The Has-Been and the Hot Mess

by Isabel Jordan

  He was pale, there was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, and the white-knuckled grip he had on the neck of that guitar had her concerned for its safety.

  He only stopped pacing when she stepped in front of him and put both palms on his chest. “Talk to me,” she said. “What can I do?”

  Still wild-eyed, Jackson raked a hand through his hair and shook his head. “Nothing. I just have to get through it. I’ll be fine once I get out there.”

  “What did you used to do? Before you went onstage with Maelstrom?”

  She felt like the biggest idiot on the planet when he said, “Drugs, Kendall. I did drugs. But since that’s not an option…”

  Well, shit.

  Maybe he just needed a distraction? Yeah, that wasn’t a bad idea, she thought. Something to distract him before he went out there.

  She thought about it for a minute, but every idea she came up with was kind of dirty. Some involved nudity and stuff that would get them both arrested. So, obviously, she was complete shit at distracting people. But she couldn’t just let him suffer like this. It couldn’t be good for his blood pressure.

  At this point, she had only one viable idea. But that idea came with its own set of complications. Did she dare?

  “Oh, what the hell,” she muttered.

  She grabbed the back of his neck and yanked his mouth down to hers.

  He went stock-still in her arms for about half a heartbeat. Then his mouth opened under hers and he took control.

  Jackson slid his free hand into her hair and tipped her head to the side to deepen the kiss. She could only hope that the music onstage was loud enough to drown out the embarrassing moan/sigh combo she let out when his tongue slid against hers.

  He tasted like heat and sin and multiple orgasms. The reality of this moment was so much better than any of her fantasies that she was pretty pissed at herself for waiting so long to kiss him. She’d been suffering all this time in an attempt to be professional when she could’ve been doing this instead?

  Kendall slid her hands down his chest and two-fisted his T-shirt, then yanked him closer. His answering groan made her shiver. Jesus, if one kiss made her feel like this, would she actually survive having him naked in a bed underneath her?

  I volunteer as tribute.

  But somewhere in the one, tiny little part of her brain that was still functioning, she knew this had to stop. He had to go on in moments, and he couldn’t sing with her tongue in his mouth. Sadly.

  So, she pulled back, panting, trembling, and so damn needy it actually hurt.

  He rested his forehead against hers and asked, “What the hell was that?”

  Kendall swallowed hard. “That was for luck. And to distract you from your stage fright.”

  He let out a raspy laugh and gestured to the front of his jeans. “Well, mission accomplished. I’m definitely distracted. Now, can you do anything that might distract me from the fact that I’m about to go onstage with a hard-on?”

  Don’t look at it. Don’t look at it. Don’t. Look. At. It.

  She looked.

  Wow. Just…wow.

  He tipped her chin up with his index finger and said, “But you’re wrong, Kendall.”

  The way his voice caressed the syllables in her name was downright sinful. “A-about what?”

  Distantly, over the pounding of her pulse, she heard the local band wrap up their set and introduce Jackson.

  “That wasn’t a distraction. That was the beginning of a conversation. And we will finish that conversation later tonight.”

  And with that, he kissed her forehead tenderly, and swaggered out onto the stage like he’d been born there.

  Later tonight.

  He’d just ruined her for all other men with one kiss. How was she supposed to survive the rest of that conversation?

  Kendall Quinn, you are beyond fucked.

  Chapter 20

  Coming down off the high of their kiss, Kendall was now fiercely regretting her decision not to push Jackson into playing his set list for her. Why the mystery? What the hell was he going to do out there?

  Not that she hadn’t tried to spy on him once or twice over the past few weeks. Because she totally had. But the walls in his basement recording studio were completely soundproof and she hadn’t heard so much as a note, even when she’d put a glass up against the door.

  He’d assured her that he had it under control, though. And she hadn’t wanted him to get the idea that she didn’t trust him.

  Trust wasn’t really the issue. She did trust him. It was the loss of control that really vexed her.

  His career and hers were riding on this one performance. And she had no control over any of it.

  It was absolutely terrifying.

  But all she could do now was sit back, try to remember to breathe, and do her best to relax. It was all up to Jackson now.

  The good news was that the crowd was super worked up. The local band had been great, and now, just the sight of Jackson walking across that stage had them in a frenzy.

  Kendall could relate. The sight of him walking across the kitchen usually had her in a frenzy.

  When he waved, took a seat on a stool behind the microphone that had been placed to his exact specifications (turned out Jackson was a little OCD about his mics), braced his guitar on his knee, and offered the audience a killer smile, they went bat-shit crazy.

  She’d had no idea a crowd could be that noisy. Screaming and whistling and throwing things—was that a bra?—at the stage. It was pandemonium.

  And Jackson was feeding off it. She could see it in the way his shoulders slowly relaxed, the way his smile finally reached his eyes.

  “How y’all doin’ tonight?” he asked, his Southern drawl a little thicker than usual.

  Again—pandemonium. And that was definitely a bra onstage.

  When the cheers died down to a dull roar, he said, “I’m glad y’all decided to come out and see us tonight. What do you think—should I play something?”

  Kendall had to cover her ears this time. She’d always assumed people wore ear protection to rock concerts because of the amps, but now she was starting to think it was because of the screaming crowds.

  Jackson laughed. “All right, then. I’m gonna start off real slow, though, ‘cause it’s been a minute since I’ve been onstage. But you’ll be gentle with me, right?”

  He winked at the crowd, and Kendall wasn’t exactly sure how many of them could see it, but she did, and it was ridiculously sexy. Add that to the subtly suggestive way he’d mentioned going slow and needing them to be gentle with him, and Kendall was surprised panties weren’t spontaneously combusting all over the place.

  Hers in particular.

  “I love you, Jackson!” a woman in the front row shouted.

  I can relate to that, too, Kendall thought.

  He just smiled easily, strumming a few test notes on his 12-string. “OK. Here it goes…”

  Kendall held her breath as he picked out the first few discordant notes of Hurt by Nine Inch Nails.

  It was a bold choice. Not usually a song anyone would think of as a crowd pleaser. But it was absolutely perfect for what he was trying to accomplish. If he wanted the job scoring a soundtrack for a film about the pain and ravages of drug addiction, Hurt was unbeatable.

  Then he started singing, and she forgot all about why the song was a good marketing choice, because all she could focus on was his voice.

  It wasn’t the voice of fifteen-years-ago Jackson Hale. This was something new. Every bit as technically proficient as he’d once been, but with the grit and gravel of age, time, and a little hard living in it. It was rough, beautiful, and intense. Completely moving, and sexier then Jackson had ever sounded.

  And the emotion he put into the lyrics was nothing short of gut wrenching. This wasn’t just a cover song. He was taking the audience on an emotional journey.

  Kendall wanted to look into the crowd to see how they were responding, but she was transfixed by Jackson
onstage, pouring his soul out into that microphone, emotionally bleeding through those chords on the guitar.

  By the time he reached the end, Kendall was furiously blinking away tears. Jesus. She’d never been moved to tears by a performance. What the hell was wrong with her?

  The last note faded out into dead silence. You could hear crickets chirping in the fields, a dog barking in the distance, a car alarm somewhere in the designated parking area. It was that quiet.

  That’s when Jackson opened his eyes, lowered his guitar, and looked out into the audience.

  Kendall held her breath again. Was it possible they hated it? No. No fucking way. He’d been brilliant. She was going to be pissed if these dumbasses didn’t see how…

  That’s when they snapped out of their stupor and started cheering. But cheering was really too delicate a word for this audience. They went wild—even louder than when Jackson came out on stage. Lighters and flashlight apps on phones were raised, and more undergarments were thrown on stage.

  But it all died down to muted background noise when Jackson glanced over, caught her eye, and gave her the biggest, widest, most open smile she’d ever seen. All she could hear then was the roar of her pulse in her own ears.

  Because this man? The man who performed like that, but still got nervous to go on? The man who rescued dogs and went to Pride Week and gave out hugs in support of his brother? The man who put his complete faith in her, and trusted her to deliver his dream?

  She was falling for that man.

  And if sleeping with her boss had been a career-ruining move, what would falling for a client do to her life?

  Chapter 21

  The high of performing to a screaming crowd was better than any drug Jackson had ever tried.

  Which was the biggest reason why getting out here in the first place had been so tough. Would he be able to give it up if he got out here again? If fans wanted him to perform live, would he be able to resist going on tour and starting up the entire, sick-cycle carousel of fame and fortune again?

  The answer, Jackson was very proud to say, was yes. He could give it all up. Happily, even. Because now, after all the living he’d done since the last time he’d been on stage, he was able to see performing for what it really was—the one bright spot in an otherwise miserable existence.

  The touring, the fame, the constant worry about the next album and overall sales…all that was a much bigger part of the gig than the performances. And all of it pretty much sucked ass.

  So, he’d take this temporary high, enjoy the hell out of it, win his dream job (with any luck), then happily go back to his real life, which was way more satisfying than his music career had ever been.

  But even better than the screaming crowd was knowing that Kendall was right there, rooting for him, enjoying the performance.

  He’d caught her eye a few times, and the smile on her face, the joy and tears in her eyes, and the way she danced to the more upbeat tunes he’d played (he’d done a version of Dylan Conroy’s latest song that’d prove to anyone who cared that Jackson Hale could do anything that little, no-talent shit could do, just a million times better) told him she was proud of him.

  And damned if that didn’t make him feel twenty feet tall and ready to take on the world.

  He decided right then and there which of her favorite songs he was going to play next. And it wasn’t the one she told everyone was her favorite. It was definitely the other one.

  It was the least he could do for the woman who’d given him the best kiss of his life, then sent him out onstage in front of thousands of people with a hard-on.

  “Folks,” Jackson said into the mic, “this next one is for the beautiful lady who put this whole event together. I think you can all get onboard with that, right? She did great, didn’t she?”

  Lots of screams, whistles, and applause. He laughed and went on, “All right, all right. Here it goes, then. Kendall Quinn, the sexiest, sweetest hot mess I’ve ever met, this one’s for you.”

  Jackson was lucky he knew the song so well, because he wouldn’t have to look at the guitar once while he was playing. He could watch her the whole time instead.

  It took all of three chords before she recognized the song. He saw it on her face. It took two more for the rest of the audience to recognize it and lose their shit.

  After all, who doesn’t love Sweet Child O’ Mine? And the stripped down, dirty acoustic version he was doing really gave the lyrics room to breathe, highlighting the emotion and longing Axel must have been feeling when he wrote them.

  Kendall’s eyes went comically wide. He was pretty sure she didn’t even blink as he made his way through the song.

  And he held her gaze the entire time. Through every note, every chord, every word, he watched her. The crowd swayed and cheered and sang along, but this song wasn’t for them.

  It was all hers.

  He was all hers. If she’d have him.

  He’d been an idiot to think he could work with her, get to know her, spend so much time this close to her, and not act on the chemistry between them. It was impossible to ignore. She was impossible to ignore.

  It was well past time to see where this thing between them could really go.

  It wasn’t until the last note faded that he broke eye contact with Kendall. He stood, handed his guitar off to Ray, and took a bow for the audience. Told them how great they’d been, and how much he appreciated them all coming out and supporting him—and a good cause—tonight.

  He was on autopilot, though. All he really wanted was to get to Kendall.

  But when he turned to find her, she was gone.

  Well, shit. Maybe he should’ve gone with the other song choice?

  Kendall sat down in Howard Hugh’s pen, doing her best to get into lotus position (which wasn’t easy while wearing skinny jeans), taking deep, calming breaths.

  Damn it! What the hell was wrong with her? Was she really going to let her feelings for a man ruin her career yet again? Why did she always do this to herself? Just when everything was going great—BAM! In comes a sexy, dark-haired man to drain her focus and completely derail any progress she’d made up until that point.

  And she let them. Every. Damn. Time.

  “I’m telling you, Howard,” she said, tossing a piece of hotdog she’d grabbed on the way here to where he laid under his porch, watching her, “I have issues. Probably more than you have, my friend. I mean, how am I ever supposed to know who’s a good man and who’s just another asshole? How am I ever supposed to trust my own judgment when I choose wrong all the time?”

  The worst part of it all? Jackson didn’t feel like the wrong choice. He felt more right to her than any man she’d ever been with.

  And that was freakin’ terrifying! She’d recovered pretty easily from all the assholes who let her down. But what would happen to her if a guy she was sure was perfect stomped on her heart, too?

  “I guess this is probably how you feel, huh, Howard?” she asked, tossing him another piece of hotdog. “After everything that’s happened to you, how were you supposed to trust that any of the families here today weren’t going to hurt you? I totally get why you didn’t come out and greet any of them. I probably wouldn’t have, either. Maybe I should just crawl under the porch with you.”

  But when she glanced over, he wasn’t under the porch anymore. He was right next to her. She handed him another bite of hotdog, which he sniffed, then took directly from her hand, more gently than she ever would’ve thought possible for a dog his size.

  Kendall smiled at him. “You’re just a big, squishy-faced sweetie, aren’t you?”

  He snuffled as if to deny her words, which made her chuckle. But then he leaned into her side, and it was the closest thing she’d had to a warm hug in a long, long time. And that thought was sad enough to bring a tear to her eye.

  “Oh, Howard, what are we going to do, pal?”

  She should leave. That’s what she should do. Get on the next plane out of Montana and never lo
ok back. She’d done what she needed to do. She’d put Jackson back on the entertainment map. She could make a few calls, get him an agent, and he could get the job with the studio without any additional help from her.

  So why did the thought of leaving make her feel like someone had just made a fist around her heart?

  Howard obviously wasn’t as concerned with the future as she was, because he laid down and dropped his big, heavy head into her lap. After a minute or two of her stroking his ears and neck, he started snoring.

  Well, at least she’d done this right, she thought. Her judgement with dogs didn’t suck. That had to be worth something.

  Chapter 22

  “Figured I’d find you here.”

  Kendall’s head shot up, and when her gaze collided with his, Jackson saw everything he was feeling reflected there.

  Surprise? Yeah, he got that. He was a little surprised he’d tracked her down out here, too.

  Happiness? Definitely. His heart always did a jig of pure glee whenever he saw her.

  Desire?

  Fuck. Yeah.

  There was a little fear, too. After all, it wasn’t normal to feel all these things for someone you’d known less than a month, was it?

  “I-I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “Did you need something?”

  Yeah. You.

  He let himself into Howard’s pen and took a seat next to her. Howard side-eyed him pretty hard, but must’ve decided if Kendall wasn’t afraid, he didn’t need to be, either. The massive dog snuffled contentedly and snuggled his head deeper into Kendall’s lap.

  Lucky bastard.

  “I need a lot of things, Kendall.”

  She shivered when he said her name. He had no idea if that was a good shiver or a bad shiver. He liked to think it was a good one, though, so he added, “The first thing I need to do is thank you. Tonight was…well, it was huge, and none of it ever would’ve happened without you.”

  Kendall shrugged and stroked Howard’s head idly. “I was just doing my job.”