Manaconda 2: The Second Coming: A Rock Star Romantic Comedy Series

by Taryn Elliott

  He cupped my cheeks, his thumb brushing my lower lip. “I’m not giving up on us.”

  I closed my eyes. I couldn’t face the certainty in his eyes. Not after I’d managed to hold out against the want. “Hunter…”

  He kissed my forehead, then my eyes, and finally my lips. It was soft and sweet and he was already straightening up before I could react. When I opened my eyes, he was gone.

  I dropped back down on my bed, my body and my heart conflicted enough that I slid under my sheets and let myself find oblivion.

  I woke to a familiar tongue bath from Sammy. The only good thing about Hunter putting me to bed was that I’d slept the whole night through for the first time in days.

  I got up, let Sammy out, showered, and dressed for the day. My front door opened at ten. Carter shoved his arm in waving a pen with a white paper napkin like a flag.

  “Get in here,” I said.

  “Is it safe?”

  “Yes.”

  Carter pushed open the door. “Are you sure?” He frowned as he closed the door behind him. “Did you let them cook for you?”

  “Yes.”

  He looked around, then went to the fridge. “You didn’t leave me any?”

  “Hell no.”

  He grabbed a Hint water and shut the door. “Mean.”

  “You’re the one who let the enemy in my house.”

  “He’s not really the enemy.”

  I sighed. “No. I wish he was. It would be a lot easier.”

  “That’s because you’re jonesing for that sweet-sweet rock star lurve.”

  “You’re an ass.”

  The fact that he was correct pissed me off. He’d had every opening to take me to bed last night, but instead he’d done what was best for me. Even beyond me knowing what was best for me.

  How was I supposed to hold up against that?

  “By the way, I got a call from Love & Paws. They want you to do the Fourth of July adoption push again. You in?”

  “Of course.”

  “I figured. Already told them you were available.”

  “Is that the only thing pressing?”

  He nodded. “The usual client whining, but nothing that requires you handling it personally.”

  “Exactly what I like to hear.” My doorbell rang. I frowned at Carter. “What did you do now?”

  He shrugged. “I wasn’t in on this one. And I wasn’t really in on the last one either. I just let them in,” he called after me.

  “Still a traitor,” I shouted over my shoulder. I checked my peephole, then opened the door at the uniformed woman at the door. “Can I help you?”

  “Ms. McManus?” She looked down at her tablet. “Kenny McManus.”

  “Kennedy, yes.”

  The woman frowned, then looked back down. “It says Kenny.”

  “From Hunter Jordan?”

  Her eyes lit. “I thought it was a joke.”

  I sighed. “Nope.”

  “Lucky lady.” She held out the tablet. “Can you sign here?”

  “What am I signing for?”

  “Tickets.” She pulled out a slim envelope from her bag. “Have fun.”

  “Thanks. Oh, wait. Let me get you a tip.”

  “No need. All taken care of. Have a good day.”

  “You too.” I closed the door. I flipped open the envelope and leaned against the door. “Well, then.”

  “What?” Carter came around the island.

  “Looks like I have a trio of second row tickets to Mumford & Sons tomorrow night.”

  “Holy shit. They’ve been sold out for months.” He snatched them out of my hands. “Three you say?”

  I laughed.

  “There’s a note in here.” He handed it over to me.

  I scanned the typed words, and shook my head.

  “What’s he say?”

  “How do you know it’s him?”

  Carter snorted. “Come on. Even I couldn’t get my contacts to cough up tickets for this show.”

  “They are from Hunter. ‘Have fun at the show. I got comped the tickets and can’t use them. Have to work. You told me you loved them.’”

  “Girl, marry him.”

  “They’re just tickets.” I took them back and tucked them back into the envelope. “I’ve had clients send me tickets before.”

  Carter’s eyebrows shot up. “Shitty tickets to a Lakers game is not the same as second row to one of the most sought after shows on tour right now.”

  I tapped the envelope against my thigh. “No, they aren’t.” The fact that he remembered an offhand comment I’d made weeks ago should not have warmed my heart.

  “Call Felicity, see if she’s available.”

  “She is.”

  I laughed. “You don’t want to check?”

  “Are you kidding? If I said no, I should pack my bags now.”

  “Looks like we’re going to a show.”

  “Yes!”

  “Can we work now?”

  He sighed. “If we must.”

  I’m not sure why I bothered. The rest of the day was a bust. We went to dinner and rocked out to the amazing show. During the encore, I snapped a picture of the three of us and texted it to Hunter with a thank you.

  That was only the start.

  For the next three weeks I was inundated with gifts and hand written notes. Though the last ten days he seemed to have settled on photos he’d taken, and then had printed on glass. On the back, he wrote why he thought of me that day.

  I started putting them up in my hallway. I couldn’t even say why exactly. There were seven of them now, and the pop of color always drew my eye. From various animals, to an action shot of a playground with the entire band on swings in mid-flight, to a sunset in the mountains.

  He’d only missed a few days. I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about him on those nights. And it was usually me who started up a text message war with a side of name-that-body-part.

  He was really good at that game.

  I never let it go beyond suggestive snapshots. I’d been in the business too long to put naked pictures out there for anyone to find.

  The fact that I’d started dressing for him and our nightly chats was troubling, but I couldn’t stop. Then he missed last night.

  I’d been off the entire day. I was getting used to finding a new text from him on my phone, even a rude picture that made me laugh was preferable to the silence.

  I climbed the steps and recognized the square package sitting on my stoop. I rushed forward and ripped it open before I opened the door. I backed inside, then gave Sammy a distracted pat on the head as I let him out the back.

  The picture was of a marquee with The Breakfast Club in old black letters. I gathered the box to put it in the recycler and found a movie inside. I frowned.

  What the hell?

  I flipped over the picture.

  Watch with us at 9:05. Thirtieth Anniversary or some shit. The whole band is going to watch it with Molly Ringwald. How cool is that?

  Missing you in Orlando,

  H

  I had a dinner date scheduled with a few of my old college friends. I didn’t hesitate cancelling. Right now I didn’t want to focus too hard on the fact that I was staying home to watch a movie with a bunch of people I wasn’t physically with.

  I made popcorn, settled into bed at six and texted snarky commentary with Hunter. When Bender was under the desk with his face in between Claire’s legs, I was treated to a play-by-play of what Hunter would have done to me instead.

  The fact that I had proof of his technique left me gasping. The texts devolved from there, and I went to bed so wound up I almost took care of my own needs for the first time in a month.

  Not good.

  Not good at all.

  8

  Hunter

  “Would you stop grinning at your phone. It’s getting pathetic.”

  I glanced over at Wyatt. “Jealous?”

  “Of your twisted teen action with Kennedy? Hardly.”

&
nbsp; “Hey, I have to woo with states between us. There’s only so much I can do.”

  Wyatt stretched out his legs. “Still pathetic.”

  I flicked through the pictures I’d taken in Nevada. “What kind of picture do I send to a girl who’s from Vegas?”

  “Picking out the next glass print?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You know we’re actually going to be home tonight.”

  “I know.” I still wasn’t quite sure of my welcome. We’d been doing promotional gigs for the last three weeks. The original schedule had been for a week, but the sales had been so good Dex had extended it to a mini-tour.

  My original plan had been to put myself on her doorstep as much as possible for the last few weeks. I wanted to show her how much I needed her in my life. Unfortunately, my schedule had been less than conducive to that.

  I only hoped that she saw through the notes and late night video chats to understand that I’d do whatever it took to make her see how important she was to me.

  And if she didn’t show me that green bra and panty set from last night in person, I was going to go out of my mind. Green should be associated with money, Kermit, or a football field—it shouldn’t be making me think of curves and a downy-soft triangle of red hair.

  But as with most things that had to do with Kenny, I was left holding my dick and praying for a turn in the tide.

  It wasn’t even just the sex—though, I had to admit a lot of it still included that as a goal. I was only human after all. I was greedy for the throaty laugh she gave me when I amused her. I could honestly say I was as attracted to her brain as I was to her banging body.

  She trounced me in Words With Friends on a daily basis, she knew an obscene amount of dialogue from eighties movies, and even got me watching Supernatural with Keys and Owen.

  I got to know her more without being in her air space than I had with any other woman in my thirty-two years, including Victoria. And more importantly, I knew I’d never meet another woman like her.

  The flight attendant did a last minute check through the cabin, dragging me back the present. I ordered a print of a vintage headdress I’d snapped when we’d gone to the Bellagio for an intimate concert. Impulsively I added a second photo of the trunk of guitars that had been overturned. We’d been pissed at first, but then we’d all grabbed a random guitar and played one of our oldest songs, “Hide the Scars” to a packed out room.

  It had been the first time the band had actually found some of the magic we’d had as kids. Fame, the magazine, life, and fights had definitely changed some of our dynamic.

  We’d played like a garage band for the first time in years. And I found that I wanted that back more than I realized. To get back to basics in more ways than one.

  I pulled out my iPad Pro pencil and wrote my usual notes to Kenny and added them to the back of the print. I finished my order just as the pilot announced our descent.

  The local print company in Los Angeles was making a mint off of me. One more order and I was going to be eligible for platinum status. But I liked that they got it to her within six hours.

  Sometimes I didn’t mind using my name to get things done.

  As soon as the doors opened on the tarmac, Bats was out of his seat and down the stairs.

  “Are you ever going to talk to him?” Wyatt asked as he pulled down his bag from the overhead storage.

  “Now he’s the one avoiding me.”

  “Maybe because he’s sick of being yelled at.”

  “Fair enough.” I was sick of yelling. I was also sick of Victoria bringing nothing but misery to our doors, but I’d been so focused on Kenny that I hadn’t had time to keep watch over Bats.

  Keys and Owen were cleaning up piles of Uno cards from their chairs and the floor. Keys had packed her card canon. She was our queen of board games on the bus and flights.

  “Please tell me you’re going to see Kennedy,” she said as I passed her.

  “Maybe.”

  “Good, because I’m tired of moody Hunter.”

  “I’ll tell her you said so.”

  “You do that,” she called after me.

  Wyatt followed me down the stairs to the tarmac. “You’ve got two days to get your shit together.”

  “I know. I will.”

  “You better. I can’t handle you giggling on the phone with her anymore. Get your girl and let me have peace.”

  “I do not giggle.”

  “Oh, Kenny I miss you so,” Wyatt said in a falsetto.

  “Fuck off.”

  We walked through the airport to long-term parking. Neither one of us liked relying on a car service after a flight. Wyatt climbed into his Alpha Romeo Spider. “I’m not bailing you out either.”

  “All right, dad.”

  “Seriously.”

  “No arrests, no jail time, no SOS’s.”

  “Good, keep it that way.” He revved his engine, then shot out of the parking lot, zipped around cars and to the ramp before I could get my damn seatbelt on.

  I climbed into my Rubicon and fought my way through traffic. I loved my Jeep, but it was definitely not made for the same kind of action Wyatt’s was, nor did I trust airport parking with my Mustang, let alone a Alpha Romeo.

  Besides, I had a plan for the day and that required me going into Hollywood. I hadn’t seen Kenny in weeks. In my mind I could still see her standing in her bedroom. A single lamp on the far side of her room had left everything a hazy buttery yellow that reminded him of firelight.

  The only reason I remembered the light was because it had turned everything about her into burnished gold. From the endless peachy cream of her skin to the fire of her hair, everything had been perfect.

  And I’d walked away.

  Not because I wanted to. I would have cheerfully killed to stay there and tasted every curve, dip, and freckle. No, I left because I knew she wasn’t ready for me.

  She didn’t believe how serious I was.

  We knew how to have sex. And fuck, did we excel at it, but it was worth it to hold off. Even if I’d woke with a hardon every morning that could pound nails. There was morning wood, and then there was the echo of feverish dreams about putting her in whichever town I was currently staying in.

  I was well aware how stupid in love I was. Now I just had to make sure she knew.

  I parked across the street from the place I’d been looking for.

  We Buy Gold emblazoned in neon across the top of the building. I was here for one reason. I headed to the back of the pawn shop. I passed a sea of dresses, suits, skirts, and shoes. I resisted the urge to press my face to the glass cases of instruments.

  Was that a vintage Telecaster?

  No.

  Keep on walking.

  Shit that thing was beautiful. I craned my neck back for one more look.

  Not here for that, man.

  I passed high end electronics and a drool worthy record player that looked like it could have been in my parent’s living room when I was a toddler.

  And then I saw it.

  What I’d come for.

  “Perfect,” I said.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  I turned to the older gentleman with a smile. “You sure can.”

  9

  Kennedy

  I flipped over the last page of the file I’d been reading for the last hour. When I was choosing new clients I liked having physical copies of clippings and magazines to go through. A digital file sometimes didn’t show just how big, or small for that matter, a career or social media footprint was.

  Ever since Bethany and Justin had put the idea of managing couples in my head, I’d been chewing on different angles on how to approach it from a business standpoint. Before I brought Carter into it, I wanted to make sure it was a viable business plan for us.

  And if I wanted to make it work, I’d need to expand. That meant possibly making Carter a partner instead of my assistant. I’d been thinking about broaching the subject for months, but this was th
e perfect way to go about it.

  I flipped open another folder. Simon Kagan and Margo Reece. With the implosion of Oblivion as a band in the last few months, there’d been a swift blowback in Kagan’s career. The good kind. Billboards and magazine spreads seemed to have his face everywhere. His was a good case to work on, especially since I’d heard Lila trying to put out fires with them all the time.

  They were the perfect couple to try out my services on.

  Sammy barked, dragging me out of the pile of papers on my dining room table. I looked down at my watch. “Need to go out, buddy? Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

  Sammy yipped and did a circle at the front door.

  “It’s a little late for a walk. And I’m not exactly dressed for it.” I put my hands on my hips. Cutoff jeans and a concert T-shirt from my Mumford & Sons show was not exactly going out wear.

  He jumped at the door.

  “Wow. Okay. Chill out, boy. One lap around the circles.” I frowned as I unhooked Sammy’s leash from my coat rack near the door and fastened it to his collar. Was someone playing music? It wasn’t unheard of in my neighborhood, but that was usually on a Saturday night, not a Tuesday.

  I opened the door and a familiar rhythm followed by synthetic tones grew louder.

  “In Your Eyes” by Peter Gabriel was playing at top volume.

  Sammy pulled me down the path. “I’m only wearing flip-flops, you crazy dog. Wait a second.” The music was even clearer as I got to my driveway. “No way.”

  Hunter stood in front of his Jeep, a boombox circa 1989 over his head. The song started over again. “Finally.”

  I laughed. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m wooing my girl,” he shouted over the music. “Are you impressed?”

  “You’re an idiot.” I couldn’t stop laughing. The scene from Say Anything unfolding on my lawn. Even his Jeep was parked crooked to block the street.

  “Can I put this down now? I think my arms are broken.” His arms shook a little. God, I missed those huge arms around me.