Off Bass

by KC Enders

  “Thanks. G, come here, babe.” Gavin extends his arm back toward his … Gracyn, I think. He does a quick introduction just as Nate pushes back through the door, free of our bags. “Glad you’re here, man,” Gavin mutters, doing the man-hug thing with Nate.

  The entryway leads into a wide-open space sectioned off only by furniture and fixtures. The seating area, with sleek leather couches surrounding a stone fireplace, shares the wall of windows with a farm table and enough benches and chairs to easily seat ten. And behind that is a kitchen that’s a cross between comfortable and commercial—not that I ever thought that could be a thing.

  It’s early afternoon, but Gracyn pours us each a glass of wine—a generous glass.

  “I didn’t know if you guys had eaten, so I just threw together some charcuterie. I hope that’s okay.” She pulls a gnarled wooden board from the depths of the commercial fridge and sets it on the massive island.

  “This is perfect, thank you.” The wine is crisp, cool, and delicious. I pop a chunk of cheese smeared with berry jam into my mouth, mumbling, “Ohmygod” around the burst of flavor.

  Gavin chuckles, grabbing a couple of beers from the beverage station—because, of course, his massive kitchen has a beverage station. He hands one to Nate as he asks me, “How are you doing? Are you ready to get back to it?”

  “I am. I think I am. Recovery from that specific injury is a bitch. It’s long and hard—”

  The door bursts open just seconds before, “That’s what she said,” rings through as a juvenile greeting.

  “Asshole.” Gavin’s response is in direct contrast to the happiness rolling off him as he pushes his way past Ian, wrapping his sister up in a hug. “Tell me you brought it. Please tell me you brought your favorite brother his very most favorite dessert?”

  Muffled because her face is smooshed in her brother’s chest, Sasha replies, “Do you really think I would take a weekend off to see you and not bring a bucket of tiramisu?”

  “Not really,” Gavin responds, releasing her. “But I had all the ingredients delivered with our groceries this week, just in case.”

  As soon as Sasha is free of Gavin, she pushes into the kitchen and snags Gracyn’s wine, swallowing down half the glass. “Dear Jesus, I needed that after driving up here with Ian. How many times did he have to take his driver’s test before he passed? Too many. The answer is too flipping many.”

  “Lucky number seven, I think.” It was probably more like three times, but we all gave him a lot of shit about it back in the day.

  The screech that rips out of Sasha is earsplitting. “Alex, holy shit, you’re here.” She rushes around the island and absolutely crushes me in a hug. “Dancing Queen is in the house.” She squeezes tight and then pushes away, squinting her eyes at me. “I should be pissed at you. You’ve been in the city all these years, and the one time you came into my restaurant, I didn’t even get to see you? What the shit is that all about?”

  I hated that I didn’t see her that night, but Nate and I were deep in our reconciliation, and Ian was a hot mess. “Hey. I’m sorry I haven’t made time to—”

  “Whatever.” She waves my apology away. “You’re here now. Back in with the crew. Can you believe this shit?” She spins around, indicating the ridiculously huge house and the pool and everything surrounding us.

  A fresh glass appears along with another bottle of wine, and we pull up barstools, settling in to chat.

  The boys all step out onto the back deck with a notebook and a couple of beers. From this angle, Gavin and Nate almost look like they could be brothers. And Ian looks happier than I’ve seen him since I found my way back to these guys. With the way Sasha glances out the window, I wonder if they have something. Something more than the tight friendship that they’ve always had.

  The next couple of hours are spent killing too many bottles of wine while I catch up with Sasha and get to know Gracyn. It’s nice—really nice—and I realize just how focused I’ve been since I left Virginia.

  I have friends in my ballet company. Girls I always considered to be good friends, who know the joy and misery of dancing professionally. Girls who understand the sacrifice, the dedication, that goes into our profession. But they’re also seeking the top spot in the company, so there’s always that hint—just a whisper of one—that they would be more than happy to step over whoever is in their way. No matter how many times that someone has lifted them up, dried their tears, or saved their asses. It’s cutthroat, and I’m the one trying to fight my way back into the fray right now. Lauryl wouldn’t stumble a single time, stepping on my head to climb higher in the company, and she’d do it en pointe.

  This though—reconnecting with Sasha, getting to know Gracyn? This is everything hanging out with girlfriends should be. Time floats away, and the beautiful afternoon slips colorfully into evening.

  Sasha stands abruptly. “Oh shit. I left the tiramisu out in the car. Let me grab that before I start making dinner.” She runs out of the kitchen to the sound of Gracyn snorting a laugh through her nose.

  When she returns, I realize she wasn’t kidding when she said she brought a bucket of tiramisu. I have never seen the dessert prepared on the scale she’s lugging in.

  “Open the fridge door for me?” She huffs from behind the restaurant basin resting on top of a tray filled with what I can only guess is going to be our dinner.

  Gracyn jumps from her chair and helps unload the food from Sasha’s arms. “You’re not making us dinner tonight, Sash. You have the weekend off. We can order something in or—”

  “Nope. Not gonna happen. Cooking a meal on this scale is a decadent pleasure for me.” She sorts her ingredients with an efficiency born from years of practice. “It’s just the six of us tonight, right?”

  “Yep.” Gracyn pulls another bottle of wine from the fridge. “The rest’ll be here in the morning. What can I do to help?”

  Sasha blinks rapidly, like something didn’t make sense. “You? Help me cook? No, just … no. Sit ya ass down over there. If I need a sous chef, Alex is on deck. I’ve known her longer, and she’s never started a fire in the kitchen.”

  “Has Gracyn?” It’s an honest question because from what Nate’s told me, Gracyn works in a bar or restaurant or something in town.

  Both girls just about snort wine out their noses as they crumble in laughter.

  “What’s so funny?” Ian asks, leading the rest of the guys in from the deck. He picks at the nearly naked charcuterie board, layering three kinds of cheese onto a cracker before popping it into his mouth.

  Gracyn recovers first and replies, “Alex asked if I’ve ever started a fire in the kitchen,” before she falls into fits of laughter again.

  Everyone else joins her, and I’m just sitting pretty, like the girl who doesn’t get the joke—at all.

  “Yeah. G’s so masterful that she can fuck up a grilled cheese, and that shit’s a travesty.”

  Ian nods solemnly at Gavin’s statement.

  The rest of the night is spent eating, drinking, and laughing until tears roll down my cheeks and my sides ache. We catch up on the time we lost, yet it feels like we were never separated.

  And the entire time, Nate woos me, teases me with salacious looks and grazing touches that hint at what’s to come.

  When the table is empty of food—steak, grilled eggplant, couscous, and grilled sourdough and cheese—and the island is covered in empty wine and beer bottles, Nate and I stumble out to the guesthouse.

  His lips taste like coffee liqueur and sweet mascarpone, and his hands—those rough, calloused hands—dive into my hair the minute the door shuts behind us. He tilts my head, deepening the kiss as he walks me backward, guiding me, maneuvering me until the edge of the bed takes out my knees and we tumble down.

  Slowly, so slowly, he undresses me. Peeling back each layer of clothing with painstaking care. His unhurried movements are in direct opposition to his plundering tongue and my pounding heart.

  But every pause is rewarded. Ever
y second of patience gets its recompense. And every single debt of satisfaction is returned in kind until we’re both spent and sated.

  21

  LINKIN PARK

  NATE

  I wake slowly, languidly, sure that I’m dreaming that Alex’s lips are around my cock. Seeing stars as I come down her throat is entirely, blissfully real. And after a quick nap, I thank her properly in the shower with both her hands in mine, held against the tiled wall, her pert little ass arched high for me.

  We stroll across the patio, entering the house that Gavin bought after we returned from our first big tour. He’d almost lost Gracyn—twice—and he sure as fuck was not about to let anything come between them again. Smart fucker.

  The scent of fresh coffee is a welcome balm to clear away the remnants of last night’s alcohol-induced haze. Glass rattling against glass echoes from the mudroom. A touch of guilt nips at me for not getting over here quicker to help with the cleanup from last night, but the pristine countertop and array of pastries on the table assure me that arriving a whopping fifteen minutes earlier would have still been too late.

  “Thanks.” I drop a kiss to Alex’s neck as she hands me a mug of steaming dark roast.

  She trails her hand across my stomach as she walks away to inspect the goodies on the table.

  Last night, this morning, it’s been ridiculously comfortable. Perfect. Like we never skipped a beat. Like I didn’t spend an overflowing handful of years missing her.

  “Hey. Rand texted late last night. Said they were going to be a little late today,” Gavin says.

  I don’t bother with anything beyond rolling my eyes and letting out a knowing chuckle. Of course they’re all going to be late. Honestly, I’d be shocked if Vince, let alone Kane, managed to show up when he was supposed to. Rand is usually a stickler for that kind of thing, so I can only imagine his head is spinning as he tries to corral those two.

  “Guess we didn’t need to drag ourselves out of bed so early, then.” I glance at the clock and laugh. It’s not at all early.

  Gavin pours himself a cup of coffee and then dumps some more into my cup. “Right? I’m sure you can figure out some way to fill the time. If nothing else, the shops in town should be open now. Go drive through the grounds of that old mansion by the river.”

  He’s totally right. That historic mansion just on the other side of town has a hedge maze that, at one of its four access points, spits you out into some kick-ass formal gardens with a reflecting pool. I would love to show that to Alex, share it with her. Maybe get lost with her in one of the many dead-end alcoves.

  “What time you think they’ll be here?” I wonder if we have time for the mansion gardens as well as a stroll through downtown Beekman Hills. Maybe grab some cookies from the coffee shop.

  “Four? Maybe five tonight. Your guess is as good as mine,” Gavin says, filling his coffee cup again.

  Whatever is holding them up is pointless, I’m sure. Kane having a diva moment. Vince needing to go shopping for country attire since I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in anything less than Tom Ford from head to toe. Pretentious fuck that he is.

  I down my coffee and snag a mini quiche from one of the platters. “Let me know if you hear from them before that, yeah?”

  “Got you, man. Have fun. Alex, TD, you have got to check out the little shops in town. Grab a beer at the pub, hear me?”

  “Join us?” she asks.

  Gavin glances to the stairs, where Sasha appears. “I’ll meet you in a bit, yeah? I’mma hang with Sash for a little.”

  Alex stands, and my hand instantly goes to her lower back. The urge to touch her in any way is too much to resist. And she doesn’t disappoint, melting back into my palm. Having her here soothes the irritation from the last-minute change in plans. I’d much rather spend the day with her than locked in a confined space with Kane.

  “You okay?” In the car, Alex clicks the seat belt in place, the strap straining between her tits as she twists to inspect my face. Her brows are pinched in concern.

  “I am. It’ll be fine.” I steer us down the long drive and out onto the road, once again winding past farmland.

  We skirt the edge of the town and take the back roads past a small college, the campus dotted with red brick buildings, kids scurrying to class in clusters. For the first time in a long time, I don’t really ruminate on where I would be, what I would be doing, if I had taken the safe route and stayed in college. If I hadn’t taken that leap of faith. I’m glad I did it. It’s been a wild ride, wilder at times than what I wanted, but with all that I’ve got from it, how can I really complain?

  With the sun shining overhead, we get lost in the hedge maze. We find our way out at the reflecting pool, surrounded by vine-wrapped pergolas, a white marble statue showing us the way back to the car. I could have stayed lost there for hours, the rest of the day and into the night. As long as Alex is by my side.

  With the less than sizable breakfast—brunch?—it doesn’t take long for our stomachs to start protesting.

  “To the bakery in town or the pub?” I wait to see what Alex is in the mood for as she twists her hair into a messy knot high on her head. Holding back until she lowers her arms, done with her creation, I trail my finger along the curve of her ear.

  “Just do it. Go ahead.” She laughs the words, and my finger immediately goes after my curl.

  I don’t ever want to wait for her permission again. I want full access to this baby curl and everything attached to it. I want Alex in my life. Not just like this stolen moment or time in the dance studio. I want all of her. So, I slide my palm to the back of her head and sweep my lips across hers. Just a taste because there’s time for more later. A lifetime of forever to spend drinking her in and showing her how precious she is to me.

  She rolls her lips inward as I sit back in my seat, almost like she’s savoring that brief kiss as much as I am.

  “What’s it going to be?” I want her to tell me to take her home—back to the guesthouse—but I’ll do whatever she wants. Whatever she needs, now and always, even if it’s a damn cupcake or a draft beer.

  “I’m starving.”

  I bite my lip and give a quick nod, stuffing down my base desires. There’s time. “Let’s swing by the pub and grab some food, then.”

  The drive is short, much shorter when I’m not skirting the edges of the college campus or detouring down country lanes to enjoy the drive. I park beside the pub and hurry around the car to get the door for Alex.

  Inside, the bartender barely glances up as he pours a beer, adding the standard shamrock flourish in the head of Guinness. “Sit where you will,” he says, his brogue thick as the beer he’s pouring.

  I steer Alex to a round table tucked into the corner. Not because I expect to get recognized or called out here, but because I just want Alex all to myself.

  “Right, then. What’ll you be drinking—oh Christ. Mr. Calloway, I didn’t … fuck’s sake … shit.” The bartender—Finn, I think—stumbles over himself. “I’m sorry, miss. I—Jesus—I’m sorry. I …”

  Okay, so if anyone in the world can make me feel like I’m at all famous, it’s this guy. Gavin and Gracyn have told us what a huge fan he is. Said he’d fall all over himself if he ever met me in person. They were right.

  “Fucking shite,” the guy mumbles, his face tipped into the palm of his hand. “Please forgive me. Gracyn mentioned you might be in town, but I never thought you’d step into my pub. My fucking pub, of all the places. Jesus, fuck, drinks. What’ll you have?”

  “Whatever’s good on tap for me.”

  “I’ll have the same and some menus, please.” When I turn back to face Alex, I’m met with her sly grin. “What’s that look about?”

  She purses her lips and shakes her head. “Nothing. Not a thing. Just basking in the glow of your fame.”

  I roll my eyes and smirk, handing her one of the menus the bartender brought by. “Whatever.”

  She scoops up the menu and peruses the offering
s. Her head tilts back and forth as she looks things over, her smile begging—absolutely begging—to be freed from where she tries to hide it.

  I lay my menu down on the table and watch her, my decision already made. “What?” I lean down and wrap my hand around the base of her chair, pulling it closer to me. The distance—any distance—between us is too much.

  “I thought you said you never get recognized. And here, you’ve just been hiding your fan club in Upstate New York. Do they have t-shirts? Buttons? Is there a membership application?” She pushes forward in her chair, like she’s going to get up and make a run for the bar. “What’s the bartender’s name? I’m guessing he’s the president of your fan club.”

  The sass on this girl. I would love nothing more than to paddle it out of her. See the pretty, round cheeks of her ass turn pink. Hear that gasp, followed by a delicious moan. I shift in my seat and adjust my jeans. It’s a different kind of chub-rub.

  Two pint glasses of beer appear on the table in front of us, and the bartender—Jesus, what is this guy’s name?—says, “No application necessary. No to the buttons and t-shirts, although I can have some done up. I’d say you’re the better option for leading the love for your man here. And I’m Finn.” He thrusts his hand out for Alex to shake. “I own this establishment.”

  Alex reaches out and takes his hand. “It’s a pleasure, Finn. I’m always happy to meet a fellow fan. Bass is best, right?”

  “Hashtag that, and I’ll have those shirts done up,” he says with a wink.

  I don’t like the flirtiness he’s got going on with my Alex. My Alex. She is. She’s mine again, and I can’t think of anything better.

  “I’ll take two, smalls. Any color but—”

  “Don’t say it,” I warn. “Gavin is pretty tied to that purple.”

  “Pfft. Like Gavin’s preferences matter. I think you need a …” She bites her lip and flops her head back, thinking. “You need a bright bold blue for your #BassIsBest shirts. I like you in blue,” she adds softly.

  Finn nods and heads to the kitchen with our orders. As if he were going to actually have those shirts made.