by J. Kenner
So he went. And, what the hell. Maybe it was time.
"Hey," he said, moving to her side, his heart flipping a bit when she flashed that sweet smile before turning her attention back to the guests, her eyes skimming as if looking for someone.
He put a hand on her arm. "I thought we could run inside and get a drink."
"Sure." She tilted her head toward him. "Can you believe Mina's here? She said Cam is, too, but I haven't seen him."
"Cam? Your brother?"
"Yeah, I know. Small world, right. But he's--oh! Cam!"
She lifted her free hand and waved, and a familiar twenty-something with dark-brown hair and an earring hurried over.
"Wait. That's Cam? The bartender at The Fix is your brother?"
She nodded as Cam scooped her into a hug. Not that her acknowledgment was necessary. Now that Noah knew, he could see the child from Kiki's old photos in the face of the man Cam had become.
Noah realised he should have connected the name of Cam-the-bartender with Cam-the-brother-who-interrupted-in-the-alley. But he cut himself some slack. He'd been more than a little distracted that night.
"Why are you here?" Kiki asked him.
"Griff told Mina she could bring a guest, and her boyfriend's out of town. I'm a huge fan of Griff's show, so she thought I'd get a kick out of it, and invited me."
"I'm so glad. You might as well have moved to Dallas when you took that apartment by campus. I hardly see you anymore."
"Gee, Mom."
She rolled her eyes, though Noah knew that Cam was only half teasing. Long ago, Kiki had told Noah about their mother's abandonment and how she ended up being half-parent, half-sibling, especially after their grandmother's death.
"Listen," she said, "you two never actually met, but I talked about you both all the time. Cam, this is Noah. Noah, my brother Cam."
Noah felt the chill the instant Cam turned to face him with a bland, "Hey."
"We're working together," Kiki explained, apparently not feeling the frost.
"Hmm," Cam said. "Listen, there's something I've been meaning to call you about. I know it's a party and all, but can I borrow you for a sec? It's kind of important."
Immediately, concern flooded her face. "Of course." She reached for Noah and gave his hand a quick squeeze. "I'll find you in a bit."
"Sure," he said, wishing he could grab the hem of her shirt and pull her back to him. Because as much as he hoped that Cam was telling Kiki that she was an idiot for not throwing herself into Noah's arms, workplace romance be damned, that probably wasn't the case. After all, Cam had watched from half a continent away as Noah and Kiki had fallen in love . . . and as Noah had walked away.
No way was Cam telling his sister to give Noah a break. More likely, he was telling her to run for the hills.
And considering all the baggage that Noah now carried, maybe her brother was right.
16
"Noah?" Cam says, sounding much older than his almost twenty-three years. "Seriously? You're back with Noah after what that bastard did to you?"
"I'm not back with him," I say, but already I'm lying to my little brother, because the truth is that I want to be back with him. Or, at least, I want to try.
Or I think I do.
Honestly, I'm so damn confused it's a wonder I can even think straight. Noah's gotten inside me again, and while it's a nice feeling, it's also a scary one.
Cam leans against the doorframe leading to Griffin's kitchen and stares me down.
"We're just friends, okay?" I say.
"But you want more."
Shit. When did my little brother get so perceptive?
"Maybe," I confess, then exhale noisily. "Honestly, all I know is it feels right being around him."
"Sure, until he rips your heart out again."
"He was young, and Darla was pregnant, and--"
"And you got screwed."
"I did," I say, my heart aching with the words and the memory. "But we're both older now, and we're not moving fast." For that matter, we're barely moving at all. But maybe that's good. I want to be friends. I want to trust him, to know him.
I want all that--and yet I crave so much more, and it's becoming hard to stay away. To play by the rules we set.
From the look on Cam's face, I think he's going to try to smack me down again, but Noah walks up to us, and I'm not sure if I'm relieved or fearful of imminent fisticuffs.
"Hey," he says, with a soft smile aimed right at my heart.
"Hey, back," I reply, unable to suppress my answering grin even though I know Cam is about to nosedive into a giant barrel of worry.
"I told Griffin I'd find you and introduce you," Noah says. "You'll like him. Just don't start listening to his podcast--at least not until after Red Brick is on the market. It's addictive."
"You know Griff?" Cam asks.
Noah nods. "I'm friends with Wyatt and Kelsey. I met him in LA before we both moved here. If it's any consolation, they all know me pretty well, and none of them think I'm the devil. Ask them if you want."
Cam's eyes widen, and my mouth drops open. "What are you--" I begin, but Noah cuts me off.
"We never met in person," he says to Cam, "so we don't know each other that well. Or at all, really. And I get that you're worried about your sister. But I want you to know that I thought I was doing the right thing all those years ago, I really did. I know it hurt Kiki, though, and I would give anything if I could heal that wound. I can't. All I can do is promise you that I'm not going to hurt her again."
He holds his hands out to his sides in a gesture of supplication. "That's it, Cameron. That's the best I can do. But I think Kiki's willing to give me a chance. I hope you do, too."
I feel a tightness in my chest and realize I've been holding my breath, awed by this unexpected speech . . . and fearful of Cam's reaction.
My brother steps forward, and for the first time, I notice that they're almost the same height, with Noah having only a couple of inches on my brother. "If you hurt her," Cam says in a low, menacing voice I don't recognize, "I swear I will rearrange your face."
I almost laugh at the idea of my skinny little brother beating up a man like Noah, tall and lean, with a surfer's strength and the fierce determination of a man who doesn't step away from a battle.
But then my vision clears, and I truly see Cam for what may be the very first time. He's in the doorway, his shoulders wide, his chest filled out. His arms are ripped under the T-shirt he wears, and he looks young and strong and fierce. How had I not seen this before? My little brother's all grown up, and in the kind of way that makes me certain he could make good on his threat.
"Fair enough," Noah says, then holds out his hand. Cam hesitates, then takes it, and I fight the urge to squeal with delight. I have no idea what this means for me and Noah, but I know enough to be certain it's on the shiny side of good.
I aim a smirk at each of them in turn. "If you guys are done measuring your manliness, I'm going to go get a drink." I push past Cam into the kitchen. "Play nice, boys," I say, then pour myself a wine and exit out the back door, enjoying the fresh air and diminished testosterone.
I've stepped out onto a concrete stoop. There's a path that leads from this side area into the backyard proper, and I start to head that way, but I'm stopped by the pretty blonde woman I'd noticed when we first arrived. She's scowling at her phone and shoving it deep into her purse.
"Idiots," she says to me. "And they can't hold onto their idiocy until Monday and normal office hours. Honestly, you'd think I was working a death penalty case."
"You're a lawyer?"
"Entertainment," she says. "I'm Evie. I represent Griff, and since I was in town, he invited me. Well, my firm represents him. Bender, Twain & McGuire."
I shake my head, clueless.
"We're mostly in LA, but I met Griffin through Lyle Tarpin--who we also represent. And so I've started bouncing back and forth between LA and Texas." She shakes her head. "Sorry. When I drink, I ramble. And I
've been drinking since I got here. It's shaping up to be a very long weekend."
I laugh, deciding that I like this woman.
"Do you know Lyle?" she asks. "Turns out a lot of the guests do. I'm almost surprised he didn't come here for the party."
"I only know his movies."
"He's a nice guy. Surprisingly down to earth. Some stars aren't, believe me. But we've become friendly, and I genuinely like his girlfriend. In fact, Lyle's the one who set me up with this guy I saw here earlier--Noah Carter. I should probably find him again and say hi." She shrugs. "Then again, I got the feeling he does the blind date thing a lot, so he probably doesn't care if I acknowledge him or not."
An unpleasant chill creeps up my spine. "You went out with Noah?"
"Blind date," she clarifies. Then she tilts her head as she studies my face. "Oh, hell," she says. "I saw you with him earlier, didn't I?"
"Yup. To be honest, he didn't mention you to me at all. Are you guys--I mean, have you . . ."
I have no idea what I want to ask, but fortunately Evie steps in to save me. "Oh, no, no. Just drinks. Nothing happened. In fact, he's the one who turned me down."
I glance over her, this extremely pretty, very well put together blonde. Honestly, I find that hard to believe.
"Truly," she says. "I was a little ticked off. I don't get snubbed that often."
I believe her.
But I'm still jealous. And for every Evie where nothing happened, how many women were there that he did sleep with?
It's a few minutes before I find Noah, and when I do, he's with Wyatt in the living room looking at some portraits of Griff and Kelsey that Wyatt shot for the two of them.
"There you are," Noah says, his expression brightening as I approach.
"Can we talk?" Neither my voice nor my expression is bright.
He glances to Wyatt, who moves a hand in what must be Guy Code for she's your problem, not mine.
"What's up?" Noah asks as he leads me back to the kitchen, which is empty at the moment, most of the alcohol having been moved to a table in the yard.
"I met Evie. She seems nice."
"The lawyer," he says. "She was." His brow furrows. "So?"
"I got the impression she was one in a string."
He'd been reaching for a plate of cheese and salami, but stops, his hand extended, as he looks at me. "Are you standing here--right now--and telling me that who I date--who I sleep with--is any of your business?"
His voice is gentle, but the words hit me with the force of a brick.
"Oh." It's the only word I can manage, and I realize that it's not him the spotlight is on, but me.
I draw a breath, gathering my courage. "Yes," I say firmly. "I am."
At first, I see no reaction. Then there's a flicker in his eyes. A spark of pleasure, happiness. Maybe heat. I'm not sure.
But I do know that my confession has moved him.
"I didn't sleep with Evie," he says.
"I see. And before. Was there a string?"
This time when he looks at me, his eyes are hard. "Yes. But the last one was a long time before Evie. At least a month. And since Evie, there've been none."
I press my lips together. "There was me."
"No." The word is fast and fierce. He moves closer, so he's standing right in front of me, and it's all I can do not to reach out and touch him. "You're something different."
"What?" I whisper, but he doesn't answer. Instead we're interrupted by a girl I don't recognize who stumbles into the kitchen, looks around, and shouts, "Damn. No wine."
"Come on," Noah says as soon as she's left. He holds out his hand for me. "You haven't met Griffin yet, and we need to get going soon."
"We do?" I put my hand in his, shocked that after the undercurrent of revelations that have passed between us he doesn't yank me toward him. He doesn't wrap me in an embrace.
But his grip is warm, and it feels safe and comfortable. I squeeze his fingers, acknowledging this connection.
"There's someplace I want you to see," he continues. "And we need to be there by seven."
"Oh. Where?"
But he just smiles and leads me toward the door.
It's dark in the yard, but Griffin has a canopy of white lights on strings, making the area look like a fairyland. We find him on a stone bench, and the first thing I notice is his face. Noah had told me on the short walk that Griff was a survivor of a terrible gasoline fire when he was a kid, and that the right side of his body is seriously scarred.
He's wearing a hoodie, but even so, the scars are visible, and my heart aches for the little boy he'd been, and the physical and emotional pain he must have suffered.
Then he speaks, and his voice is so beautiful and rich, I almost forget the scars. "You're Kiki," he says, then points at Noah. "I can tell by your accessory."
"Good guess," I say with a laugh.
"We only came by to say hello and goodbye to the host," Noah says. "I have plans for this woman."
"Noah!"
Griff laughs. "Oh, really? That's good to hear." He looks at me, his voice lowered as if in confidence. "We have a bet going. Considering how early you two are leaving together, I think I may win the pool."
I can't tell for sure in the dark, but I think Noah blushes, and that possibility amuses me so much that I completely forget to be annoyed.
As for me, I stay quiet, too. I'm afraid of what I might say if I open my mouth. I'd started out so determined to keep my wits and not fall for this man again. And yet I've fallen. Hard.
But I'm still not sure if it's smart to do anything about that.
I'm still pondering that question as we return to the car. Noah opens the door for me and waits until I'm settled before he shuts it. I take a moment alone in the car to sigh. I'd told him years ago that my grandmother's test of a worthy guy was if he opened doors for a woman.
"Where do we have to be?" I ask again when he slides in.
"You'll see."
I turn sideways in my seat and scowl at him. "You do remember me, right? Kiki? We dated in Los Angeles. Almost got married, even."
He pauses before pulling out into the street. "I have a vague recollection, why?"
"Because I'm the girl who really doesn't like surprises." Surely he remembers that much. Surely he'll tell me where we're going.
But he doesn't. Instead, all he says is, "You'll like this one." Then he pauses. "At least I think you will."
"Noah!"
The smile he flashes is wide and a little smug. "Do you trust me?"
Considering everything in our past, I consider saying no. But I can't. Because somewhere between him leaving me for Darla and now, things have changed. And, yes, I trust him.
Not that I say that. Instead, the words that slip from my lips are, "Dammit, Noah!"
At least he has the grace not to laugh.
Our destination isn't far at all. As the crow flies it's about halfway between his condo and Griffin's house, right downtown on Fourth Street. It's a little bar I've never heard of called Tipsy, and when we step inside, I realize exactly why he's brought me here.
"Oh, no," I say.
"Oh, yes," he counters, tugging my hand.
"Are you singing?"
"Trust me. You don't want me to sing."
He snags a recently abandoned table by the stage, then signals for the waitress. He orders Chardonnay for me, bourbon for him, and then hands the waitress a slip of paper and asks her to put me on the Karaoke performer list.
"You are so going to owe me," I say. But my heart isn't in it. I'd had a great time performing at The Fix the other night, and even though a Karaoke bar isn't exactly the Hollywood Bowl, I can't deny that I'm feeling the music--even if I'm cringing at most of the folks who go up to sing.
"This is wretched," I say a half-hour later when a guy who looks like he plays defense for the University of Texas butchers Michael Jackson's Thriller.
"I know." Noah grins. "Awesome, isn't it."
I take another sip o
f my Chardonnay and agree that it is.
"Okay!" The girl in charge of the evening claps as the football player leaves the stage to applause, laughter, and a few catcalls. "And now it's time for Kiki!"
I hurry up front, actually looking forward to it, and hoping I get a song that isn't entirely lame.
The music starts before the lyrics post, and my stomach does a total flip-flop. I stare out at Noah, who's looking smug.
I want to leap off the stage and ask him what he thinks he's doing, but this song is too engrained in me, and I dive into the first verse of Turnstile as if I were on autopilot.
This, I know. This, I can do.
Soon enough the audience realizes who I am. Then they're standing and clapping and phones are out snapping pictures and, I'm sure, recording every moment.
Celia's probably going to see this on social media before I'm even finished singing.
I don't care. I just want to get lost in the words as I belt out the chorus.
"Turnstile, I slide away,
Turnstile, you'll leave today
Turnstile, I need you now
Turnstile, I don't know how
To love you anymore.
And I go around and around and around and around
And now I know just what I've found.
A man who brings me to my knees.
Baby, baby, please."
I slide back into the chorus, but my eyes never leave Noah's. He's on his feet clapping and laughing and letting out an obscenely loud wolf whistle when I finally finish the song.
"Wow!" The hostess engulfs me in the kind of hug that really doesn't respect personal space, but I'm too pumped to care, and I hug her right back.
"Thank you all," I say into the microphone. "I haven't done that in a long, long time."
A few customers shout for me to do another song, but I shake my head. "Nope, this is Karaoke night. It's someone else's turn."
We stay for at least three more hours, clapping and cheering and rooting all the singers on.
Afterwards, they surround me, telling me how much they loved Pink Chameleon, and asking me to autograph the bar's cardboard coasters.
All in all, it's an incredible night, and I tell Noah as much when we finally step out of the bar and onto the sidewalk.
"I took a chance," he admits. "With all your talk about not rebooting Pink Chameleon, I wanted . . ."
He trails off, as if not certain what to say.
"What?" I press.
"I wanted you to remember how much you love it."
Tears prick my eyes, and I think that's one of the sweetest things anyone's done for me. "Thank you," I whisper.