Chapter Seven
Holy shit. Between that kiss, and the freezing cold air they walked out into, Pixie was breathless.
Any worries about their reunion being awkward were washed away by Dred’s glorious lips.
Unfortunately, they were immediately replaced with worries that he would expect so much more from her while she was here.
And more was the problem. Or it had been.
Pixie stopped to look up and watched the flakes swirl toward her and whip around her head. “Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes,” she muttered to herself with a smile.
“You okay, Pix?” Dred asked, coffee in one hand, her case in the other. The sight of him, tall and brooding in black, carrying a small purple carry-on made her laugh.
“It’s the first time I’ve seen this much snow.” It was beautiful, and bitingly cold. She shivered and took a sip of hot coffee.
“We don’t normally have this much in April. Here.” Dred stopped as they reached the shelter of the multistory lot, put the case on the ground by the pay station, and took off his thick coat.
“What are you doing?”
He bundled it around her, taking care not to spill the coffee, and she immediately felt the warmth. “There. Was worried you were going to bite your own tongue off the way those teeth were rattling.”
“But you’re going to freeze.”
Dred dug around in his pocket and pulled out some bills and the parking ticket, and fed them into the machine. “Haven’t you seen the beer commercial? I. Am. Canadian.” Dred laughed, white wisps of air leaving his mouth. “And it’s not that cold.”
“Here, take it back.” Pixie tried to slip the coat off her shoulders. He was wearing a thick dark sweater and a hat. Nowhere near enough to stay warm.
Dred placed his hands on hers, stopping her. “I’m fine.”
Once they were safely ensconced in Dred’s black Range Rover, Pixie bit into a donut. “Oh my God. These are the best things ever.”
Dred reached across to retrieve one. She tried to ignore the feeling of the bag moving in her lap and his fingers fumbling around at the top of her thighs, but her high intentions were falling faster than the snow outside.
“It’s worth coming to Canada to get your hands on these. I miss them when we are at the house in L.A.,” he said, and took a huge bite.
They turned off the highway, and after a few minutes, pulled up alongside a frosted glass–fronted store called Mountain Equipment Co-op and snagged a street-front parking spot.
“Come on,” Dred said, getting out of the car. He walked to her side, opened her door, took her hand, and helped her out. “We’re equipping you for Canada.”
He gestured with his arm to racks and racks of outdoor gear. “My treat,” he whispered against her neck. “I have plans for the next twenty four hours and it involves being outdoors.”
In the end, she selected a waterproof parka with an inner detachable down jacket. It had a belt around the middle so she didn’t look like the Michelin tire guy. They also picked out some knee-length winter boots, a hat—which Dred kept calling a toque—and some warm gloves.
“Okay. Now you are dressed properly; let’s go have some fun.”
Five hours later as Dred pulled into the driveway of a glorious redbrick three-story home, Pixie knew three things to be true: she couldn’t ice-skate, Toronto was a beautiful city, and Dred had her turned inside out.
He’d been a gentleman, except the one time an experienced skater brushed by her and knocked her over.
He’d shouldered the guy to the ground when he passed by a second time.
Now, she was about to step into his house and out of her comfort zone.
“Your house is beautiful. It suits you, all gothic and moody.”
“Gothic? That’s a new one.” Dred retrieved her suitcase and guided her up the front steps, his hand pressed against her lower back.
“Oh come on. There’s a little Vlad the Impaler in you with the hair and the scowl.”
Dred pressed his lips to her neck, then bit a little before releasing her. “If I am, do I get to do that some more?”
Pixie tilted her head to allow him better access, and savored the way his tongue slid up the side of her neck.
The front door swung open. “Hey, Pix. Great to see a smile on this miserable bastard’s face. We’re on our way out.” Nikan held his arms wide to give her a hug. The least she could do was step into them.
Jordan, Elliot, and Lennon followed him through the door, bundled up in coats and scarves.
Lennon hugged her, then turned to Dred. “There’s another crazy article. Apparently Nikan and I are coming to blows. I left it on my laptop. Sam’s dealing with it.”
They said their hellos and good-byes and Dred placed a hand on her lower back to guide her inside.
Warmth washed over her and she quickly unbuttoned her coat. The house was a collision of tall ceilings, original features, and modern furniture. The embers of a dying fire snapped in the spacious living room. Now, as they stood in the quiet of the hallway, a strange nervousness settled over her.
“I need to tell you something,” Dred said, pulling on the anchor he wore around his neck. “I live with the rest of the band. We have a house in L.A. we share, and this one.”
The idea of spending the night with Dred had taken some getting used to.
The idea of being in a house with a group of men she didn’t know very well unsettled her.
She thought about the credit card Cujo had given her.
She didn’t need to stay. They could have a great time without her sleeping over. In fact, maybe that’s—
“Don’t look like that. Talk to me. What is it?” Dred reached for her hand and gripped it.
These men were not her stepdad. They weren’t the men he used to bring to the trailer.
“I’m sure it seems weird,” Dred said. “We’re grown men for fuck’s sake, not college kids. We grew up in a home together, but it’s not my place to share their reasons why we live like this, but trust me, they’re important.”
“I’m safe here though, right. I can trust you?”
“Fuck, yes. Of course. The band . . . they’re my brothers in every way that matters.” Dred cupped her cheeks and studied her intently. “Nothing will happen to you. You have my word.”
Memories of sitting on that damn stool flooded her.
Arnie had planned to go fishing with two friends, but first he’d invited the men she didn’t know into the trailer.
They’d stood laughing as he exposed her to them and then calmly braided her long hair.
Yeah. Was it any wonder she’d needed drugs to get through it?
Pixie shook the memories away. “Don’t let me down.”
Dred kissed the inside of her wrist. Unexpected, yet heartbreakingly appropriate.
“Never,” he said with a grin. “I’d love to take you on a full tour, but we don’t have time. We have reservations in an hour and a half.”
He grabbed her case and led her upstairs. The house seemed to split on the upper floors almost like an apartment building. Each door had a lock, but they were mostly open.
“This is Elliot and Lennon’s floor,” Dred said walking toward the second flight of stairs. “Nikan is over there,” he said, pointing to a door on the right as they reached the landing. “Jordan has the attic, and I am right here.”
He pushed open the door to what looked like a spacious bachelor apartment and placed her case on a large bed.
A brown sofa sat in the large bay window with a small coffee table in front of it.
Several guitars hung from hooks on the wall, and an electronic piano sat beneath them.
Cables ran from the keyboard to a laptop on a black desk, where speakers and what looked like a mixing board where almost hidden by piles of sheet music.
It looked like a super high-end dorm and didn’t really match Dred at all. He seemed too big, too uncomfortable in the space, even though it was his room.
“Fuck. This was a bad idea,” Dred mumbled as she looked around.
She turned to face him, but the look on his face stole the words from her mouth. He looked wrecked. Broken.
“There’s a bathroom through there. We need to leave in an hour. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
Without waiting for an answer, he left the room and slammed the door behind him, taking Pixie’s feelings of safety with him.
* * *
Watching a deflated Pixie push Tabülè around her plate, Dred was fully aware it was his fault.
Despite his best intentions, seeing her in his room buried any ideas he had about their future.
At least for the time being. How could he expect her to fly all this way to see him to stay in a bedroom in a shared house?
Granted, the architect who’d worked on the conversion for them had ensured every individual space was at least a thousand square feet, but still.
He had roommates. And for the first time, it seemed really fucking weird.
He’d never leave Jordan. There was no way Jordan would ever feel alone again, and if that meant living with the dude until they were old and gray, so be it. But how on earth could he explain that to Pixie? What words could possibly express the bond they had?
This was why he avoided relationships. Or at least that was what he’d told himself over the years.
Staring at Pixie as she reached for her wine glass, he realized the reason was a whole lot more complex than that.
He honestly didn’t feel like he was worthy of her.
She was so fucking special, and he gave her a bedroom in a shared house.
Tabülè, the Middle Eastern restaurant on Queen Street was one of his favorites. Everything from the ma’anek, the spicy Lebanese sausages, to the tawük, skewers of seasoned chicken, was so good, he always ordered way more than he could eat, yet neither of them was enjoying the food.
Fuck. He pulled on his anchor until the clasp at the back cut into his neck.
“I’m sorry, Pix.”
She looked over to him, her hazel eyes wide yet lacking their usual sparkle. In that off-the-shoulder top, all he could think about was nibbling his way along her collarbone.