Promise Me Forever (Top Shelf Romance)

by Kate Stewart

  “Yeah, we’re on our way to eat.” I fiddle with the strap on my bag. “Since apparently Grady isn’t home either.”

  “Yeah.” Guilt drags Rhyson’s one-word reply out. “That was completely unexpected. He—”

  “Grip explained,” I insert before he rehashes the story I’ve already heard. “The conference. I know. Things happen.”

  It’s quiet for a moment. At first I think I’ve already lost him to whatever song he’s working on.

  “Bris.”

  Rhyson says my name the way he used to in those rare moments when we were just brother and sister, when we would play I Declare War on rainy days. When he wasn’t closeted away rehearsing for a concert or a tour. When he was just Rhys and I was his sister, and he called me “Bris.”

  “I know it looks bad,” he continues. “I know it took a lot for you to come out here like this to see us, to see me. It must feel like we don’t care or we don’t want you here, but we do.”

  Another pause.

  “I do,” he says. “Just let me get through this project, and we can talk, okay? I’ll be home tonight.”

  “When are you getting your own place?” I ask the first question that comes to mind because I’m not sure how else to respond to his unexpected candor. “I’m surprised you’re still under Grady’s roof.”

  “Yeah, well after I came back from Full Sail, I just crashed at home and haven’t seen a reason to leave yet. Grady gives me a pretty wide berth. And hey, it’s free.”

  Home.

  The ease with which he speaks of Grady’s place here in LA as home tells me all I need to know. Rhyson doesn’t need anything “free.” He earned more money before he was fifteen than most will in a lifetime. He just loved it here so much, loved Grady so much, he came back after graduating from the storied production school in Florida.

  I try not to resent my uncle for “taking” Rhyson from us. My parents, Mother especially, pour a steady stream of bitterness down my throat about Grady “interfering” with Rhyson. To hear Rhys tell it, which I did in court, Grady saved him. I didn’t know what to believe at the time, and I don’t much care. I love my parents, though even I recognize they’re insane, and I love my brother. I shouldn’t have to choose between them, which is why I’m here.

  “Well, I guess I’ll see you at Grady’s place … your place … tonight,” I finally say.

  “Great. Can I speak to Marlon?”

  “Marlon?” I frown, wondering if I really should have been more cautious before getting in the car. “Um … someone named Grip picked me up.”

  Rhyson chuckles, and I notice Grip’s mouth hitch to the side, even though he doesn’t turn his head.

  “Marlon is his real name. You think his mom named him Grip?”

  “How would I know what his mom named him?” I laugh and meet Grip’s eyes briefly, finding them smiling back at me. “Here ya go.”

  I proffer my phone.

  “For you, Marlon.”

  He stops my heart for a beat with a stretch of white teeth and full lips.

  Wow. That’s just not fair.

  “’Sup, Rhys.” He nods, his smile melting a little every few seconds and a small pull of his brows making me wonder what Rhyson’s saying. “All right. Yeah. We’ll grab something to eat. I got you.”

  He offers one more grunt and a mumbled “peace” before handing the phone back to me.

  “Hey,” I say once I have the phone back.

  “Yeah. Hey,” Rhyson says. “I actually did have dinner planned for us. You still like Mexican?”

  “I love Mexican.” I’m pleasantly surprised that he remembers.

  “Well, maybe we’ll get to try this place before you go back, but with the emergency on this project …” He sighs heavily. “Anyway Marlon will take you to eat and then bring you to Grady’s and stay with you ’til I get home.”

  “He doesn’t need to do that.” I hate feeling like a burden to anyone, and right now, I feel like the egg baby project Grip has to keep alive. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

  “Marlon doesn’t mind,” Rhyson assures me. “He has stuff to do for Grady anyway. He helps with one of his music classes.”

  I just bet he does. Lies. I glance at Grip’s profile, a study in impassivity.

  “Gotta go,” Rhyson says. “See you later if you’re still awake when I get home. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

  “Yeah. More hungry than anything.”

  “Marlon will take care of you.” A voice in the background interrupts Rhyson. “Hey, I need to go. See you tonight.”

  “Okay. Tonight.” I hold the phone to my ear for a few seconds after he’s gone just because I don’t want to talk.

  I finally drop the phone to my lap, processing the longest conversation I’ve had with my twin brother in five years. I have no idea what’s going through Grip’s mind. It’s too quiet, so I break the silence with the lightest question I can think of.

  “Marlon, huh?” I ask with a smile.

  “Only Rhyson calls me by my real name.” He keeps his eyes ahead on the road, grimacing good-naturedly. “And my mom.”

  “And Grip, where’d that come from?”

  “I was in a talent show or showcase or some shit when I was a kid.” He laughs, shaking his head at the memory. “I had to recite a poem and was so nervous, I kept holding onto the mic even after I was done. Just wouldn’t let go. Maybe it was like my safety blanket. Who knows? One of the kids started calling me ‘Grip’ after the show, and it stuck.”

  “So even then you were craving the spotlight,” I tease.

  “I guess so.” His smile fades after a few seconds. He looks briefly away from the road and at me. “I don’t mind, ya know. Staying, I mean. There’s things I can do in the rehearsal room at Grady’s house.”

  I don’t bother arguing, because I seriously doubt I’ll change his mind now that Rhyson has asked him. I just nod and pretend to check the email on my phone.

  “We’re here.” Grip pulls into a parking space and cuts the engine.

  I look up from my phone, surprised to see the length of pier stretching from the shore out over the Pacific Ocean.

  “Where’s here?”

  “Mick’s. Jimmy, one of our good friends, works here. Food’s good.”

  “Well that’s all I care about.”

  As we’re walking up the boardwalk toward a sign that reads “Mick’s” I feel overdressed. In my sleek leather jacket and ankle boots, both black, I’m so very New York. Everyone’s milling around in bikinis, tank tops, board shorts, and flip-flops. Once we’re seated at a window booth with an ocean view, I slip the jacket off. I sense more than see Grip’s eyes linger on my arms and shoulders bared by the sleeveless shirt under my jacket. I force myself to keep my arms at my side and not cross them over my chest. I block his line of vision with the huge menu and feel as if I can breathe a little easier with it between the heat of his eyes and my skin.

  “So what’s good?” I ask.

  “I get the same thing every time. Burger and fries.”

  I scrunch my nose, not seeing anything I want, but half-starved enough to settle. Before I can say as much, a set of perky breasts in a green bikini appear beside our table. My eyes do the slow crawl from the girl’s hot pink toenails in her wedge heels, over the skimpy cut-off denim shorts and the bikini top, which barely bridles her breasts. Bright blue eyes and blonde hair complete the California package. If all the girls look like this, and a quick glance around Mick’s dining room tells me a lot of them do, I may reconsider my secret plan to move here when I graduate.

  “Hey, dude.” Perky tits leans over to drop a quick kiss on Grip’s jaw.

  “Jim, what’s good, girl?” He slaps her ass, aiming a playful smile up at her. “Been missing you.”

  Rewind. Jimmy’s a girl? Her name tag reads “Jimmi.” The “i” would be cuter if I wasn’t so hungry.

  “I know.” Jimmi blows at the blonde bangs brushing her eyebrows. “Between shifts here and gigging all
over town, there’s been no time to hang.”

  “Yeah, Rhys and I were just saying the same thing,” Grip says. “We need to get everybody together.”

  “My uncle’s beach house!” The blue eyes light up. “He’s out of the country and said I could crash there some.”

  “We need to do that for real.”

  “We could play Scrabble again,” she says. “Remember how much fun we had?”

  “You sure you want to play Scrabble?” Grip lifts a skeptical brow.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” She looks confused, or maybe that’s always her look. She’s very blonde, even if it may be from a bottle, so I can’t tell.

  “You’re not really good at it,” he says with a grin.

  “Why would you say that?” Jimmi’s hands go to her hips.

  “’Cause you thought guffaw was a character from Lord of the Rings.”

  “Ugh,” Jimmi half groans, half laughs. “You weren’t supposed to tell anybody that.”

  Oh, my God, guffaw.

  Laughter bubbles up in my throat. I try to push it down, but it’s no use. It springs from my mouth as a, well … guffaw. Jimmi looks a little embarrassed but manages a self-deprecating smile. Grip’s laugh matches mine.

  “Jim, this is Rhyson’s twin sister Bristol. Bristol, this is Jimmi. She went to high school with Rhys and me.”

  “Great.” Jimmi gives me a wry look. “Now, she’ll think I’m an airhead.”

  I don’t deny it and just smile and hold out my hand.

  “Nice to meet you, Jimmi,” I say. “I promise not to tell.”

  “Well, thanks for that.” Jimmi squints an eye and tilts her head, considering me. “Did he say twin sister? I knew Rhyson had a sister, but I had no idea you guys were twins. I see the resemblance.”

  I’m surprised she’s even heard that much about me.

  “I live in New York.” I attempt a natural smile. “We haven’t seen much of each other lately.”

  Jimmi’s smile shrinks, her eyes dropping to the floor.

  “Oh, yeah.” She nods, avoiding my eyes. “He doesn’t get back to New York much, does he?”

  “No, not much.” I agree quietly since it’s obvious she, like everyone else, knows how splintered our family is.

  “So where is the maestro?” Jimmi directs the question to Grip.

  “Last minute remastering with that project he was working on,” Grip says.

  “Ah.” Jimmi nods, a tentative smile on her lips. “I haven’t seen him in weeks. I miss him.”

  “Okay, Jim, you know the deal.” Grip’s look seems to hold a careful warning.

  “I know. I know. You don’t have to worry about me.” Jimmi waves a dismissive hand in the air and turns back to me. “Did you see anything you want?”

  If I’m not mistaken, the anything she wants is my brother, but I just got here, so what do I know? I deliberately shift my eyes to the menu.

  “What’s good?”

  “Let’s see.” Jimmi leans over my shoulder to consider the menu like she hasn’t seen it before. One of her breasts nearly pokes my eye out. I lean back in my seat to avoid a nipple.

  “Careful where you aim those things,” I say before I catch my wild tongue. I’m great at keeping my thoughts to myself when it counts, but when it doesn’t, I don’t bother.

  Startled blue eyes collide with mine, and I’m not sure if she expects an apology or what, but I just look pointedly from her torpedo tits back up to her face. For a beat, I think I’ve really offended her, but then she laughs until she has to bend over, giving the customers behind her an eyeful, I’m sure. Grip grins, his eyes affectionate on blonde and breasty.

  “Oh, we’re gonna be friends.” Jimmi wipes the tears at the corner of her eyes. “Watch where I aim … that’s priceless. Okay. You like seafood?”

  “Um, yeah.” I blink a few times at the speedy shift of gears. “I love it.”

  “You like scallops?” She drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Off-menu item.”

  “I would kill for scallops.” My mouth is already watering, and my empty stomach is already thanking her.

  “Your server will be over in a sec, but I’ll tell her to hook you up.” She winks at me before turning back to Grip. “I’m singing in a little bit. They’re finally letting me on stage.”

  She gestures to a small space set up for live music.

  “Nice.” Grip’s smile reflects genuine pleasure. “’Bout time.”

  “Don’t leave before I’m done.” She squeezes his shoulder. “I may have a gig for you.”

  “For real?” He glances down at his beeping phone, a frown wrinkling his forehead before he returns his attention to Jimmi. “My money isn’t nearly long enough. I’ll do anything but strip.”

  Jimmi gives him a head tilt and a come-on-now twist of her lips.

  “Okay, you got me. For the right price, I probably would strip.” A devilish smile crinkles his eyes at the corners. “But not my first choice.”

  “It’s deejaying at Brew. Maybe tomorrow night.” Jimmi crosses her arms over the menus pressed to her chest. “Could be a regular gig, for awhile at least.”

  “Cool.” Grip’s glance strays back to his phone, his tone distracted.

  “Everything okay?” Jimmi eyes the phone in his hand.

  “Yeah.” Grip lifts his eyes, splitting a look between the two of us. “Sure. Let’s chop it up after your set.”

  “Okay. How long you here, Bristol?”

  “Just a few days. I leave Friday.”

  “Good!” Jimmi beams. “We’ll get to spend some time together.”

  “I’d like that.” Now that I’ve gotten past the breasts stuffed into the bikini practically assaulting me, I mean what I say. She seems cool. “Good luck on stage.”

  We’ve bonded a little over scallops and tits, so my smile for Jimmi comes more naturally.

  “Thanks!” She squeals and wiggles her fingers in a wave. “Gotta go get ready.”

  “So you and Jimmi went to high school with Rhyson?” I ask, watching Jimmi teeter off on her wedge heels.

  “I’m sorry. I thought you knew that.” Grip shakes his head. “I really did just kind of grab you and toss you in the car.”

  “It’s fine. I appreciate your help.” I peel the paper from the straw Jimmi left on the table, focusing on that instead of looking at Grip. “I actually know very little about my brother’s life since he left.”

  “What do you want to know?” Grip relaxes, stretching one arm along the back of the booth.

  “Lots I guess.” I shrug, keeping my voice casual. “I’ll let Rhyson tell me his stuff, but what about you? If you were at the School of the Arts, you must be … a musician? Dancer? What?”

  “I’m Darla, your server,” a petite girl says before Grip can respond. “How you guys doing today?”

  “Fine, Darla.” Grip flashes her a smile, not even trying to be sexy, but Darla melts a little right where she stands. I practically see the puddle. The lashes around her pretty, brown eyes start batting, and I might be too nauseated to eat my scallops.

  “I’m fine, too, Darla.” I wave a hand since she seems to have forgotten I’m here. “And actually really hungry. Jimmi mentioned scallops. How are they prepared?”

  “Scallops?” Darla’s brows pinch. “We don’t have scallops on the menu.”

  “No, she said they were an off-menu item.” I hold onto my patience even though my stomach is starting to feed on itself as we speak.

  “No, we don’t—”

  “Darla.” Grip grabs her hand, stroking his thumb over her palm. “Maybe you could double check on the scallops because it seemed like Jimmi knew about them.”

  After Darla visibly shudders, her smile widens and she leans a little toward Grip.

  “I am new,” she admits shyly. “I could check on it for you.”

  “I appreciate that.” I give her a gentle reminder that they were actually for me, not the man she’s salivating over.

  Darla
’s smile slips just a little as she uses the hand Grip isn’t holding to retrieve the pad from her back pocket. Obviously reluctant, she drops Grip’s hand to pull the pencil from behind her ear.

  “And to drink?” She sounds like she’ll have to trek to Siberia to fetch whatever I order.

  “Water’s fine.” I look at the tight circle her irritation has made of her mouth. “Bottled please.”

  I wouldn’t put it past her to spit in it.

  “I always get the Mick’s Mighty,” Grip pipes up. “And fries. Let’s just stick with that. And that new craft beer you guys got in.”

  “A beer?” Darla squints and grins. “Are you twenty-one?

  “I don’t know.” Grip doesn’t look away, seeming to relish how mesmerized our girl Darla is. “Am I?”

  Darla eyes him closely … or rather even closer, her eyes wandering over the width of shoulders and slipping to crotch level where his legs spread just a little as he leans back. Darla bites her bottom lip before running her tongue across it. This is just sad. Exactly the kind of behavior that could set the women’s movement back decades. In Rochester, New York, Susan B. Anthony is turning over in her grave as Darla licks her lip.

  “Um, were you still going to check on the scallops?” I give her a pointed look. I mean seriously. How does she know Grip and I aren’t a couple? I’d be insulted if he were mine. Hell, I’m insulted, and he isn’t.

  Darla shifts hard eyes back to me, heaving a longsuffering sigh and straightening.

  “Yeah. I’ll go check on the scallops.” Her face softens when she looks back to Grip. “And I’ll get your order in.”

  “The beer?” His smile and those eyes wrapped in all that charisma really should be illegal.

  “Okay.” Darla giggles but still doesn’t ask for ID. “The new craft coming up.”

  “Well, that was sad for women everywhere,” I mumble.