Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
P hone to her ear, Jenna walks deeper into the basement while our conversation swirls through my mind. I want to be worthy of her belief in me. Could she make me a better man? Disbelief roars through my body. Do I want her to?
After a few minutes, she reappears. “Ma wants to know if we’d like to go to her house for dinner?”
Sadness washes over me. Unlike mine, I know how much her mother means to her. However, with the reporters all around, I don’t think it’s a good idea.
I’m about to tell her no when she shakes her head. “We’d love to, but I need to get Bennett stage-ready, so we need to do more physical therapy. We’ve hit crunch time.”
Nothing about the paps. Makes sense for her to protect her mother. Besides, my option for security still is on the table.
She walks around the exercise room and arcade, not stopping in one spot for too long, chatting with her mother. Her voice is pitched low, but I’m not tempted to intrude on their conversation any more than I already have. Instead, her belief in me—I’m more than a rock star—plays on repeat .
Stopping next to me, she says, “All right, Ma. I’ll keep you posted.” She disconnects the call. “It’s better she thinks I’m working than running from the media. She’s still not over everything that went down with Darren.”
We need to talk about her ex-boyfriend, the guy who saved me from spending my senior year of high school at my mother’s house. Hell, we need to discuss whatever’s going on between us. So many heavy thoughts swirl.
Her stomach growls.
Food takes priority. “How about we go upstairs, light the fire, and order takeout?”
She rubs her stomach. “Yeah, it’s been a while since we both ate. Let’s go.” She heads toward the stairs. From the third one, she raises her eyebrow. “Coming?”
Not yet . “Think I should take the elevator?”
“No. You don’t have any luggage with you and the exercise will do you good. Take your time.”
Bolstered by her approval, I walk over to the staircase and take the steps up at a snail’s pace, hanging on to the handrail. My groin muscle protests a little but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Once we get to the kitchen, I plant my ass on a stool in front of the huge island. Resting my elbows on the quartz, I huff, “I made it.” Wish I wasn’t so winded.
“Good job.” She looks around the kitchen before pulling out a box labelled “Local Restaurants.”
Impressive. I’d never seen such a box. My phone and Google usually do the trick.
She remarks, “At least they’re organized. I have one of these at home. Makes life so much easier.” She flips through various menus and holds one up. “Italian?”
Whereas she’s controlled and systematic, I’m more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants type of guy. We couldn’t be more different, yet why does something in her call out to my soul? “Sounds good to me. I’ll have chicken parmesan.” It’s my go-to Italian meal .
“I’ll order the same. Plus a bottle of red.”
“Now you’re talking my language.” I’d prefer a Manhattan, but wine with Italian food is always a good choice. “Make it a Barolo.”
Her eyebrows lift, but she places our orders, which will be here in forty minutes. I like how capable she is. Most of the women I hook up with either don’t eat or leave all the decisions to me. It’s nice to be pampered by a woman who knows her own mind. Another first.
I tug on the end of her ponytail. “You’re unique.”
“Wouldn’t want to be considered boring,” she quips. She opens various cabinets. “Aha! Snacks before dinner.”
She pulls out chips. Then she checks the fridge, holding up some cheeses and even a salsa. “I’m too hungry to wait.”
She doesn’t pour the chips into a bowl, but rather opens the bag and dips one into the salsa jar. She turns the opened bag toward me. “Have some before I eat them all.”
“Then you won’t be able to eat your dinner.” I grab a few chips. Once I’ve finished crunching, I add, “Can’t have that, can we?”
She examines a block of cheese. Satisfied it’s still good, she cuts a few pieces and puts them onto a plate. “I didn’t realize how ravenous I was. I suppose we should replace whatever we eat.”
I shrug. “I doubt the owners will even miss it. This seems to be one of several houses they own, given the furnishings and their being away. I don’t think they keep tabs on their chips.”
She pauses. “Probably not. But I would feel guilty.”
I can’t imagine any of the women who I’ve spent time with ever caring about a couple of chips they’ve eaten. Or even bottles of vodka and gin they’ve consumed. The way she cares about others is novel. Refreshing.
“Jenna, I appreciate how honest you are.”
“Only trying to treat others the way I want to be treated, the way Ma raised me. That’s why I could never understand the paparazzi. They’re rude and pushy.”
“And they make shit up when they don’t have a story, or there isn’t one to tell.” Snagging a piece of cheese, I stuff it into my mouth. “I guess it’s their job. If no one wanted their photos or fake articles, then their profession would disappear.”
“I don’t see that happening anytime soon.”
“Me neither.” I force myself away from the island and head toward the fireplace in the next room. “If we want to be able to eat our dinners, I think we should stop with the appetizers.” I flick the switch and the fire springs to life.
Jenna joins me in front of the fireplace, dusting off the remnants of our snack from her fingers. “The fire feels good.”
I face her. “Jenna, I want to kiss you for being such a wonderful human being. I want to hold you to my body and absorb your goodness into my soul. What are you doing to me?”
Her hand flies behind her head and she tightens her ponytail holder.
When her arms return to her sides, I reach behind her head pull the holder out of her hair. “I prefer your hair down.”
“Oh,” she squeaks. “Darren did too.”
His presence can be felt in the family room as if he were here now. Am I simply a stand-in for her ex-boyfriend? “Do you miss him?”
“Every day.” Pained grey eyes search my face. “As time has passed, it’s gotten easier. He used to call me his Perfect Ten. Not as a reference to my body, clearly, but because I always asked him for the ten top things about whatever he was doing.” Her cheeks half inflate. “Top ten things about whatever city he was in. Top ten things about touring on a bus. Top ten things about writing music.”
There’s so much to unpack. She’s never asked me for any top ten list. I rest a beat. “Which is why you want to open ten clinics.”
Her hand flies to her chest. I don’t think she’s going to respond, but she does. “Yeah. I want to honor him in this small way.” Her shoulders rise on an inhale.
I hate seeing how broken she still is. I want to hold her and make it better. I can’t resist. “Come here.” I open my arms, and she walks into them, resting her head against my lower pec .
I don’t want to be a substitute for Darren, though. Hell, we were in the same band. How can she see me as someone different? Unlike me, our keyboardist had a wicked sense of humor. He gave the devil a run for his money with his pranks.
I’m his opposite. I’ve been described as “cocky,” “arrogant,” and “confident.” Obviously, those writers didn’t know me too well. Fine, I use my rock star status to get what I want, but that makes me practical. Also, I keep to myself—which probably has been misinterpreted. I’m a loner. Jenna is not.
“Darren was a great guy,” I allow. “He invited me to join UC when I was seventeen and spurred me on to get my GED. He always was the life of the party.” Until he wasn’t.
She nods against my chest. “He had a big personality, true. But that’s not what drew me to him.” She steps back. “He treasured his mother and sister and set them up financially. Darren celebrated his roots with parties and lavish gifts, probably because he didn’t have much growing up. It was only after I came into the picture that he spent any money on himself.”
“I remember a certain tricked-out motorcycle as his first purchase,” I correct her.
“Well, true. But it was the only purchase he made for himself when you guys hit it big.” She leads me to the leather sectional, where we sit next to each other. “He was so proud of the band. He used to go on and on about how exciting it was to be on a journey with his best friends.”
“007 was his best friend.”
“Yeah. He considered the rest of you—Coop, Río, and you—to be right up there, you know. When I came and saw you all together, I saw it too. The comradery among you five was untouchable.”
Among the other four, I can see it.
She touches my hand. “You always were slightly different. You were with the band, but not. I often wondered about your distance. I even discussed it with Darren, who blew me off. Was I wrong?”
The million-dollar question. “I’m honored to be part of UC. We have a blast performing. It’s different now, with Tris.” My eyes flick to hers. “I enjoy being on tour.”
“Never putting down roots.”
How can I answer her? I do what I do best. Deflect. “I’m in this mansion right now, aren’t I? Considering purchasing it.”
“Seems like you are. But if it weren’t for your injury, you wouldn’t be, though.”
My bravado flees. “You’re probably right.” About all of her observations. Dare I share one of my secrets? Her nose tips toward mine, her eyes searching for more. I can give her this. I need to. “You weren’t wrong. I’m friendly with all of the guys in the band, but I wouldn’t call them ‘friends.’”
She bites her lower lip. “You’ve said this before. Why?”
I rub two fingers over my own nose. How to explain this so she understands? “From a young age, I was taught people would let me down. I had a girlfriend my junior year in high school—the only one I’ve ever had—who dumped me like a bad song lyric the minute a senior sniffed around her and invited her to the prom. I was devastated. Then my father died. When I was invited to join UC, it was an escape from my ugly reality.” I slam my lips shut. Not going into Curtiss. Or worse, my so-called “sister.”
“I’m so sorry. But”—she brushes the hair off my forehead—“Those things happened years ago.”
“Years of writing songs and performing, winning awards.” Hooking up. “It’s been a ride.”
“But not a blast?”
“I’ve enjoyed myself,” I correct her. Never fully let loose . “There have been some excellent times, for sure. Lots of laughter.” Which I never participated in with abandon, but I did join in the hoopla. “I know I’m blessed.”
“You deserve to be there as much as the rest of them.” When I rear back, she adds, “Not more than. You are all in it together. Untamed Coaster is a band. You’re one of the brothers. ”
“UC wouldn’t exist but for the team around us. Our label, manager, PR team. None of us could do it without the others.”
“Exactly my point. Your group is intertwined.”
I pop my chin in the air. “Good way of putting it.” Intertwined, but not friends. We get along, enjoy each other’s company. Nothing wrong with that. I still maintain enough distance in case it all falls apart. Like it almost did when Darren died.
“Enough about me, Jenna.” I stroke her hand. I need to understand what’s going on between us. “What are you doing here with me?”
Her eyes track my fingers. “Your physical therapy.”
I push, “Nothing more?”
“You’re my patient. There are rules.”
I draw a treble clef on her hand. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not much of a rule follower.”
Her eyebrows rise then lower. “Hashtag truth.”
Our contact—my finger to her hand—scorches me now. The same way it almost blew my head off during our first kiss. The all-encompassing feelings I felt during our—way too short—make out sessions. What is going on here? I kiss her hand. “Do you feel it?”
My question hangs over us.
The doorbell blares.
She announces, “Food’s here.”