The Plan: A Sweet and Sexy Rock Star Romantic Comedy (The Creek Water Series Book 3)

by Whitney Dineen

  Being liberated by Huck Wiley takes over my brain for the rest of the day. That man is chipping away at my resolve something fierce. Maybe Mrs. P is onto something with her friends with benefits idea.

  Chapter 34

  I pick up Huck and Maggie, who are standing at the curb when I arrive. Maggie lifts up a wicker basket to show me. As soon as she opens the door to the backseat, she announces, “Lexi made us muffins for breakfast.”

  “I hope they’re her pumpkin ones. I like those the best.”

  Huck hops in next to me and leans across the arm rest as though he’s going to kiss me. “What are you doing?” I demand.

  “I’m greeting you,” he answers.

  I lean so far back I’m smashed up against the driver’s side door. “Good morning.” Then I point out, “That’s the proper way to greet someone.”

  Maggie leans over the front seat and asks, “Can I give you a hug, Amelia?”

  I turn around but the rock star intercepts and winds up planting a kiss on my cheek. It’s sweet and fast and not at all sexual, but tell that to my stomach. It’s flipping around like I’ve just fallen off a ten-story building onto a trampoline. “Good morning,” he says as I pull back like I’ve just been burned by a hot griddle.

  I get so flustered I forget to hug Maggie. Instead, I face the front and not so silently count, “One … three … five … seven …”

  “What are you doing?” Maggie asks.

  “Amelia counts when she gets anxious,” he tells her. “And right now, I’m guessing she’s distressed that I kissed her,” Huck tells his daughter. “Amelia doesn’t realize I kiss all my friends. Tell her, Mags.”

  His daughter laughs. “You big liar. You never kiss people unless it’s me or Aunt Claire.” This information does little to calm my frazzled nerves.

  Then she tells me, “When I get upset, I list the names of the states starting with A, then I hop to the end of the alphabet and back to the beginning. It takes some thinking about, but that’s why it works. My therapist says that by forcing my brain to think about something else takes me out of my upset.” She explains, “I start with Alabama, then go to Wyoming, then Alaska, and Wisconsin and so forth.”

  “That seems a bit complicated for me,” I say before asking, “Maggie, are you sure you’re only in the fifth grade? You seem more like you’re twenty.”

  “Remember what I told you about the kids in Beverly Hills, how they grow up faster than most?” Huck asks.

  “I think anxiety makes you grow up pretty fast, too,” Maggie adds forlornly.

  I feel her pain and decide to take her off the hot seat. I venture a glance at Huck. “What do you do when you’re upset?”

  “I write songs,” he replies. “It’s worked out pretty well so far.”

  I let loose with a burst of laughter. As much as I want to be mad at him for tricking me, I can’t hold onto my anger.

  Maggie says, “Sing her the song you wrote for me when I was born.”

  Huck pauses for a minute. “It’s called ‘Why Me?’”

  I’ve never heard of it before. “What album is it on?” I ask.

  “It’s not on any album. I wrote it for Maggie.”

  “Sing it for her, Dad,” his daughter prods again.

  Huck quietly starts to hum a haunting melody. Even before he gets to the words, it causes goose bumps to form on my skin.

  Too young, too fast, I know I love you,

  we’ll make it last.

  I couldn’t do what was done to me,

  you are mine, and she is free.

  You’re my flesh, you are my blood,

  You’re a gift from God above.

  Baby Girl, you come on wings,

  But I have to ask, why me?

  Mothers are supposed to be,

  the ones who love effortlessly.

  But I’m your dad and you’re my girl,

  I wouldn’t leave you for the world.

  You’re my flesh, you are my blood,

  You’re a gift from God above.

  Baby Girl, you come on wings,

  But I have to ask, why me?

  Maggie sings the last verse with him. Huck picks up the harmony and lets his daughter take the melody.

  China cups, baby dolls, frilly dresses, phone calls,

  You and me, we are a team.

  Just like the angels hoped and dreamed.

  When they gave you to me, they whispered things.

  You’re my flesh, you are my blood,

  You’re a gift from God above.

  Baby Girl, you come on wings,

  But I have to ask, why me?

  They both hum the melody once more before the song is over. Tears threaten to spill out of my eyes. “That was beautiful.” And without thinking, I add, “I can’t hear it without wanting to know about Maggie’s mom.”

  “I told you, we don’t talk about that,” Huck cautions.

  At the same time, Maggie says, “Dad met my mom when he was touring after his first album hit it big.”

  Realizing my mistake by bringing this up in front of Maggie, I say, “Safe Harbor, I loved that album.”

  “My mom lived in Chicago,” she continues. “That’s where she and my dad, you know, made me.”

  Huck interrupts her, “Once the story is out, Maggie, there’s no way to take it back. Be careful.”

  “Amelia’s my friend, Dad. She won’t tell anyone if I ask her not to.” I’m beyond flattered that she’s so comfortable sharing this information with me, but I don’t want her to regret it later.

  The rock star nearly melts me with his laser-like stare. “I hope you’ll honor her wishes.”

  My feelings are hurt that he’d even think I’d break her trust, but I understand that love for his daughter makes him very protective.

  “I promise to never tell another soul, Maggie, but you honestly don’t have to tell me a thing. It’s none of my business.”

  She ignores me. “You tell it, Dad. You know the story better than I do.”

  Huck is quiet for several moments before he reluctantly says, “My manager got a call from Maggie’s mom saying that she was pregnant, and I was the dad. He told me and I called her back.”

  “And?” I can’t resist prodding him.

  “She said she wasn’t ready to be a mother, that she didn’t think she could care for a baby. She was planning to give Maggie up for adoption after she was born.” He pauses for a beat before adding, “unless I wanted her.”

  Maggie continues excitedly, “Of course, he wanted me. He told my mom that he would pay for all her expenses and that when I was born, he would raise me.”

  “Where is she now?” I blurt out.

  “She died.” Maggie’s voice breaks with the sound of suppressed tears.

  I wish I’d just kept my big mouth shut. By forcing this conversation, I’ve caused this little girl to talk about something that makes her feel vulnerable and sad.

  What in the world was I thinking, bringing this subject up?

  Maggie whispers, “She used to write to me once in a while and I used to send her pictures that I drew for her, but she never tried to see me.”

  I glance at Huck who’s obviously none too pleased with the direction this conversation is going. He says, “The checks I sent to her stopped getting cashed. That’s when we found out she’d been hit by a car and died.” The look on his face indicates this is a sanitized version of a bigger story.

  I peek in the rearview mirror at Maggie. “I’m so sorry for your loss, honey.” And I really am, even though I’m embarrassed to be so relieved that Maggie’s mama isn’t the woman they went to see when they left town.

  Maggie’s somber expression breaks my heart. “I didn’t know her or anything so that’s not the hard part. The hard part is that she didn’t want to know me. Dad said he wanted us to stay in touch with her, so that if she changed her mind, it wouldn’t be hard for her to find me.”

  This poor child. As much as my mama drives me insane, I know
it’s because she loves me. That’s a million times better than feeling like your mama didn’t love you enough to want to know you. It breaks my heart that this sweet girl has such sadness.

  “You’ve got a smart daddy,” I tell her. I can’t help but wonder if her mom was only keeping in touch with Huck to keep the money coming in.

  “Dad said that his birth mom sealed the records so that he could never find out who she was. He said it was a pain he never wanted me to experience.”

  I think back to Huck telling me that his latest album, Untethered, was written for his mom. I’d assumed it was about his adoptive mother, but now I wonder if it wasn’t written for his birth mother.

  The lyrics fit:

  Tethered to the past by phantom chains of longing.

  Tethered to a place by illusions of belonging.

  Tethered to a girl who left without a glance.

  Tethered to a life that never had a chance.

  I knew Huck was deep. He couldn’t write the music he does without being extremely in touch with his emotions. This knowledge is compounded the more I get to know him and his daughter. He’s a real person to me now, not some superhuman icon that’s more name than flesh and blood.

  The more I know of him, the more I want to know, and that’s a dangerous desire for me to have.

  Chapter 35

  “Puppy or kitten?” Maggie asks.

  I say kitten and the same time Huck says puppy.

  “Why a kitten?” the rock star wants to know.

  “I don’t have room for a puppy. And how in the world can you have a puppy when you’re on the road all the time?”

  “It’s just a game, Amelia. You don’t have to factor in real life stuff, just say what comes into your head without worrying about the logistics.”

  Maggie asks, “French fries or potato chips?”

  I say french fries and Huck says potato chips.

  “Baths or showers?”

  I say showers at the same time Huck says baths. We are so not compatible.

  “Baths?” I ask him incredulously.

  “Yes, baths. What’s wrong with baths?”

  “They just don’t seem very … you know.”

  “No, I don’t know. Are you saying they don’t seem very manly?” he asks.

  I shrug my shoulders before giggling. “Maybe.”

  Maggie lets loose a peal of laughter from the backseat. “Better not tell her about the bubbles, Dad.”

  “You take bubble baths? Huck Wiley, that’s the story you need to worry about people finding out about.”

  “What’s wrong with bubble baths?” he demands. “After a long day, there’s nothing like a hot soak to ease your muscles and set your mind free. Maggie takes them, too. Isn’t that so, sweetheart?” he asks his daughter.

  “It is. But of course, I’m a girl and girls are known for taking bubble baths,” she teases.

  “You’re in trouble,” Huck tells his daughter.

  “At least I didn’t tell her that you get manicures. That would have been really embarrassing.”

  I glance at the rock star and watch as an easy grin overtakes his face. “Thanks for that, Mags. I’m sure she didn’t just hear you.”

  Huck declares, “My turn to ask the questions. Paris or Rome?”

  Neither Maggie nor I answer, so he repeats, “Paris or Rome?”

  “I guess I’d have to go with Paris, but only because we’re going this summer,” Maggie says.

  I don’t answer at all.

  “Pizza or hot fudge sundaes?” he moves on.

  “You stink at this game,” I tell him. “It’s never pizza or hot fudge sundaes, it’s always pizza and hot fudge sundaes.” I roll my eyes. “My turn.” I ask, “Hot dogs or corn dogs?”

  They both answer Dodger dogs at the same time.

  “Caramel corn or s’mores?” They both answer s’mores. I try one more time. “DC or Marvel?”

  “Marvel!” they yell in unison.

  “You two must be related.” I can’t help but smile that all their answers matched.

  By the time we’ve been on the road for an hour, Maggie announces, “I’m going to take a little nap, if that’s okay.”

  “Perfect timing,” Huck tells her. “We’ll wake you when we’re on the outskirts of St. Louis. That way you won’t miss anything.”

  True to her word, Maggie appears to conk right out. “Is she sleeping because we’re going someplace new?”

  “This time it’s probably because she’s a ten-year-old girl who hates getting up early. Maggie’s usually pretty good about adapting to locations within driving distance because she can watch the changes occur.”

  “So, baths, huh?” I ill-advisedly change the subject. What am I thinking? Well, I know what I’m thinking. What I don’t know is why I’m prolonging the image of the Huck’s nakedness in my brain.

  “I’m surprised you don’t take them,” he says. “You seem like the kind of woman who would prefer them.”

  “What kind of woman is that?”

  “Feminine, sensual, sexy …”

  I clear my throat and squeak, “I don’t have a bathtub in my apartment.”

  “You should see my mine. It’s big and deep and those jets …” He groans like he’s reliving some kind of intensely private ecstasy. “They pummel the tension right out of you.”

  “Sounds nice,” I try to sound unaffected. How I manage to talk at all is beyond me. The image of Huck Wiley relaxing in a bathtub with steam rising off him and jets massaging him, well, it’s almost too much.

  He seems to sense my discomfort, so of course he keeps talking. “I always bathe by candlelight. I use a rosemary and orange scented bubble bath which makes the whole room smell like something delicious is cooking.”

  I swear when I inhale I catch a whiff of the aroma he’s describing. He continues to hypnotize me with his words until I’m jolted right back to my senses when he reaches out and runs his fingers up my arm. The caress is so light I barely feel it. Yet tingles of desire march through my nervous system like an army of fire ants detonating little explosions of need.

  That’s when he drops the bomb. “Did I mention my bathtub is big enough for two?”

  My heart starts to beat so fast; it feels like it’s trying to break through my chest cavity to get some fresh air. I pull off at the next rest stop, ostensibly to stretch my legs. “Should we wake up Maggie?”

  “No, I’ll stay with her. You go ahead and take care of whatever you need to do.”

  He probably assumes I have to use the ladies’, but I don’t. I get out of the car and walk over to a lone picnic table in a clearing not too far away. While I’m not quite panicking, I’m definitely feeling something. It’s an unknown sensation that I can’t quite define, but I need to know what it is.

  The thing about anxiety is that when you suffer from it, even thinking about it can trigger an attack. This makes what I’m about to do either brave or foolhardy. I force myself to concentrate on anxiety to see if I’m having some new kind of reaction to it.

  I pace around the picnic table for several moments waiting for the familiar wall of panic to overtake me, but it never does. I count to thirty-three to see if that makes the feeling go away, but it doesn’t. So, I start to list the states in alphabetical order.

  You know that television program, Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader? Apparently, I’m not. While Maggie can name the states front and back, I can’t even list them in one direction without making my head hurt.

  I don’t see Huck approach me until I hear him say, “Are you okay?” He sounds concerned.

  I look up and the feeling I’m trying to define intensifies. “Yeah,” I tell him. That’s when it hits me, I’m not feeling something bad, I’m feeling something good. Very good. If I had to put a word on it, which is exactly what I’m forcing myself to do, I think I’d call it hope. This sensation is so new to me; I couldn’t put my finger on it.

  Oh, my stars, here I am on my way to do something as
bold as go a mile outside my comfort zone and I’m not feeling fear, I’m feeling hope.

  I let Huck lead me back to the car. He asks, “Don’t you have to use the restroom?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “So, we stopped so you could walk around a picnic table fifteen times?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Okay.” He’s not even questioning my crazy.

  I never knew what a powerful thing hope was before now, and to tell you the truth, I think I could get used to it.

  Chapter 36

  “That was our exit,” Huck points out as we blow right past it.

  “I know a better way that gets us closer to where we want to park,” I lie. I don’t know any such thing, I just know that in order to go one mile farther than I’ve ever been, I can’t get off the freeway until the next exit.

  Huck calls to the backseat, “Maggie, honey, we’re almost there; it’s time to wake up.”

  I see her eyes pop open as she gives a happy, if not sleepy, smile. “I slept so good,” she declares. Then she grabs the bag of muffins that Huck and I had been snacking on while she rested. She opens it up and starts to devour the remains.

  Thank heavens Huck isn’t a backseat driver. When I finally get off the freeway, I have to take a lengthy series of turns before we’re finally back on track to Gateway Park. I’m pretty sure I added an extra fifteen minutes to our trip, but he doesn’t say a word. I’m glad, because right now I feel a huge sense of accomplishment. According to my calculations, I just went two miles farther north than I’ve ever been. I’m not sure I could have gone two more, but I’m going to enjoy my current sense of accomplishment before pushing myself.

  After we park the car and start walking, I realize it isn’t as busy as it was the last time I was here. I went with Aiden the summer after he moved to St. Louis. He loved to go out and was always trying to get me to join in. He never knew the real reason I wouldn’t go hang gliding or water skiing. Heck, I wouldn’t even try that circus thing at the mall where they strap you into a harness while you jump on a trampoline and do flips. I must have seemed like a giant party pooper to him, which makes it even more unbelievable that he wanted to marry me.