by Jamie Howard
Maggie hurried on. “Last but not least, my darling husband.” She reached up and patted my cheek. “The strong, silent type. They called you a guitar whisperer, and insinuated that with those dexterous fingers, you’re probably good at more things than just playing the guitar.” She elbowed me in the stomach when I started to laugh. “They went on to say you’re a recluse who is very clearly devoted and in love with his wife, so it’s unlikely anyone else will get to benefit from your talents.”
“And a thousand teenage hearts break,” Felix muttered, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead with a dramatic sigh. If I’d had another pillow, I’d have thrown that one at him too. Rolling off the couch, he stretched, his fingertips brushing the ceiling. “Who’s hungry? I’m hungry.”
“Only if we can get Thai. No more pizza.” Gavin tossed the controller back onto the couch behind him.
“I’ve gotta make a call, but I’ll meet you guys there?” Ben asked, already pulling his phone from his pocket. “Text me where you decide.” Pressing the phone to his ear, he disappeared through the door.
“Ian? Mags?” Felix asked.
She tilted her head back and lifted an eyebrow at me. We had a silent conversation with our eyes that went something like:
What do you think, Ian?
Well, I am hungry.
Even if we don’t go we could still eat. And we’d have the place to ourselves. Hmmm, I wonder what we could do with an empty apartment . . .
I grinned down at her. “I think we’ll pass.”
“Pass,” Maggie agreed.
Felix smirked at us. “Mhmm. I know what you two are up to. You just want to sample some of Ian’s talented fingers. Dirty dogs.”
Maggie rolled her eyes at him. “One day, Felix, you’re really gonna need to learn to think with your brain and not your dick. There’s more to life than sex.”
“Then clearly, doll, you’re not living it right.” He winked at us.
When it was just the two of us left, Maggie rolled over onto my lap, pressing me back into the couch.
I laughed up at her. “What was it you were just saying to Felix?”
“Just because I think Felix’s brain lives in his pants, doesn’t mean that I don’t enjoy a good romp with my husband.” Raking her fingers over my chest, she circled the shell of my ear with her tongue. “My very sexy husband who’s going on tour in another week.”
“I still think you should come with us,” I said, slipping my hands through the gaping sides of her overalls to run over her stomach.
She drew back, sitting up straight. “You know I would, but I can’t with my scholarship.”
“I know.” And I did know. We’d talked about it over and over. Frankly, I loved how dedicated she was to her schoolwork, to her art. Maggie wouldn’t have been Maggie without paint under her fingernails and charcoal dusting her cheeks. That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to miss her. So I told her so. “I’m gonna miss you like crazy.”
“Tell me about it.”
“You know what that means, right?”
A line appeared in her forehead as she drew her eyebrows together. “What?”
I leered at her. “Phone sex.”
“Don’t forget sexting.”
I coughed out a laugh. “Remind me to never leave my phone where anyone can get it. Better yet, I’m putting a password on that thing.”
That made her laugh, which was my intent. She lifted my hand up to her lips and kissed the top of it. Turning it over, she traced her fingertips over my skin, following the outlines of my tats. “When are you getting one of these for me? You’ve got the pocket watch for your dad, the daisy for your mom, the lion for Ben, the band’s symbol, and a half dozen other ones too.”
“Maybe I’m saving that one.”
“Saving it for what?”
I shrugged. “Until I know it’ll be perfect.”
“Do you know what you’re gonna get?”
“Maybe.”
Her fingers darted for my sides, tickling me in just the right spot. I jerked and squirmed, until I had her pinned underneath me on the couch, her arms clamped to her sides.
“You’re cheating,” she said, her words mingling with her laughter.
“I never cheat.”
She stopped wiggling, her eyes pinning mine in place. The playfulness from a minute ago disappeared from one blink to the next. “I know that.”
I knew she did, but I wanted her to hear it. The tour was going to be tough on us, the first real time we’d be spending any significant amount of time apart. Only half of me was really looking forward to it. Once Maggie was out of college in a few more months and able to come with us, I’d be much more excited about it. Until then, I worried about the tabloids and the lies they’d no doubt print. I worried about the crazy fans and the women who thought that because I was a celebrity, it was okay to grope me.
“Ian.” Her voice drew me back to her, and at some point she’d slipped her hand free to cup it around my face. “The tattoo?”
“Yeah?”
“The next one you get is for me, okay?”
“Okay.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
She slipped her tiny hand down the side of my neck and fisted it in the collar of my shirt, dragging me down to her mouth. Her teeth nipped at my lower lip. “Take me to bed, Ian.”
Standing, I flipped her over my shoulder, giving her ass a good squeeze in the process. “Your wish is my command.”
Chapter 27: Bianca
I was pretty sure I was getting high off the smell of nail polish and acetone. If nothing else, the hairs in my nostrils were getting singed by the onslaught of chemicals. I shifted in the plush recliner, wiggling my toes in the warm water.
Harper sighed. “This is heaven, right?” She rolled her head to the left to look at me.
“Pure bliss,” I agreed, my voice lacking conviction. It’s not that I didn’t like nail salons. I’d been to my fair share with my mother, but I had a thing with people touching my feet. I squirmed as the woman kneeling in front of me scrubbed the pumice stone across my heel.
My phone beeped from its hiding spot in my purse. We both glanced down to where it was wedged between our two chairs, neither of us making a move for it.
“You gonna get that?” Harper asked.
“Nope.”
“Bianca, what the hell happened?”
I pinched my lips together, shaking my head. I still didn’t understand what happened, so explaining it to Harper was completely out of the question. One minute Ian was this happy-go-lucky stranger, the next he was on stage next to me, looking like he was going to hurl his dinner into my lap; and by the end of the night he’d flip-flopped again, drawing in on himself and doing everything he could to get away from me. I wasn’t a hundred percent certain, but I was pretty sure he’d been crying in the alley.
To sum up, Ian was an emotional basket case. A real-life Jekyll and Hyde. I had enough going on in my life without adding a dose of pure crazy. And despite our claims that this was casual, the more time I spent with him, the deeper he dragged me in, pulling me under until I could barely breathe.
I needed air. This was the smart move—dodging his calls, evading his questions, not agreeing to any plans. Besides, I had the list to keep me occupied. Still plenty of things to cross off.
“I don’t want to talk about it. Whenever we’re together we’re always talking about me. I’m sick of hearing about me. Tell me about you. How’s Brand?”
“Fantastic. It doesn’t hurt that he’s an animal in the sack. Seriously.” She ran her tongue over her lips, giving me a wicked grin. “But it’s not all about the sex. He’s also really sweet. Like the other day when I wasn’t feeling all that great? He swung by the apartment and brought me French fries.”
“Right, because greasy fast food cures all stomach ailments.”
“I know, it’s weird, but it’s the only thing I ever want to eat when I’m sick. Anyway, the p
oint here is that not only did he bring it, but he actually listened on our date to know what to bring. He gets bonus points for that in my book.”
I dug my fingernails into the black leather as I fought the urge to jerk my foot out of the woman’s hand. Her fingers swooped over my instep, tickling me something fierce. “So, you’re . . . a . . . couple?” I fought the words out through clenched teeth, my calf muscles tensing.
“We’re taking things slow.” Harper fiddled with the buttons on her blouse. “He’s got an ex-wife, and she may have soured him to the idea of relationships.”
“That’s rough.” I lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “But slow is still good, right?”
“Slow is great.” Harper flipped absently through the magazine in her lap, completely unaffected by the woman manhandling her foot. “It means I can delay the inevitable dinner with the parents, which will surely go just as badly as I already know it will.”
Goosebumps flashed across my skin as my foot was tugged out from the warm water. “What’s not to like about Brand? He’s got a steady job, he’s loyal to his family, he clearly cares about you—”
“He never graduated college, he’s covered in tattoos, he’s been married before . . .” Harper counted off on her fingers and punctuated her list with a roll of her eyes.
“But none of that matters to you, right?”
“Of course not.” She let out a frustrated sigh. “But my parents have never been happy with my life decisions.” She wrapped a blue-streaked strand of hair around her finger for emphasis. “I just wish something I did would make them happy, you know?”
I reached across the gap between our chairs and squeezed her fingers. “Trust me, I get that. But I think you need to do whatever’s going to make you happy.”
“Sweetheart, do you actually hear the words that are coming out of your mouth?” She gave me a flat stare and then snorted.
I tugged my hand back from hers and folded it in my lap. “It’s not the same.”
“It’s exactly the same.”
My phone beeped again, interrupting our almost-argument. Harper snatched my purse and fished out my phone, tossing it into my lap. “For God’s sake, answer him. Then look me in the eye and tell me you ignoring him has absolutely nothing to do with your parents.”
The funny part was, it actually had nothing to do with my parents. Not even a bit. It had everything to do with Ian’s issues, not mine. I looked over to Harper, who had her arms folded tightly across her chest. “It has nothing to do with them.”
“Sure.”
“You know what? Fine. I’ll text him back, we’ll make plans, go out again. Will that make you happy?”
Harper swung her feet to the floor, stooping to grab her purse. “Weren’t you listening to yourself? It doesn’t matter what’s gonna make me happy. And it sure as shit shouldn’t matter if it makes your parents happy. Will seeing him make you happy?” She pursed her lips like she wanted to say more, but they were waving her over for her manicure so she just turned around and left.
Would seeing Ian make me happy? That would wholly depend on which Ian I was seeing.
I sighed and pulled up my text messages, scrolling past the ones I’d ignored earlier in the week.
Ian: Hey, can we talk?
And then a few minutes later:
Ian: I know you probably don’t want to talk to me, and that’s fine. I get it. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.
I frowned at my lap.
Bianca: Sorry for what?
Ian: I wish there was an easy way to answer that question. Can I just be sorry for being me?
Bianca: No.
I typed it quickly and sent it. That wasn’t good enough. I wanted more than that. Especially when I was beginning to suspect that the Ian I knew wasn’t even the real Ian at all.
Ian: I’m sorry for losing my shit the other night.
I had the urge to ask him what the hell happened, but I dismissed it. Even if a part of me did want to know, I didn’t want to open that can of worms.
Bianca: Are you okay?
Ian: Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.
Bianca: I’m not sure I believe that.
Ian: Let me show you then. You free tonight?
I had to put our conversation on pause so I could switch spots. As the manicurist fumbled with her supplies, I read through the two messages I’d gotten in the meantime.
Ian: I’ve got another item on the list all planned out F04A
Ian: Please?
I needed to answer quickly before I lost the use of my hands to wet nail polish. Part of me still wasn’t sure that seeing Ian again was the best idea—logically or emotionally. But the clock was ticking down on my time here in New York, and if it meant being able to cross another item off the list, maybe it wasn’t the worst idea. At least that’s how I tried to rationalize it to myself.
Bianca: I’ve got yoga class till 7. I’ll walk over to your place after?
Ian: Is it the same place we went? I’ll meet you there. You shouldn’t be walking alone at night.
Bianca: Yup, same place. And fine, if you insist.
Ian: I insist.
Ian: Oh, and dress warm.
My purse bumped against my hip as I jogged down the stairs. The brisk November air bit into my sweat-dampened skin, and I ducked my chin deeper into my scarf. I squinted through the darkness until I found Ian, hands shoved into the deep pockets of his black coat, his collar popped up around his ears. Ears that were, at the moment, a bright shade of pink.
“Hey,” I said, my breath clouding in the air. “Been waiting long?”
“Nah, a few minutes maybe.” His chin trembled like he was trying to keep his teeth from chattering. “You ready?”
I nodded, and we set off. We both used the frigid weather as a cover for our uncertainty with each other, huddling into our coats to lessen the sting of the wind. I sighed in relief as we slipped into the lobby of his building, the warmth soaking into me like I’d jumped into a hot tub.
I peeked at him out of the corner of my eye as we rode the elevator up. The tip of his nose had turned that same shade of pink, and his cheeks were flushed from the cold. He caught me looking at him and smiled. A real, full-on Ian smile.
I almost dropped my bag.
When we passed Ian’s floor and the elevator kept climbing, I quirked my head in question. Ian shrugged and kept right on grinning. I’d been wracking my brain all day trying to figure out what item on the list we’d be tackling tonight. At first, when he mentioned dressing warm, I was convinced we’d be going for a motorcycle ride. Given that we were in his building, I thought that was highly unlikely.
The elevator dinged and the doors swept open, revealing a floor nearly identical to the one Ian lived on—same carpet, same paint color, same light fixtures. Through another door at the end of the hall, we climbed a flight of stairs, pausing outside a large, blue metal door.
“Ready?” Ian asked.
“As I’ll ever be.”
He chuckled and pulled open the door, the hinges screeching from disuse. The wind whistled, whipping through my hair and snatching the loose strands from my hair tie. Even through my thick coat, the cold seemed to penetrate, stealing through every opening to trail its frozen fingers over my skin.
We were on the roof, the dark sky looming above with only the faintest sprinkling of stars. It wasn’t the bitter cold that froze me in my tracks, but what looked like a large white teepee centered in the middle of the open area.
Ian unzipped a flap, holding it back so that I could walk through ahead of him. He zipped it back up behind him, letting out a slight shiver. “Damn, it’s cold out tonight.”
I let my purse drop to the floor with a thump. Two sleeping bags were rolled up tight in the corner, and a red cooler sat off to the side. “And you thought tonight would be a good night for camping?”
“It’s only gonna get colder.”
I couldn’t argue with him there. And rooftop camping? Pretty ingeniou
s. At least I wouldn’t have to spend the night worrying about being mauled by a bear.
“What are the odds we’re going to freeze to death tonight?”
“Give me a little credit, would you?” He slapped a hand against the tent wall. “Top-of-the-line tent, and sleeping bags. Brought up some extra blankets just in case. We’re all set.”
“Any chance you’ve got some food over there?” My stomach let out a loud growl, adding its voice to my question.
Shrugging out of his jacket, he tossed it over into the corner and stooped down next to the cooler. “So, here’s the deal. I’ve got soup.” He held up a thermos in my direction. “Or I’ve got ice cream. Technically, there’s a tub of fat-free frozen yogurt in here for you, and the ice cream’s for me.”
I followed suit and shed my jacket, surprised to find that the inside of the tent wasn’t nearly as cold as I expected. “Is your thinking that since we’re already practically icicles, we might as well freeze our insides too?”
“I . . . uh, couldn’t figure out how to keep anything else warm up here. I can run down to the apartment if you want and heat up—”
“Soup’s fine, thanks.”
He passed me the thermos, opting for the ice cream himself. I wrapped my fingers around the red plastic, letting the heat thaw my fingers. Watching him spoon ice cream into his mouth made a shiver course across my skin, so I diverted my attention to the soup. I felt the first swallow all the way down to my stomach. By the seventh spoonful, I was mildly toasty.
We went a long time without saying anything at all. Every once in a while our gazes would catch, holding briefly before darting away. When I’d had my fill to eat, I screwed the top back on the thermos and folded my hands in my lap.
“I think we—”
“We should probably—”
We both stopped as our words collided in the air.
Ian laughed and pushed a hand through his hair. “Can I go first?”
“Go for it.”
“I know you’re mad about the other night. And you have every right to be. I’m mad at myself for the way I reacted. And I’m . . .” He dropped his head into his hands. “I’m so embarrassed you saw me like that.”
