“This thing between us—it isn’t just sex. Great sex,” he amended. “At least, I don’t want it to be.”
“Crazy great sex,” she added with a soft, affirming chuckle. Fingers interlacing with his, Cassidy asked softly, “What do you want it to be?”
“More. Which is messed up, because I can’t promise you anything. I don’t know what I’m doing with my own life three days from now. Dragging someone into this mess is stupid and selfish. But I still want more with you.”
“It isn’t selfish if I want it, too.” Cassidy pulled her panties back on. Then she readjusted the top of her dress and squirmed on top of him. “I want more of you. I can’t put up with the secrecy for very long, though. I understand why you need it. For now. I guess that’s my cue to pretend this didn’t just happen.”
After giving him a kiss that brought his dick right back up to attention, she slithered out of the bunk. A minute later, Jake could hear her greeting Kyoko, asking how to turn on the big plasma TV. Cassidy sounded normal. Unruffled. Definitely not sexed up at all.
Well, his girl was a consummate performer.
His girl. For now. She’d made that clear. It came with an expiration date.
But could Jake figure his shit out before then? Or would Cassidy, like Riptide, and his ridiculous pretense at being a figurehead for MCQ Pharma just end up being another bad decision for him?
CHAPTER EIGHT
In the realm of long-standing rock gods, Jake didn’t buy a ton of expensive stuff. He never touched drugs. Felt that a sixty-dollar bottle of wine—without the restaurant upcharge—got the job done just fine. Seven-hundred-dollar sneakers mostly pissed him off. They got crusty with mud and dog shit same as Nikes—with the added bonus of buyers’ remorse at the waste.
But standing in the middle of the Hope Chest lingerie store in downtown Philly, he had the urge to pull out his AmEx black, give it to the cashier, and say “one of everything.”
This shopping for lingerie in the middle of the day with a gorgeous woman was also, hands down, the best freaking date he’d ever been on.
Right now, Cassidy was modeling a white lace—nothing but lace, so sexily see-through—bra and “tap short” combo that made Jake want to offer to shut down the store for twenty minutes.
No matter what it cost.
As long as he could get his hands on her and his dick in her.
She switched poses, raising her arms, bending a knee. Pretty much doing everything possible to get him hot. Then Cassidy bent over, that heart-shaped ass perfectly presented in the mirror and her breasts just about tumbling out of the bra as she braced her hands on her knees.
The woman was going to kill him without laying a finger on him. Every red blood cell in his body was headed straight to his dick, and in ten more seconds, there wouldn’t be any left in his brain.
“Isn’t this one too, I don’t know, innocent?”
“Baby, believe me when I say there’s nothing innocent about the way you look right now.”
“Hmm. Maybe it’s too bridal?” She wrinkled her button nose and stood with a frown. “That’s not on my five-year plan.”
A hollow laugh jerked out of Jake. He hadn’t planned on possibly taking over the family company because his dad liked dresses. What was that line? Men plan, and the gods laugh. Jake didn’t think he’d ever believe in a plan again. Might as well be upfront and just call it a wish list. Like asking for a Lamborghini for Christmas.
“Be careful with assuming those’ll work out,” he warned. “A good plan can blow up in your face with no warning.”
Cassidy opened her mouth as if to continue arguing. But something on his undoubtedly grim expression must’ve made her reconsider. She bit her hot pink slicked lower lip. Then she tossed her hair and giggled lightly. “Nobody’s going to force me to get married, Jake. This isn’t Camelot.”
“It could be. We both sing well enough.” And damn, if he wasn’t grateful for the way she lightened the topic after he’d dive-bombed them into the mud. Striving to stay light, he asked, “Did you ever do musical theatre in high school?”
“I didn’t ‘do’ high school. I had tutors.” Then Jake swore he could see a lightbulb go off over her head. Her whole face lit up. “That’s an interesting idea, though. There’s that TV network that does live musicals a couple of times a year. They’re getting huge ratings. Talk about exposure.”
“You want to do Camelot? Something so old school? Not Hamilton?”
“You get more attention by doing the unexpected. Doing a classic show that showcases how well we can truly sing rather than just perform would be smart. Besides, there was a big age difference between Arthur and Guinevere. You’d be perfect as the older king.”
“Keep it up,” he growled. “I’ll start with some method acting and put you over my knee.”
“I’m liking this idea more and more.” This time her giggle was far less silly, and far sultrier.
He thrust a hanger with a black bra with ornate, thick swirls. “Let’s see this one next. Hum a couple of bars when you’re ready. I won’t go far.” Just far enough to try and walk off his half-wood.
An almost impossible task in a couture lingerie store. Good thing it seemed like they were the only patrons. He’d take a lap, see if there was anything left for Cassidy to try on, and then he’d take her to lunch.
These three days off in Philadelphia had been amazing. Rehearsals in the afternoons, getting the sound tighter with the guys. Then just playing tourist with a woman who scoffed at his love of vinyl, but knew the lyrics to every Dylan, One Direction, and Diplo song.
The old school music playing overhead swung from Beyonce’s Single Ladies to Whitney’s I Wanna Dance. Clearly female empowerment was the theme in this store. No complaints from Jake on that score. Cassidy’s strength, her ability to not just survive, but thrive in a business that wrecked strong men with twice her experience, was one of the things he most admired about her.
Walking past the last curtained alcove, Jake heard a man asking to see a bra in a bigger size.
But it wasn’t just any man. He knew that voice. Even though it didn’t belong here, he knew, without a doubt, who it was.
Jake shoved back the curtain. “Dad?”
The face of the saleswoman, with her arms full of bras and garters, contorted into some weird combination of fear, shock, and ghastly glee. She did the right, left, right thing as if she were about to cross the highway of tension that had sprung up between them, and then scuttled wordlessly away.
With a flat tone and even flatter eyes, his dad said, “Jake. This is…unfortunate.”
He did a slow, top to bottom of his father wearing the—holy fuck—identical bra and panty set he’d last seen on Cassidy. Jake jerked his eyes way, way up. “Really, Dad? Because the word I was going to go with was unexpected.”
“This—” he patted his bra strap, “—shouldn’t be a surprise to you. I was told you were dialed in to my, ah, situation.”
“Knowing about your ‘situation’ and being confronted by the reality of my dad’s hairy balls spilling out of tight white lace are two very different things.”
His father had the decency to shrug into a black satin robe. One with hearts piped along the lapels. “I wasn’t aware you’d left New Jersey. I’m surprised to run into you here.”
Of course, he wasn’t aware. Because his dad seemed to take pride in turning a blind eye to Jake’s concert dates, locations, or any press at all concerning him and Riptide. They’d been in Barcelona during the terrorist attack. Not a single person from his family called to check on him. It wasn’t until after they got interviewed on a morning show that the family lawyer reached out to Jake’s manager to inquire as to his safety.
In a tone drier than the legendary martini at Musso & Frank’s Grill in Los Angeles, Jake said, “I’m just as surprised that you’re here.”
“It’s hard to find things in my size at department stores. I have to shop at boutiques.”
Like
availability of big and tall sizing was the issue? “Not here at the Hope Chest. Although yeah, I’m surprised that you’re not keeping a low profile. That you’re in the major high-end shopping street in Philly. That you aren’t being careful.”
Man, that got loud at the end. Too bad he didn’t give a single flying fuck.
Looking down at the slinky, feminine robe, his father asked quietly, “You think I should hide who I am?”
“In general? No. Hell, Dad, you can paint your dick green and decorate it with twinkling Christmas tree lights for all I care. I hate that you felt you had to hide.”
“Thank you.”
Jake slapped his palm against the wall of the dressing room in a half-hearted attempt to keep from punching his fist through it. Or, God help him, from taking a shot at his old man with all of his buttoned up, swallowed down frustration powering it.
“But you did hide. You’ve managed to do so for over fifty years. So, I don’t think it’s asking too much that you abide by the legal documents you signed stating that you wouldn’t flaunt your, um, preferences for six months while MCQ Pharma figures its shit out.”
Staring down his nose as if his son had accused him of something utterly despicable, his father said, “I’m not in a parade, Jake. I’m not posting selfies in that.” He pointed at the pink satin nightgown on the hook. “I’m just shopping. I don’t know why that upsets you.”
“Really? You don’t get why I’m upset that you fucking left rehab? Because yeah,” Jake drilled a finger into his sternum and enjoyed the release of the yelling, “I am dialed in to all the specifics, which means I know damn well you agreed to stay locked up in there until after the board meeting. It’s the whole reason I was forced to take a break from Riptide, abandon my partners at a pivotal time for us, and fucking cover for you.”
“Keep your voice down.” The order snapped out like he was still a kid that could be told what to do.
Surprise again. Those days were long gone. “Why bother?”
“It’s low-class to make a scene in public. An etiquette pearl that you’ve clearly chosen to ignore over and over again in your music career. But for now, since you’re representing MCQ Pharma, I’d think you’d be smart enough to refrain from doing anything that would reflect badly on the company.”
Jake paced out of the curtained alcove, feeling hemmed in. He paced a circle around a Lucite table covered in rainbow circles of panties. He’d probably have better luck getting through to the panties.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. If you don't care about the company, Dad, why should I? It’s your responsibility, not mine. You made that clear years ago, when you kicked me out. When you took away my shares and took away my seat on the board.”
“Right now, neither of you are shining examples of good leadership.” Fully dressed in her undercover uniform of jeans, a Phillies jersey and a baseball cap, Cassidy marched right between them. She didn’t bother to extend her arms to push them apart. She just shot them the look. The one teachers and moms and managers had used for years that said you’re being an idiot and you damn well know better.
One hand rose to straighten a tie that simply wasn’t there, what with the bra and robe. Guess old gestures died hard. The snooty tone, however, was ever-present. “Who are you?”
“A friend of Jake’s. As such, I have to say that I’m not an admirer of your work, Mr. McQuinn. Leaving your son to clean up your mess? Talk about a public scene that’s far from classy.”
Forget love at first sight. Love at first fight had ensnared him. Watching Cassidy stick up for him was better than getting to toss out the first pitch at the World Series on his birthday.
Cassidy put a hand on Jake’s arm. “A big, public fight with your father won’t do anything to help Riptide at this pivotal time, either. Let’s just go.”
She was right. For Riptide’s sake, he should walk away. Not to mention that the conversation with his dad was going nowhere. But he had to do one thing first. He might not have the mindset of a CEO yet, but Jake sure as hell knew the most potent antidote to twisted facts.
The truth.
So, he slung an arm around his dad’s neck and snapped a quick selfie. Proof for the board of directors that their troublesome leader was not behaving. And he’d put himself in it, so his father couldn’t try and pretend the picture was from an earlier date.
“This’ll jazz up the family scrapbook, won’t it? Thanks for the heartfelt reunion, Dad. And I’m hanging in there, by the way.”
Not that he’d asked.
Not that he ever did.
Jake hooked a thumb at the dressing room Cassidy had used. “Put everything in there on hold. I’ll have someone swing by in an hour to pick it all up.” As the saleswoman nodded and stammered agreement, he fought back a shudder at a horrifying flash back to five minutes ago. “Not the white lace set, though.”
Hand clasping Cassidy’s, Jake hurried them out of the store. Cassidy’s bodyguard stiffened to attention outside at their rushed exit, but she waved him off with one hand. Matt fell into step just behind them as Jake said, “C’mon. One of my favorite restaurants is just a couple of blocks away.”
Forehead crinkling, since they’d just had lunch an hour earlier, Cassidy asked, “Are you hungry?”
“Nope. But the Dandelion pours imperial pints of beer. Right now, I need to drink my body weight in something to wash away a sight I can never unsee.”
Sidestepping a cyclist, Cassidy sucked in a sharp breath. “Is that why you didn’t want to buy the lace—” her voice trailed off. “You poor thing. That’s, um, traumatic. I thought the robe alone was enough of a shocker.”
And then she giggled.
Exactly like Jake had been tempted to do. Except he couldn’t. Because that would be wrong. “Are you laughing at a perfectly valid life choice? Because you know I’m stuck, on principle, supporting my dad’s descent into the world of thongs and garter belts.”
“I’m laughing at what must’ve been the look on your face when you saw him in an identical outfit to mine. And I’m really hoping that I came out on top in the comparison.” She giggled again, rolling into a full-blown chortle.
Jake gave up on his attempt to take the high road and chuckled, too. Because everything about this situation was fucking absurdly ridiculous. They walked the entire two blocks laughing, hand in hand until they got to the British pub in the corner rowhouse with ornate curlicues framing the second and third floor windows.
Once they were on tartan-covered stools at the bar with foaming pints in front of them, Jake raised his glass in a toast. “Thank you.”
As they clinked, a confused smile flitted over her lips. “For what?”
Did Cassidy really not know how special she was? How rare a heart so big and open was in this every group for themselves, claw your way to the top business? How on earth had she gotten to be so huge, so famous, and yet stayed so sweet?
“For not hiding in the other dressing room, or high-tailing it out the door when things got real.”
Glass at her lips, half-tilted, Cassidy froze. Then she blinked fast a few times. “Have you dated women who would do that?”
“Sure.” He could think of an even dozen of examples without even trying. A bad review of a concert had chased away Jake’s first supermodel after only three days together. He’d learned fast not to expect much out of the women he dated. A good time? Definitely. Trust or selflessness? Not unless it benefitted them in some way. “Fame’s not an easy burden to share with someone.”
“Sharing’s what it’s all about, though. That’s the difference between a hook-up and something more. Getting to share all the moments—tiny, crappy, funny, happy, jubilant—I know that’s what I want more than anything. I’m so sick of the same shallow conversations. Of not sharing a history, quirks, inside jokes, fears, dreams.”
Gently, he curled her fingers around the handle again and lifted so she’d drink. “That can be hard to do when you’re constantly on tour. Constantly on
a plane, or at meet and greets five time zones away.”
“Getting to be a rock star is hard to do, too. But being hard didn’t stop either of us from doing it.”
Like a two-by-four whacking him in the head, realization hit that Cassidy had clearly been thinking about him since that night he’d walked away from her in the desert. Just as much as he’d thought about her.
Funny how it didn’t bother him one bit.
Jake rubbed his hand over his chin. “Why do I feel like there’s been a target sign on my back for six years that I never saw?”
“Maybe I angled for you. But only to see what was there, what could be.” Cassidy laid her hand right over his heart. “What’s actually happening between us is out of my control.”
That was a great way to describe it. Because this was the worst possible time to start a relationship. The worst possible time to drag anyone into his shitshow of a life. The worst possible time to add one more thing, one more person to his list of things to care about. And yet how fast he was falling for Cassidy was entirely out of his control.
“I’m glad you did. And I’m glad that you didn’t just stay with me in the store but thought of what would be best for me. That fight with my dad was headed to becoming down and dirty and ugly. You hit exactly the right nerve to protect me and get me out of there.”
“Then I guess the least you can do is buy me a drink.” She tipped back her glass and took a long, slow swallow.
Hell, if that wasn’t an erotic sight, watching her throat muscles work. Maybe it was because her neck got all exposed like that when she sang, and Jake always wanted to lick his way up one side and down the other in that position.
Not that he’d risk anything close to giving her a hickey in such a public place. But it gave him an idea.
“I’ll do you one better. How about I get us a hotel room in Baltimore? Away from where everyone else is staying? Private, so that we’re not constantly worried about being discovered together?”
The Other Side of Wrong Page 8
