I pull away from her grasp and laugh as I try to reassure her. “I invited him. I’m glad he’s here.”
Bodies swaying to the beat block my path, and I push, pull, and squeeze until I make it off the floor with Birdie close on my heels. My eyes dart back to the spot where I last spotted Ace, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
I stand there, completely frazzled as I shove my hair back and search the sea of faces one by one, hoping he’s merely just moved. A long sigh pours out of me as Birdie finds her spot next to me.
“Where did he go?” Birdie asks as she begins looking around too.
“No clue,” I answer and am glad for the loud country music covering the pouting tone in my voice. “I don’t know why he would come here and then run away when he knows I’m about to approach him.”
“You should stay away from that guy, Iris. He seems like nothing but a bunch of trouble to me—sexy trouble, but trouble nonetheless.”
She’s right, but that doesn’t stop this strange pull I feel toward him that lingers inside me. Him showing up here tonight tells me that he is interested in me but is holding back for some reason, and I want to know why.
On the way back home, Birdie cranks up the radio as the DJ continues to go on and on about some pop rocker who’s gone missing, while my drunken brain tries to figure out the riddle that is Ace Johnson.
“They should try looking in every sleazy hotel around where he was last seen. The dude’s probably on some two-week drug binge and doesn’t want to be found.” Birdie snorts in a fit of laughter as the radio starts playing an upbeat song by a band called Wicked White.
The repetitive lyrics of the song quickly get on my nerves and I turn the music back down, not able to handle the annoyance of a song I don’t like in my drunken state. “I hate pop music. It has no soul.”
Birdie laughs, instantly turning the music back up. “You think any song where the music overpowers the lyrics has no soul. Sometimes, Iris, music is just meant to be fun.”
“Singing is a difficult talent to master, and the craft should be respected, not hacked to bits by synthesized drums created by a computer.”
“Says the woman who dreams about being a singer on Broadway.” She nags me all the time for being too picky musically, so her statement doesn’t shock me. “You should lighten up and learn to have fun with music—to not take it so serious all the time—like this band, for example. They’re relatively new on the scene but have already had like four or five songs on the radio. Are they memorable? No. But they’re fun as hell to dance to.”
I know what she’s getting at, but music is special to me. When I discovered I had the gift of singing, it helped my self-confidence so much. People praised me for it, and in some weird way I felt like it would’ve made my mother proud of me too. So, needless to say, singing became serious business to me. It was important to perfect every note and feel every emotion in the lyric, which is why show tunes really grabbed hold of me. They all mean something. They tell a story. Not like pop music, where most songs are written to make money. Pop isn’t written for the purity of conveying feelings.
“Let’s agree to disagree.” I lay my head back against the headrest in her Corolla and close my eyes as things around me begin to spin.
Ugh. I shouldn’t have drunk so much. This is going to be so bad in the morning.
The next thing I know Birdie has the passenger door open and is nudging me awake as the dome light in the car assaults my eyes.
“How did you ever make it on your own in New York being a sloppy drunk like this?” Birdie complains as she helps me out of the car.
I lean against her as she walks me up the sidewalk and helps me fish the house keys from my front pocket. “I never drank there. New York is a tough city—nothing like here—and you always have to be on top of your game. Plus, I never wanted to be hung over if I ever got an unexpected callback.”
A hiccup squeaks out of me and I sigh. “I just want to sing.”
She laughs as I pull away from her and attempt to do a little spin to show her how good I’d be on stage, but my legs tangle together, causing me to fall backward.
A pair of strong arms hooks around me, halting me from hitting the ground. I close one eye and stare up at Ace’s face to bring him into better focus. “Where’d you come from?”
He pulls me upright and attempts to stand me on my feet, but with the liquor coursing through my veins, I wobble and then fall back into him.
“Whoa, there.” He wraps his arm around me as I lay my head against his chest.
It feels so nice being this close to him, and on top of it all he smells good enough to eat with his spicy scent. “You smell good.”
Ace chuckles and the sound reverberates in his chest. “How much did you have to drink after I left?”
I glance up at his face with a goofy grin on my own. “So you were there.”
He’s hesitant at first, but then reluctantly nods. “I had to make sure you stayed safe. So I was there, and then moved when you saw me.”
A gooey feeling of warmth envelops my chest at the thought of him wanting to take care of me yet again. Even though on the outside he seems to hate me with the passion of ten fiery suns because of how he’s always so short with me, on the inside I think he likes me just as much as I like him.
I wrap my arms around his waist as I snuggle in closer to him, loving this confirmation of how he feels about me. I can’t help myself. I’m so attracted to this man. It’s nice to finally be able to touch him like this.
“I like you.” My words come out like a dreamy sigh. “I wish you’d be this nice to me all the time.”
I hiccup again and then close my eyes before Ace scoops me into his arms like I weigh nothing at all. I smile happily as I lay my head on his shoulder, feeling safe.
“Will you get the door for us?” Ace asks Birdie.
The sound of my keys jingling as she unlocks the door to my trailer catches my attention and I spot Birdie’s concerned face. She doesn’t trust Ace. I know she’s thinking this is a mistake letting him take care of me like this, but she doesn’t know how I feel about him. How much I crave this closeness.
“Which one is her room?”
“Down the hall—first door on the right,” Birdie replies.
Light streams into my tiny room from the living area. The full-size bed in my room takes up 80 percent of the space, making it unbelievably tight, but it’s what I’ve always known. That made living in my shoe box apartment in New York so easy. It was way more personal space for my things than I ever grew up with.
Ace lays me down on the bed, and the room spins. I throw my leg off the side of the bed, hoping it will ground me and give me enough balance to keep me from throwing up from motion sickness.
“Thank you,” I whisper, grateful that he’s been there so much for me today.
He smiles down at me and then stretches a tentative hand toward me, where he smooths back a few loose strands of hair from my face. “You’re welcome.”
When he turns to leave, the very thought of losing this magical connection scares me. I don’t know if I’ll ever get another moment with him like this.
Without thinking about the consequences of my action, I reach out and snag his wrist. “Stay.”
“Iris . . .” The way he whispers my name makes my toes curl.
There’s an edge to his voice that almost sounds painful, like for some reason he’s torn whether to allow himself to give in to what I know that we are both feeling and stay here with me.
I don’t want to push him away and ruin the progress we’ve made by being too forward, so I add, “Just until I fall asleep.”
He scrubs his hand down his face and then sighs before his russet eyes meet mine. “Okay.”
We stare at each other for a long moment, allowing me to study the contours of his handsome face. The definition in his cheekbones is enough to make any girl jealous while his nose brings balance, making his face masculine and rugged.
I
reach up and trace the contours of his face with my fingertips. “You’re beautiful.”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “You’ve had a lot to drink.”
I smile as I lick my bottom lip. “Yeah—but I still mean it.”
I push myself up onto my elbows to closer inspect his face.
The stubble from a day-old beard covers his chin and scrapes against my fingers. “The perfect chin . . .” The tip of my finger runs down the center of his nose, feeling the slight bump in the middle—even that adds to his appeal. “Perfect nose . . .” I move on to his eyes and he closes the lids over them. “The most beautiful color . . .” Finally, I rub my thumb over his plump lips, fighting the temptation in my drunken state to find out what they taste like. “And the softest lips.”
The lump in his throat bobs as he swallows hard, and his breathing picks up speed.
I lean into him, wanting more than anything to kiss him, only he holds back, pressing his forehead to mine. The man has unbelievable self-control.
“Iris . . .” It’s a strained whisper.
He bites his lip, and just when I think his resolve is gone, Birdie’s voice cuts in between us.
“Is she all right?”
Ace pulls away and turns toward the door. “Yeah. I think she’ll be—”
Out of nowhere the amount of alcohol I ingested tonight decides to make a reappearance. The bile rises in my throat and I have no choice but to lean over the side of my bed and release the contents into the small trash can beside my bed.
“Oh, shit!” Birdie shouts and then gags. “I can’t handle barf.”
“Go ahead and go. I’ve got her,” Ace orders.
“We don’t know you. I’m not going to leave you alone with my friend,” she yells in from the hallway.
“I’m not going to hurt her, I swear it.” He turns back to me. “I’m going to get you a cold rag for your head and then get this mess cleaned up.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks and I suddenly want to crawl into a hole somewhere with the thought that the man that I’m totally crushing on is going to clean up my puke.
I want to die.
When Ace leaves me, Birdie’s voice carries into the room. “Swear to me that you’re not some ax-murderer rapist, because if you so much as twist one hair on her head the wrong way, I will hunt you down and chop off your balls.”
“Birdie!” I groan as I flop back onto my pillow. “Leave him alone. If he were going to kill me, he wouldn’t be so hell-bent on taking care of me.”
“He still needs to promise me,” she shouts from the other side of the wall. “We don’t know him.”
“Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none,” Ace tells her.
“Say what?” Birdie asks, confusion ringing through her voice.
Even I’m a bit confused by what he just said, but I let it go and chalk it up to just being really drunk.
“Never mind.” He shakes his head as he reappears in the doorway holding a wet wash cloth. “No. I’m not an ax murderer. I’ll take care of her. You don’t have to worry.”
He sits down next to me on the bed and then presses the cool cloth on my forehead. “This should help. Sleep. You’ll feel better.”
The bed coils lift me back up as he pushes himself off the bed. Birdie still stands guard outside my bedroom door with the look of concern etched on her face. Ace steps in front of her, meeting her stare head-on.
“Trust me,” he says to her with a sweet voice.
There’s a long pause before she finally sighs. Birdie makes eye contact with me, looking for confirmation that I’m okay with her leaving, so I nod and she gives me a halfhearted smile. “Call me if you need me.”
“I will,” I answer, allowing her off the hook as my protector as she heads to the front door.
My eyes dart to Ace, who grabs the garbage can and holds it away from his body as he leaves the room so he can dump the contents in the bathroom.
“Just leave it in there and I’ll clean it tomorrow,” I order.
I hear the toilet flush and then the water running in the bathtub, followed by the sound of the toilet flushing again. Ace quickly returns and sets the newly clean trash can back beside my bed. “All clean in case you need it again.”
When his tall frame sits back next to me on the bed, the warmth of his body radiates off him, and it feels nice.
He readjusts the rag on my forehead. “Feeling better now?”
I lick my dry lips. “Believe it or not, throwing up helped. I don’t feel as queasy.”
“It usually does. Throwing up is your body’s way of ridding the alcohol from your system.”
“Had plenty of drinking experience, I take it?” I ask as I stare up at him.
Ace sighs. “Let’s just say I’ve done my fair share of partying in my day, and the aftermath of a good time is something I learned the hard way.”
I reach out and touch his wrist and then rest the palm of my hand on top of his as a thought occurs to me. “Tell me more about you. I want to know you.”
Ace stiffens like telling me any bit of information about himself is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, but after what seems like an eternity of internal debate, he relaxes a bit. “There’s not much to tell, Iris. I’m a relatively simple guy.”
“I don’t believe that’s true. You’re a complete mystery to me,” I whisper.
He reaches out and traces his fingers along the lower portion of my jaw. “Why are you so nice to me? I’ve been a jerk to you. You should hate me, but you’re always so nice to me. On top of that, I can’t shake the feeling that you need me. All of that put together makes it impossible for me to stay away from you.”
“I wish you would stop trying to,” I say and mean it wholeheartedly.
“I don’t know why you would want me after the way I treated you—the things I said—”
I press my finger to his lips. “These beautiful lips might’ve been harsh, but your actions showed you didn’t mean them.”
For the first time he smiles at me genuinely. “It doesn’t seem like I’m that big of a mystery.”
“You are to me.”
He opens his mouth like he’s about to say more but then quickly closes it and runs his fingers through his hair, mussing it and making it even more sexy. “I should let you get some sleep.”
The mention of sleep alerts me to the fact that I’m exhausted. Sleeping on the way home from the bar isn’t something I typically do, which is how I know I’m completely bombed. I need to sleep this liquor off.
Ace grabs the loose fleece blanket I keep at the foot of my bed and drapes it over me, tucking me in tight, leaning over me so close that we are nearly face-to-face.
Instantly, my eyes zoom in on his lips, wondering if he’s going to kiss me because of the way he’s looking at me, but I know because I just threw my guts up in front of him, that’s not going to happen.
He bites his lip. “Good night, Iris.”
I lick my lips and whisper the same thing to him before he pushes himself back and then heads out of my room.
I close my eyes and sleep.
CELEBRITY POP BUZZ NIGHTLY
The camera zooms in on Linda Bronson’s smooth, angelic features as she brings the microphone up to her full lips. “We’re here live with Wicked White’s tour manager, Jane Ann Rogers, hoping to get to the bottom of where the band’s front man, Ace White, has disappeared to.”
Linda turns toward Jane Ann, who has on a tight leather jacket with trendy ripped jeans. “Jane Ann, can you tell us when the last time you saw Ace was?”
Jane Ann leans toward the microphone while her flaming hair frames her heart-shaped face. “The last time I saw him in person was when Ace walked off stage in front of twenty thousand people.”
Linda brings the mic back to her mouth, poised to fire off another question. “Did you know his foster mother was ill?”
The redheaded woman nods. “Yes, and we’re hoping that’s what’s at the root of his disappearance for t
he last couple of weeks. The thought of something tragic happening to Ace is unfathomable and not an idea that I even will entertain. We’re hoping that wherever he is, that he’s getting the closure that he needs and will be ready to come back and hit the road.”
“Is it true that his bank accounts and cell phone have had no activity since his disappearance?”
“Yes, and that does concern us. If he’s watching this report tonight, I’m begging him to at least call us and let us know that he’s all right. I want him to know his Wicked White family and I are here for him.”
Linda pats Jane Ann’s shoulder with a look of sympathy plastered all over her face. “Our thoughts are with you. I think everyone in America can see how worried you are.” She turns back to the camera. “There’s a ten-thousand-dollar reward for information on Ace’s whereabouts. If you or anyone you know have any information about Ace White’s disappearance, you can call the LAPD. For Celebrity Pop Buzz Nightly, I’m Linda Bronson.”
IRIS
The sun assaults my eyes the moment I roll over. Partying that hard is always painful the next day, which is exactly why I don’t do it that often. I hate the repercussions of a good time.
I push myself up off my bed and my head immediately begins throbbing. Wrinkles form at the center of my forehead as I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose.
I’m never drinking again.
I sigh, dreading having to start the day with more cleaning and sorting of Gran’s things. A hangover isn’t exactly conducive to that type of thing, but I know I just have to put my big-girl panties on and get through it.
Even though I feel like death warmed over, a smile immediately erupts across my face as my eyes land on two ibuprofen tablets and a glass of water sitting on my bedside table with a note.
Ace’s thick scrawl etched across the small piece of paper simply says “drink.”
Who knew the asshole next door was so adorably sweet?
After taking the medication and forcing myself to eat breakfast, I get to work, headache and all.
Two hours after I begin sorting through Gran’s clothes, I come across her favorite Sunday dress. Its blue-and-brown floral pattern stares back at me, reminding me of how great she looked when she wore it. She always seemed so happy every time I saw her in it, and it makes me think about how much her church family meant to her. While I was away in New York, the people from her church and her tenants here at Willow Acres were all she had.
Wicked White Page 6
