Chapter Four
We get to the bar and it’s crowded, despite the rainy night. Of course I know why.
The bouncer sees me and lets us through, clearing the way for us. The word is out that I’m joining in tonight. Gus, the owner of the bar and a friend of mine, shakes my hand, noticing the girl on my arm. He’s subtle about the fact that she’s not the girl he might have been expecting. I happen to be famous, for better or worse, and my love life gets talked about.
I don’t bother thinking about Carmen, and how this news will no doubt reach her within minutes. It doesn’t matter that she’ll take this as a sign that I was lying to her about not having anyone else.
So my rebound happened a little sooner than I was expecting. It’s none of Carmen’s fucking business.
So this little stranger is your rebound now?
I don’t know what the hell she is. An angel. A goddess. A sign.
Whatever she is, she’s mine.
Everything about me is focused on her and the light pressure of her hand where she’s holding my arm. On keeping her there. Part of me is worried she’ll disappear, like a mythical creature who showed up at the exact moment I was sure she didn’t exist.
She’s too sweet, too tempting, too perfect.
I’m not entirely convinced she’s even fucking real. Maybe I’m dreaming.
But I know I’m not dreaming. My brand new reality has just taken on a new layer. A star-dusted one. She’s surrounded by a halo of my own blazing anticipation.
To a few of his staff, who have now noticed me and are gathering around us, Gus says, “Clear the VIP table for them.”
I wouldn’t bother with a table if I was here alone. I can’t sit in the crowd because I get mobbed and it creates a scene.
The VIP table is raised and private, in its own little secluded nook with a tinted screen and a view of the stage. A few bouncers guard the staircase and I happen to know it has its own exit out to the back of the building, in case things get rowdy. Which seems to happen whenever my brothers or I show up in any public place.
I had planned to show up, have a drink or two with Gus, play the three songs I agreed to play, then leave. The band that’s playing tonight is a group of local musicians who jam together from time to time. I’ve played with them before, although it’s been a while since I joined in. I’ve either been busy or on tour.
“Haven’t seen you around lately, Kade,” Gus comments, patting me on the back. “Good to have you back, man.” Carmen didn’t like this place. It’s too lively for her. Not expensive enough. “I’ll let the boys know you’re here.”
“Thanks, Gus.”
He’s staring now, as though he can’t help himself. So it’s not just me she affects this way. I have this raging urge to shield her from his view and everyone else’s, to keep her all to myself. I want her safe . Protected. I want to bask in her gorgeousness alone , without sharing her. I’m not sure where all these Neanderthal tendencies are coming from, but I feel like I’ve morphed into a fucking grizzly bear who wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone who wanders into my territory.
I hesitate before introducing her. “Stella, this is Gus. Gus, Stella.”
Her name feels weirdly prophetic. I was just thinking it earlier today: that one stellar, star-stuck, meant-for-me true love that I’ll fall head over heels for, that I’ll never want to leave, that I can spend every waking moment making sure she’s as happy and blissed-out as she can possibly be. Her name feels like it’s wrapped up in all those wishes, even if I can’t be entirely sure this is ... her. It could just be me doing my thing again, looking for connections where they might not exist.
Maybe my own twisted angst about the state of my life five minutes before she walked into it has warped my perceptions into a fantasy version of whatever this is. Maybe I’m grasping.
I don’t know.
Oh, I know. Like I’ve never known anything in my life.
You don’t “grasp” for someone this damn gorgeous. You move heaven and earth to make her your own and then you hold on to her with everything you’ve fucking got.
Even wet and flushed from the pouring rain—or maybe because of it—she’s easily the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met.
“Nice to meet you,” she says to Gus, her voice soft and enchanting. Mine . I don’t like that Gus gets to hear it and get a share of it.
What the fuck is happening?
She’s still holding my arm, still wrapped in my coat. Her hair is wet, her eyes that off-neon shade of emerald green, her eyelashes long and jeweled with tiny raindrops that catch the light. Her face has a young, dewy freshness to it, like you often see on people when they first wake up in the morning. It’s the exact same effect that every woman in the world wishes for and every fashion magazine spends shitloads of money trying to recreate. The full, pillowy, candy-pink lips. The rosy glow of her skin. The graceful line of her jaw and the gentle curve of her cheekbones, all the details of her converging into some crazy, ideal pinnacle of beauty. The smudged make-up and the echo of her tear tracks don’t detract from it at all. Instead they somehow manage to enhance it and drench it in vulnerability. She’s lost, she’s soaked and her eyes are wary, hopeful and beguiled all at the same time. I have this urge to pick her up and wrap my whole life around her.
“You want to sit down?” I ask her. My voice sounds low and rasped. Because of her. I care that she’s okay. I feel the wild need to make sure of it.
She bites her lip, her small, neat white teeth barely sinking into that mind-numbing softness and it takes all the willpower I own not to kiss her right here in this crowded room, both to stop her from doing that and also because her lips are so ludicrously juicy and sweet-looking, pure and pink like a ripe, exotic fruit. The look of them is not only getting me hot as fuck but also making me feel strangely, fiercely addicted. So this is what this feels like . “Yeah.”
She’s noticing the way the crowd is watching us as we make our way up the small curved staircase to the secluded table. I purposely keep her as shielded as I can. There will no doubt be speculation all over the internet before we even get to our seats.
“Why’s everyone staring at us?” she asks.
“Uh ... they know me around here. I told them I’d join in.”
“Join in what?”
“The band. They’ve asked me to play a few songs with them.”
“Oh. You’re a musician?”
In every situation I’ve been in for the past four years, since we started hitting the headlines, everyone around me knows who I am, where I come from and everything else about me. This is ... refreshing. If she recognizes me, the bigger picture isn’t registering yet. “Yes.”
“Do you sing?”
“Yeah. Mainly I play the bass guitar.”
She smiles, those crazy-green eyes otherworldly and spellbinding.
We get to the table and I take off my hat, hanging it on a hook. Carefully, I take her bag and set it next to her. I unwrap my coat from around her. I’m not sure why my protective instincts are suddenly on overdrive but her safety and comfort have become my most feral priority. She takes off her wet coat to reveal the damp white top underneath. The lush swell of her breasts and the lightly outlined tips of her nipples are fucking with my state of mind. I want to lift her wet shirt and put my mouth on her. I want to lick her skin and suck on her beauty. I want to take care of her. I want to be inside her. My cock hardens fully and this annoys me. I happen to be well hung as fuck and it’s uncomfortable, almost agonizing, pressed up against the button fly of my jeans, straining and fully-packed.
Usually I can bide my time. I’m not a hothead. I don’t rush because I don’t need to. But right now my lust is a wild animal that wants to feed . She’s not ready for my sudden, raging fascination. What she needs right now is warmth, a drink, some food and some reassurance that she’s not lost anymore.
She’s found.
Kade. Chill the fuck out, boy.
She’s so damn beautiful .
As she reaches into her bag for something dry, I can’t help comparing her to Carmen. But there’s not much to compare. Carmen is pale and skinny-thin. Her hair, her skin and her entire outlook always felt washed-out. There was no vibrancy to her because she was always wrapped up in her own petty grievances. I can now see all this with painful clarity. Fuck, how I wish I’d realized it on day one. She was always trying to add color to her look and her personality, with make-up and hair dyes and a manufactured online persona. But none of it was remotely convincing.
This girl, on the other hand, is practically glittering with all the details Carmen worked so hard for but never came close to achieving.
Stella’s hair is damp and there’s a curl to it. It’s a rich, mink brown with hints of deep red and honey gold. Her cheeks are pink with health and a love-filled, empathy-charged lifeforce. Her eyelashes are impossibly long. I find myself wondering if they’re real. Carmen used to wear those fake ones, which looked fake because they were. I always had the urge to rip the fuckers off because who wants plastic hanging off their face? Stella’s eyelashes are sweeping and gold-tipped, matching her hair and her glow with a perfection that’s life-affirming. It’s good to know that nature is capable of creating such a divine, dazzling creature who doesn’t need artificial enhancements or staged radiance.
Stella wakes up like this, you can see that. She gets caught in a downpour and it doesn’t wash off. I don’t know why I feel so goddamn happy about that.
I want to show this girl what heaven feels like.
She’s slim but curvy, her body sweet and lush and so much more womanly than the one I’ve spent the last six months trying to feed. Carmen was obsessed with losing weight and fitting into clothes that made her look downright emaciated. No man enjoys that shit. We’re hard-wired to crave curves to hold onto and softness to sink into, to grip and to own.
Easy, tiger. She’s stunning, you’re on the rebound and you’re horny as fuck because you’ve had an abysmal sex life for a long time. But don’t go twisting this chance encounter with a lost, pretty girl into some kind of fantasy about her being your star-crossed soulmate. You don’t even know her. You’ve exchanged around a dozen words. She could be as crazy as all the rest of them.
Two waiters arrive at our table. “A bottle of Mo?t, sir, compliments of Gus,” says one of them, popping the cork, pouring two glasses and placing the ice bucket on a stand. “And two Jack Daniels on ice,” says the other one, taking the drinks from a tray and putting them on our table. Gus knows it’s what I usually order. “Will you be ordering food?”
“I’m starving ,” Stella says, without a hint of angst about it. To the waiter, she asks, “Do you have cheeseburgers?”
“Best in town,” says the waiter. “Sir?”
Maybe this girl is my soulmate. “Make that two.”
The waiters disappear. “They like you around here,” she comments. “VIP seats and complimentary champagne.”
I don’t bother telling her the place is packed tonight because of me. “Gus is an old friend of mine.” I clink my champagne glass against hers. “To freedom.”
Stella smiles and takes a sip, like freedom is the exact thing she wants to celebrate. “What kind of freedom are we celebrating?”
I tend to tell things like they are. And for some reason it’s a detail I want her to know. “I broke up with someone today. It’s the best thing I’ve done in a long time.”
“Really?” The sweep of her eyelashes really is something. The effect hits me right in the middle of my ribcage. “That’s kind of crazy because I did too. Just a few days ago.”
“Yeah?” What I want to know is why everything she says seems to fit into some unknowable cosmic puzzle. The one that always felt like it had a lot of gaping holes in it. “Who ended it, you or him?”
“Me.”
“Why’s that?”
She doesn’t answer right away. We’re strangers, after all. But already, pieces of us, little tendrils of mutual fascination feel like they’re reaching out, mingling and beginning to entwine. “I just wasn’t into it.”
“How’d you end it?”
“He took me out to his favorite pizza restaurant the night before Christmas Eve. He proposed to me. I wasn’t expecting it. Not at all. I’d been planning to break up with him that night anyway. So I told him I couldn’t marry him and that it was over.”
“Ouch.” I take a sip of my whiskey, not exactly sure why I’m so relieved to hear this. I make a mental note not to propose to her in pizza joint, as if I ever would. So now you’re planning to fucking propose to her? What the hell? Slow down, you lunatic . “How’d he take it?”
“He told me to think about it for a while, in case I change my mind.”
The grizzly bear in me—and he’s a new development, but he’s fucking sure of himself—growls somewhere deep inside my soul. It takes me a few seconds to realize that ... I’m jealous . It’s not an emotion I’m used to. I couldn’t have cared less if Carmen went out with her vapid friends or spent the night clubbing when I was away on tour. I have no idea why I’m going all caveman over a stranger I’ve known for half an hour. There’s no way in hell you’re changing your mind, darlin’, is what I feel like saying to her, but don’t. My fists clench and my muscles tense. I’ve been working out like a madman lately and my body feels hot and hard—everywhere.
Chill. The. Fuck. Out. “What was wrong with him?”
She’s quiet for a few seconds, her gaze lightly exploring my face. My eyes. My shoulders. My fist, which I make a point of unclenching. The word LOVE inked across the knuckles of my right hand. “He’s the future I’m supposed to want. But he’s not the future I do want.” She barely shivers. I resist the urge to lift her onto my lap and wrap my arms around her.
I slide the glass of whiskey closer to her. “Have some of this. It’ll warm you up.”
She takes a sip.
And I can’t help asking it. “What was missing?”
She looks into my eyes as she says it. “The spark.”
Well, hell.
I can give you more than spark, darlin’. I can give you the goddamn Fourth of July.
“It would be settling for something safe and predictable,” she continues. “I don’t want safe. Or predictable. I want something wild and romantic. Something extraordinary.”
I think I might be in real trouble here, because something in me shifts. And forges. “I don’t blame you. Nothing wrong with wanting a little excitement in life.” Just say the word, honey pie.
She seems to read this, that I could do exactly that. Which probably sounds cocky but it’s just the way it is. I could do that. And I’m going to, starting right now. I don’t yet know how or why or what it means, but I’m already all in.
Flags of pink warm her cheeks. “I should probably try to figure out where I’m staying tonight. I’m sure there’s a hotel nearby. I can google it.” She pulls her phone out of the small leather bag she’s holding. She sets it on the table. The screen is lit with several names. Her new messages. Piper. Summer. Theo.
“Is Theo the guy?”
There’s a hint of a smile in her eyes and I feel it all the way down to my goddamn soul. It’s none of my business but I don’t mean it in an over-the-line kind of way. More in an I’m-here-if-you-want-to-talk-about-it kind of way. I try to dial down the I’ll-kill-the-fucker-because-you’re-mine-now kind of way that’s also a part of my question, because I’m feeling it harder than I know what to do with.
“Yes,” she says.
“There’s a one-bedroom apartment in my building that’s free tonight, which is just around the corner from here. I keep it empty for my sister, but she’s in Galveston visiting friends for a few days, so it’s all yours if you want it. It shares a balcony with my apartment but it’s separate.”
She’s watching me. Gauging whether there’s any danger in me. Whether she can trust me.
“There are other people in the building too, friends of mine. You can meet them if you want to. There’s also a three-bedroom downstairs with only one of the rooms being used. If you’d rather stay in one of those, you can.”
“You’re ... a landlord?”
This almost makes me smile. “No. I own the building and a couple of friends look after it for me. It’s six floors. So you could take your pick.”
“Wow. That’s really nice of you but—”
“You were going to stay in an Airbnb. It’s basically the same thing.”
“I wouldn’t want to impose on you like that.”
“You wouldn’t be. It’s empty.” I ask it, because it’s still hanging in the air and I prefer to dig deep into what I want to know, instead of wondering about it, or leaving things unsaid. “What is the future you want?”
Her eyes take on all kinds of depth and it slays me more than I’d like to admit, that something about the question is emotional for her, and also hopeful. “One that’s more about that freedom we were just talking about, and less about other people’s expectations.”
Another one of those cosmic puzzle pieces clicks into place. “I think I can relate to some of that.”
“You and your sister are close?” she asks.
“Yeah. I have two brothers too. We spend a lot of time together.” I don’t bother mentioning the band. She’s clearly not from Nashville and it’s possible she’s never heard of us. Even though we’ve got the top three songs on the national charts right now, with five in the top ten, we get less airplay in certain areas. My guess is she’s from somewhere outside of our main zones.
“So, what kind of music do you play?”
“Rock, country, folk, blue grass, jazz. A little bit of everything.”
“Is that the band you usually play with?” She nods toward the stage, where the band is starting up the first set. I’m not joining in until the second.
“No. They’re not really a band, just a bunch of guys who get together sometimes.”
“Do you have your own band?”
I love this. It’s an unfamiliar feeling to be such a clean slate. It’s so rare for me to have a conversation with anyone—let alone such a glorious little golden girl—where it’s just us, without the hype or the fanfare. “Yes.”
“With who?”
“With my brothers.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“You must be close to them.”
I smile, exhaling a laugh because she’s so damn cute it’s ruffling some inner sanctum that’s usually untouchable. The one where my deepest fantasies live. “Sometimes too close.”
“Is your sister in the band too?” I find myself spellbound—again—by her flawlessness. Even her eyebrows are fascinating me. They’re full and lightly arched. Carmen used to pluck hers then draw them back in. I watched her do this once and felt sort of disgusted by it. Who the fuck does that? Yet another thing that pissed me off for no particular reason. I love that Stella clearly isn’t worried about trying so hard. She doesn’t need to. She’s spectacular as is, without any effort at all.
“No. She’s our manager.”
I don’t elaborate. I want to get to know her before she finds out about the fame and the money. I want her to connect with me . What’s hitting me hardest, I realize, is that Stella is nothing like Carmen or any of the women who came before her. She’s not fishing for clues or promises. She’s not trying to get her hooks in. In fact, for the first time in my life, I’m the one with everything to lose.
So much for swearing off women. For her, I’m willing to make exceptions to every rule and then some.
She takes a sip of her champagne then touches her tongue to her insanely luscious lips. Fuck. I feel almost dizzy with need. I want to slide my tongue inside with a fury that’s messing with my sanity . And I hate myself for thinking it. As dark and dirty as my thoughts are, what I really want to do is treat her like the goddess she is.
Another text lights up the screen of her phone.
Theo.
She doesn’t pick it up.
I resist an urge to smash the fucking thing. What fool would let this little angel slip through his fingers? He must be the stupidest motherfucker on earth. “Does he know you’re in Nashville?”
“No. I didn’t tell him that part.”
“Does anyone know you’re in Nashville?” Something about her unpreparedness, her ruffled manner and her small bag make me think she’s made a rushed getaway.
“My parents.” That thread of something deeper makes her eyes darken to a deep shade of jade. “But I didn’t tell them why I’ve come to Nashville.”
I hang back with the obvious question for a few seconds. She’s running from something. Or running to something. Just the name touches on some emotion that’s painful and complicated.
The waiter arrives with our food and puts it on our table. “Gus has ordered some extra security,” he tells me. “The place is really filling up.”
“All right.” It’s nothing new. I just hope things don’t get out of hand. I’m now regretting agreeing to do this tonight. Then again, if I hadn’t agreed, I wouldn’t have run into my brand new obsession in the pouring rain.
He tops up our champagne then leaves us to it.
“I’m a good listener,” I tell her. “If you want to talk about it.”
“Thank you, Kade,” she says, all heartfelt sincerity and sweet, mind-blowing gorgeousness.
I’m horrified when her eyes pool with tears. One paints a soft line down her cheek and she brushes it away. The one thing that kills me the most. Tears. Coming from her, it’s just the worst thing I’ve ever seen. She’s too beautiful. She should never feel sad or lost. I’m going to fix everything for you, baby , is what I’m thinking. Starting right now, I’m going to do every goddamn thing I can to make sure you’re as happy in every way as you can possibly be. I’m here now. Everything’s okay .
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m ridiculously emotional at the moment.”
“Because of him?”
“No. Not him. In my mind I’d already left him. It’s just ... a lot has happened this week.”
“It’s okay.” I can’t help it. I smooth a stray curl back from her face. “You’re okay. Tell me what hurts.”
Another tear falls and I can’t handle it. With my thumb, I gently wipe it away. Unthinkingly, because it may as well be a unicorn tear and at this point I’m already half in love with her, as our gazes remain locked, I lick my finger.