by Piper Lawson
On the other hand… it’s completely filthy.
I stretch my legs out an inch at a time, my feet sticking on the comforter. Then I slide my hands down the front of my pants, brush the slick skin between my legs, and hold up my glistening fingertips.
“Good girl.” His raspy voice isn’t enough reward. Not nearly. “Now spread your legs.”
Something occurs to me. “Jax, is this actually why you called? Or are you just annoyed I was talking to Carter?”
Jax’s grin turns wolfish. “Both. Now touch yourself. Nice and easy.”
His smugness transforms into need as I shift on the bed, adjusting the phone so I can drop my other hand back down my body.
He shifts too, and the headboard appears behind him.
Now I’m wondering if he’s hard.
I’m wondering if he’s leaking.
I wonder when I became the kind of girl who wondered about those things.
“What about you?” I murmur as my fingers drift over my skin.
“What about me?”
But his jaw clenches and he angles the phone down. I can see his hand on his cock, protruding from the fly of his jeans. He’s thick and pink and my throat dries instantly.
He strokes himself a couple of times, his big hand firm on his cock, and that makes me wetter.
It’s the dirtiest dream I’ve ever had. Except it’s real.
“Fuck yourself. Two fingers,” he commands when the camera returns to his tight face.
I do as he says, my back arching as I picture his hand, not mine.
“If you were here, I’d play with that perfect pussy.”
I press against my fingers, gasping as I picture exactly that.
“One day, Hales, I’m going to take that little clit in my mouth.” My thumb is a slave to his words, finding that spot, rubbing a circle, and my hips jerk against the pressure. “I’m going to suck on it until you’re begging to come.”
And that puts me over the edge.
I whimper as my climax shakes through me. His grunts come over the phone, and the tension in his face tells me he’s almost there too. The sound of his hand sliding up and down his cock faster, harder, is hot as hell. A moment later, with a guttural groan, he comes.
I watch, fascinated. And the satisfaction from watching his face is different from my own orgasm, but it’s not less. In some ways, it’s more.
“Don’t move.” He shifts in the picture, his lids lowering like he’s cleaning up. “I’ve been picturing that all week,” he says when he finishes.
The shiver that works through me is involuntary. I don’t know why that’s so hot that I made him messy, but it is.
Jax props a hand behind his head, revealing a deliciously tattooed arm as he grins. “I’m in town next week. Some paperwork to finish up with Wicked.”
I swear my hand shoots up in the air like I’m in second grade.
“You could stay here.”
Jax hesitates, and for a second, I think he’s going to say no. Instead, he says, “Perfect.”
Warmth tingles in my chest. Not in a sex way.
In a feelings way.
I know him staying here doesn’t mean anything. I love spending time with him even though it still feels Sixth Sense weird that one of the biggest stars on the planet spends his private moments with me.
Add to that the way we spend those moments?
It’s pretty freaking great.
Especially when that guy also writes incredible songs, looks out for his friends and family, and uses the most beautiful voice to say the dirtiest things.
“I better go get ready,” I say finally even though I don’t want to.
“Where are you going tonight?”
“Out.”
“Yes, I figured. With?”
I don’t want to be evasive, but I know he won’t like the answer. “Cross.”
Storm clouds take over his expression as I tell him about Kyle and Mace wanting to record an album.
“They never should’ve come to you.”
“Well, they did.” I shift off the bed and prop the phone on my dresser as I rummage for new clothes. I strip out of my jeans and grab a skirt.
“It’s a bad idea,” he says, peering downward as if he can see below the frame of the phone.
I hide my smile. “Your opinion is noted. Goodnight, Jax.”
Jax sighs, his gaze returning to mine. “You’re really trying to piss me off, aren’t you?”
“I let you watch me masturbate. I’d call that exceedingly accommodating.”
An hour later, I make my way across town to the historic district of the city as the sun sets in the background.
The only way to make an evening out with your recently discovered record exec and control freak father more awkward is knowing you just had phone sex with your non-boyfriend.
Who works for your dad and hates him.
It’s just like real family.
I sit on the edge of a concrete flower bed in front of our designated meeting spot and check my phone.
“Haley.”
It takes a second for me to focus on the man in a navy button-down and jeans in front of me.
“I didn’t notice you with the…” I gesture at his outfit.
“I do get out of a suit every now and then.”
“Right.”
“I was surprised when you suggested we talk. Away from the studio.”
“Well, I was surprised you suggested here.” I shift off the flowerbed and glance down the street. “Jazz?”
“This concert series has been happening for years. I had a hand in it once.”
I’m not sure what to read into that. But it makes me think of how there’re no pictures of him or his achievements in his office. He sticks his hands in his pockets as we walk side by side through the crowd of early-evening pedestrians.
Now that I have him here, I’m not sure what to say. I can’t exactly lead with Kyle and Mace’s request. Cross is way too smart for that.
“Is this what you do when you’re not working?” I ask instead. “I mean, I know nothing about you.”
“That’s not true,” he chastises.
“All right, I found out you have a brother in California.” I pause. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“No.”
I go to shove my hands in my pockets, realizing my skirt has none. “What made you get into music?”
“I thought I’d play trumpet in a jazz band.”
My gaze cuts to him without warning. “No way.”
“Mhmm. It was all very romantic.” His mouth twitches, and for a moment he looks younger.
I have to remind myself I didn’t come to hear him talk about growing up. That this entire meeting is means to an end, a reason to make Kyle and Mace’s request.
“So what made you decide not to play trumpet?”
“I was ten when we moved to Philadelphia from Belfast. My father had a leather goods store back in Ireland. He was a sought-after craftsman there, but when he left, he had nothing. Stateside, he worked repairing shoes. But he made sure we had enough. I always remembered what he gave up for us. I wanted to make something from his legacy.”
“Which is why you started Wicked?”
He nods. “I understand what it’s like to want something bigger than yourself.”
It’s as if he knows what’s in my head. It’s disconcerting as hell, but somehow it’s also comforting.
I can’t help asking, “What about my mom?”
Cross’s mouth pulls down at the corner, but not in a frown. More like he’s trying to decide how to talk about something he’s not used to talking about. “We had a relationship—an affair—for a few months. I could tell you it was serious. That I loved her. But that would be doing you a disservice. What I can say is you have her hair, her mouth, and her way of figuring things out no matter what comes your way.”
I swallow because I didn’t expect such a real answer from him. “When did you find out about me?”
This is news to me. “And did you?”
He shakes his head. “She wouldn’t allow it.”
This is so not why I’m here, but now that we’re rolling, I can’t seem to stop. I’d always pictured Shannon Cross as this untouchable executive. Not a refreshingly honest man with a lifetime love of the trumpet.
A man I’m suddenly dying to know more about.
“So you never tried to see me?”
“I did. We reconnected when you were a teenager. Spent time together for a few weeks.” The picture from the party Serena found. “I’d started Wicked, was working around the clock trying to discover big talent.
“I asked if I could see you. She wasn’t sure at first but eventually agreed. I was in the car to go see you when I got a call. From a jail. In Dallas.”
Understanding dawns. “Jax.”
He nods. “I’d been trying to sign him all year. Since his eighteenth birthday. But that was the day he hit rock bottom. He had no one to help him get out of there. So I went to him instead of you.”
My chest tightens. “Because you wanted to sign him.”
Cross rubs a hand over his smooth jaw, a move that’s startlingly familiar. “He was lost, Haley. Gutted. A child with nothing but feelings, and those feelings were eating him alive.
“Some people are live wires, meant to electrify the night.” He nods at the lights hanging from the trees. “But they need careful management so they don’t burn out, or catch fire, or destroy themselves.”
“Jax doesn’t need that anymore.”
“You may be right,” he surprises me by saying.
“I know Jax is supposed to do another album. What if he doesn’t want to? I mean, could he get out of it?”
“Legally, it’s next to impossible.”
“What would he have to do?”
Dark eyes meet mine, and there’s so much more in them than I ever gave him credit for. Pride and intelligence, yes. But other things I can’t name. Things I hope someone will see in my eyes someday.
“He’d have to ask,” Cross says finally.
When he pulls up, I realize we’ve entered a square with café sets. Chairs and tables, half of them occupied.
A band is setting up at one end. I can spot a clarinet, a saxophone, a double bass, and a trumpet.
Cross pulls out an empty chair, and I slide into it.
I watch him round the table, gracefully taking his seat on the other side.
The saxophonist starts warming up, and Cross’s gaze locks onto the stage. It’s as if the beauty of the square falls away. There are no more stones, no more flowers, no more trees, no more lights. In his mind, it’s just the notes.
“You care, don’t you?” I say. “About Jax.”
“Of course I care. All my artists matter.”
“But Jax matters more.”
Cross doesn’t turn, but I know he hears me.
He doesn’t answer for a long time. When he does, he’s drifted.
“It’s ironic, in a way, that Jax is the person who kept you from me. And now he’s the one who’s brought you back.”
The double bass starts its mellow notes that warm my stomach, and soon the trumpet joins in.
I turn his words over in my mind as the band plays.
13
“Wow. Where is everyone?”
“It’s just us, squirt. Grace said you went swimming at school last week, and I thought you might want to do some more. Now go change into your swimsuit. I’ll meet you back here.”
The local wave pool feels cavernous. Not just because of the high ceilings, but because I rented it out.
The idea came to me when Haley said she was spending the evening with Cross. She’s seen as much of her estranged father as I’ve seen of my kid lately.
That ends now.
As we get into the water, Annie looks nervous.
“Something wrong?” I ask.
“When we went for school, I didn’t swim. I sat in the corner.”
That catches me off guard. “Grace said you love water. You take baths all the time.”
“That’s different.”
I turn it over in my head. “Come on.”
We get out of the pool, and I gesture up to the operator who’s watching from above. I slice across my neck. Then I leave Annie by the pool and go out to the main desk in the deserted lobby.
The lone person there is doing paperwork. “Yes, Mr. Leonard?”
“I’m going to need some of those things.” I point at my bicep.
“I’m sorry?”
“You know.” I flap my arms, irritated.
“Ah. Water wings?”
“Yeah, those.”
She goes into the office and comes back. “Here’s a set.”
“I need one more.”
She complies and returns, smiling. “It’s very sweet that you did this for your daughter.”
I start to say, “She’s my niece,” but catch myself. Calling her my daughter is the truth. And the more I turn it over in my head, the more I want it to be the truth. The more I want everyone to know it.
Including Annie.
I go back to the pool and hand a set of water wings to Annie.
She shakes her head. “I don’t need those. I’m too old.”
“Sure. But I need them.”
I start blowing them up as she watches. “Really?”
“Yeah. I can’t believe I almost forgot them.”
It takes two seconds to realize there’s no way they’ll fit over my biceps. So I deflate them most of the way and wedge my hands inside so they’re ugly orange bracelets.
“Fine, I guess I’ll wear them too.”
I hide the smile as we blow hers up.
We go back out into the water, and I show her how to paddle. The pool’s still and empty, and it’s just us in the shallow end.
“What is all that?” she asks, nodding to my arm.
I glance down at the ink. “Tattoos.”
“I know that. What do they mean?”
“Who says tattoos need to mean something?”
“Why else would you paint something on your body you can’t take off? My friend Jamie’s mom let her dye her hair with permanent dye. But even that didn’t last forever. This is like… forever forever.” Her head bobs with her words, her eyes going round.
“It is forever forever,” I agree. “Alright, the first one I got was here.” I point to the knot on my shoulder. “I got it when I first became a musician because I felt like I was part of something.” My finger moves to a heart under my tricep. “This one is for your mom. Because she’s always been part of me, even when I don’t see her.” I move down my arm, scrolling past half a dozen and stopping on an elephant. “This one—”
“An elephant!” she exclaims. “Because an elephant never forgets and you never forget a song?”
“Sure,” I say. “And because my friend Mace dared me to. By the time you have a lot of tattoos, the bar just gets lower.”
“What bar?”
After another ten minutes of this, I can tell she’s relaxed.
We’ve been in here a while, but her teeth aren’t chattering, and she doesn’t look worried, so I think we’re good.
“My turn to ask questions. You still reading Harry Potter?” I ask.
“Yeah. I’m on book five.”
“Which one’s your favorite?”
“Goblet of Fire,” she parrots immediately.
“Why?”
Annie blinks at me like I’m being deliberately slow. “Because… dragons.”
“Right.” I swallow the laugh. “The Fireball’s the best.”
“No way. The Horntail.”
“You’re just saying that because it’s Harry’s.”
“Am not!”
I never pictured myself debating Ha
rry Potter with a ten-year-old.
Or reading the books so that I could.
“You know how in Harry Potter,” I say eventually, “there’re a lot of changes and surprises?”
“Like Harry finding out he’s a wizard?”
“Yeah, like that.” I swallow. “Though this is more like Star Wars…”
“I haven’t read that.”
“Me either.” Fuck, could this be any more awkward?
She looks so attentive, so hopeful.
I want to tell her. To spill everything that’s building up inside me, all of the emotion and the frustration that I thought would go away once I was back here.
It’s not going away.
Instead, I help her out of the pool, discarding our water wings.
“Go get dressed. I’ll take you home. Maybe we can get ice cream on the way.”
If her happy chatter between bites of our frozen Snickers treats is any indication, she’s had a good time.
When we pull up at her house, Grace’s sitting in one of the two chairs on the porch that looks as if it was built a century ago and hasn’t been attended to since. As a kid, I wouldn’t have noticed such things. But after living in hotels, I can’t help it.
“Where’s the man of the house?” I ask.
She lifts a shoulder. “Out with friends.”
“Shocking.”
Grace shoots me a warning look. “Annie, time to get ready for bed, honey.”
“I’m not tired. We just had ice cream.”
I put on my most innocent expression. But I’m her older brother and I never was much for innocent to begin with.
Grace rolls her eyes at me. “Put your bathing suit on the washing machine and get ready for bed. I’ll come say good night in a few minutes.”
I hug Annie good night, then after she goes inside, I drop into the chair opposite Grace. “I almost told her.” I pick at the peeling plastic on the arm of the chair.
Grace stiffens. “You have no right.”
It’s an old argument, but we haven’t had it face-to-face in a while.
We’re due.
“No? My child is being raised by a man who doesn’t respect women.”
She flinches. “She’s not only your child. She never was.”
“And that’s my fault? You kept it from me.”
“I took care of things. Like you took care of me.”
