Epilogue
This lavish, ornate room in Rome was not what Paige expected when Will said they”d be couch-surfing around Europe for their honeymoon. The scent of roses danced through the space and tickled her nose. Paige searched for the source of the lovely fragrance and found crystal vases filled with red blooms sitting atop marble side tables—the perfect accent pieces to frame the intricately carved canopied bed. Floor-to-ceiling wood shutters stood open to let in the cool Italian air, and church bells clanged in the distance. She ran her fingers over the embroidered lines of the deep burgundy velvet comforter. ”Gorgeous.”
”Grazie.” Their host, Pogo, a small, squat man of about fifty with an excellent but obvious black toupee replied. He’d adorned himself in the icons of the stereotypical virile, lusty Italian male. His white linen shirt opened to the bottom of his sternum, gold chains and watch tangled in the dark hair on his chest and wrist. And his pungent cologne mounted a siege on the clean, floral laced air in the room. But kind eyes peeked out from under dark, bushy, waggling brows, and Paige didn’t sense any threat from the man.
Pogo motioned toward the private bath and towels stacked on a jewel-toned painted shelf with gold inlays. ”Bango.”
”Grazie,” Will”s thick Texas accent made the word sound like somebody had lassoed and rolled in East Texas mud, but no less sincere.
Pogo grinned widely and nodded again. ”Very good.”
Paige couldn”t help but notice the interested looks he kept giving her husband. She choked back a laugh when Pogo reached up and squeezed Will”s bicep. ”Very strong.”
She watched Will’s face as he started to flinch but stopped himself. Bless him. He was trying his best to embrace this experience.
She intervened and decided to have pity on him. ”Thank you, Pogo. I think we”ll go to bed now. It”s been a long flight.”
”Bed.” His smile broadened. ”Oh, yes. Scuzi.” Then he scuttled out the door and closed it behind him.
The soft bed enveloped Paige when she fell back onto it. ”Oh, Lord, I”m so tired. I”m going to sleep for hours”—she raised herself onto her elbows—”after I”ve rocked your world. Actually, I might only rattle it right now, but later, after sleep, prepare to be rocked.”
Will laughed and lay down next to her on the bed. ”Rattle, rock, or just be. All I care about is being with you.”
His beard stubble tickled her hand as she caressed his face. ”I love you. I know I”ve said it a thousand times, but I am so sorry for my behavior.”
He took her hand and kissed her fingers. ”That”s over and settled. I understand, and I forgive you. Now, let”s get on with the rest of our lives.” He lowered his face, and his warm lips pressed against hers in gentle butterfly kisses.
A tap on the door interrupted them before he could deepen the kiss. Before they could get up from the bed Pogo entered, carrying a basket. Sweet man must have brought them refreshments. It was nice but unnecessary since they were about to crash.
They sat, and Paige smiled. ”Thank you, Pogo, but we”re not …” The thought melted on her tongue like chalky sour candy when she took a good look at the contents of his goodie basket.
Sex toys.
A lot of sex toys.
Will stared wide-eyed,not at the basket of sex toys, though it was a concerning yet impressive collection and made the handcuff packed in Will’s suitcase seem like child’s play. No, his focus zeroed in on Pogo”s testicles dangling below his white shirt. They looked like two shy, shriveled, prickly pears playing peek-a-boo on a cold winter”s day.
What the hell?
Paige seemed to catch on before he did, and she tried to communicate the man”s mistake to him in broken Italian and furtive English.
”No.”
”You”ve made an errore. A grande errore.”
”Cover yourself, Signore.”
Paige was either hard to follow in her frantic cocktail of English and Italian, or the man was being purposely obtuse. When his wife began to step back and forth to block Pogo from Will, their host took her hands and spun her around like they were square dancing.
All thought and, apparently, words had flown from Will”s mind as he watched the sordid hoedown before him. All they needed was a caller, three more couples, and pants. Pogo really needed a pair of pants. Stat.
One enthusiastic swing flung Paige into the side table where Pogo’s basket of goodies sat, knocking a silver vibrator labeled Dynamo onto the floor. The impact must have switched it on, and the room was filled with the buzzing sound of an instrument of pleasure on full tilt.
The thing wasn’t just vibrating in circles on the floor like Will expected. No, it was hopping, jumping, and flipping like a battery-operated gymnast hyped up on crack cocaine.
Will watched in amazement as it stood up on one end and seemed to be hopping in place along with the rhythm of Paige and Pogo’s dance. It had enough torque and propulsion to launch a rocket into space. He briefly wondered if NASA was aware of the Dynamo’s capabilities.
An aggressive end-to-end rotation drove the nation’s space program from Will’s mind. The thing should come with a license to carry. It was that powerful and dangerous if wielded by the wrong person, and Pogo was definitely the wrong person.
That thought brought him back to the little man dosey doeing with his wife, who, despite her best efforts, failed to communicate his mistake.
Do something, Will.
He stood and towered over Pogo, whose excitement had only grown if the pup tent growing around his prickly pears was any indication.
Will stepped between Paige and her impromptu dance partner and put his hands on the shorter man”s shoulders to get his attention. But before he could say anything, warm, squishy arms were around his waist, and Pogo”s head rested on his chest. Will thanked the good Lord he hadn”t undressed yet, or their host”s balls would be resting on his bare legs.
A deep, satisfied purr emanated from Pogo. It wasn”t an unpleasant sound, but its effect on Will was the same as the horrible case of poison ivy he”d gotten the summer before when, again, he”d tried to be adventurous with Paige.
What had he gotten them into? When would he learn to go with his strengths and play it straight?
His only saving grace was that the Italian wasn”t aggressive—the opposite was true. So Will gently pushed him away and said firmly, ”No, Pogo.”
”No?” Pogo’s toupee sat a little off center, evidently knocked askew in all the commotion. It looked like he wore a furry black beret.
”No.” Will repeated.
Pogo looked at Paige and Will and then at the bed. ”So – we no …” he waved toward the oversized bed.
The poor guy looked so dejected and deflated that even the pup tent was gone. Will softened his tone even more. ”No, my friend, we”re not.”
”But …”
”Miscommunication,” Paige said as if she were speaking to a small child who was having a very sad day.
You could see the wheels in Pogo”s brain turning. ”Oh. Problemi di Comunicazione?”
Paige nodded. ”Yes.”
The little man recovered quickly and wobbled his head from side to side. ”Okay,” he said, making for the door.
Will noticed the container of toys. ”Pogo, you forgot something.”
Their host stopped just before exiting, turned to Will, and winked. ”You keep.”
The click of the door closing echoed through the room like the last off-key note of a fiddle. Neither spoke. Both stared at the door like it could open back up at any moment.
While Will was still processing what had just happened, Paige began grabbing the few items she”d taken from her suitcase and throwing them back in. ”Oh, my god, Will. I”m so sorry. I”ll grab our things, and you get on your phone to find a hotel.”
A nice, safe, no-surprise hotel—just what he”d wanted when they”d first started talking about a honeymoon. How boring. ”No.”
”No?”
”No.” He searched her face. ”Unless you”re too uncomfortable to stay here?”
She dropped the items she”d been gathering onto the bed. ”I”m not uncomfortable. I”m just …” One snicker, then two, then she burst out laughing. ”Wow.”
Will squeezed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger and began to laugh until huge guffaws overtook him. He fell back onto the bed, arms splayed wide. ”He was raring to go.”
Paige was still laughing but trying to keep it down, no doubt trying to spare the poor man”s feelings. ”Did you see his sad, little disappointed eyes? I”d have felt sorry for him if I hadn”t been so icked out. I mean, I did feel sorry for him.” The bed dipped, and his wife”s warm body curled against his. “Are you sure you want to stay?”
”I”m sure.” He glanced at the door. ”He”s harmless. Sweet, even. And he gives great hugs.”
She dropped her head to Will”s chest, unable to control her laughter. ”He’s a good dancer, too.”
Her warm fingers lifted her chin and trailed over his cheek. ”I love you.”
When he pulled her to him, the soft tangle of her hair cocooned them. An explosion of love and gratitude for finding the one who got him flowed through his body. This woman was it for him. He”d known it on their first date. Strange how so much calm and peace could radiate from a woman raised in so much chaos.
She began unbuttoning his shirt.
”Whatcha doin”, Mrs. Sinclair?”
Her grin was all mischief. ”Are you too tired?”
”For you? Never.” He kissed her again, then gently pushed her away from him. But hold that thought.” He rose from the bed, went to the low dresser next to the door, and tested its weight. Good enough. He shoved it in front of the door with a grunt, effectively blocking anyone from entering unannounced.
When he turned back to the bed, she was grinning.
”What?” he shrugged. “He”s harmless.” He held his arms wide. “But I”m a treat and a temptation.”
Her giggles filled the room, and he didn”t know if he”d ever been happier.
”It’s true, and Pogo was into you.” She stood and shimmied out of the loose-fitting pants she”d flown in. ”Help me with the rest?”
He yanked his t-shirt over his head and stalked to her. His fingers were in her hair again, and his mouth fused with hers. He couldn”t drink her in fast enough, couldn”t get close enough, and they were still mostly clothed.
The kiss only ended when they both were oxygen starved. He followed the column of her neck with his mouth, pressing his lips to her skin. The scent of vanilla from the perfume he”d given her last Christmas filled his head. The taste of her salt-tinged skin was delicious on his tongue. She flooded his senses—intoxicating. Lost in her soft cries and whimpers of his name, he bit the muscle just below her ear.
”Mmm, Will.” It came out on a groan of pleasure, and he had to check himself, or this would be over before it started.
His hands went under her t-shirt, and he slowly traced up her ribs, dragging his nails and the fabric with him. The resentment he felt when he had to remove his mouth from her skin to pull her shirt over her head was irrational but real. He wanted every part of her and didn”t want to be separated from her for even the moment it took to pull her top over her head.
He trailed kisses along the path of her bra strap as he slowly slipped it from her shoulders. His hands went to her waist, and he turned her to face the bed and carefully undid the back clasp to free her breasts.
She tried to turn and face him, but he stopped her. ”Let me take care of you,” he said.
Her head fell back onto his shoulder. ”Yes.”
He licked a trail down her spine, then hooked his fingers in the straps of her panties and slid them down her legs. Then he stood and moved her to the bed. ”Lie down on your stomach.”
She did as he told her. He quickly got rid of his remaining clothes, then made his way onto the bed and straddled her, careful to keep most of his weight on his knees.
The feel of her skin under his fingertips, as he ran them up her back, was like silk over cashmere. He could see her shoulders relaxing with every pass of his hands over her flesh, but it had the very opposite effect on him. His muscles were on fire. Need rode him like blind fire, but he would hold back and care for her. When he pushed his hands into her hair, then scratched over her scalp, she let out a moan that rolled down his body, straight to the place where need and desire raged.
”When you make that sound, Baby. I have to grit my teeth to keep control.”
”Let go, Will. Let go of control. I”ve got you.”
He knew she meant it. She was the only one he could lose control with. In an instant, he moved back and looped his arm around her waist, pulling her ass off the bed.
Another groan of his name.
One more notch of control lost.
Electricity crackledup Paige”s spine when Will took her with an intensity and abandon that he only showed her.
Words spilled from him, some desperate and loving, and some so shockingly filthy that she buried her face in the pillow, but they all pushed her closer to the edge.
Only one thought rolled around her head and wrapped her heart in a satin restraint. He was home for her—the first she”d ever known, and the power of that broke her in the best way. ”Will,” she said on a stuttered breath.
Suddenly, he was gone. He”d pulled back, and the loss of him hurt. In one move, he turned her to face him. ”Are you alright?”
She placed her hands on either side of his face. ”I am. I love you so much that sometimes it steals my air from my lungs.”
He brought his lips to hers, like if one more second passed, he would die from not having his mouth on hers. The kiss was slow and gentle, but there was a ferocity to his claiming that was unmistakable.
”I need you inside me.” She didn”t care that she was begging.
”Do you?” His grin was pure pirate.
She grabbed his head, pulled him to her, and bit his lower lip. ”Give me what I want, and nobody gets hurt.”
”You”re scary when you”re needy.”
”I am.” She kissed him, and a moan shuddered through her when he slipped inside her.
This time, their lovemaking was that—a making. They were building something huge and wonderful, something that would last the rest of their lives.
When they came, neither was quiet.
They couldn’t be.
They”d both been through too much over the last day. It was more than a physical release. It was a purging of all the bad to make room for all the good they had to look forward to.
For several seconds, they lay breathing together as their hearts synced.
”I love you,” he whispered.
”I love you,” Paige said, taking his face in her hands. “My one and only.”
This was all she”d ever wanted. To feel this way about someone and know in the marrow of her being that he felt the same way about her. It was perfect. How many times in your life do you get to live the perfect moment?
Their moment was short-lived.
”Molto bene! Very Good,” Pogo shouted from the other side of the door. ”Evviva! Molto bene!”
Their eyes locked. The realization that their host had been listening in the hallway and was now cheering for their successful orgasms hit them at that same time.
She looked into Will”s face to see if this was the limit of what he could take and if they needed to leave.
There was a moment when she thought they would be making a run for it, but then Will spread his arms wide and said loud enough for Pogo to” hear. ”Grazie, Pogo. Now, go away.”
”Okay,” came their host”s reply.
”And don”t come back.”
”Okay.” The retreating creaks on the stairs signaled their audience had abandoned them.
Paige buried her face in Will”s neck, unable to stop her hysterical laughter. ”Oh, my God.”
”Well, that was a first,” Will chuckled. He ran his hand over her hair. ”Should we leave?”
She rose onto her elbow and wiped the moisture from her eyes, ”I don”t want to hang out with him, like at all, but I”m not afraid to sleep in his house. Are you?”
”I feel the same. Plus, I”m exhausted.”
Her head went to his chest. ”We”ll find a new place tomorrow.”
Will wrapped his arm around her. ”I hear there”s a brothel down the street with rooms to rent.”
The statement was made with all the dryness of a Texas creek bed in August, and it set off another round of giggles for her.
He pulled the bedding over them. ”A hotel, a brothel, or Pogo”s den of iniquity. I don”t care where we are as long as I”m with you.”
His sincerity penetrated her heart and his words found permanence there, becoming part of what kept her alive. She rested in the deep knowing that he was the only one for her and always would be.
***
Want more SEXY, SWOONY, PEE YOUR PANTS FUNNY stories?
Keep reading to checkout Chapter 1 of
Running From A Rock Star
She”s a good-girl Sunday school teacher. He’s a bad boy rock god.
And they just woke up married.
Scarlett Kelly is the poster child for sensible decisions. She’s mortified when she opens her eyes in a Las Vegas hotel room and discovers she has more than just a hangover–she’s got a new husband.
Arrogant, tattooed rock star Gavin Bain.
Panicked, she grabs the marriage license and bolts back to Texas.
Good thing she wrote her name in the sensible panties she left behind.
Because Gavin needs to repair his damaged reputation and prove he can be a good father to the young son he just found out existed. And settling down–temporarily, of course–with his prim and proper new wife seems like the perfect solution.
Scarlett doesn’t have time for games–she’s trying to save her family’s farm. Besides, she’s spent her entire life trying to distance herself from her mother’s irresponsible behavior, and Gavin sets off a spark in her that’s hard to control.
Turns out, she’s not as prim as she lets on.
Will their unlikely matrimony give them exactly what they’ve been missing or send them running for the hills?
Chapter 1
Light searedthrough Scarlett Kelly’s eyelids. She buried her face in the cool pillow to block the glare, but even that slight movement caused an explosion of agony. Pain and nausea crashed into her like a train on fire.
After several minutes of panting through her symptoms, the misery subsided long enough for her to peel open her dry, sticky eyes.
Her conservative dress and equally unadventurous bra stared at her from a condemning puddle on the floor.
Stomach tight, she slid her gaze slightly farther to the right to identify the black pile in her peripheral vision. A motorcycle jacket. Combat boots. Black jeans. And…a guitar? Yes, a beat-up guitar leaned against the wall on the far side of the room. And poker chips littered the carpet like crushed confetti after a wild party.
What the?—
Suddenly, something warm cupped her naked breast. She peered down at the large hand connected to a tattooed arm, connected to a…
Oh. My. Lord.
She rotated her head, and a stifled gasp jammed in her throat as she stared into the sleeping face of the man who shared the bed.
Gavin Bain? A thrill skittered through her. The sunlight shone on his raven hair. His smooth bronze skin. Fascinating tattoos. Bam! A memory surfaced through her muddled brain. She’d traced the lines of one of those tattoos, the ninja star on his chest. She’d touched and then kissed her way… Oh, heavens, had she done that with this rock god?
She, Scarlett Kelly, children’s author and poster girl for responsible living, had sex with Gavin Bain. Gavin Bain, the rock star, AKA The Delinquent.
Her brain tried to piece together the previous night. She rarely drank and certainly not to excess. Even during the worst time in her life, alcohol hadn’t been involved.
An acute case of bed-head made pushing her red curls from her face a painful challenge. Why had she drunk so much? It all came back in flashes of utter dismay. The Children’s Writer’s Conference in Las Vegas. Nervous anticipation of signing the contract that would save her family financially. That dream blowing up in her face. Then the added humiliation of overhearing herself described as a No-Fun-Nun.
She’d shown them. Look at her now, naked in a strange man’s bed, the absolute picture of wholesomeness.
I’ve got to get out of here.
She held her breath as she removed his hand and slid from the bed. Moving unsteadily, due to her pounding head and sour stomach, she searched for her clothes, careful to be as quiet as possible.
The purse, bra, dress, and boots were easy. But where were her panties?
A panic attack threatened, and her whole body trembled. Could she have removed her underwear before she got to the room? If so, she hoped that memory stayed hidden. She gave up on the lost undies and headed for the bathroom.
Lord, she needed to pee, but after a prolonged study of the toilet, decided it would be too loud and leaving an unflushed toilet was just bad manners. Even though she’d become, by all appearances, Slutty McSlut Slut, she couldn’t bring herself to be impolite. So she dressed as fast as her shaking hands allowed.
The reflection in the mirror caught her eye, and the blood pounding through her veins turned to ice. Her head jerked toward her image so fast her brain vibrated. For the briefest of seconds, she saw her mother. A tiny whimper cut through the silence, and she ran trembling fingers over her face. People always said she looked like her mother, but now, while making the walk of shame, the resemblance was uncanny. The mental mantra she’d been repeating her whole life reverberated in her head. I am not my mother. I am not my mother. I am not my mother. She grabbed her purse and fled the pristine bathroom.
A cool breeze from the air conditioner drifted up her dress and skimmed her bare bottom. She didn’t ever go commando—too much freedom. Restrictions were safe. Without restraint, a girl could find herself hung over, panty-less, and on the verge of a nervous breakdown while covertly fleeing a rock star’s hotel room.
Oh, wait. That already happened.
She glanced at the door. Nine feet, and she’d be free of this disaster. Logic screamed escape. Compulsion kept her rooted to the spot, and it became imperative that she find her underwear.
I cannot leave without them.
Where could one pair of basic white panties hide? The chandelier was blessedly free of them. Nothing on the drapery rod. But a photo on the desk made life as she knew it come to a screeching halt.
A gaudy cardboard frame held a picture of her and Gavin under a red neon heart. The Valentine Wedding Chapel of Love spelled out in rhinestones around the frame’s border.
It couldn’t possibly mean what she thought it did.
Nooooo.
Next to the picture, the condemning proof—a marriage license issued by the State of Nevada, signed by Gavin Michael Bain and Scarlett Rose Kelly.Her vision blurred, causing the letters on the certificate to dance like cartoon characters.
She wrapped her arms around her middle and glanced back to the gorgeous sleeping man in the bed. A wave of vertigo slammed into her, along with the memory.
She’d told him she’d only have sex with her husband.
With shaking hands, she grabbed the evidence of their reckless night and shoved it into her purse.
While her hard-won reputation exploded into a million pieces, her inner wild child made a victory lap around the room. If that hussy had been driving the bus last night, then she was the reason for this catastrophe.
How could she have been so irresponsible? What was she going to do? No good answer for the first question, but she knew the response to the second. Find the panties and get the heck out of Las Vegas.
She dug through the comforter at the foot of the bed. She kicked at his pile of clothes. She checked behind his guitar.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
They had to be under the bed.
Crap.
Not interested in waking The Delinquent, she cautiously made her way to his side and quietly lowered herself to the floor, ignoring the sweet smile he had on his face while he slept. The white material peeked out between the headboard and the mattress. Hallelujah. She reached in and yanked them free.
All the extra movement pounded dizzying pain into her skull. She bent forward and
rested her head on the soft carpet, and waited for the room to stop spinning.
“Are you praying?” asked a sleepy male voice.
She squeaked, then slowly turned her head without lifting it from the carpet. Amusement sparkled in Gavin’s smoky gray eyes.
“Yes, I’m praying you’re a very bad dream.”
He rolled his eyes as if that couldn’t possibly be true. “Good one. Why are you really on the floor?”
“I, uh, I…” The marriage certificate hidden in her purse and the cacophony of self-condemning thoughts made it hard to focus.
Suspicion darkened his handsome face. “What are you hiding under the bed? Is there a recording device under there?”
“Are you serious?”
He leveled her with a deadly serious glare. There was no trace of the formerly amused man.
“Actually, there’s a reporter from TMZ under here, would you like to say hello?”
When his features went from dark to thunderous, she knew she’d made a critical error with the sarcasm.
“I was just…um…looking for something.” She forced herself to meet his eyes.
“Looking for what?” Titanium coated every word and drilled into her hungover brain.
Time to go.
She scrambled to her feet. An increased heart rate, combined with residual alcohol pumping through her system, made the room spin. She swayed and toppled cheek first into the side of the dresser, dropping the panties in the process.
“Ouch!” She covered her face with her hands.
Sheets rustled, and suddenly, he was in front of her. “Shit, are you okay?”
She slowly lowered her hands and…hot mother of a freakin’ cow. A very naked Gavin squatted in front of her with all his dangly bits…well, dangling.
“Fine, thanks.” That’s it? That’s the best she could come up with a gorgeous naked guy in front of her. So much for clever repartee.
She honestly did try to keep her eyes above his shoulders, but—come on. This was her last chance to see a rock god in all his tattooed, naked glory. One quick peek, then she rose unsteadily to her feet.
“It was nice to…um…meet you, but I should go.” She inched toward the door.
“Wait. You’re not going anywhere until I have some answers.” He made a grab for her arm. Fear and adrenaline lit her up like a rocket. She forgot her injury, made an evasive move, and sprinted to get away.
When she got to the door, she glanced over her shoulder. Gavin hopped on one foot trying to yank on his jeans. The last thing she saw was her husband as he fell, legs tangled in the fabric of the jeans.
She bolted down the hallway toward the elevator. “Come on, come on, come on.” She jabbed the down button repeatedly. A small, logical part of her brain, not currently recovering from near alcohol poisoning, wondered what she hoped to accomplish by running. But the larger, wholly irrational, part of her psyche screamed, Married? I’m freakin’ married? I’ve got to get out of here.
Gavin stumbled from the room and into the hall, still struggling with his jeans. They were over his hips but not buttoned. He strode down the hall toward her.
The indicator bell dinged.
“Stop. Do not get on that elevator.”
The sight of him stole the air from her body. Magnificent—scary as hell—but totally, completely magnificent. For a crazy instant, she almost complied, but then the doors slid open and broke the spell. She lunged forward, but relief made her clumsy. She tumbled head over heels into the elevator, dress flying over her head as the doors slid shut.
Great, she’d just mooned her husband.
* * *
Gavin thanked the security guy for opening the door. His half-naked trip into the hall had ended with him locked out of his room. Once inside, he leaned against the smooth wood and burst out laughing. The last thing he’d seen before the elevator doors closed was her bare ass with a brand-new tattoo that read “Gavin.”
He could almost forgive her for running out on him. After all, she’d have to live with his name tattooed on her butt for the rest of her life.
The laughter made his head throb. God, he was hung over. Most of his memories of the previous night hid behind a coagulated haze of alcohol.
He’d gone to one of the Bellagio’s bars to have a drink and unwind. The frustrating phone call with that damn private investigator had left him in desperate need of diversion. And the pretty redhead with the Texas twang and innocent blue eyes had offered the perfect distraction.
They’d had a few drinks. More than a few, actually, and he was paying for it this morning. He massaged his temples then dug in his bag for pain relievers. He didn’t do this shit anymore and dammit, in light of recent events, he didn’t need to do it again.
After the second scotch, or was it the third, the memories got hazy. But he definitely remembered falling into bed with her, her soft hands on his body, her sweet, if slightly boozy, breath in his ear as she snored gently…wait, what?
“She fell asleep.” Relief flooded his body. He didn’t have to worry about a recording device. There was nothing to record. Good thing too—the last thing he needed right now was an internet scandal.
What had she been looking for under the bed? He moved to where their ill-fated confrontation took place, and picked up a scrap of white material. It was a pair of women’s underwear.
He wouldn’t call them granny panties, exactly, but they weren’t sexy. They were…sensible. He shook his head. He’d never been to bed with a woman who wore sensible panties.
SCARLETT KELLY was written in permanent marker on the tag. She wrote her name in her panties?
Eight-year-old boys going to camp wrote their names in their underwear, not grown-ass women who sleep with rock stars in Las Vegas.
His phone alarm sounded, nearly giving him a heart attack. He cursed his throbbing head and the piercing tone as he crossed the room to silence the thing.
He stared at the lock screen on his phone like it was a two-headed dragon. Appeared he and the girl—Scarlett—had taken a selfie. That was a first. He smiled at a sliver of memory.
Gavin.
Yeah?
I want to kiss you.
Nobody’s stopping you, sweetheart.
Her hand trembled as she brushed the hair off his forehead and then slid it around to the back of his neck. She gently pulled him to her.
The kiss had been soft and tentative. He couldn’t remember a better kiss, which was saying something. He’d snapped the picture as their lips touched.
The alarm gave a reminder screech. Time to get moving. His stomach churned at the thought of returning to California.
He’d never considered Los Angeles the City of Angels. The whole town was overrun with pretentious, phony people who were completely self-serving. He’d stuck it out as long as he could, but after Johnny died a year and a half ago, he’d given it all up and moved to Seattle.
But to salvage his career, L.A. was the place to be.
He pulled the letter from Johnny out of his wallet. It was a morbid talisman guiding his every move. The damn thing had changed his whole life. Holding it shot his anxiety through the roof.
He pulled oxygen deep into his lungs and unfolded the letter. Every time he read his friend’s rambling words, they blew back at him like a hurricane. It was a gut shot from the only person he’d ever trusted.
Gav,
Remember when I went back to Memphis to lay down a few more tracks for the album? When I was there I saw Tara, you remember Tara, y’all partied together when we recorded the album back in September. Well, she was pregnant, man, I mean fuckin’ big pregnant, and she said it was yours. I totally freaked. So, I paid her off, man. I paid her off and she went away. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. Fuck, the guilt’s been eatin’ me up inside. She said it was a boy, but that doesn’t matter. Who knows if it’s really yours? Right? It’s probably not. The last thing you need is a paternity suit. But, I know you would’ve wanted to know, and I didn’t tell you. I know I screwed up. AGAIN. Shit, I’m so sorry. Don’t hate me, Gav. Please? Screw this, I need to tell you in person.
He smoothed the creased piece of paper on the nightstand. Was there a kid out there with his DNA? He’d be almost two by now. Wouldn’t he?
He leaned his arms on his thighs and cradled his head in his hands. “What the hell were you thinking, Johnny?” He raised his gaze and stared out the window at the Las Vegas skyline. “I love you, man, but I’m so pissed at you right now. I still can’t believe you kept this from me.”
Was the pretty, self-absorbed blonde, who lived to play, a good mom or still a party girl? The possibility this baby might have the same kind of life he’d had…he wouldn’t wish that for any kid, especially his own.
He plowed his fingers through his hair. Hopefully, the private investigator he’d hired could find Tara. Gavin didn’t even know her last name, or if she was actually from Memphis, but his manager said this guy could find anybody.
Thinking about Johnny, Tara, and this baby wasn’t accomplishing anything except to spike his blood pressure. He returned the note to his wallet, scrubbed his face, and headed for the shower.
While the hot water ran over his aching head, he felt a lot older than his thirty years. He was so over the sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll, but they’d definitely left their mark.
With a towel around his waist, he moved to the sink and wiped the steam from the mirror. He ran a hand over his face, trying to decide if he should shave. A glint of gold caught his eye.
He froze.
There, on the third finger of his left hand, was a gold band.
What the hell?
He squeezed his eyes shut. Tried to shuffle and rearrange the puzzle pieces into place.
His eyes snapped open.
“Son of a bitch!”
***
Locked in Love
For the love of God, why didn’t I swipe left?
If I had, then I wouldn’t be trying to gracefully flee my disastrous online date’s apartment. Simple, clueless, but oh, so pretty, with his unhealthy snacks and lack of basic hygiene, this guy was nearly the second biggest mistake of my life.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire.
Just as I make my escape, the first responders descend. There’s been a chemical spill in the area, and the whole building is under quarantine. The same building where Rory, my ex and current biggest mistake of my life resides. That’s a plot twist I didn’t see coming.
Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.
Now my choices are to live in the building’s lobby, return to disaster date where I’d be expected to Netflix and chill, or stay with my ex until this whole nightmare is over.
My ex wins because there’s no way that backstabber will tempt me again. Fool me once and all that.
Unless I learn he’s not a backstabber at all.
If only I’d swiped left.