by Cari Quinn
Of course they’re not wet, you asshole. She was terrified, not aroused.
Thinking about the condition of her underwear was easier than envisioning what she’d been dreaming about. He already knew. Maybe not the particular details, but he was willing to bet there were more similarities between their dreams than either of them would’ve preferred.
“The door was open,” he said finally, feeling like a royal moron.
Normally, he didn’t have problems with women. Far from it. With this one, however, he might as well have been back in third grade.
No, wrong. He’d had more game in third grade than he did with Richelle Crandall.
She blinked owlishly at the open bedroom door behind him. “The door to my room?”
“Well, yeah, that too, but the front door.”
“So you just walked right in?”
He jerked a shoulder. “It’s not safe to leave doors unlocked. Any jackass can waltz in.”
Her lips twitched and for a second, he braced for her smile. Her smiles killed him. But she wiped her good hand over her mouth as if she was physically rubbing it away.
“Teagan must’ve forgot to lock up before work. My friend who lives here,” Ricki explained.
“Female friend?” Had to go there, didn’t you?
Her eyes narrowed. “Not sure why it matters, but yes. Though I have friends of both sexes.”
“Oh, believe me, I know. I’ve seen lots of your friends.”
And there it was, right on cue—the snark that sprung off his tongue within ninety seconds of him even being in her sphere. He didn’t even have to try.
“Just like I’ve seen lots of yours,” she said, swinging her legs off the side of the bed and awkwardly easing up into a sitting position. Then her shoulders slumped and she dropped her head, her long dark hair swishing forward to hide her face.
He took a step toward her before self-preservation kicked in. He shoved his hands into his pockets and swallowed hard, terrified she was about to cry. “You sure pick a lot of assholes, you know that?”
Okay, that was the last thing he’d intended to say. Her head swung up and her pale blue eyes flashed, and just like that, the emotion swimming in them was gone.
Replaced with irritation.
“Did you drive all the way over here to say that? Pretty sure a text would’ve sufficed.”
“Can’t see you blush and roll your eyes at me through a text.”
“I’m not blushing. I’m annoyed. Entirely different.”
“Cheeks are still pink.”
“Ugh. You’re still exactly the same.” Before Mal could toss back a smart-ass reply to that Michael-esque response, she slid him a sidelong glance. “Thank fucking God.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “Everyone is so strange now. I get it. Nothing’s like it was. It never will be again.”
“Like your hair.”
She touched it, running the fingers of her good hand through the tangled strands while she carefully shifted her slinged arm. “I couldn’t stand myself, so I did this. Teagan took me to her hairdresser and she was so patient with me as I tried to figure out how to wiggle down to the bowl so she could wash my hair. You don’t realize how much you use your shoulder until you’re not supposed to move it much.”
“Dislocated?”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
“Nerve and tendon damage. Concussion. This.” She moved her hair back and he inhaled at the jagged scar that curved around her neck.
He wasn’t even sure from what. Flying debris, probably. She’d been bleeding enough from her arm that he hadn’t taken time to catalog the rest of her injuries.
“Your arm will heal. No lasting damage?”
They both knew what he was asking. Everything came down to if she could still play as she had before.
She huffed out a breath. “We’ll see. The doctors are hopeful. I’ll be starting PT soon.”
“As soon as you can.”
“What are you, my physician now?”
The crossness in her tone nearly made him sink to his knees in gratitude. He’d wondered if they could get back to the way they’d been before the concert. Not that they were friends. Far from it. But he’d dreaded seeing her again in case what had happened would change their relationship.
He should’ve known better. This woman was like none other.
Precisely why she’d embedded herself so deeply into his subconscious he didn’t think there was a way to dig her out.
“I haven’t played doctor in a while.”
“How long’s a while? Twenty years or twenty days?”
He nearly smiled. “I use a different kind of stethoscope when I play now.”
“I just bet.”
“I like the blond better.”
“Jeez, don’t flatter me so.”
“Just saying. The blond is you. The brown is nice but it’s not you.”
“Maybe I’d like you better with hair. Just one of those mysteries we’ll never solve, huh?” Slowly, she got to her feet and he almost answered her.
You’ve already seen me with hair. You just don’t remember.
She walked over to the tall dresser and tugged open a drawer, removing a pair of yoga pants. She bit her lip as she yanked up one leg, then struggled to twist the other around so she could climb in. He’d stepped forward to help when her head shot up and her gaze pinned him in place.
“I can do it.”
He nodded and rubbed his hand over his head. Saying nothing.
What was there to be said?
She hadn’t fretted he’d seen her in next to nothing. They lived together after all, at least for a good chunk of the year. She’d seen him naked. He’d seen her the next thing to it. The details he’d missed had been filled in by his imagination quite nicely.
Once she’d accomplished the feat of drawing up the snug pants, she slumped against the dresser and let out a long breath. “These are the workouts I’m capable of right now. Still don’t quite have my energy back.”
“It’ll come.”
“I guess you got them.” She ducked her head and her heavy dark hair fell forward. “The sticks.”
“Yes. I don’t text.”
“Lila told you where I was?”
“No.”
Her brows lifted. “Michael?”
Mal shrugged.
“So you texted him.”
“You talk a lot.”
Now she did smile, and leaned back to brace her good arm on the dresser, pulling the nightshirt obscenely tight. He didn’t bother trying not to look this time. Maybe he wanted to see how she’d react to him being…well, him. Time to see if she really meant what she’d said about being glad he was who he was, even if it wasn’t for any reason but that he was familiar.
Her smile turned sly. “Look your fill now because I’m about to put a bra on.” She disappeared into the en suite bathroom, leaving him staring after her. He wasn’t sure how she’d manage it with the sling, but he didn’t doubt she would.
So this was his cue to leave. He’d just turned toward the doorway when she called out.
“You got a car?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m starving.”
His heart started beating too fast, slamming like a fist against his chest. “I don’t eat fucking sushi.”
“Good. Me either. I want red meat.” The water turned on in the bathroom.
She emerged a couple of minutes later wearing a baggy zippered sweatshirt. Sort of. She’d pulled the sleeve on her good arm and had draped the other side over her like a wrap. “So I lied. Kinda suck at the bra thing just yet. So this’ll do.” She pulled the sides as close together as possible and angled her head, as if daring him to question her.
He didn’t. He just motioned her ahead of him and closed the door behind them.
As if she knew he intended to watch her ass as she walked down the hall, she yanked the back of her sweatshirt down.
A
nd he grinned.
Chapter Five
“So I got a thing tonight.”
From the other side of a patch of grass in Central Park, Elle cocked a brow. They’d eaten at some purely New York place with incredibly juicy burgers and onion rings, which she’d scarfed down with relish since she didn’t have to worry about kissing him. Lifting the burger wasn’t as easy in her current predicament, but Mal’s crack about offering to cut up her burger in little pieces had given her new resolve.
After that, they headed to the park and sat around like bums all afternoon, camping out near a trio of guitarists who ran through a repertoire ranging from Creedence Clearwater Revival to the Fugees.
It was a fairly warm, overcast day in November, and they were blissfully anonymous in the crowd. They didn’t talk, beyond dispensing the snacks they’d bought at a corner bodega. Chips. Soda. Pull apart licorice that stained her fingers—and probably her lips—red.
She didn’t have to try to impress him, and he definitely didn’t worry about impressing her. Since he didn’t text or do much with social media, he wasn’t on his phone all afternoon. Her one-handed predicament made her leave her phone in her pocket too.
Besides, her company was interesting. Not what he said, but because he didn’t say much. Didn’t have to. There weren’t any uneasy gaps in the conversation, because silence swelled between them like a song.
Speaking was so rare between them that even hearing his voice jarred her a little. She imagined he had a lot of “things” from one day to the next. From his behavior on the bus, she doubted a twenty-four hour period passed without one.
“Is this ‘thing’ blond, brunette or a redhead?”
When he didn’t respond, she pursed her lips. “Two out of three? Or wait, you don’t know yet. Depends who you choose from your little black book.”
“Ain’t so little.” His painfully direct stare would’ve made another woman blush, but she was well used to his comments.
She braced the side of her knee on the pack of licorice to hold it still and yanked off another piece. “Well, you have fun then.”
He picked up his bottle of soda and popped off the top, taking a long drink. Then he slowly screwed the top back on. “It’s not a woman.”
“A man?”
This time, he arched a brow and she hid her smile behind her piece of licorice.
He didn’t say anything more for so long that she figured the subject was closed. Fine by her. They were just killing some time while they were both in the same place.
No big.
“You wanna come?”
The question was so unexpected, she turned her head to blink at him. “Say what?”
Again, the silence. Then he cleared his throat. “Never mind.”
“Now I’m curious.”
“I’ve got a gig. Club called Purple Egg in the Bronx.”
“Come again?” When he didn’t reply, she leaned forward and whipped him with the end of her licorice until he reluctantly met her gaze. “You, the guy who doesn’t even like to play with his band? With who?”
“I never said I didn’t like to play. You assumed.”
She snorted. “Right. Us judgy meanies, being so harsh.”
“Band’s called Venus Rising. They put out the call for a replacement drummer on Craigslist. It’s my second night sitting in with them.” He shrugged and flipped off the cap of his soda, tipping back the bottle again.
“So, what, you’re inviting me to your show?” She bit into her licorice. “I do know how you play. I might’ve heard you a time or two.”
He shrugged again. “So don’t come.”
“Can I bring a guest?”
His gaze went from flat to knife-sharp in an instant. “Hook up somewhere else.”
“I meant Teagan, asshole.” But she laughed, shaking her head. “For a guy who gets so much play, you sure are cranky about the rest of us getting any.”
“Just not in the mood to crack open any more skulls because of your bad choices.”
All at once, she wasn’t so amused. “I didn’t ask you to do a damn thing. Ever,” she added meaningfully.
“You know what? Forget it.”
“Already have.”
He shoved his empty soda bottle into the paper bag that held their wrappers and other discarded bottles and lumbered to his feet. “You ready?”
She was tempted to sit there and make him wait. Jerk. Worst of all, she wasn’t entirely sure he’d been the asshole this time.
In fact, she was almost certain it was her, and that was pissing her off.
“Look, you’re not normally nice to me.”
He watched the guitarists strum the opening of “Stairway to Heaven” and ignored her.
“Then you get all self-righteous about me bringing a friend when we both know you’ve had about triple the amount of women on the bus than I’ve had guys.”
Still nothing.
“You didn’t even say if you liked the drumsticks. They cost a lot of money, you know.”
Yep, she was now officially the asshole.
“I liked them,” he said shortly.
“Jesus, don’t be so effusive.” She finished off her licorice and closed the package as best she could before tucking it into the pocket of her sweatshirt. Then she shifted onto her knees and was about to struggle to her feet when he simply plucked her up and set her on them.
Worse, he didn’t even breathe heavy.
“Ready?” he said again.
“Impatient much?”
He obviously was, but he matched his pace to hers as they headed back to the parking garage where they’d paid an exorbitant amount to park for the afternoon. Almost evening now.
The silence back to Teagan’s place in Brooklyn wasn’t as comfortable as the earlier one had been. He pulled up to the curb down the block and she climbed out, hesitating before she closed the door.
He never looked her way.
Yeah, you messed that one up royally, Crandall.
Teagan wasn’t home yet when she went inside, and she was at loose ends so she struggled through a shower. More like a sponge bath, really. She had no idea why, since she was in for the evening. But she also did her best to wash her hair one-handed too.
TV held little interest. So did the book she’d bought on Amazon yesterday, a juicy romance novel. Until Mal had shown up, she’d been riveted.
Now nothing kept her occupied.
When Teagan texted her she was on her way home with takeout Chinese, Elle was struggling through pulling on a pair of skinny jeans. She happily took a break from that fruitless task to sit on the edge of her bed to text her friend.
You up for a club tonight?
A club? Where?
My bandmate’s playing at a place called the Purple Egg in the Bronx. Know it?
One of your bandmates is still in town? Who?
Malachi.
*Sigh* Mercy, he’s a big, delicious bite, isn’t he?
Elle frowned at the winking and kissing emojis Teagan sent. Lord, did her friend have a crush on Mal?
Of course she does. Most women with pulses do. And he knows it, the obnoxious oaf.
I think he’s got a girlfriend.
Elle groaned at what she’d replied. Why the hell had she said that? He surely did not have a girlfriend. At least not singular. He was a multiples kind of guy.
Bummer. Still smokin’ hot though. I don’t know the Purple Egg, but we can check it out. What time’s the show?
Elle released a long sigh. She would’ve known, if she hadn’t been such a raging bitch to him when he’d asked.
I don’t know.
Hmm, so maybe I better skip the Chinese, and we’ll grab something there?
Do you mind?
No way. How often do I get to hang out with real live rockstars?
More winking.
Kidding. I have one crashing in my spare bedroom, and it’s wicked cool.
Elle smiled and tapped out a reply.
I�
�m not a rockstar, and hello, you’re a musician yourself. No stars in your eyes, girl.
Dude, I play sax at weddings and bar mitzvahs. Not exactly the same kind of audience. On my way home. We’ll leave my car then & Uber it to the show so we don’t have to deal with parking. Curl your hair or something.
A minute passed and another text came through.
On second thought, don’t. My naturally curly hair is my only advantage if I’m going clubbing with a hottie like you.
Elle laughed and went back to trying to pull on her jeans. What a pain in the ass. Another text came through when she’d finally accomplished it, this time from Denver.
When you coming home, Crandall? It’s been two days since you’ve been sprung.
Elle had to smile. They’d had the same conversation every day since she’d told Denver that she would be sticking in New York a while longer.
Soon, I promise. Why isn’t that husband of yours keeping you naked and off the phone?
One needs to break for sustenance now and then. Seriously, how are you?
Getting by. How are you? How’s everyone?
Fine. The same.
Biggest lie ever told.
How is Jules? I know she can’t be good, but I’ve texted her and she hasn’t answered.
She’d texted her half a dozen times, truth be told. It wasn’t as if she’d expected Jules to say much. A confirmation she was still alive would’ve been plenty. But she’d said nothing. Almost as if Elle didn’t exist.
Elle was trying to wait her out. Jules knew what she needed right now. And Elle understood that.
No one could quite get what it was like to live through something like that if they hadn’t. And Elle hadn’t lost her soulmate.