Hot Shot (American Royalty Book 3)

by Robin Bielman

  I take the instrument back, too choked up by her intuition, protectiveness, and request to answer aloud. After Miranda, I thought maybe I was looking for something I didn’t deserve. That in some twist of fate, I couldn’t have a good family, a good job, wealth, and also love. Sometimes you just don’t get to have it all. But then West told me to stop beating myself up, and I dated Tracy, and I told doubt to suck it. I’d try for everything until I succeeded.

  Alejandra is my gold medal. My cherry on top. My silver lining.

  The song I play for her flows through my fingertips without thought. I play the music and sing the song, never taking my eyes off her. She’s unable to hold my admiration, glancing away a time or two, but always coming back.

  ‘Brown Eyed Girl’ by Van Morrison.

  As I strum the last few chords, I realize it’s a simple song, one I could teach her. I like the idea of sharing this music with her, knowing it’s the first song we’ve shared—the first one I’ve shared with someone else since that awful night.

  When I’m finished, she claps. Her brown eyes shimmer, her lips are slightly parted. She takes the guitar out of my hands and puts it down on the floor. Then she crawls onto my lap, straddles me, and kisses every other kiss in my memory bank but hers out of my head.

  She grinds on me, rubbing her center over my growing erection. My cotton sleep pants are a thin barrier between us so the friction turns hot in a matter of seconds. Her arms go around my neck. She presses closer.

  I cup the back of her head with one hand. My other hand finds its way under her shirt to her lower back. I press my palm there, keeping her tight against me, but letting her set the pace.

  She moans into my mouth, kisses me harder.

  Out of control, no-holding-back humping and kissing continues until she murmurs expletives that sound more like terms of endearment coming out of her sweet mouth and her body jerks then stills then melts against mine.

  “I can’t believe I just did that.”

  “You can use my body to get off anytime you want.”

  She buries her face in my neck. “Watching you play guitar and sing…”

  I rub my hand up and down her back, palm her ass cheek, dip my fingers lower. She lifts her head. We make eye contact.

  And then clothes fly off, protection is put in place, and our bodies become one until we’re both spent and satisfied.

  A little while later we sit against the headboard to resume the lesson. She’s wearing the cotton T-shirt I had on and I’m back in my pajama bottoms. My guitar rests in her arms. She’s struggling with playing the chords I taught her, her finger placement frequently slipping.

  “Oops,” she says, catching herself when she once again touches the wrong string.

  She strums with a loose, relaxed motion for a few seconds, but then her wrist gets tired and her elbow starts to move more, which makes the sound uneven and less rhythmic. She lets out a frustrated sigh.

  “Hey, get over here,” I say, taking the guitar and motioning for her to sit in between my straight legs.

  She looks at me quizzically for all of a second before settling in with her back to my front and stretching her legs out in front of her.

  I put the guitar in her lap, wrap my arms around her, and place my hands in playing position. It’s tedious, but my long reach allows it to work. “Can you look down and see my hands?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “Great. Do that and as you do, feel the music. Feel the vibration of each chord as I move my fingers against the instrument but also with it, if that makes sense. I’m not fighting to make sounds, I’m welcoming what this instrument can do with my assistance.”

  I play ‘Brown Eyed Girl’ again, singing softly in Alejandra’s ear with my eyes closed. It’s not as flawless a rendition this time, given I’m working solely off touch, but Al won’t necessarily know the difference.

  Having her cocooned in my arms like this, after a night of good food and fantastic sex, is something I will always remember. I strum the last chord and kiss the slope of her neck.

  She takes the guitar and reaches over to lean it up against the nightstand. I literally bite my fist to keep from biting her luscious ass.

  “Thank you,” she says, facing me with her legs crossed in her lap.

  “You did great. If we keep practicing, I bet by the end of the week, you’ll have the entire song down.”

  “We?” She blows a piece of hair off her forehead, and I get a whiff of the fruity vanilla scent of her shampoo.

  “I’m here every night, Al,” I say when what I really wanted to say was, I’m not going anywhere. “But feel free to use the guitar whenever you want. This was your solo wish so I certainly don’t need to be around for you to play. You’ve got the basics down.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  I lift her hand and kiss the tip of her pointer finger. “How do your fingers feel?”

  “They hurt.”

  “Shit. I’m sorry.” I kiss the tips of each one, then move to her other hand and repeat. “I should have cut you off sooner. It’s normal, though, and will get less painful with time.”

  She kisses the back of my hand. “Please don’t be sorry. Tonight was…tonight was so much more than I imagined it to be.”

  “So, you’ve been dreaming about me?”

  She swats my upper arm. “You’re incorrigible.”

  I’m also falling in love.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sunday, Monday, Tuesday

  Drew

  We spend Sunday in bed, playing guitar, eating leftover asopao, and reading. I figure if I’m going to pitch the book club idea to my marketing team at our Tuesday meeting, then I better know what I’m talking about.

  Monday night, Alejandra gets home from work and excitedly announces a meteor shower is taking place sometime around two a.m. “Would it be okay if I slept outside at the pool tonight?” she asked. “I know it’s asking for preferential treatment, and I’ll understand if you say no, but—”

  “It’s fine,” I told her. “I’ll let security know.”

  She flung her arms around me and kissed me in thanks.

  “Do you…do you want to join me?”

  I did, but I also knew she wanted to do this by herself. “Next time,” I told her, and she hugged me again in appreciation. At one a.m. I had a thermos of hot chocolate delivered to her. Around three a.m. a chilled body crawled into bed with me and tucked herself against my chest. “Is this okay?” she’d asked.

  “It’s more than okay,” I’d whispered back, but I’m not sure she heard me, the sound of her soft snore filling the space a split second later.

  Today’s marketing meeting is a long one. The team loves the book club idea and Luna reaches out to Reese’s people. Emails go back and forth and we set a date to discuss further. I’m beyond stoked and want to take Alejandra out to dinner to celebrate, but I’m called out of town to take my father’s place at an important meeting in Vancouver. He’s stuck in New York due to a delayed flight and as one of the VPs of Auprince Holdings, I’m happy to go.

  I text her I’ll see her tomorrow night.

  And already miss her like hell.

  Chapter Seventeen

  That Night

  Alejandra

  Thirty seconds feels like thirty minutes when you’re in star pose.

  I know this because I’m currently sitting in a chair in the exercise room of the senior center with my arms and legs out wide in V shapes. I’m in serious danger of looking weaker than the group of seventy-somethings around me. Chair yoga is a lot harder than you think it is. My core is protesting. My muscles are quivering. And as soon as the thirty seconds are up, we have to repeat this pose two more times. I liked candle pose much better. The seconds flew by with that one because my feet stayed on the floor and I kept singing ‘Walk Like an Egyptian’ in my head.

  “And release,” our instructor says.

  Finally. I drop my limbs like they each weigh a hundred pounds. The
running I’ve been doing is zero help with this activity.

  Lu, the center’s director of finance and operations, waves to me from the wide doorway and I want to run across the room and tackle her with gratitude. Adios, chair yoga! “Nice job,” I tell Mrs. K. as I vacate my chair and step around hers.

  “You too, sweetie,” she says.

  “Keep up the good work,” I say to Gloria when I pass her striking the second star pose.

  “I will. Now hurry back, okay? You’re my inspiration.”

  Aw, how sweet and wonderful is that? I pause, tilt my head to the side, and look down at her gently wrinkled face. “It’s definitely the other way around, Gloria.”

  She waves me off.

  “Hey,” I say to Lu, wrapping her in a quick hug. “Thanks for saving me.”

  “You only looked mildly constipated,” she teases.

  “Ha! Lucky for me everyone else’s vision isn’t what it used to be.”

  “We should only hope we’re in as good a shape as they are when we’re their age.”

  We peek back at the class and nod in tandem. “I’m guessing we need to talk,” I say. I’ve been dreading speaking with her and Karen, our executive director, since our meeting two days ago when we discussed the center’s survival.

  “Yes.”

  I follow her to the office-slash-conference room she shares with Karen and the three of us sit at the round work table.

  “We were denied the Madison Grant,” Karen says, never one to beat around the bush. Lines of disappointment crease her forehead. “They took a magnifying glass to our entity structure and weren’t satisfied with what they found.”

  My shoulders sag. “We’ve still got one more to hear back on.”

  “Yes, but I don’t think we’ll hear in time,” Lu says. “If we don’t fulfill our financial obligation by the first of next month, then the bank will foreclose.” Her lips tremble. “I’m so sorry my budget strategy got us here.”

  “It’s not your fault,” I say. “Sometimes even the best plans just don’t work out.”

  “West Landry did reach out again,” she says. “His company has the means to buy the land from the foundation in cash and with the tax revenue the city will receive on their proposed new development, we’re fighting an uphill battle.”

  I clench my jaw. I’d like to push West down a hill right about now.

  “But. He’s offered to help us relocate.”

  “He has?” Did Drew ask him to do that?

  “The problem is there is no place for us to go. Not in the same zip code. Not even in a ten-mile radius, maybe more,” Karen says.

  “Which means our seniors would have to travel a lot farther and many won’t do that. Plus, we’d have to make sure we’re not encroaching on another senior center. I doubt West Landry is thinking like that,” I contend.

  “True.”

  “I think we need to give everyone a heads-up,” Lu says.

  I truly adore every single one of our seniors, but I do have a few favorites I’m not sure I can live without.

  You’re my inspiration.

  “Give me a week,” I say. “I’m not ready to give up.”

  Karen and Lu look at me with kind, but doubt-filled eyes.

  “Please,” I implore.

  “One week,” Karen says.

  I jump to my feet before she changes her mind. Back in my office, I check my phone and find a text from Drew. He’s going out of town for the night and will see me tomorrow. A funny feeling worms its way into my chest. I’ll miss him. A lot. I type a quick reply back with a heart emoji at the end. Delete the heart emoji. Send.

  “Got a minute?”

  I startle at the question and look up to see Mrs. K. and Gloria standing in my doorway. “Always. Come on in.”

  The two of them look adorable in their yoga pants and graphic tees. “Age before beauty,” Gloria teases, motioning for Mrs. K. to take my only guest chair.

  “What are you talking about? You’re older than me.” Mrs. K. still takes the chair.

  “Yes, but you look as if you’re older than me.”

  “Says you. You’re only as old as you feel, you know.”

  “Which makes us…” Gloria trails off.

  “Thirty-nine!” they say simultaneously.

  I grin at them. “What can I do for you, ladies?”

  “We’d like to invite you to a Galaxy soccer game on Friday,” Mrs. K. says. “My daughter was supposed to make it a threesome, but now she has to work. Think you could play hooky and be our chaperone?”

  My heart squeezes. In appreciation. And so much more. “I’d love to take you to the game.” Friday is kind of a holiday given tomorrow is July fourth, so I can definitely sneak away.

  “Wonderful. We’ll meet you here at ten. There could be traffic,” Mrs. K. says.

  “There will be traffic,” Gloria corrects good-naturedly.

  My phone rings on my desk. Gabby’s name appears on the screen. “Sorry. Mind if I take this? It’s my sister.”

  “Not at all.” They say goodbye and thank you and leave me to my call.

  “Hey, Gabs.”

  “Allie.” Gabby’s voice sounds crestfallen. She sniffles, and I picture her holding a tissue under her nose.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Landon and I broke up. He broke up with me and kicked me out of his place and said terrible things and—” she cries “—I hate him and I have nowhere to go and I need you. I need my sister.”

  “I’m so sorry, Gabs. Come to the hotel. I’ll meet you there in thirty and you can stay with me. Park in the underground lot in space number one. Are you okay to drive? I can come get you if you’re not.”

  “I…I’m okay.” She hiccups. “See you in a few.”

  “Love you. Take your time and pull over if you have to. You know what? Why don’t I just pick you up?”

  “No. Really. I can drive myself. Thanks, though. Love you.”

  We hang up, my heart hurting for my sister. On the way to the hotel I make an emergency stop at the supermarket for ice cream, chocolate chip cookies, potato chips, Ritz crackers and spray cheese, and two bananas. We have to eat something healthy before we pig out on junk food for dinner while we dissect what happened. I’ve been secretly hoping Gabby would break up with Landon, but I never expected it to go the other way around.

  Breaking up is painful and hard, not matter what. Even if it’s amicable. In only nine days I’ll be face-to-face with Matthew again. When we agreed to break up, all I could think about was getting to this point. Getting through a year of separation then reuniting under a star-filled sky at one of our favorite spots and announcing we still loved each other. That no one else compared.

  Only now there is someone who compares.

  Who is maybe beyond compare.

  But do I feel that way because I haven’t seen Matthew in almost a year and I’ve forgotten about all his good qualities? Has my attraction to him faded because we haven’t stood in the same air space, but as soon as we do, all my feelings will come flooding back?

  We didn’t end on a bad note. We didn’t end because we no longer loved each other. We didn’t end because of mistrust or miscommunication or a mistake. In fact we didn’t end. We paused to pursue our own lives for twelve months. Seeing each other again was always in the plan. No matter what, I will meet you at eight o’clock on the rooftop of the Observatory on July twelfth and if we’re both still single, then we’ll pick up where we left off. Those were Matthew’s exact words, and I’ve carried them with me every day since.

  A man doesn’t say no matter what unless he plans to keep you in his life.

  The question is, in what capacity? And what happens if our ways of thinking don’t mesh?

  Gabby is leaning against her car, her arms wrapped around herself, when I pull into the parking spot beside her. I barely have my car in park before I’m jumping out to hug her. I may not have been a fan of Landon’s, but my sister means everything to me.

 
She cries on my shoulder while I rub her back.

  “Come upstairs,” I say a couple of minutes later. “I’ve got sustenance and Drew is out of town so we have the place to ourselves.”

  I grab the groceries. She grabs a duffel from her front seat. We’re quiet in the elevator. Once in the suite, we throw the comforter from my bed, extra blankets, and bed and couch pillows onto the floor in front of the window in the main room so we can watch the sun fall asleep and see the ocean in the distance. When we were young, we loved to make forts in the family room when one or both of us were feeling unwell. This makeshift arrangement isn’t exactly the same, but it’s close enough.

  “He said he didn’t like how Alan looked at me,” Gabby says, sitting identical to me with her legs crossed in her lap, and spraying cheese on a cracker.

  “Doesn’t Alan have a boyfriend?” I ask, putting my banana peel down. Alan is a hair stylist and works at the same salon as Gabby.

  “He does, yes, but then Landon goes, ‘He swings both ways you know,’ and I said, ‘Yes I know that; he’s my friend, and nothing more.’ Then he has the gall to say, ‘That’s not how I see it.’ Like I purposely flirt back or something.”

  “He was a jealous jerk a lot, but that’s on him and has nothing to do with you.”

  “I was so pissed, I told him he was clingy, which he pretty much is, but I chose to ignore, and that’s when he decided to tell me I’d put on a few pounds and having sex with me was a chore.” Her eyes fill with tears.

  “He’s an asshole,” I say, squeezing her arm. “Your body is beautiful.”

  She sniffles. “I know.” She wipes a tear off her cheek. “So I asked him why was he so mean and he said he wasn’t mean he was breaking up with me.”

  “You’re so much better off without him.”

  “I am, but it still hurts.” She waves her hand in front of her face and lets out a deep breath. “Okay, that’s it. No more crying over that douchebag. Tell me about you and Drew.”

  “I’ve told you everything.” I pop a potato chip into my mouth. Gabby and I talk or text every day, sometimes at length, sometimes not, and since the past few days have been busy for both of us, we’ve been brief with each other.