” I shrugged. “All of this.”

  Another clueless look.

  Adorable.

  I leaned in and confessed. “I want to open your door, Bronte.”

  “Oh!” She stared at me in disbelief. “Oh, oh, right.” She hopped out of the car and stood by my side as I shut the door again, waited a few seconds for effect, and then opened the door for her.

  With a silly grin, she started to get in then turned. “You know, I’m not one of those women, right?”

  “One of those women…” I repeated. “Not really tracking?”

  “You know.” She shrugged. “I’m not needy. You don’t have to open my car door for me — or any door for that matter. I didn’t even think twice about it.”