by G. K. Brady
Gage’s musings were overridden by a breathy purr coming through the sound system. “Please welcome Mr. and Mrs. Shanstrom, everyone,” the singer announced.
T.J. and Natalie stepped onto the dance floor and double high-fived. Around them, applause and whistles rose to a deafening level as T.J. gathered Natalie in his arms. So much happiness shone in T.J.’s eyes that Gage felt a pang. Not that he wanted Natalie. Sure, she was perfect for his buddy, but his envy centered on the fact T.J. had found that rare person he trusted with his heart. What the three generations of romance-reading women who’d raised Gage would have called “The One.” In his teenage years, he’d inevitably countered the term with a loud scoff and an exaggerated eye-roll, if for no other reason than it was expected of him.
Gage raised his Woodford Reserve to his lips and sipped while the singer commandeered the mic. Girding my loins here.
A hand tapped his shoulder, and he startled.
“Whoa, dude. Easy.” His teammate Hunter McMurphy guffawed, his hands up in surrender.
On high Blair alert, Gage scanned the crowd. “Thought you might be someone else. Where’s your girlfriend tonight?”
Hunter shrugged. “She couldn’t make it.” He shamelessly eyeballed a trio of women hovering at the edge of the dance floor and smiled wolfishly. “But don’t worry about me.”
Dick.
A familiar, haunting strain began, jerking Gage’s attention back to the band. Beside a violinist, the guitarist adjusted his guitar strap. Nice Strat. Hope he knows how to play that thing. What Gage wouldn’t give to be home right now, working over the strings on his own guitar.
He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping it would stave off the carnage about to befall his ears.
A voice, sultry and soulful, resonated through the speakers. He lifted one eyelid, disbelieving what he was hearing. Words declaring that her lonely days were over seemed to pour from deep within the woman’s diminutive form. Where she kept that voice, he had no idea. He opened the other lid and searched for a sound engineer or some proof she was lip-syncing but found nothing.
He darted another look at the stage. The singer lowered herself into a semi-crouch, her eyes shuttered. Bringing her voice with her, she rose, unfurling as though the song worked its way up from her toes to her throat, emphatically belting out that she’d found a dream and a thrill. The lyrics, delivered with so much heart, sent a thrill through him.
Transfixed, Gage fastened his gaze on the singer laying her soul bare and locked out the rest of the crowd, a silent apology rolling around in his head. Totally underestimated the power of her vocals. But how can such a small person sing like she’s got the lungs of a walrus?
The song came to an end, people clapped, and Gage reentered his body. Beside him, Hunter’s shrill whistle pierced his eardrums. This was followed by a guttural growl. “Fuck me, I want a piece of that!”
Gage flinched. Ah, to have a T-shirt that boldly stated “I’m NOT with Stupid” would have been priceless in that moment. The guy was twenty-five—same as Gage—with all the maturity of a twelve-year-old.
The keyboardist began a soft tune, and the singer warmed up her vocal chords on the next song, Christina Aguilera’s “Beautiful.” She seemed to feel every word, every note, to the depths of her being.
More songs followed, and his curiosity was so piqued that when Blair surprised him with a hug from behind, he was totally caught off guard. Rather than flee, he gave in and accompanied her to the dance floor to get a closer look.
Mere feet away, the singer belted out another Etta tune, “I Just Want to Make Love to You.” Gage roamed his eyes over her, taking in light eyes—Blue? Green?—and long curls that floated around her heart-shaped face in a golden froth, skimming ivory shoulders bare of anything but the straps of her red dress. The dress hugged her curvy figure. If her voice hadn’t sent chills zipping along the race track that was his spine, her body alone might’ve done it.
Shapely calves narrowed to shapely ankles and feet encased in sky-high heels, emphasizing strong, lean legs. His mind vaulted to wondering if those legs were insured, like Tina Turner’s. They should’ve been because they were lethal. Then his mind took another herky-jerky detour, like Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, and an image of those legs wrapped around his neck bounced through his brain. He quickly wrestled it under a virtual mat labeled “Neglected Need.”
Blair chose that moment to snake her arms around his waist and pull him into a grinding hug. Though his virtual mat was a lumpy, bumpy mess for all the Neglected Need stuffed under it, he disencumbered himself from her hold, saying he needed to hit the head. He hated like hell to lie, but he loped in that direction nonetheless and stepped outside. His gaze caught on Beckett Miller, the best man, who sported an empty pink baby carrier on his chest—and rocked a pink baby in his arms.
Miller’s eyebrows inched up his forehead when Gage stepped up beside him and said, “I’m being chased by an octopus. Can I hang out with you two for a while?”
Miller chuckled. “Sure.”
Babies were a mystery to Gage—he had zero experience—and he bent down to get a closer look, hovering his finger by her cheek. She latched on to it, wiggling frantically as she tried to draw it into her gooey mouth. “What’s her name?”
“Elayne, after my mom. We call her Layne, though.”
“She’s got quite a grip.”
“Yeah, she’ll make a good golfer, won’t you, sweet pea?” Beckett cooed to the baby.
The singer walked out, startling when her eyes landed on them. “Oh. I didn’t realize anyone was out here.”
Gage straightened in a flash.
“I was keeping my daughter away from the noise,” Miller said.
“Not that your singing is noise,” Gage interjected, side-eyeing Miller, who smirked.
Eyes fixed on Layne, the singer came closer, a beautiful smile lighting her face. “How old is she?” Despite the four-inch heels, she was small. Gage wasn’t big like Beckett—guy had a few inches on him—but beside her, he felt like a giant.
“Seven months and ten days.” Beckett spewed a litany of facts, and Gage suppressed an amused eye-roll. Proud papa.
During a lull in the exchange, Gage stuck out his hand. “I’m Gage Nelson, and this,” he tilted his head toward Beckett, “is Beckett Miller.”
Curious eyes bounced between them. “Are you hockey players too?” No fangirling in her tone. Nor had she offered up her name.
“Yep,” Beckett said. “Gage plays for the Blizzard, and I’m with Arizona. And if you’ll excuse me, I think it’s time for a diaper change.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and made a stink face.
After he left, Gage turned to the woman. “Do you watch hockey?”
She shook her head, and her curls sprang like silk coils. “I don’t have time to follow sports. So are you a friend of the bride or the groom?”
He chuckled. “Both.”
Tipping her head at him, she arched one blond eyebrow. “Sounds like there’s a story behind that smile.”
“There is.” Gage already knew that story. He was far more interested in learning about the woman in front of him. “How long have you been singing?”
“Professionally, not for a while, but I guess I’ve been singing all my life.”
“Do you always sing the blues?”
“The blues is my favorite, but usually it’s classic rock.”
Big blue eyes—the color of the Pacific Ocean off Point Reyes. He bobbed his head. “You handle them all well.”
She blushed. It was a pretty look on her creamy skin. “Thank you,” she replied in a voice that belied the resonant pipes harbored within her body.
Surprising gratification danced in his stomach, setting off a chain reaction. His pulse picked up speed, his collar tightened, and his mind raced through what to say next. Small talk wasn’t a language he spoke fluently. He usually kept to himself. When he had something to say, he did it without dressing it up. Just sort of threw it
out there. Not that he was rude, at least not on purpose. Right now, though, he found himself wishing his tongue had a shiny silver coating.
On the verge of launching into the righteousness of the blues—and enumerating his favorite blues artists—he was interrupted when Hunter ambled out.
“Hey, pretty singer,” Hunter said. “You’re awesome!”
Gage detected a slight flinch before she dipped her head and plastered on what appeared to be a stage smile. “Thanks, um …”
“I’m Hunter.” He extended his hand, and when she slipped hers into it, he raised it to his lips. “And you are?”
Gage’s thoughts swung from a disgusted Seriously, dude? to a grudging Smooth move.
Her eyes darted to Gage before returning to Hunter, and she hesitated before saying, “Lily.”
“Are you staying here tonight?” asked Hunter. The venue was separated from a B&B by a stand of pines with walking paths leading from one side to the other. Though Denver was a mere hour away, some guests, including Gage, had chosen to spend the night at the B&B.
“Yes. The bride and groom offered to put us up so we didn’t have to travel back to Denver tonight.”
Hunter smirked. “Well, I’d love to see more of you tonight when this shindig’s over.” The comment wasn’t even directed at Gage, but slime dripped from Hunter’s words and made Gage’s skin crawl.
Just then, the guitarist emerged, his head on a swivel. Scandinavian-featured, he was tall and blond with a trimmed reddish beard. He frowned when his eyes landed on Lily. “C’mon. We’re up.” He gave Hunter and Gage a disapproving perusal.
“Well, it’s been nice chatting with you both.” Lily seemed unruffled by her annoyed bandmate.
“Same,” Gage called to her back as she walked away, her hips swaying alluringly.
Though she couldn’t see him, Hunter waggled his eyebrows. “See you soon, Lily.”
Once she was out of earshot, Gage turned to Hunter. “You and your girlfriend obviously have an open relationship. How do you do it?”
Hunter shot him a puzzled look. “What?”
“How do you compartmentalize? I’m not sure I could mentally put aside the woman I’m involved with while I’m coming on to another one. Or wrestle my jealousy when she’s hooking up with other guys.”
Striking a WTF? look, Hunter grumbled. “It’s not an open relationship.”
Gage widened his eyes dramatically. “Oh. The way you were acting, I thought …”
Undaunted by Hunter’s growing scowl, Gage continued. “So it’s a one-sided thing. But don’t you sometimes get confused, you know, mix up their names or their, ah, preferences?” Gage kept his voice in neutral, acting for all the world as if he were conducting a scientific survey, his tone belying his annoyance with Hunter’s unmitigated display of douchebaggery. He’d met the girlfriend, and she seemed nice—and probably not on board with Hunter’s antics. Not that it was Gage’s business, or that he was an expert, but he’d had a front-row seat to the fallout from his dad’s infidelity and the effect it had had on his mom. She’d never recovered.
“I mean,” Gage kept on, “there has to be some kind of disconnect, right? Is that something you teach yourself, or does it come naturally?” Just because Gage wasn’t normally a dick didn’t mean he didn’t have it in him.
Understanding flashed in Hunter’s eyes. “Fuck off, Nelson.” He stormed away.
Gage lobbed an oh-so-innocent-sounding, “Sorry, dude. Inquiring minds wanna know,” after him.
Hunter responded with a one-finger salute over his shoulder. The thought crossed Gage’s mind that instead of heading straight for his room after the wedding, he might need to run interference for lovely Lily.
After saying good night, the bride and groom retreated to their private getaway. Gage gathered up his suit jacket from the back of a chair, his boutonniere limp and brown around the edges—a metaphor for how he felt—and headed toward the B&B.
Guests crowded a gathering room beside the foyer. His attention caught on blond hair, and his alert system zoomed into red-line territory when he spotted Lily. She seemed to slide along the back of a couch as though she were skittish prey inching away from a predator. Which she was. Hunter—Ha! Appropriate name—was advancing, his gaze flicking south of her chin.
A shrieking giggle made Gage’s spine go ramrod straight. “There you are!” Blair hurried toward him, full wineglass in hand.
Oh shit.
Like a desperate passenger seeking a plane’s emergency exits, Gage cast about for an escape route. His eyes caught on Lily’s gaze fastened on him. Something he couldn’t explain flared between them. An electrical arc sent jolts through him, connecting them. Did she feel it too? In that moment, he read her silent plea to save her.
Blair pulled his arm to her chest. Lily looked away, and the spark died on the wire.
“Hey, Blair. Thought you’d turned in.” He attempted untangling himself, but her tentacles were determined. It wasn’t that he minded the feel of soft breasts. No, he didn’t mind at all. But this particular pair were attached to someone he didn’t want to encourage. His mind zip-lined through various ways to extricate himself.
Across the room, Lily’s gaze found his again, and she inclined her head toward a wine bar set up on the veranda. Pointing at her wineglass, she addressed Hunter, then pivoted away.
What’s she up to? Gage decided it would be more fun to find out than stay where he was. He politely shucked Blair’s grip. “I’m going to grab myself some wine.”
“’Kay. Hurry back.” Her wolfish smile reminded him of Hunter. If he’d had the time, if he’d given a shit, he’d have introduced them—they’d make a perfect couple.
Gage strode to the veranda, glimpsing Lily rounding the corner out of sight. When he caught up to her, she was empty-handed, poised by an inconspicuous door that led outside.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “He was coming on a little strong. You looked like you could use an escape too.”
“She’s not my date,” he blurted.
“I didn’t think so.” She arched an eyebrow at the door. A small smile tipped her lips as she twisted the doorknob.
His heartbeat kicked up a notch. “Right behind you.”
As they walked out into the cool night air, it occurred to him he was no longer fatigued. Actually, he was buzzing. Prickly heat on crack.
“We made it!” She looked up at him, her big eyes reflecting twinkly lights strung between the trees, and she laughed. Her laugh had a tinkling quality to it, soft and high, sounding nothing like her throaty, body-rocking voice.
They strolled along a crushed-stone path amid the trees. He cleared his throat. “I’d like to apologize for Hunter’s, ah, behavior.”
“No need. I’m used to the Hunters of the world. Are you friends?”
“Strictly teammates.”
“Did you always want to be a hockey player?”
One corner of his mouth quirked. “No. I wanted to be a surfer.”
“A surfer!” she laughed. “From water to ice. And hockey won out.”
“It pays better.” Important when you have others depending on you.
“So you actually surf?”
“Did. My contract doesn’t allow it, so it’s been awhile.”
“Where are you from originally?” she asked. “I don’t hear an accent.”
They were walking in a loop and would soon be heading back the way they came. “Born and raised in California. My mother and grandmother taught English, which might have something to do with it.”
“That explains it—and the laid-back vibe.” The smile in her voice was evident. “But the way you speak reminds me of a professor.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“All good.”
“Ah. That’d make Grandma and Mom happy. Shall I quote you a little Shakespeare?” He paused when she giggled, holding back his own embarrassed laughter. Shakespeare was not his typical come-on—not that he had one.
&n
bsp; “You quote Shakespeare?”
“Just the usual stuff. ‘First thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.’” Tossing dignity to the wind, he covered his heart with one hand and threw his other arm to the sky—which was when he noticed Hunter peering out the door they’d escaped through. Hunter didn’t seem to have noticed them—yet.
Gage kept his voice low. “I think we’re about to get busted.”
Lily grabbed his sleeve. “Not if I can help it.” She angled toward the back of the building, hanging a sharp right before coming to a stop at the foot of a dim staircase.
His grin broke free. It was the most fun he’d had all night. “Where does this go?”
“I’ll show you, Professor.” The poor light didn’t hide the mischief playing in her eyes.
He swept his hand and gave a bow in a grand gesture. “Lead on.”
Following her shapely calves up the stairs, he was surprised when she stepped through a door into the hallway leading to the guest rooms.
“Side entrance,” she declared.
His room was only several doors away, and he pointed at it. “My room’s right there.”
“And mine’s right here.” She lifted her chin, indicating the door beside them.
Despite his best efforts to keep it in check, heat pooled in his gut, radiating through him. “Ah” was all he could muster. An awkward few beats passed while he debated how to ask for her phone number. “Will you be here for breakfast in the morning?”
She nodded. “I hear the food’s fabulous.”
Tongue in knots, he searched for something, anything, to say. Sadly, he came up empty. “Well, I’ll just …” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. I’ll get her number tomorrow.
Her breath hitched. “I have a full bottle of wine in my room. Interested in sharing a glass?”
The invitation caught him off guard. Did he want to join her? So much. He really liked her. Which was the same reason he bobbed his head toward his own door, stammering, “Uh, it’s probably best … I should go.”
