by Taryn Quinn
And Kendra was still waiting for me to explain that I was unhappy and heartbroken and felt stupid because I knew better. So it was my fault I even cared about a guy who couldn’t care about me.
To tell her that though, I’d have to admit what had happened New Year’s Eve. I hadn’t told her yet. No one knew, including my brothers and sisters. My older brothers would’ve gone to California and kicked Kellan’s ass for hurting me. It didn’t matter that I was a grown woman. To them, I was their baby sister and I needed protection. Sometimes even from myself.
My older sisters weren’t much better. Maeve and Regan in tandem made a formidable opponent. They’d probably book seats on the same flight with Angus, Lachlan, and Liam. So would Kendra. She’d just tell me to stop wallowing first so I could help her beat Kellan to a pulp.
That wasn’t the answer. What, I was supposed to hate on the guy because he didn’t love me? I didn’t expect him to. We were strangers. Barely more than that. So what if he already knew my body better than I did? It was an accident, just an aberration, like that whole freaking night.
The best night of my entire life.
“Miss, what would you like?”
I stared at the barista as if he’d spoken in a foreign language. Coffee. Right. My order.
“She wants a grande caramel macchiato, soy milk, no whip.”
Leave it to Kendra to save the day.
“No, I want whip.” I placed a hand on Kendra’s arm. “Extra whip, please,” I told the barista.
“Since when? You hate whipped cream. I don’t understand how, but whatever, girl. Now you want extra?”
Shrugging, I lifted my brows at my best friend in a futile attempt to get her to let it go. I knew she wouldn’t. Coupled with being out of touch recently, changing my established drink order was akin to admitting I’d been kidnapped by aliens for medical experiments.
The barista smiled. “You got it. Anything else?”
Kendra let out a long sigh. “I’ll take a venti green tea latte and one of those peppermint cake pops.” She slid me a sidelong glance. “Want? Or did you decide you hate peppermint now?”
Since I was starving, I practically salivated at the words ‘cake pop’. “I’ll take two actually. One German chocolate, please. I’ll pay you back,” I said under my breath to Kendra as she stared.
“Stop it. I’m not worried about two dollars. It’s that you never eat two. You barely eat one without fretting about that jackass making some comment about your stomach.”
“Your stomach looks great to me,” the barista offered helpfully, putting all three of our cake pops into a little cardboard holder.
“She’s smokin’ hot,” Kendra said with a wink. “If I went lesbian, it’d be for her.”
The construction guys in line behind us nudged each other and laughed. I flushed so much that I had to fan my face as I stepped aside to let Kendra pay. It was her turn anyway, but after that comment, oh yeah, she was ponying up for my extra cake pop.
“Seriously?” I whispered to her as she joined me at the coffee pickup area, wearing a huge shit-eating grin. “You just cannot help yourself, can you?”
“Not really. Besides, it brought some color to these cheeks. You’re hella pale.” She pinched my right one as her smile dimmed. “You’re not sick, are you?”
I shook my head. Now probably wasn’t the time to mention how tired I’d been the last few days. I was working a lot, so I figured that was it. Not being able to sleep when I actually hit the bed without imagining Kellan making love to me didn’t help.
Neither did having to slide my hand beneath my cool sheets to take care of business for myself—sometimes two or three times before the ache subsided. I hadn’t touched myself as much in my whole life as I had in these past two weeks.
Bastard.
“Not sick, not returning phone calls, look super tired, being all vague and secretive and shit, uh huh.” Kendra gripped my shoulders. “Diagnosis: dick. As in you got yourself some.”
“Shh!” I looked around, hoping we hadn’t been overheard, caught between utter mortification and a laugh. Then she started to laugh and point at me and I knew it was over.
Jig was up. I had gotten some dick, and it had basically ruined me for any other dick, ever.
We waited for our drinks and then she carried them to our favorite table in the corner, which we only got after she stared at the couple sitting there until they finally left. Following her, I set down our container of cake pops. And promptly stuffed the peppermint one in my mouth, shrugging and pointing at my face when she pelted me with questions.
“Asshat.” She laughed and tossed a balled-up napkin at me before taking a long sip of her latte. “Fine. If you don’t tell me, I’m going to assume you went back to Dickless Derek. If that’s the case, I may just disown you.”
I snorted and pulled what was left of my cake pop out of my mouth. I’d demolished that sucker. “Yeah, right. You threaten that daily. Not gonna happen.”
“I can’t threaten anything daily since you don’t talk to me anymore.”
Guilt swamped me and I set down my barren stick. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shut you out.”
Kendra sipped her latte and waited. She was like Buddha. She’d sit there patiently until the end of time if that was what it took to get me to ’fess up.
It took way less than that, because I’d missed my best friend. Desperately. I needed to confess all to her, even if I knew she’d tell me I was suffering from unrealistic expectations. Again. Though I was the criminal justice—and hopefully soon, pre-law—student, she was the one who always said, “if you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime.”
My crime? Dreaming too much and not realizing that people had flaws that had nothing to do with me.
“So there was a guy.”
“I knew it. What level guy are we talking about here? And it’s not Derek. Tell me it’s not Derek or I will probably go homicidal on your ass.”
My lips twitched. “Not Derek. He was…a stranger.”
I felt scandalous even saying it. In what universe did I, practically innocent Magpie Kelly, have torrid sex with a stranger? One who I’d practically begged to fuck me? It was almost inconceivable, especially since one of the reasons my ex had given for leaving me was that I didn’t have multiple orgasms so sex wasn’t “as much fun as it could be.” As if that was all my fault. Besides, I’d managed to come right, left, and center with Kellan, so whatever.
There was nothing wrong with me that a talented tongue, fingers, and big dick couldn’t solve. My problem was I wanted Kellan to work on my particular puzzle over and over again, and he’d probably already banged a bevy of babes in LA since he’d been back to work.
Me? I’d only banged my hand. Both hands. Possibly my cute little button vibrator once or twice.
“No way.” Ken sipped her latte, her dark eyes wide. “Seriously?”
“So seriously.”
“When?”
This was when it got a little stickier. “New Year’s Eve,” I said hesitantly, ducking to avoid the flurry of napkins she tossed my way.
“Two frigging weeks ago? You suck. I tell you the minute my dude pulls out, and you’re keeping that shit from me for this long?” She sat back and crossed her arms again. She did resting bitch face so well. “Uh uh. Disowned. Read my lips. Dis-owned. Also? I wouldn’t go lesbian for you now. Not even.”
I giggled and buried my face in the crook of my arm before peeking up at her. From her grin, she wasn’t pissed anymore. Much.
Thank God.
“So a stranger, huh? How did it happen? Let me guess. You both reached for the last round of celebratory New Year’s Eve pepperoni at the Quikky Mart.”
“Why do I like you again?”
“Because I call you on your bullshit and still come back for more? And because I buy you two cookie pops even though you only ever buy me one?”
“Valid points.” I nodded and took a sip of my macchiato, shutting my eyes as
the delicious hot liquid slid down my throat. It was a chilly day, and boy, was this drink hitting the spot. “So remember I was making bread for the neighbors and Mrs. Pringles?”
“Yes. Former Girl Scout of the year, checking in for duty.”
“I was on my way out to Mrs. Pringles’ house when I saw a doe and her baby and swerved to avoid them. It was icy and I drove into a ditch. That was the night of the big storm, remember?”
“Oooh.” Kendra cupped her hands around her drink and leaned forward. “Hottie tow truck driver helped you with his plow? Literally?”
“Oh my God.” I laughed and offered her a bite of my German chocolate cake pop.
While she sampled it, I told the whole, semi-embarrassing story. How I’d accused Kellan of maybe being a serial killer then went all female on him as soon as he saw me naked. It hadn’t been like me at all.
By the time I reached the end of the night—after only giving her the briefest of details about the sex—her normally expressive eyes had shuttered. She had thoughts on the matter, I was sure, but she’d gone spookily silent.
“So he just let your daddy drag you home.”
“He didn’t drag me. I went willingly. Mostly.”
“But Wonder Dick didn’t stop him or defend your honor or hell, even say call me, sweet cheeks. Am I right?”
I tucked my hair behind my ears and nodded. “Yeah. Though Kellan’s not really a sweet cheeks type, which is good. Hello, creepy.”
“Okay, listen up. You’re wasting good brain cells on this guy. If he was into anything but the pussy, he would’ve surfaced by now.” She held up a hand when I sputtered. “I know, I know, crude. But sometimes you gotta tell it straight. The guy was horny and so were you, so no harm, no foul, right? Right. One-night stand, over and done.”
“What if it’s not?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I can’t forget him. He’s everywhere. When I go to sleep, when I wake up, he’s in my head. In here.” I rubbed my fist over my chest as Kendra rolled her eyes. “I know it’s crazy. It was one night. Who falls for someone in under twelve hours?”
“You did not fall for him. He just worked you good and you have not been worked good ever. That’s all it is. Trust me,” she said, placing her hands flat on the table. “Find yourself another hot guy and try again. You’ll probably be just as into him if he’s as great in the sack.”
If only it were that easy. How I wished it was.
“What if I’m not? What if, I don’t know, we really had a connection and he’s just being stupid and pigheaded by not contacting me?”
“If you really thought he just needed a push, you would’ve contacted him yourself already.” She gave me a knowing look. “And you have not.”
“No.” But all of a sudden, my cell phone was burning a hole in the back pocket of my jeans. I’d left my purse at home, thinking I’d go for a walk while I was out, and instead I’d just beelined straight for coffee. Maybe I’d hoped Kendra would be here, as was her habit before she went to work at her part-time job at Jaxon Industries, an interior design firm.
Maybe I spent too much time hoping and wishing for things, when the answer was I needed to take control of my own destiny. Just as I had the night I’d come on to Kellan. Somehow I’d felt empowered to, as if he made me bolder. I didn’t know how or why. None of this made sense to me, but just the idea of texting him lifted some of the heaviness on my chest that I’d been carting around for the last two weeks.
Even if he didn’t answer, at least I would have acted. And if he didn’t answer, I’d know for a fact he was not for me and it was time to move on. One way or another.
I pulled out my phone.
“You’re not going to text him. Tell me you are not.”
I didn’t answer. Instead I pulled up the text I’d sent myself from his phone and I replied, typing with sure fingers.
Whatever happened, I would live with it. Me and my vibrator, Old Faithful.
Your do-over expiration time is looming. Act now or forever hold your peace. Red.
11
Kellan
My phone buzzed in the middle of rehearsal. Normally I didn’t carry it around in my pocket when we were spending a long day in the studio, but since New Year’s, I’d felt the need.
I’d felt lots of needs since New Year’s, and I was examining precisely none of them.
I ignored the buzz because we were in the middle of “Felicity,” our keyboardist Myles’s song about the most important woman in his life. Not his lover, as you’d assume. Felicity was just his closest friend, the one who’d helped him through his darkest days during a bad breakup with an ex and the death of his dog. Myles had never intended for us to cut the song for our first short album. He’d just offered it up for practice fodder, and the next thing we knew, Lila—who’d been sitting in that day—had suggested we record it for the EP.
Myles was still pissed. I was pretty sure Felicity didn’t even know he’d written a song for her. Well, the lyrics anyway. The music had mostly been the brainchild of Myles and our two guitarists, AJ and Cooper, with an assist from our bassist, Jake. Bryan, our drummer, had seemed bored with the whole thing.
I guess when a guy came from a gig doing hardcore porn to playing the kit in an up and coming rock band, it was hard to stay, um, engaged.
At any rate, we were on take probably seven of the damn song. If I had to sing about Felicity’s “open, giving heart” or “sweet, uncompromising nature” one more time, I’d probably put my boot through my amp. I was seriously starting to dislike the chick and I’d never even met her. I’d known Myles since high school, but he’d met up with the great Felicity back at college in Maryland. He’d been working in a pub there when I called him to come to LA to reform our old band.
Out of all the guys, I’d figured he would be most excited to make our dreams a reality. Instead he’d become more and more quiet with every press gig and photo shoot and rehearsal for the album.
Something was going on with him, and I didn’t know what. The hard-partying guy I’d known back home hadn’t been one to pine over a chick, supposed best friend or not. But I guess people changed.
Even me. Not that I was ready to admit it.
“Take five,” I called as the buzz sounded again, letting me know I’d missed the text. “And Bry, maybe get the lead out before you come back, huh? Have a smoke or something?”
Bryan flipped me the bird and climbed down from the kit. He was always flawless and he knew it. Certainly didn’t come from practicing overmuch. He just had an innate sense of rhythm. Maybe it had translated from the “big” screen. God knows he’d been plenty rhythmic on camera.
Not that I’d ever watched his movies. Bad enough I’d had to hear him nail some unsuspecting groupie two nights ago after our show at the Blue Rhino. They hadn’t even made it off the damn drum riser. She’d stopped by for his autograph, and he’d ended up bending her back over the cymbals and hitting a high C in a whole new way.
I couldn’t decide if I was disgusted or jealous. Possibly both.
“I’ve gotta make a phone call.” Myles rose from behind his keyboard and shoved a hand though his shaggy dark hair.
He tended to grow it long, and combined with his lean face and woeful eyes, had a poetic look going on that made women nuts. Or so I’d heard. Impossible to tell how women felt about him on a more personal level lately since he kept everyone at arm’s length. So I’d gotten closer to Cooper, who still liked to party but kept it lower key than Bryan.
Meaning not humping chicks on stage.
“Sure. Go for it.” I started to ask Myles if he was calling his Fee Fee, but the swinging door had already closed behind him. Okay then.
I set aside my old Taylor guitar and made my way over to the leather couch on the opposite side of the room from the mixing booth. We were using the space at Ripper Records, which was where we tended to do our rehearsals most days.
Back in Turnbull, we’d rehe
arsed at the Gallows, our name for the dank warehouse space beside the town’s only bowling alley. On a good night, we’d practiced until our fingers were numb and our shoulders were sore, then we’d gone next door as the high school girls were finishing their games. Of course, back then we’d been in college, so trolling high school girls was only moderately perverted. Some of my buddies still did, but I’d moved on.
I dropped down on the sofa and slid a glance at Coop, who was scribbling frantically in his battered notebook. “Got a new idea, brother?”
“Maybe. Let’s just say I don’t want songs like ‘Fool for You’ or ‘Felicity’ to define our sound.”
“Fool for You” was Wilder Mind’s first single, and it was hitting radio in a major way just as we’d hoped. We were already in the Top 20, with solid numbers coming in daily. Lila wasn’t one of those managers who fed the talent a steady stream of data to keep them pumped—or hid it to prevent depression—but she gave me more leeway than most since I’d started out on the other side of the conference table. I had a damn good idea of the units we were pushing every day and the airplay and how our social media numbers looked. We weren’t headed for the stratosphere just yet, but we were definitely building.
“What’s wrong with FFY?” I asked mildly, though I already knew our lead guitarist’s concerns.
He didn’t want to become known as a harder-edged REO Speedwagon for the current set. His desire was to leave the love songs—or songs that could be perceived that way, such as “Felicity”—for later and start off with something more anthemic, like “Welcome to the Jungle” had been for GNR. But times were different and we had our own sound and our own material. FFY was doing just fine on the charts. As for Felicity…
Well, sap had its place. Preferably off my playlist, but who was I to judge?
“Nothing. It’s a solid song with a kickass bridge. Just broadening the scope a bit. What do you think of this?”
He ran through some rough lyrics for a new song he’d been working on, one much darker than either our single or Myles’ creation. I was already putting the music together in my head, imagining the guitar licks and the build up to the bridge. Figuring out how I’d shred the vocals to produce a different sound than the huskier, romanticized one I’d used on our ballads.