CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Hendrix
H ave a good day at work, wife.
Have a good day writing, husband.
The imaginary conversation I had with Jase when I left the house this morning plays through my head like I’m trying to justify why, when I woke up, the bed was empty beside me.
He doesn’t owe me anything. Not a kiss goodbye. Not even his presence in the kitchen. And clearly not a warm spot in the bed beside me.
That’s not to say I wouldn’t have minded seeing him this morning before I left.
This is just fun. Just a fling. Just me using him as a rebound to figuratively rinse the taste of Paul out of my mouth and yet... last night was incredible.
Operation Live-A-Little started off with a massive bang. Literally .
I can’t stop thinking about it, about him, and the snapshots flash through my mind over and over and over.
And how I came harder than I ever have in my life. Like... whoa.
My ring still feels foreign, heavy on my finger, and it’s more noticeable than ever as I unlock the door from the inside to greet Sammy. I’ve wondered if he should perhaps man the back entry where I come in each morning and leave every night, but I’m sure all of this is unnecessary anyway.
“Morning, Miss Wright,” he says.
“Morning, Sammy.”
Because I am Miss Wright to everyone still for a little bit longer before I am known as Mrs. Gizmodo.
That thought combined with the memory of his hands on me, of his tongue— good God the man has a great tongue —and his cock make my body heat.
Just sex, Hendrix.
Sex, to date, has been “meh.” But sex with Jase? It was I want to tell the world sex. Spectacular. Those multi-talented fingers certainly knew how to bring me to orgasm. Three times. Now I understand why some people talk about sex as if it’s some be-all and end-all thing.
I throw my keys on the back counter and draw in a deep breath. So much to do and so little time. The metal racks lining the far wall are stacked with sheets upon sheets where I left the cookies, all five hundred of them, to cool last night before I left. I have another bazillion to go. As much as I’m behind, I’m on course with my lateness and have a plan to finish by the deadline.
That’s funny. I’ll be stressing and working all night long at some point, but at least I like to trick myself into thinking I know how this is going to go.
Just as I tie my apron on and wash my hands, a text alerts on my phone. I pick it up and smile when I see it’s from Jase. He may not have been in the bed when I woke up, but he’s texting... and that counts for something.
Jase: Will be in the studio most of the day with the phone turned off. Then to run errands. Be home around 6.
Me: You don’t owe me a schedule.
Jase: I know. Habit. Feel free not to respond when I do.
Me: I’ll be at the bakery. Probably super late.
Jase: Have a good day, wife.
Me: Write a kick-ass song, husband.
My smile widens as I reread the texts, loving that my pretend conversation in my head just became a real one.
The thought carries me as I get the front of the store set up—lights on, flowers situated, music playing, open sign lit up—before I get baking.
No sooner do I have the butter and sugar in the mixing vat does Josie come through the door at her whirlwind pace.
“You’re ignoring me,” she says with her trademark cheer that I wish I had more of. “You took days off without telling me. You came back to work but haven’t come and seen me or gotten a coffee. Should I be offended and sad that you’re sipping mai tais by the pool with someone else other than me?”
I freeze, pausing adding brown sugar to the vat, my heart hurtling into my throat.
Did she see the photo in the tabloids and guess it was me? Does she know?
That’s impossible. She can’t. But one look at her, one locking of our eyes, and the urge inside me to say something, to someone, claws at my insides like it’s a very real thing.
I can’t hold it in anymore.
And she’s so observant it won’t be long before she notices the ring anyway.
The least I can do is break the news to her face-to-face rather than her find out from the papers. Besides, it’ll be my litmus test on how believable my lies are.
“Don’t be offended. There were no mai tais. There was tequila though and we both know how you can’t tolerate that.”
“She’s starting with jokes. That means she has something to tell me.”
“What?” I chuckle.
“When you’re afraid I’m going to give you a dead honest opinion—”
“I expect nothing less.”
“Remember that.” She waggles a finger in my direction and then finishes her thought. “You crack jokes to lighten the blow.”
I turn and add the mixture of dry ingredients and then move toward where she stands at the edge of the kitchen. I grab a rag and wipe my hands on it, purposely keeping it over my left ring finger. “So, you’re right. I do have something to tell you.”
Her eyes narrow. “Your tone is concerning.” I laugh nervously. “If you tell me you’re pregnant with Fucktard’s baby, I’m going to need a minute to swallow the litany of obscenities that will take over my mind before I can speak.”
“No. God, no. It’s nothing like that.” I wipe a hand over my brow. “Jesus. Thank you. Anything I say now is tame compared to that.”
“So . . .?”
I grip the back of the chair and inhale. “So I don’t want you to find out through the media.”
“That’s... ominous. And intriguing.” She leans back, studying me as her brows arch. “Why would the media write anything about little ol’ you?”
My fingers tighten around the chair. “I got married this past weekend.”
She stares at me, deadpan. “Yeah. Sure. And I’m the fucking Pope.”
I don’t say anything, but just chew on my bottom lip, waiting for it to hit her.
Her mouth drops open. “Wait. I mean... there’s no way you’re serious.”
I nod, my pulse thumping.
Her eyes bulge. “What the actual fuck?” she hisses, grabbing my wrist and yanking me closer. I can see when the other part of my comment breaks through the shock. “I’ll ask again, why would the media know about it?” Her tone is cautious, questioning, and disbelieving.
We do live in the City of Angels where celebrities are on every corner—or rather in every café in my case—so it’s not a far-off assumption for her to make that I just might have married someone famous.
“Who?” I didn’t think her eyes could widen any farther but they do.
“You’re not going to believe it even when I say the name.”
“Try me.”
I take a breath. “You ever heard of the band BENT?”
She blinks. Then scoffs. “Okay. You’re funny.”
I don’t say anything. Instead, I slowly pull the towel off my hand where it rests on the top of the chair so that the diamond can glint in the shop’s bright lights.
Josie freezes. Stares. Then—
“Wait. No.” Her head rocks back and forth. “OH MY GOD.” She looks over her shoulder at where Sammy is standing outside and then back at me as it all connects. “Which one? Gizmo or Rocket? The other two are married. Their wedding photos were posted all over the place.” I don’t fight the smile that spreads on my lips as she moves toward me, reaching for my hand and ogling the diamond on my finger. “Rocket? Less tattoos. More mellow. Ridiculously handsome. A tad more reserved if you can call a rock star reserved.”
I remain silent, the smile still there, and let her work through it all in her head.
“Gizmo?” Her eyes narrow. “The man is gorgeous. Sexy. A little reckless for your taste. The exact opposite of Paul. Well, I mean, both are but he’s even further in the sliding scale of preppy accountant to bad boy if that’s even possible.” Her cheeks flush and she rolls her eyes. “My God. You’re so full of shit. You have me sitting here trying to pick a husband for you when you’re just trying to get me all worked up, aren’t you?”
“I’m not. No.” This is rather amusing. “The ring is real.”
She studies it again, a sound of approval falling from her lips as the lights hit the diamonds and cast prisms around the room. “He ain’t joking with that rock.” She looks up at me. “Hendrix?”
“Hmm?” I play coy.
“I need a name, Wright.”
“It’s Jase. Gizmo . Whatever you want to call him—”
“You’re shitting me?”
“No.” I shake my head back and forth.
“You’re shitting me .” Her voice escalates to a screechy pitch. “Jase fucking Gizmodo?”
I wince. “Shh.” I glance over my shoulder at the security screen door at the back of the bakery because there’s no way her voice isn’t carrying out there. “Keep your voice down.”
“Don’t you dare tell me to keep my voice down when you just dropped a goddamn bombshell in my lap!” She yanks me in for a hug of all hugs, squeezing the breath out of me as she jumps up and down.
“I can’t breathe.” I laugh. Seconds before she pushes me away and grabs my hand again with a renewed fascination over it.
“That is a ridiculously expensive rock.”
“It was two minutes ago too.”
She waves a hand at me. “Yeah, but that’s when I was convinced it was fake despite what you said.” She studies it again and then looks up at me breathless. “How—why—WHEN? I mean what the ever-loving fuck, Hendrix—”
I hold my hands up. “I know. Outwardly I’ve been lamenting Paul and how bad he’s screwed me over with the bakery but somehow this was slowly happening.” Please believe me . “What started with a run into each other outside your coffee shop a few months ago, ended up with him calling me for an order of cookies. That order turned into a conversation. A little flirting. Oddly enough we have a lot in common. We were friends—have been friends for the past three months. I thought what I was feeling for him was more of a thrill because another man was paying attention to me and hearing me and validating how I felt about things... but then a few weeks ago, he kissed me and—”
“That must have been one earth-shattering kiss for you to go and get married.”
“I know. It sounds crazy,” I say, finishing the lie we’d rehearsed over and over. “It wasn’t planned. The wedding. It was impulsive and the most reckless thing I’ve ever done but... it made me feel alive, Josie. Like... for the first time in as long as I can remember.”
She studies me as the shock gives way to hearing what I’m saying. She nods as if she understands and her incredulous smile softens. “When did this happen? I need details .”
“This past weekend. We were in Vegas and... and we joked about it, then the joke turned to driving to the chapel and—”
“And Elvis married you?” she barks as she pushes the call that comes through her phone to voicemail.
I nod. “Yes. Not the wedding I’d ever thought I’d have but... it was perfect nonetheless.” My smile is genuine because it really was a great night.
The dress . She’s not going to believe it was spur-of-the-moment when pictures are leaked and I’m in a wedding dress. Think.
Think .
“I mean who knew me pointing to a wedding dress in the window of a boutique in the hotel was going to turn into him daring me to try it on. Then he gave me a look and said, come on, let’s do it. Leap without looking. Live a little... I mean, I think I’m still in shock.”
Stop rambling, Hendrix. Rambling means lying. She knows you well enough to notice that.
She shakes her head. “I’m digesting all of this. Slowly. I might need a minute.”
“I’m still digesting it too.” I snort.
“It’s all so sudden. You didn’t think of waiting? I mean...”
I shrug. “I know. I’ve thought of all that since then but honestly, Josie, it just felt right. Maybe it was fast because of who he is. And... maybe, and probably more so, because of Paul. He made me feel like I was nothing when Jase, he makes me feel like I’m everything.” My voice drops. “I know this isn’t like me—to be impulsive like this—but it felt good and right and so I acted out for once in my life.”
“The fact that you’re dead serious is mind-boggling. And fucking awesome at the same time,” she sings.
“It’s been... a whirlwind to say the least, overwhelming and isolating, and I’ve been dying to tell someone.” Even if it means lying to a woman I consider my best friend.
She raises her hand. “I’m your girl for all the juicy details. But... Hendrix. HENDRIX .” She releases a long breath, then starts ticking things off her fingers. “So let me get this straight. Jase Gizmodo. Rock star. Infuriatingly hot. Tattooed, talented, ridiculously rich.”
I roll my eyes. “Yes.”
She keeps ticking off her fingers. “Cocky as hell. A man who can wink at a woman and make her forget her own name.”
I roll my eyes, again, last night front and center in my mind. My name wasn’t exactly forgotten but damn if all thoughts didn’t leave my head. “You’re going a tad overboard.”
“You married that. Him . What the hell, Hendrix?” Clearly it’s sinking in and settling now with her.
I exhale and smile. “I did.”
Her phone rings for a second time and she pushes it to voicemail. “So why keep it a secret?”
“To minimize the drama that comes with it. He likes to keep his personal life as private as possible. Plus, we know people are going to dig into my past when they find out who I am. No doubt the fact that I just got out of a relationship will be brought up. Then there’s the snap decision to get married—”
“Which is so not like you but that I’m loving for you.”
“And just so we can keep our privacy a bit longer before we’re surrounded by prying eyes and chaos.”
“I can understand that. Appreciate it.” She squeezes my hand. “Thank you for trusting me.” She smiles. “Gizmo is one lucky man, Hendrix. And I am sure he knows that, which is why he was so quick to marry you. A secret friendship. Sigh. It’s so swoony, and it’s what you deserve.”
I smile as my chest aches in the best way.
“You didn’t get a shower or a bachelorette party or any of that stuff.”
“That’s okay. I don’t need it.”
“I’m doing something for you. When this is all out and people know, you’re going to get that damn party you deserve.” Her phone rings again and she groans as she looks at it. “It’s the café. Something must be up. I have to go.”
“Of course.”
She pulls me in for a quick hug and then throws her head back and laughs. “This is the craziest shit I’ve ever heard.” She turns and heads toward the door. “Absolutely bonkers and I love every single moment of it for you.”
I watch the door shut behind her, and for the first time, breathe what feels like a sigh of relief.
Josie was my first test if I could pull this off, and other than my mother, probably one of the hardest because she knows me so well.
And I did it.
She believed me.
So there’s that.
And she never once told me I was stupid. That, I appreciate, more than she could ever know.
Now it’s time to bake and ice some cookies.