Chapter Ten #3
“You could easily use one of those large garden sheds instead. You know, the yoga-she-shed type?” I gestured to the side of the house that had an even clearing, large enough to put one of those up. “Should be easy enough to soundproof.”
Our conversation was interrupted by a loud burst of laughter, and three pairs of eyes trained on us.
“What are you giggling about?” I asked, jerking my chin.
“Dad poses,” Addie replied, grinning widely.
“What?”
“You two, standing there with your hands on your hips, all serious, discussing hammers and nails.” All three of them propped their hands up on the backs of their hips, tilted their heads sideways and nodded.
I glanced down, only to note that Noah and I really were standing like that.
Both of us dropped our hands, perfectly in sync, causing another burst of laughter from the girls.
“Scoot, kiddo.” I tapped Skye’s shoulder and nabbed a piece of cucumber off her plate. She slid sideways on the bench, letting me sit between her and Adriana.
Without prompting, Addie dropped a hand to my lap, ever so casually stroking my thigh.
Based on the way her friend’s attention immediately followed that touch, Addie was clearly doing this for show.
Unfortunately, my body didn’t care. She didn’t know, but her fingertips were two inches from crossing a line we shouldn’t cross, sending a blinding heat to the base of my spine. Fuck.
I grabbed her hand before I’d have to excuse myself and interlocked her fingers with mine instead.
She squeezed my hand once, I squeezed hers twice.
Once the blood rushing through my ears quieted, dinner went smoothly.
Esra told us about moving here from New York and the biggest adjustments to small-town life she’d encountered, and she won my daughter’s approval with a surprisingly vast historical knowledge.
Noah thankfully shared his opinion on what I should look out for when buying a house here, because I wouldn’t have even considered how much snow shoveling could be involved.
And by the end of the night, Skye had excused herself to the car, where she hung out with her headphones on and her tablet propped up, while Addie and I helped clean up.
“So, Brooks, what do your friends think? Family?” Esra asked when we brought the dishes inside and she finally had the chance to interrogate me. “Is nobody concerned that you’re getting yourself a midlife-crisis, twentysomething trophy wife?”
“We’ve already agreed that he’s the trophy,” Adriana cut in.
“No midlife crisis,” I said. “And no, actually. I think my parents would be concerned if it was anyone else, but they’ve heard me talk about Addie for years. They know it’s not an impulsive decision.”
“We’re going to go meet them at Thanksgiving, actually.”
Technically, the custody hearing was scheduled a few weeks before Thanksgiving, but if Addie genuinely wanted to tag along, I wouldn’t say no.
I hadn’t lied about my parents’ reaction to the news.
They’d been surprised but hadn’t questioned our engagement for even a second.
My mom was begging for Addie’s number already to help with wedding planning.
“And you do realize that Adriana is closer in age to your daughter than to you?” Esra narrowed her eyes at me. “And don’t hit me with any of that ‘she’s very mature for her age’ bullshit.”
“I don’t think it’s about age or maturity,” I said and automatically reached for Adriana’s waist to pull her against my side.
Her arms immediately braced around my middle, warm and steady.
“I think it’s hard for most people to understand what it’s like to work in the music industry together like we have.
We’ve spent almost every minute of every day with each other for weeks, often confined to a few square yards of tour bus, headlines and gossip following us to every city we played in.
If you’re not tired of each other through that, you’re bonded for life. And I could never get tired of Addie.”
For the third time in my life, I leaned in to kiss the top of her head, a move that was becoming a reflex, but at the same time, Addie tilted her face up to look at me.
Before I could redirect my course, my lips met hers, hard.
The kiss was short, just enough to let me get a sweet taste, but Addie chuckled against my lips, cutting it short.
“You weren’t going for a kiss, were you? ”
“No, but I’m not objecting.”
“We’ll save that for when we get home.” She patted my chest, just forceful enough to push me back slightly.
Shit. I’d fucked up. She may have been grinning, but she hadn’t meant to kiss me.
I hadn’t meant to kiss her. There were no cameras around, and we really didn’t have to convince Esra this hard.
Adriana was a great actress though, and if it hadn’t been for the little extra push against my chest, I wouldn’t have known that I’d made her uncomfortable.
“I’ll go see if Noah needs help cleaning up the grill,” I said. Addie could probably use a little space—and I needed some fresh air. No matter what she could do to me with a simple touch, she was obviously only doing me a favor, playing a part.
Despite my words, I pushed through the screen door to the back porch and waited there. I didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. I wasn’t sure if I had words. Fuck. The overwhelming guilt over a genuine mistake gnawed itself into my chest, and I rubbed a hand over it, trying to ease the pressure.
“So? Does he scramble your brain?” Esra asked after a moment, probably assuming I was out of earshot, even if I didn’t know what she meant by that.
“Uhm, inappropriate much?” Addie scoffed. Okay, so brain scrambling was about sex.
“Big words from someone who once asked me to compare my boyfriend’s dick size to a vegetable.”
I was not going to dwell on that. Esra was asking Adriana about her sex life. Our sex life. Our nonexistent sex life. I stilled, suddenly too aware how even my palm on my shirt made a quiet brushing sound.
“Okay, well, I don’t know. He’s old-fashioned about it.” Good girl. Embellishing the truth seemed a little more believable than flat-out lying.
“Old-fashioned?” Esra laughed. “Dude, did you tell him you’re a virgin?”
“Ew, no.”
Again, not something I was going to dwell on. Coming face-to-face with the cowboy dancer she used to hook up with had caused me more than enough unwanted intrusive thoughts.
“Then I don’t see the problem. You cannot marry a guy you haven’t slept with. What if he’s bad in bed? Do you want to spend the rest of your life with a one-pump chump?”
“I’m not worried,” Adriana deflected perfectly, only to make me choke on air when she added, “If he fucks half as good as he kisses, we’ll be fine.”