10. Garrett
GARRETT
My fingers tap against the table, and for the third time in as many minutes, Theo huffs before slamming his hand down, making me jump.
“You’re not listening.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t need you to be sorry; I just need you to listen,” he grumbles, but I can’t help it, the riff in my mind taking on a life of its own the longer we sit here.
“I know the fundraiser is coming up.”
“The fundraiser is coming up, but you’re going to have to make a few appearances before then.”
“I don’t make appearances now. Are people really going to expect me to—”
“Yes,” he says without letting me finish, annoyance plain in his tone. “You married an heiress. You’re in a rock band. You should have thought that through if you wanted to skate under the radar.”
Thinking of Emerson has the riff kicking up in my head again along with wondering what color red she chose this morning. I didn’t know I had a thing for red lipstick, or maybe it’s a her thing—I’m not sure.
Either way, I’m off track.
And so is Theo.
Weird.
“What’s got you all pissy?” I ask, staring at him over the lip of my coffee cup, his eyes widening with alarm as they meet mine.
“What? What? Why…would you ask that?”
Eyebrows in my hairline, I watch as Theo blushes furiously, his gaze now looking anywhere but at me.
“That was less believable than the time I told Colt I could hit a home run no problem even though I haven’t swung a bat since high school.”
“It’s nothing.”
“I got all day.” I grin, sipping my coffee so it makes the high-pitched slurping sound until his eye twitches and he holds up his hands in surrender.
“Fine. Fine. I had a video call with Emerson’s assistant.”
“Oh.” I frown, not expecting that in the least. “Was he a jerk or something because I can talk to Emerson and—”
“No, he’s very professional.”
“What’s the problem?”
“He’s really hot. Like scorchingly hot with muscles and tight dress shirts and ties, and I’m not that strong, Garrett. How am I supposed to resist him?”
“Um…I mean…”
“You asked,” he hisses, arching an eyebrow as I try to fight the shit-eating grin that’s trying to spread across my face.
“Is he into guys?”
“He can gladly get into me,” Theo deadpans in what was clearly supposed to be an inside thought, and it’s too much for me to hold it together anymore.
Mug clanking against the counter, I bark out a laugh as Theo tries—and fails—to look annoyed, his cheeks pink and his mouth curving up on one side.
“Are you done?”
“That was perfect.”
“I’m so happy you’re amused.”
“To be fair, my question was valid.”
“Yes, well, I was distracted and I don’t know. It’s hard to gauge through a computer screen.”
“On the plus side, I’m sure you can find an excuse to have an in-person meeting. Make something.”
“I’ll work on it.” Clearing his throat, Theo leans back against the island. “We need to talk about what you want to do with Darren and the band.”
“Shit.” All humor is sucked from the room, my body slumping forward a little as I meet his gaze. Theo may run my life, but in this moment, he’s my friend too, and the look on his face says he knows how much this is hurting me.
“Or if you want something equally exciting, I can ask if you’ve told your parents.”
Groaning, I look around the kitchen for a distraction, anything, that might get me out of either conversation.
“There’s no way to avoid telling them?”
“No. Garrett—”
“I know.” Sighing, I run a hand through my hair and let my eyelids flutter closed.
My parents are incredible people who understood my need for music, and they didn’t want to be part of the spotlight.
They distanced themselves from me, and on the rare occasions I was asked about them, I gave noncommittal answers and looked for a subject change.
The worst part is that they’d understand my need for a fake wife to balance Darren’s drama.
But they’d still be hurt it was another fabrication of my life—something they had no need to be a part of.
“I can call my mother and you can practice on her first. How’s that?”
I snort out a laugh and look at him. He’s smiling and so am I because his mother is overbearing and loud and so full of love she wants to smother every person she meets with affection.
She’s also a phenomenal cook, something she definitely passed on to Theo.
I gained at least five pounds the first month Theo started working for me.
“Do you think she’ll make me some lemon bars?”
“Only if you call and ask.”
“Sold.”
“You’d rather call my mother than your parents or deal with the band?”
“Yes.”
“Suit yourself…” He trails off like he doesn’t know she’s going to make me half a bakery’s worth of treats.
Don’t mind if I do.
“What are these?” Emerson manages, moaning around a bite of a lemon bar, the tangy, decadent dessert that practically melts in your mouth.
I can feel my cock stir which is ridiculous because she wore me the fuck out not twenty minutes ago. I watch with rapt attention as Emerson, seated on my counter in nothing but a pair of panties and a Descending North shirt, licks a crumb from her still red lips.
“Lemon Bars. Theo’s mom made them.” Pausing, I smirk. “She also dropped off some meals she had lying around. But really they’re my favorites and she spoils me.”
“How does Theo feel about you trying to abscond with his mother?”
“He’s all for it—gives him thirty seconds where she’s not asking him for grandkids.”
“Is he seeing anyone?”
“No, she just likes to guilt him and tell him she’s not getting any younger. I think last week she told him she’d settle for him getting parakeets she can spoil.”
“Parakeets?”
“It’s ongoing. She’s pitched grand-dogs, cats, ferrets, llamas—which was hilarious because Theo would die before having to deal with something that has as much attitude as him.”
Emerson snickers and takes another bite, uncrossing her long slender legs and teasing me with the view. “She sounds fun.”
“She is,” I mumble, my palm sliding up her shin as I lean forward in my stool and plant a kiss on the inside of her knee, inhaling the light vanilla scent of her bodywash as she rakes her fingers through my hair.
“What else did you do today? Besides me…”
Lips curving up against her skin, I rub my cheek back and forth over her inner thigh, making her giggle from the roughness of my stubble. “I think you’re definitely the highlight.”
“Garrett.” She gasps and pushes me back with her foot against my chest like it’s a punishment, but hell, I like this view too.
“I called my parents to tell them about us being married.”
“What did they say?” she asks, her expression careful.
“They saw it on the news and figured it was something related to work.”
“I’m not sure if I should be offended by that or not.”
“My relationship with my parents isn’t complicated so much as it is practical. They made it clear that they don’t want my fame and the chaos that goes with it to interfere in their lives.”
“That seems…kind of harsh.”
“My dad had a heart attack when I was in college—a pretty bad one—and so they’re careful to monitor his stress.
There were a couple of incidents when the band took off that required extra doctor visits to manage his blood pressure and all that.
” I lift one shoulder and let it drop as I knead her calf muscle.
“I call with the important things and I keep my distance.”
“You never see them?”
“I do a couple of times a year but we’re careful about it, and Theo usually plants some speculation on social media that allows me to go there without being detected.”
“Good thing you picked a really low-maintenance wife. Totally subtle and absolutely not running an empire in Chicago.”
“Good thing.”
“Were they upset?”
“No, I mean they didn’t say so. I’m sure they’d like me to settle down for real and be able to spend more time with them. They’d like you.”
I don’t know why I say it, but I’m not surprised when her whole body tenses as I wait for her to say something.
It was impulsive on my part, but I don’t want to take it back because it’s the truth.
My mother would take one look at Emerson and go thank God, you finally found a woman who can keep you in line.
It’s the kind of thing that has a smile tugging at my lips and brings the flash of hope that someday that fantasy might become a reality.
“I’m sure I’d like them too,” she offers slowly, brushing her hands off before sliding off the counter to straddle my lap.
“Why’s that?”
“Are you looking to have your ego stroked again?” She draws out the words, her eyes dropping to my lips before moving back up.
Fuck, she’s pretty.
“My ego definitely appreciates your attention.” I grin, dragging my hands down her back to grip the smooth skin under my band shirt—the one that’s worn and faded and perfectly soft.
“It’s been a long time since I was with someone who made me feel this good,” she admits, arching into me without meeting my gaze. “I like it, Garrett,” she whispers, her lips trailing up the column of my throat before she’s nipping at the corner of my jaw. “I don’t want you to stop.”
Fuck.