Ridge

by Scott, S. L.

“I knew you couldn’t resist.”

  This time, I shrug as I laugh and then push the basket to catch up. “Question. How many Ding Dongs did you eat in high school?” That earns me a swift punch to the bicep.

  “Damn, that’s my dominant arm, woman.” I rub it, but it didn’t hurt.

  She’s too busy laughing to notice me watching her. She’s fucking gorgeous. “Oh!” She snaps her fingers in the air. “I’m almost out of tea.”

  I follow behind her to the tea and coffee aisle. She tosses a box of coffee K-Cups into the cart, the ones she knows I like, while she treks down to stand in front of the wide selection of tea. I stop a few feet back, wanting to take her all in so when I leave, she’ll still be with me.

  Her toned and tan legs escape cutoff jean shorts that hang low on her, exposing the soft skin of her stomach. The tank top she threw on after sex is loose and shows the neon yellow of her bra straps and the slightest hint of side tit. I position the cart in front of me and adjust my dick.

  We rolled out of bed and hit the grocery store for replenishments. After fucking for almost two days straight, all the food was gone. But now I just want to get the fuck outta here and get her back in bed . . . or maybe we’ll make use of that armchair this time.

  She drops a green box in the cart, and asks, “Do you like cookie dough?”

  “I like cookie dough.” I don’t have a major sweet tooth except when I’m around her for some reason. “Can I eat you?”

  Turning back, she asks, “Eat cookie dough off me?”

  “No.”

  “You’re so bad. Here I thought we would go down to Barton Springs for a swim and then watch movies all night.”

  I go to her because I’ve struggled to keep my hands off her for the last hour. We’re in public, but in Austin, I can roam around a lot more freely than in LA. Paps are on every corner there. Here, I can grocery shop until I drop.

  Wrapping my arms around her from behind, I kiss her neck, and whisper, “We can do whatever your heart desires.”

  “When’s your flight?” She giggles when my scruff tickles the skin under her ear.

  “I have to leave at seven a.m., or I won’t get back in time to make sound check.”

  Spinning in my arms, she wraps hers around my neck. “What happens if you miss it?”

  “I get my ass kicked.”

  She kisses me. “That would be a shame. It’s a nice ass.” Pulling back, she looks at the cart. “We have more than we need for less than a day left together.”

  “Save it for the next time.”

  “When will you be back?”

  “The second I’m free.” And even that isn’t soon enough in my book. God, this woman consumes me.

  9

  Ridge

  My phone vibrates on the nightstand, catching me on the edge of sleep. Vivid dreams fade, and my mind tries to grab on to something real. I lick my lips. My mouth’s dry, and my head is pounding.

  Not sure if it’s the whiskey I drank to help me sleep or the exhaustion.

  But the fucking phone keeps pulsating across the glass top. My mind finally wakes up, and I grab it before it stops. “Hey. Hello?”

  “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “No. I was sleeping, but I’m awake.”

  “It’s three o’clock.”

  He forgets every damn time. I try to let it slide since he has more important things on his mind, but I still remind him, “I’m not in Texas. I’m in California. It’s only one here.”

  “Did you have a show?”

  Swinging my legs off the bed, I’m grumpy. For two days, I’ve paced this hotel room, gotten a massage, jacked off numerous times, ordered room service, and hibernated as if I’m in recovery from some tragic event. Traumatic seems more appropriate. I consider lying. He’ll judge me either way, though, so this time, I move this along. “How’s Mom?”

  “She’s not herself.”

  Understatement of the year. “What does that mean?”

  “It means the meds have side effects that she’s not happy about.”

  Happy about? Why the fuck would anyone be happy about taking all those drugs? I pull open one side of the curtains and look out. The view is standard LA. Hollywood sign, traffic, and billboards. Fortunately, I’m leaving this overly priced hotel suite today. Some sunlight will do me some good. “What can I do?”

  “There’s nothing we can do but wait.”

  “Wait for what?”

  “To let your mother decide what she wants to do.”

  I hate even saying it, but I do. “Is she in a good place to make those kinds of decisions?”

  “Yes.” When he pauses, I know he’s trying to figure out how he can get off this call.

  I save him the trouble. “Keep me updated.”

  “Will you be available?” Why is he doing this again?

  “Dad, let’s not fight. I’ll be available. Tell her I love her.”

  “I’ll tell her we talked, David.”

  “Thanks. I’ll call later.” He hangs up as soon as I finish talking. Niceties like goodbyes are considered time wasters to my father. He’s the opposite of my mother in almost every way, but somehow, they’ve made their marriage work for thirty years.

  An alarm on my phone goes off, reminding me to pack up my shit. It’s time to move on. In the foyer, I find my clothes washed and folded on the entry table, ready to throw in my bag. I love laundry service.

  Packing doesn’t take me long since I tend to travel light, so I get it done quickly and then shower and shave because I look like a fucking caveman.

  I’ve never been one to be idle, so sitting around with little to do and on my own has always felt wrong. I’ve started to lose my mind, so I’m glad we’re hitting the road again. At the end of each gig, I’m dying for rest, but this time, I’ve felt unsettled. And I have a fair idea why. Should my mom really be making these decisions on her own? Should I be calling her to listen or talk it through? Fuck if I know.

  But right now, I know what I need. Music. It’s always been there when I had nothing else. I can’t believe I left my guitar with the crew. But after the call about my mom, my head was in a daze.

  Next stop is Chicago and then on to Kansas City. The dark clouds of my mood start to lift, knowing I’ll have guitar back in hand in a few hours and be doing what I do best: losing myself in music. My lifeline.

  * * *

  “Are we going out?” Tommy, the band’s manager, asks as soon as we land in Chicago.

  He’s eyeing me, so I reply, “What are you thinking?”

  “Beef. Booze. Babes.”

  “I’m not going to a strip joint.” I shake my head because I can already see the shitstorm that would cause. “The paps would love that.”

  “Not all three all at once.”

  “Then I’m in. I’m starving.”

  “For food or fuck—”

  The flight assistant comes from behind him and leans against the side of his chair. “I’d be happy to make a suggestion.”

  I don’t know how he does it, but Tommy can get pussy when he’s not even looking for it. He angles her way. “You from Chicago?”

  “I live in the heart of the city. There’s a great little restaurant near my apartment. I could show you around.”

  “The apartment or the city?”

  Running a manicured nail over his shoulder, she bends down and whispers in his ear. Whatever she’s offering, he’s buying. “Do you have a car at the airport, or you want to ride with me?”

  The woman’s gorgeous, and that uniform is what fantasies are made of. She’s also not shy about what she wants. “With or on?”

  “You’re bad,” he replies with a wink. “I like it.” The man is skilled, and women dig him. He gets laid, and in the media, he remains unscathed. Lucky bastard. I say, “I really wish I’d chosen a seat somewhere else.” I’m not in the mood to watch him flirt. Not that I ever am, but fuck off all right already with them. The plane finally comes to a stop, and I pop my sea
t belt and am out of my chair.

  He leans into the aisle, watching her walk away. When he turns back, he says, “I’ve got plans.”

  “Asshole. Bros before hos, man.”

  “Baes to get laid.”

  “That’s lame. Don’t use it.” I laugh, then look around. “Anyone up for going out?”

  Jet packs his headphones away, and says, “I’ll go.”

  * * *

  Jet being married to one of my best friends made us allies from the day we met. Being bandmates solidified our friendship. We may not have to tour in a crummy beat-up van together, but even flying on private jets and playing in stadiums are unique experiences that not many will understand.

  The Crow Brothers band has a bond that can’t be broken.

  Except, it seems, for Tommy, who traded our company for a hookup with the fairer sex. I don’t blame him. I’m not sure what’s keeping me from fucking my way through a tour. I have plenty of opportunity, but no one seems to interest me. It used to be part of the routine to rid my stress from the late nights when I couldn’t shut the buzzing off in my head, the adrenaline pumping through my veins, and the high from performing live. But since I met the pretty green-eyed beauty who kick-started my heart, no one else has caught my eye or tempted my libido.

  Jet leans back from the table, pushing away an empty plate that once held a steak dinner. “Hannah’s worried about you. Do I need to be?”

  “Nope.” I toss my napkin on the table and finish my beer.

  “Is that what you want me to tell her?”

  I shrug. “Tell her what you want.”

  “Cool. I’ll tell her you’re being an asshole.”

  I scoff, but it turns into a chuckle. “I’ll text her.”

  “You don’t owe me shit, brother, except a hundred and fifty percent when you’re on that stage or in the studio. Other than that, it’s your time to blow however you want. But you’re not yourself, and everyone notices.”

  “Everyone needs to stop gossiping about nothing.”

  “Is it nothing?” The check is delivered, and Jet reaches for it. When we got our first big payday, we stopped worrying about checks at restaurants and bars. I remember walking blocks looking for change on the fucking street to buy a thirty-cent package of ramen. It’s incredible that none of us bats an eye at a four-hundred-dollar dinner. When the waiter leaves, he asks, “What happened in Tucson?”

  “What are you talking about? I played my fucking heart out.”

  He sets his card down just as the waiter returns to take it away. “Drop the defenses. I have no complaints about your performance, so this isn’t an attack. I just noticed you were quiet . . . quieter than usual on the way home.”

  My mind is rummaging through believable excuses, anything to say other than the truth. “No one can get a word in edgewise with Tulsa around. That kid’s a fucking chatterbox.”

  He laughs. “I’ve never known a happier dude. He’s been like that his whole life. There’s a good lesson to learn from him. Live life to the fullest. Enjoy every second. Tulsa knows loss. He was fifteen when our mother died. You know we didn’t have a dad who stuck around, so . . .” He turns away, his gaze running over the wall of wine bottles. “I did the best I fucking could, but I couldn’t replace her.”

  Thinking about my mom and how this came out of nowhere, my shoulders roll forward as I lower my head.

  We’re men, so Jet doesn’t rush over to comfort me or push for more of what’s going on inside my head. He’s curious but leaves it. He knows better than anyone that sometimes we just have shit to work out in our heads.

  The check is returned, and we leave. We walked the three blocks here, but word has gotten out and a crowd has gathered on the sidewalk. The restaurant calls a cab for us, and we dart for the open door. Safe inside, I’m not sure if it’s the darkness of the cab or that I just need to get it off my chest. He mentioned his mother, so he’ll understand. “My mom’s in the hospital.”

  That pulls his attention from out the window over to my side of the back seat. “Sorry to hear that.”

  “So am I. My dad called after the show in Tucson.”

  He nods his head, everything making sense now. “When are you going to Austin?”

  “I can’t until after Chicago and Kansas City. So three days, I guess.”

  “Sorry. You know if you have to go—”

  “I don’t, but I want to. I’ll go during the break.”

  “You’ll meet us back in LA for the radio interviews?”

  “Yep.” I turn my attention away, not wanting to discuss it anymore.

  As soon as we get back, I cover the fare, and we head upstairs. Being in a band is built for the nocturnals, but even after two straight days of being locked in that hotel room, I’m still tired. “I’m gonna have an early night.”

  “That’s cool. I’m going to bug my brothers.” Jet continues past me when I stop in front of my door to open it. Before I can slip inside, he adds, “Sorry about your mom.”

  “It’s okay.” It’s not okay, but it’s not his burden to bear. He has enough riding on his shoulders, so I won’t add to his load.

  I go inside and let the door slam closed behind. This room doesn’t have a separate living room, but it has a bed, desk, and large sitting area. I sit in a chair by the window and kick my feet up on the table. I need to get my fucking mind off the sad shit. I have so much good going on, and it’s getting buried.

  Pulling my phone from my pocket, I get up and grab a small bottle of whiskey and a can of Coke from the mini bar. There used to be one surefire way to take my mind off things. I text: You awake?

  Meadow: It’s only 10:30, Grandpa Carson.

  I knew she’d drag me out of my bad mood. I chuckle while mixing my drink. I take a big gulp and then settle on the chair, resuming my original position. Me: Don’t drag my grandpa into this. I don’t intend for this to be appropriate.

  No dots. No reply.

  Shit.

  Friends.

  Fuck.

  Me: Sorry. Bad habit.

  Meadow: We were never bad, except for our timing.

  Considering how good we once were, I wonder if we can ever overcome that bad timing. Or maybe she’s right, and we’re how we’re meant to be. Me: What are you up to?

  Meadow: Studying. My summer classes start tomorrow.

  Me: School during the summer?

  Meadow: If I want to graduate on time and I do.

  The drink sloshes against the side of the glass when I take another gulp.

  Meadow: What are you doing?

  Me: Sitting in my room texting you.

  I smile, though I don’t know why.

  Meadow: You should have called then.

  Me: I can call now?

  Meadow: Okay.

  Finishing the amber liquid, I hit the speed dial number. “Hello.” God, her voice. Her voice soothes my soul.

  “Why are you studying if school doesn’t start until tomorrow?”

  “To get ahead. Why are you sitting in your room alone at . . . where are you? LA?”

  “Chicago.”

  “We’re in the same time zone.” I detect a light lilt to her tone as happiness sneaks in.

  “We are.”

  “It makes me feel closer to you. That’s weird, right?”

  “A little, but I feel the same. Did you get settled back in?”

  “My apartment needed a good cleaning, so I spent most of yesterday doing that. My closet is way too small for the clothes I bought while I was gone. And I had no food or drinks in the house, so I had to go grocery shopping earlier. It’s kind of been a pain in the ass since I got back.”

  I miss this. I’ve missed her. Even though she’s complaining, her tone is light. She still sounds happy, making me think back on the times we were together. I remember the awesome fucking, but this? I’m reminded that she’s always been the light, and I liked having her light in my life.

  “I was recently thinking about this one time at th
e store and a box of Ding Dongs.”

  She laughs. “I remember that too. Now I’m craving a Ding Dong.”

  There’s so much I could say to that, but this time, I actually do let it go. “You never told me about London.”

  While she talks about her “flatmate,” the British cadence I noticed before returns. “Sounds amazing,” I chime in. “Also sounds like you got into plenty of trouble.”

  “We did. It was the best time ever.”

  Ever . . .

  Her contentment in a place that became her home, at least temporarily, makes me wonder about her in the future. “Do you think you’ll go back after you graduate?”

  “I don’t know. Guess we’ll see where life is going to take me.”

  I don’t keep her on the phone forever. This friends thing is new, so that means making new memories, but the other times we spent together are hard to forget. “Guess I should go. We have interviews in the morning and the show tomorrow night.”

  “Wow, we’ve been on the phone for almost an hour. Time just slips away when I’m—”

  “With you.”

  There’s a lingering pause before she adds, “I’m really glad we’re friends, Dave.”

  “Me too.” I’m glad I called. It’s good to have a friend still here in Austin. “Good night, Meadow.”

  Just before I hang up, she says, “I’m glad you texted and called. It was good to hear a friendly voice.”

  “It was. Maybe I’ll do it again sometime soon.”

  “I hope you do. Good night, Dave.” Dave. That’s who I needed to be tonight. Not Ridge with all that entails. Not David, the son who disappoints. Dave, the man this beautiful woman likes spending time with.

  10

  Meadow

  Although I’ve known the date of Stella’s big day since she set it, I still can’t help but smile when I see the invitation. Holding my sister’s pretty invitation in hand makes it feels more official, something tangible put out into the universe.

  She deserves every celebration leading up to her nuptials. I’ve never known two people more made for each other than Rivers and Stella. They may have lost some years along the way, but they fought their demons and found their HEA.