Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
I ’m awakened by a throbbing in my lower half. My thigh, to be precise. I pound the bedding—why is this groin pull following me, even in my sleep?
I flip over, punch the pillow, and close my eyes. Two hours later, my phone’s alarm goes off. Another “restful” night’s sleep is in the books.
As I sit up, I peek through the blackout shades. At least it’s not grey outside. My feet hit the wood floor and I make an effort to walk in my usual gait toward the bathroom. Within three steps, I’m rubbing my thigh. I need to get back to normal fast.
After brushing my teeth, I allow the shower to heat up. If rehab fails, I better come up with another way to perform. No running around the stage, certainly no jumps. I might be able to walk down the stage to get closer to the fans, as long as I keep my pace slow. Maybe I need to forget healing this pull faster, and think of alternative ways to rock the house?
This sucks.
My boxer briefs hit the floor and I stand under the spray. I flip the showerhead to the massage function. Water rolls down my face and neck, over my torso and down my legs. I let it soothe my tired muscles. My cock, still with its morning wood, demands attention, so I give it a long stroke.
Which leads to another.
And another.
Soon, all my attention is focused on getting myself off as my hand slides up and down. My balls pull up and I stand wider, shooting onto the shower floor. My groan, “Jenna,” catches me by surprise at the same moment my angry groin pull makes its dis pleasure known. I stumble backward, landing on the stone bench with a thud.
I rub my thigh while the pulsing shower provides background white noise. Why on earth did Jenna’s name come out of my mouth? She’s Darren’s. He put this woman on UC’s Do Not Fuck list in permanent marker. Never to be erased.
With care, I stand and finish my shower. After I dress, I check the time. Since I still have nearly two hours before PT, I don my handy disguise of sunglasses and a baseball cap and decide to take a short walk around Aroostook to find another place for breakfast.
Instead of turning right out my front door, I go left and come up to a commercial street. At least this one has more shops than the other streets I’ve noticed. A florist, toy store, several restaurants. Too bad they’re all closed at this time of the morning. This town must have a diner, though. Even though we’re out of my home state of New Jersey, the diner capital of the world, New York is only one state over.
The next storefront is for Russo Real Estate, which is King and Angie’s place. I stop and check out their many listings. A few on the waterfront are gorgeous. One, in particular, captures my attention.
“I can arrange a showing, if you’d like.”
I turn my head and diminutive brunette smiles up at me. “Hi, Angie. Didn’t hear you come over.” I glance behind her. “Is King with you?”
She shakes her head. “No. He has a showing this morning. Want to come in? I can give you more information about this listing.” She points to the waterfront house at which I was staring .
My hand steals across my stomach. “Maybe some other time. I need to get breakfast and then go to physical therapy.”
“How’s it going?”
My shoulders lower. “It’s going.”
“I hear you.” Her fingers twirl the ends of her hair. “I don’t have to open the office for an hour or so. C’mon,” she motions for me to join her. “I’ll take you out for a real Hamptons breakfast.”
What have I got to lose? Plus, I need to eat. “Sounds good to me.”
We approach a convertible, which doesn’t seem to be her style. Especially without room for car seats in the back. “King’s?”
She grins. “Sure is. Since he has the showing, I get to drive it today, though.” She tosses her bags into the small backseat. “Get in.”
Ten minutes later we’re parked on Ocean Avenue, which faces the water. I inhale, savoring the salty air. Bundled-up joggers pass us on the wooden boardwalk. My heart pangs at not being able to join them.
As if reading my mind, she says, “You’ll soon be out there. Let’s go get some fuel.”
Fuel. Good word for the three-egg omelet, toast, and side of bacon I devour. I’m going to need all this fuel to get through PT today. Throughout our meal, Angie’s been a delight. I can see what drew King to her.
“I don’t know too much about Jenna, other than she has a great reputation for physical therapy around here. She runs two clinics.” Her voice drops. “I understand her boyfriend’s death hit her hard.”
“It did for all of us.” I swallow the last bit of my tea, which has turned bitter.
Angie’s hand goes over her heart. “I’m sorry. For a moment, I forgot he was your bandmate, too. My condolences.” Her left wrist falls to the table, with the name Dante visible along with King and those of their two daughters. Her chest expands on a breath, and she points to the tattoo. “I know what it means to lose someone you love. My first husband, Dante, is always with me. He brought King into my life. ”
Her honesty washes over me like one of our encores. “That’s what Luke said about Tris. Darren brought him to the band for a reason.”
Her left hand covers mine. “Believe him.”
Our moment is broken when Michelle walks to our table. “Bennett, I thought that was you! How are you doing?” She leans closer. “How’s the leg?” She flips her long, brown hair, a couple of shades darker than Angie’s. “Hi there, Angie. How’s the real estate business coming along?”
I glance between the two women, one an overeager botoxed puppy while the other has a fake smile plastered across her surgically untouched face. I lean back in my chair and wait for Angie’s reply. “Hi there, Michelle. I didn’t realize you knew my new client, Mr. Hardy.”
I tip the hat sitting on the seat next to me toward her. Client relationship. Nice way to keep it professional, Mrs. Hunte. Michelle, however, doesn’t take up the mantle. “We met a couple of days ago, when he was out to dinner?—”
Not knowing whether King shared our meeting with his wife, I speak over the rather annoying woman. “Yes, Angie. I met Michelle here when I arrived in town.” I focus my gaze on the woman, wearing a pair of very tight jeans. I wonder if she was sewed into them like they did Olivia Newton-John in Grease ? “I want to thank you for not spilling the beans of my whereabouts to the media. I’m enjoying my anonymity.”
Michelle reaches out to me, running her fingertips over my forearm. “Of course. How’s rehab going?”
“I’ve only been at it for a day. Too soon to pass judgment.”
Her arms cross her ample chest. “There’s still time to switch physical therapists, you know. I’m sure you’d already be seeing results with someone else.”
“I’m good.” While I want faster results, I’m not going to jeopardize my recovery by pushing too hard like I tried to do yesterday. Jenna knew the probable outcome but still let me try. Lesson learned she has my best interests at heart.
Michelle opens her mouth, but the alert from my cellphone indicates I have fifteen minutes to get to my appointment. I rush a quick good-bye to Michelle, drop a hundred-dollar bill onto the table, and escort Angie to her car—who graciously agrees to drive me to PT.
On our way to the clinic, I text Jenna to let her know my ETA and direct Angie to the back of the building. “What do you know about Michelle?”
From the driver’s seat, she slants a glance toward me. “She’s a bitch.”
Well then. Guess Angie doesn’t mince words. “I can see that.” I chuckle. “She’s banging hot.” Not that I’d tap her even if it wasn’t against doctor’s orders, though. She seems too...high maintenance. With all her negativity toward Jenna, I don’t get the feeling she’s trustworthy.
Angie’s shoulder lifts. “If you like the plastic look, by all means.”
Like all the influencers and models who run in my orbit. “Plastic can be fun.” The last time someone not of that ilk caught my attention, it was Jenna. Before her, Lissa in high school. Fuck. I glance at the woman behind the steering wheel, who’s nothing if not real. “So long as you don’t need to look under the hood.” When do I ever do that?
We arrive at the back of the clinic where Jenna’s standing by the door. I unbuckle my seatbelt and open the door while Angie does the same. Because she’s more agile at the moment, Angie beats me to Jenna, arms extended.
“Jenna. So great to see you again.” Angie brings Jenna in for a hug.
“Hi, Angie.” Jenna steps back, a bit awkwardly. “Bennett told me you and King got him his rental.”
Angie nods. “Everything going well for you? I understand you opened a second location. ”
Jenna tucks her ever-present clipboard under her arm. “We did, six months ago. Looking for another spot for a third location now.”
“Great. Please reach out if we can be of any help.” Angie passes her a business card. Smart business move.
“Will do.” Angie gives me a hug and hops back into King’s convertible. Not jealous of her mobility. At. All.
Jenna brings me out of my musings. “Are you ready for today?”
“As I’ll ever be.” I open the clinic’s door and indicate she should precede me. Even though I’m injured, I still have some gentlemanly courtesies in me. I try not to concentrate on her ass— off limits —as she leads me toward the elevator. Since the clinic’s situated on the second floor, I’d normally take the stairs. Being injured sucks.
In the back room, we begin my exercises. When Jenna’s adjusting my leg, I remember my shower this morning. How I yelled her name as I came. Since her hands are on me now, I mess up again on purpose. She corrects me once more.
This time, instead of moving my leg as she’s directing, I grab her hand. Her skin’s so soft. I rub my thumb over her palm.
She’s capable. Caring. Devoted. Sweet. Kind. Sexy.
The type of woman who belongs in a couple. Where I’m the other half.
For the first time, I don’t feel like bolting at this thought. Darren’s Do Not Fuck list doesn’t seem as insurmountable as before.
Jenna’s grey eyes widen. Not trying to pull away from me, she verbalizes the question running through my own mind, “What are you doing?”
I gaze into her expressive eyes. I can use a little distraction from all this hard work. “I can think of some more fun exercises we can do.” For some reason, I channel Tris and bite my lower lip.
She yanks against my hand and frees herself. “No sex. Doctor’s orders.”
Her leap to sex makes my head spin. Is she thinking about me like I’ve been fantasizing about her? My voice lowers, beneath its normal tenor. “There’s plenty of other things we can do. ”
“Are you high, Bennett?” She snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Did you take the pain meds?”
“What? No. You think, after Darren?—”
My use of her ex-boyfriend’s name causes her to stumble backward. In a strangled voice, she says, “We’re done here.” She flees the room.
Crap. This situation’s fucked up.
I’m fucked up.