Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
Moana tapped her foot on the tile floor in the kitchen. God, she hated this stupid garage studio apartment. But it was all she could afford. And it was right smack-dab between her parents, the bar, and the school where she taught music. She sighed. “Pick up the damn phone, Mano, before I wring your fucking neck.”
She didn’t normally swear. She actually tried not to, in fear she’d do it in front of her students. Dealing with hormonal teenagers was hard enough. She could handle the seniors. They weren’t usually too bad. But fourteen-year-old girls were the worst.
At least she wasn’t teaching middle school. The two years she’d done that, she’d almost left the profession.
“Hey there, Little One.”
“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Old Man.” She lifted the bottle of wine and poured a hefty glass.
“About?”
“For starters, telling a perfect stranger where I live. Having him pick me up instead of you. And also, I know what you’re going to do in Nashville and I wouldn’t say I like it. If Rosco is dangerous, you’re just going to make it worse. We don’t know for sure he even knows where in Hawaii I am.”
“Little one?—”
“Stop calling me that.”
Mano laughed. “Are you going to stop calling me Old Man?”
“Never, because you’re older than dirt.” She took a tiny sip of the red wine. It rolled across her tongue like a sweet treat. She’d known Mano her entire life. He was always so kind to her. When she’d been six, she’d fallen off her bike and skinned her knees something awful. He scooped her up and carried her home while she cried into his neck. That’s when he’d given her the nickname Little One.
He’d always stop and chat with her whenever he saw her, no matter who he was with. He would buy lemonade and cookies from her stand. He was this big, gentle giant, and at twelve, she had decided she would marry him someday. That crush lasted until she was sixteen when she realized Mano was more like a brother than someone she could ever have sexual feelings for and that’s when she started calling him Old Man.
As if she had to make that distinction.
“Ouch, that hurt,” Mano said. “But to address your issues, I need to be at the private airport early to run checklists and all that. Long before you need to be there. That’s why I asked Bowie to pick you up. I honestly didn’t think you’d care because I see you chatting with him all the time at Ohana’s. As far as what I’m going to be doing, well, Little One, if you had been honest with me from the start about how bad things were with this little prick or had filed that restraining order like Emery had asked you to?—”
“I don’t need a fucking lecture, Mano.”
“Language, Little One.”
She sucked in a deep breath and let it out with a swish. She loved Mano and appreciated everything he’d done for her, including helping her with her search. But sometimes he was just a royal pain in the ass.
“Listen. I know this guy hasn’t done anything outrageous,” Mano said. “But what he is doing is harassment and it does border on stalking. You’ve told him more than once that you’re not interested in him and what did he do on your birthday?”
Moana cringed. She’d been mortified when Rosco had shown up at the school where she taught with flowers and an expensive necklace. He had waited for her by her car, leaning against the hood with a big goofy smile. He’d stretched out his arms, expecting her to fall into them.
The worst part was that a bunch of seniors were heading to their cars, and other students were strolling across the pavement to where their parents were parked. They all got a front row seat to what they thought was some big grand romantic gesture.
“Or how he responded when you rejected him?” Mano asked. “Those were not the words of a man who accepted you didn’t return his feelings.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “He’s there. I’m here. End of story.”
“But he’s still texting. For two nights, you’ll be in Nashville. I don’t trust Rosco. I don’t believe he’ll go away quietly. There’s something about him that’s off. Bowie will get under his skin and possibly in his face. That will give me?—”
“Wait. Please don’t tell me that you all want Bowie to come and act like he’s with me or some such bullshit, do you?”
“Waylen didn’t tell Bowie to do that. But from what I understand, Bowie will be quite protective of you and once Rosco sees that, I’m hoping he’ll show his hand at what a snake he is and keep following you two, which will let me do all the digging and searching I need to. Now, I’ve got a wife who needs a little loving. I’ll see you tomorrow, Little One.”
The line went dead.
She raised her glass and gulped.
Ding-dong.
The entire glass of red wine sloshed all down her favorite white tank top. “Oh, for Pete’s sake.” She didn’t bother wiping it up. The damn thing was ruined. Setting the glass on the counter, she took the twelve paces across the studio garage apartment she’d rented from a kind elderly couple and yanked open the door.
Bowie opened his mouth. His eyes went from her face, then dropped to her chest. “What happened?”
“You.” She turned on her heel and marched over to her dresser, pulling out her black tank top. Not her favorite, but it would do.
“Mind if I have some wine?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder, squinting as he raised his hand to his eyes.
“Help yourself.” She inched closer, removed his cowboy hat, and peered over his shoulder. “Is there something—or someone—out there catching your fancy?” While she loved living close to her parents and a stone’s throw to the marina, sometimes the foot traffic was too much, especially when people like Bowie stared at the women joggers.
He chuckled. “I didn’t notice her until you pointed her out. I was looking at the guy with the baseball cap. Do you know him?”
“Didn’t realize you batted for the other team.”
“Aren’t you cute.” He tipped his lips into a big smile. “I think I saw him at the bar the other night. His baseball cap was on backward, but he was doing that.” Bowie pointed. “Walking and texting and not paying attention. Dumb asshole is going to get hit by a car.”
“Can’t say I know who he is,” she said. “A lot of the people walking up and down this street are renters. Not locals.”
“So, that’s not your resident stalker from Nashville?”
“Rosco?” She shook her head. “He’d never wear a hat. He thinks he has perfect hair. While his hair isn’t horrible, it’s not finger worthy.”
“I’m not sure what that means.”
“Basically, I don’t have the desire to do this.” She rose up on tiptoe and raked her fingers through his hair, giving his scalp a good scratch.
“I could get used to that.” Unfortunately, his gaze dipped below the neck, to her spilled wine across her white shirt.
“I better go change.” She marched off toward the bathroom, slammed the door shut, lifted the wet shirt over her head, and tossed it in the trash. Quickly, she took one of the dark towels hanging over the door and patted down the dampness that still clung to her skin while her pulse raged a war inside her body.
Bowie was just about the most attractive man she’d ever met. But he was also sweet. Kind. She’d spent the last two weeks falling asleep thinking about him in ways that made her blush.
Probably made her vibrator blush too.
The worst part was the song she’d just finished was about him.
How the hell was she going to sing that sucker with him sitting in the audience? She’d used his goddamn name. What the hell had she been thinking? Ever since she found out he’d be coming, and honestly, she wasn’t going to fight anyone on having a little protection, because she did want Rosco to go away, she’d been trying to come up with another name to use in the song. But nothing seemed to fit.
She tugged her tank top over her head and dabbed a little lip gloss over her lips, which made her want to crawl under a rock because she would not cave to that man’s advances. It didn’t matter that she wanted to. She couldn’t. She stepped from her tiny bathroom, which was about the size of what you might find on a small boat. But right now, unless she wanted to move in with her folks, which wasn’t going to happen, this was all she could afford.
“Cute place.” Bowie had made himself comfortable on the small sofa. He held a wineglass in his hand.
He’d also poured her a glass, which taunted her from the coffee table.
“I don’t need much since I’m not home a lot,” she croaked out.
“I know the feeling. I’ve lived in more garage apartments than I can count. And a few basement ones.” He patted his hand on the cushion next to him. It was a sexy come-hither tap, but it certainly sent her body off on a tangent she desperately needed to come back from.
She had three choices. She could sit next to him and try not to attack him. Or she could choose the edge of the mattress. Or one of the chairs at the table. She decided the sofa would be the most comfortable and that she could control herself since she’d been doing it for fourteen long days. Lifting the glass, she eased onto the couch, making sure she sat as far away from Mr. Sex Appeal as she could.
“Pizza will be here in twenty. Why did you have to come over and talk tonight?” Damn, that was a little aggressive.
“I like your directness.” He shifted, facing her head-on. “I’ve gotten a little information from Mano. A little from Emery. Some from Waylen. And of course, I read a few of those text messages.”
Moana swallowed. There were only a handful of people who had seen them all. Emery. Dahlia. Mia. And the one cop she’d spoken to about a possible restraining order. The only reason she kept that damn photo was as evidence if she needed it in the future and that was only because the cop had told her she should document everything.
Just to be safe.
Last night, Bowie had scrolled for a little longer than what made her comfortable.
“Did you want to ask me questions about Rosco? Couldn’t that have been done over the phone?” she asked.
“It could have, but I prefer face-to-face when it comes to this,” he said. “I noticed that you will respond to him after five to ten texts. You’re always polite, but firm. He behaves either one or two ways.”
“Yeah. Like a jerk who thinks I dumped him or as if he’s brushing it off and going away.”
“Only to come on stronger.” Bowie arched a brow. “I’m sorry and I didn’t say anything last night because I didn’t want to embarrass you, but I did see that picture.”
Heat filled her cheeks. She knew she had nothing to be ashamed of. She didn’t do anything wrong, but it was still embarrassing as hell. “I guess I should thank you for that.”
“Why’d you keep it? Any of it?”
She chugged half her glass of wine. “In case I ever needed it for proof of wrongdoing.”
“Makes sense.” Bowie nodded. “How often will you have to go back to Nashville?”
“Well, I’ll have to go back when my lease is up and move the rest of my shit here, but outside of that, it depends on how quickly I get songs from my head to paper. And if I have any interest for them once I have them to music. Right now, I have four that some big country stars are hot for. It could get me enough money to help my parents get back on their feet. But it won’t last forever. So, I’m guessing I’ll need to write a few more killer ones and go back every couple of months, if the creative juices are flowing.”
She watched as he swirled his wine before bringing it to his lips, taking a long slow sip, as if to let the beverage linger in his mouth. He rested the glass on his leg. “It’s obvious Rosco knows you’re from Hawaii, but does he know you’re from Big Island?”
“I never mentioned which island or what town. I don’t talk about my family. Or my past. I’m a private person and I intend on keeping it that way.”
Bowie lifted his ass and pulled out his phone. “Not to be an asshole, but I did a quick Google search of your name and found out all sorts of things about you.”
“Why would you do that?” She glared, hoping to shoot him with mental daggers.
“I wanted to know what I could find out in five minutes to see what he could know without trying.” He waved his cell. “I learned where you went to high school. College. Both your parents’ names. Your sister’s name. And every song you ever sold and who you sold it to. About the only thing I didn’t learn was your current place of employment. Now, I’m a bit of a whiz when it comes to IT, so I could find out a lot more if I wanted to. No idea what this Rosco guy could do. But it doesn’t matter. Once your lease is up, he’ll know you moved and it won’t take a genius as to where will be the first place to look.”
“Seriously? Why would he go to all that trouble? He’ll move on to someone else and maybe he’ll find the perfect girl for him.”
“I don’t know about you, but I can’t imagine any woman wanting some dude sending random dick pics.”
Her wineglass slipped from her fingers, landed on her chest, bounced, and then dropped in her lap. “Goddammit.” She hopped to her feet.
“At least the sofa’s leather.” Bowie had the nerve to laugh as he bolted to kitchen and snagged the paper towels. He tore off a few sheets and patted down her chest.
She stood there blinking, with her hands at her sides and her mouth gaping open, wishing she could form the words to tell him to stop. Only, sadly, she didn’t mind as his big, strong hands brushed across her breasts. She wondered if he even knew he’d touched them. It’s not like they were that big. President of the itty-bitty titty club. She’d been so teased about that as a kid. Her sophomore year in high school, a few boys would hassle her, asking her if she would ever get out of her training bra. The first boy who ever touched her boobs commented that when she turned eighteen, she should consider getting implants. She slapped him right on the spot.
Bowie moved in the direction of her shorts.
“Um. I think I need to change again.” She batted his hands away.
“Do you need a hand?”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Well, shit. I didn’t mean with that.” He shook his head as the doorbell rang. “That must be the pizza. I’ll get it while you do…” He waved his hand over her body. “Whatever.”
“Just don’t maul the pizza delivery guy. I’m sure he doesn’t want to get felt up either.”
“That’s not what I did.” He narrowed his stare.
“Your hands were just on my breasts. It’s exactly what you did.” She breezed past him, opened her closet, and found an oversized T-shirt and a pair of boxers that she couldn’t care two shits about if wine destroyed.
It was proving to be one of those nights.
She changed as quickly as possible, but this time, she tossed her clothes in the hamper. When she returned, she found Bowie at the table. He’d set it and placed some pizza on each plate. There were even napkins. And he’d refilled her wine. Damn sweet man even opened another bottle.
He rose, pulling out her chair. “I’m so sorry I touched you inappropriately. I was only trying to get the wine?—”
“Don’t sweat it. It’s not like you can find them anyway I’m so flat.” Why the hell did she go and say that? Well, she knew why. She was still so sensitive to their size that she always drew attention to them. It was weird, but that’s what she did. She’d gone twice to a plastic surgeon about having implants. Both times she’d chickened out. But she also used humor to deflect her insecurities and her boobs were one of her biggest, which was funny since they were so small.
“Why on earth would you say something like that?” He tucked her in at the table as if they were at some fancy five-star restaurant.
“Because it’s true. So true you didn’t even know you were doing it.” She lifted the pizza, folded it in half, and took a massive bite. Grease rolled down her chin.
Bowie leaned over, napkin in hand, and wiped it away.
Who the hell was this man?
“I’ll admit to not paying attention to them while I was trying to clean off your top, but trust me, I noticed them the second I walked in this apartment when all you had on was that skintight white thing. And I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to checking them out in a few of the cute sundresses you wear while you sing at Ohana’s.”
She swallowed a big chunk of pizza. Her breath caught in her throat while she held his gaze. Her face had to be redder than the flipping pizza sauce. Men always said they liked small boobs. Until they came across hers, and then they changed their minds.
“I’m sorry. That was quite rude, but it’s the truth and you shouldn’t put yourself down. You’re gorgeous. I think I’ve made that clear the dozen times I’ve asked you out.”
“Is that what this is? You trying to turn this into a date?”
“Oh no.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry if that’s how it’s presenting itself with this strange twist of conversation. I did come here to talk about Rosco and I wanted to do it in person.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I honestly hate it when a woman puts herself down, especially when I know they’re not fishing for a compliment.”
“And why is that?”
“Does there have to be a reason?”
“Call me curious,” she said. This could be interesting.
He wiped his fingers on his napkin and pushed his plate to the side. “In high school I was kind of a geek and a bit awkward.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
He chuckled. “I was scrawny and more into math and science than sports. I got picked on a fair amount. I didn’t have my first girlfriend until I was seventeen and a senior.”
“Still not buying it.”
“Ask any of my siblings. They will tell you it’s all true.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the sad excuse for a table. “One thing I learned about that relationship was how to compliment a lady, because that’s all she ever needed. I mean, say the wrong thing, and she wouldn’t even look at me. She was always searching for approval from someone. With me, she wanted me to tell her how beautiful she was. All the damn time. She didn’t care about being smart. Just pretty, and if I missed my cue, well, I was in the doghouse.”
“That’s kind of sad.”
“I’ve avoided that kind of woman my entire life.” Bowie laughed. “When I went to the Naval Academy, this happened to me.” He flexed his biceps. “I also grew four inches in two years between eighteen and twenty.”
“Late bloomer.”
“Very.” He shook his head. “My junior year of college, I started dating a local girl. Down-to-earth. Loved hiking and shit like that. She hated it when I told her how cute she was. Or brought attention to any aspect of her body. Which.” He waved his finger. “I never once put down. It was always how utterly attracted to her I was. But it embarrassed her and she was always putting herself down. It drove me nuts. Until I saw the scars.”
“Please tell me you didn’t freak out.”
“Absolutely not. I was falling in love with her, but we hadn’t even had sex yet.”
“How long had you been dating?” Moana rested her chin on her hands, hanging on this man’s every word. He wasn’t the typical alpha male that she was used to running around the Brotherhood Protectors ranch, though she suspected he could bark out a few orders.
“By that time, about nine months.”
“And you were twenty? And not sleeping together?”
“I was young. Inexperienced. I really cared for her and wanted her to know it.” He shrugged. “The point is, she wasn’t comfortable in her own skin. The scars, which were caused by a fire when she’d been seventeen, were so hideous to her that she never wanted me to see them. They were a part of her, so I didn’t see them as ugly. They didn’t mortify me at all.”
“Did she ever get past that?”
“Not really. It was always hard for her to take a compliment and she all but asked me to stop. We dated until I graduated and was transferred to my first naval base. I thought it was because she wasn’t cut out to be a military wife. I begged her to move with me. I wrote her letters. She wrote me only one.” He wiggled his finger. “She told me goodbye. About six months later, her parents contacted me letting me know she died by suicide.”
Moana gasped. She jerked, raising her hands to her mouth, knocking over her glass.
Bowie snagged it, thankfully preventing it from falling in her lap. Again.
“I’m so sorry.”
“It wasn’t the first time she’d tried, although I hadn’t known that. Her parents told me during the time we’d been together, she was doing so much better. But she’d never gotten past what happened or how she thought she looked.” He handed her the wine. “So, I guess my point is, I don’t give out compliments, even if you’re fishing for them, because what point does that serve? You need to validate yourself. And second, when I do, I mean it.”
“Does that mean you like itty-bitty titties? And I’m not looking for a compliment. It’s a question.”
He groaned, dropping his head to the table. The plates bounced. “I’m a man. I like most breasts. But yeah, small ones are nice and I really don’t like big ones. They scare me and I wouldn’t know what to do with them.”
“Oh my God. That’s about the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
He stiffened his spine. “No, it’s not. I mean, that saying, more than a mouthful is too much, is true in my case.”
“I think it’s a handful, but whatever.”
“It could be either, but I like the first one better.” He blinked. “Okay. I’m going to be really crude here for a second, so don’t slap me.”
“I should have done that when you were copping a feel.” For good measure, she grabbed the girls.
He growled. It was deep. Low. And rumbled her girly parts. “I can’t believe I’m going to use this analogy.” He stood, snagging the bottle, and filled his glass, gulping most of it in one swallow. Then he poured some more and did it again. “Does size really matter? And if it does, how big do you really want it, because I suspect there is a too big for everyone.”
“And there’s a too small .” She cocked her head.
“And there’s also a just right .” He polished off his wine as if it were a shot before waving his finger at her chest. “Those are just right and now we have a different problem.”
“What’s that?”
“I can’t drive home. I might not be drunk this second. But I just drank a bottle of wine.” He lifted the empty. “I better call an Uber, which means, I’m doing the same in the morning.”
“No Uber is coming here to take you to the Brotherhood Protectors ranch, much less do it first thing in the morning.” She strolled across the room and patted his chest. “The sofa pulls out into a bed. You can crash there.”
“I need to go home and get my shit.”
“Well, you’ll have to wait until you sober up. I’d go over to your place and get it, but I had two drinks before you got here, so we’re both halfway to drunker than a skunk. Might as well buckle up and enjoy the ride.”
He rested his hands on her hips and drew her closer. “I so want to say something completely inappropriate right now. Only, you’d slap me.”
“Now I have to know. So, I promise not to connect my palm to your face.”
“It’s the wine talking. I promise,” he whispered. “Only thing I want to ride is you.”
“Buddy, that’s my line.”
“Oh, sweet Jesus.” His hands circled around to her back. “Since the alcohol has hit my brain and I’ve already made a total ass out of myself this evening, I might as well go for broke.” He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “You let me buy you a drink whenever I see you at Ohana’s. You even sit and chat with me. But you always say no to going out with me. Why?”
“Because I know what would happen.”
“And what’s that?”
“I’d end up sleeping with you and in a month, you’d be gone. While I’m not looking for my Prince Charming, I’m not looking for Mr. Right Now either.”
His jaw slacked open.
She shouldn’t have said that, but she was a little too buzzed to care. She rose up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “I don’t have anything big enough for you to sleep in, so you’re out of luck.”
“I’ll be fine,” he said in a husky voice. “I’m going to keep my hands to myself tonight because we’ve both had a fair amount of alcohol.” He pressed his lips against hers in a soft, tender kiss. “And I have a job to do, so it’s best I keep it professional.”
“Good idea.”
“But after Nashville, any chance of changing that?”
“Probably.” She smiled. “I’m going to go get ready for bed. There are sheets in the closet along with a pillow and blanket. I’ve got a spare toothbrush I’ll leave out for you in the bathroom.” She pushed from his arms, spun, and raced to the tiny bathroom, closing the door gently behind her. It was crazy to agree to go out with him, but damn, she knew she’d crack.