Playing With Fire (Grindstone Harbor, #2)

by Cat Mason

  “Wicked jealous,” I admit honestly. “He had what I wanted. When I heard him bragging about how he was about to nail Greer Baker’s sister.” My arm tightens around her. “I stepped in.”

  “Wow,” she breathes. “All this time, I always assumed it was him. Bristol did too. I was so mad at his ass I threw fiberglass insulation in the dryer with all his boxers.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “Oh yes, I did,” she fires right back.

  “He thought Becky Maxwell gave him crabs.” Dropping my head to the pillow, I laugh hard. “Dumb bastard freaked out. He busted into the nurse’s office and whipped out his dick, screaming like a goddamn lunatic for Nurse Lisa to ‘fix his penis’.”

  “No, he didn’t,” she laughs, burying her face in my neck.

  “Oh yes, he did,” I chuckle. “Even threw out all his underwear when she didn’t find anything crawlin’.”

  “Oh my God!” her entire body shakes with laughter.

  Holding her against me, my chest swells. Fuck me. This girl. Everything in the world could burn to the ground and it wouldn’t fucking matter as long as I have moments like these with Quinn.

  Pulling back, she looks up at me, eyes glistening with tears from her cute as hell giggle fit. “Tanner,” she says softly, her tone turning serious. “About the baby...”

  “I’m happy about the baby, Quinn,” I reply, without hesitation. “I know I haven’t said it, but I am.”

  “And if it’s Evan’s,” she whispers nervously. “Will you still be happy then?” Licking her lips, she shifts her body away from me when I don’t immediately answer. Sitting up, she bends her knees, wrapping her arms around them, her eyes fixed on the sheets bunched up at the end of the bed. “I’m not prepared to go down this road with you, feel all I’m feeling, only to have you haul ass across that bridge you’ve built back to me because you didn’t get the ending you hoped for.”

  “Quinn,” I start, reaching for her. “Baby, come here.”

  “Giving you those parts of me isn’t easy.” The little pink hoop in her lip flips back and forth rapidly, betraying her attempt to appear calm. “I need to know all those fucking feels aren’t temporary or conditional. That it doesn’t go away if this baby isn’t yours.”

  “The baby is mine,” I tell her, refusing to believe anything else. I don’t want to even think about the alternative.

  “You don’t know that,” she argues, forcing the issue. “No one does.”

  “That whole you can’t be disappointed if you never allow yourself to believe things might work out, right?” I fire back, knowing that this is what she has always done. Bolting upright, I pull her into my lap, forcing her to meet my eyes. “Yes, I want the baby to be mine. Ours. It could very well rip my fucking heart out if another man gets to have that with you. Especially E.” A tear slips free of the corner of her eye, her bottom lip quivering. My heart aches knowing I’ve upset her by telling her that. I hate that she’s conflicted about what’s happening between us, when I’m the exact opposite. Determined to fix that, I take a breath and prepare to lay it out for her. Whether she is ready to hear it or not. “It should’ve been me in your bed all this time. There should be no doubt who’s baby you’re carrying. That’s on me, baby. The way I feel for you doesn’t have a goddamn thing to do with some positive lines on a pregnancy test. There was never any other choice in my mind. I’ve been in love with you since I was a fuckin’ kid, ridin’ you up the street on my handlebars.”

  “Tanner,” she whimpers, more tears slipping down her cheeks.

  Taking her face in my hands, I press my forehead to hers. “I’ll never be able to love anyone the way I love you, Quinn.”

  Shifting in my lap, she straddles my thighs, hands sliding up my shoulders and neck, fingers disappearing into my hair. “All those feels,” she murmurs against my lips. “I’ll be blaming the eye leakage on the hormones and not because of the fact that I love you too.”

  “I can live with that,” I smile, rolling her to her back on the mattress.

  Our mouths collide the second I push inside her. I swallow her gasp, and every sweet as fuck little moan that follows. Quinn rocks her hips, meeting each thrust of my cock. She takes everything I give her, offering every inch of herself in return. Every curve of her so damn soft. Each flick of her tongue fucking sweeter than the last. We move beyond the intense passion of animalistic fucking. This isn’t about sex, lust, or any of the shit that can fade over time.

  Loving someone you can’t have is like dying a little each day. Hearing her say the words I never thought I’d hear is music to my fucking ears.

  Forcing myself to break our kiss, I slide my hands around to her back, gripping her shoulders to lift her to my mouth. My lips find her neck, kissing, sucking, marking her porcelain skin. Her hands fist in my hair, body writhing and grinding against mine.

  “Love you,” I murmur, tracing the curve of her breast with my tongue, feeling the rapid beating of her heart against my lips. Slowing my hips, I look into her eyes, wanting to make damn sure she hears me. “You love me. We focus on that. Anything else is background noise.”

  Her teeth drag over her bottom lip, managing a nod. Surging forward, I fall into Quinn. My forearms landing hard on the mattress on either side of her, keeping her from taking my weight. Gripping her shoulders, I slam her down on my cock. Each time, grinding her down as I roll my hips, putting pressure on her clit. Her body winds tight, her warm, wet pussy squeezing, sucking me in, and pulling him under. When she comes, her beautiful blue eyes roll into the back of her head. My name the only sound coming from her lips.

  Ignoring the creaking of the floorboards outside the door and the sound of Bristol and Tage’s voices, I chase my release. Taking Quinn’s mouth, I kiss the fuck out of my girl, feeding off her cries when it finds me. Legs coming up, she wraps around me, hooking her ankles above my ass. She clings to me, panting my name against my lips until my hips finally still, cock buried deep, and my heart completely fucking full for the first time I can ever remember.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Uncultured Spelling Lessons

  Quinn

  Tucked into Tanner’s side on the sofa, I look up when the doorbell rings. “Oh, please,” Evan says, standing from the leather chair. “Let me.”

  “I feel like you’re getting off on this,” Greer chuckles, not bothering to glance up from his phone screen. “Sick bastard.” His fingers tap away, brows pinched together in concentration.

  “Ugh,” Bristol gags. “That was almost vomit.”

  “Better you than me,” I mumble, pressing my hand to my stomach. “First morning I haven’t spent face down in the toilet in weeks.”

  “Looks like those peniscillin injections are workin’,” she snickers, nudging me with her shoulder. “Dick does a body good.”

  “You’re an ass,” I mutter, shoving her back.

  My conversation with Tanner earlier this morning still weighs heavily on my mind. Vicki coming back to the house and the occasional joking between Bristol and me doing little to pull me from the bombarding thoughts of what if. My mistakes and impulsive actions keep coming back to haunt me at the worst possible times. I can’t help wondering if I’m living on borrowed time.

  This is exactly why I avoid letting people in this way. Sex is simple. Raw, no strings fucking like I’ve had in the past meant no risks to my heart. There weren’t any expectations going in. No demands or desires other than scratching that needed itch for an orgasm or two. It’s when you start giving a fuck, that the fucking fucks you up.

  With Tanner I knew that very first time he kissed me what we had meant something different. Crossing that line with him was like playing with fire, and nothing had ever made me feel so alive. I felt whole. It completely and totally immersed me in something other than myself.

  I’m nowhere near ready to give that up.

  I can’t say I believe it’s possible to step back out of the flames once you’ve allowed yourself to become c
onsumed.

  “Well,” Vicki’s cold clipped tone fills the room, pulling me from my thoughts. Looking up, I see her standing in the doorway, eyes narrowed on Evan. The tension amps up in the room. Feeling the impending attack coming, as if Vicki were a circling shark, all eye’s snap to the doorway, each of us preparing to go on the defensive. “I can’t say I’m surprised you’re still here. Not that I’ll lie and say I’m happy to see you either, Mr. Pahl.”

  “Vicki, Vicki, Vicki,” E croons, hamming it up. “I hate fighting with you. Come give Big Daddy some sugar,” he says, puckering his lips.

  “You are a disgusting animal,” she huffs, shoving into the house.

  “No shit,” Bristol mutters.

  “Can’t you hear my heart breaking?” he shouts, clutching his chest.

  “Dry your tears, man,” Greer snickers, focusing on his phone again. “If you cry, I cry. We’re all gonna cry.”

  “Fuck,” Tanner groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. “No one wants to see that shit.”

  “That’s probably true,” E admits, though his eyes drop to Vicki’s swaying hips as she walks. “Not sure it’s worth the frost bite I’d get on my dick from plowing the frozen tundra.”

  Two men, looking to be in their late thirties, follow Vicki into the house. Shoving around Evan, they flank her on each side. “Nigel Banks,” she says, holding out her right hand, then her left. “Craig Parker. Your new security. I expect the four of you to give them the same amount of respect as you have given your previous security detail.”

  Both men are dressed all in black, looking more like they are about to guard government officials, than babysit some unruly musicians. And while they are nearly as tall as Evan, neither are nearly as broad or intimidating in size. Craig is a red head, hair cut close to his scalp. High and tight, military style. Nigel’s long blonde hair is pulled back out of his face, his jaw tight, eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses.

  “I’d take offense to that if I were you two,” E blurts, stalking past the three of them. Taking his seat back, he slouches down in the chair, propping his feet on the edge of the piano bench. “These assholes are like a bunch of kindergarteners on a field trip, every goddamn day,” he adds, though his smile nearly splits his face. “Consider yourselves warned. It’s about as fun as a crotch full of angry fire ants.”

  “That changes now,” Vicki clarifies through gritted teeth. “I’m more than prepared to crack the whip around here. As much as necessary.”

  “Fuckin’ hell.” Shifting in his seat, Evan stares at Vicki. “My dick should not be hard right now.” He blinks slowly, giving away how ridiculously stuck he is on the last of that sentence.

  “Hello, nausea, my old friend,” I mutter, shaking my head.

  “Seeing as how you have willingly left your position, Mr. Pahl,” Vicki begins, squaring her shoulders. “The outcome of this conversation no longer concerns you. I will state one last time for clarification that I have been given control and I have willfully accepted that duty. This means I call the shots as I see them. Those under contract and or employment with Frayed Edge Records are to recognize those points. I will not tolerate interference, disrespect, or shenanigans of any kind that may result in further PR issues.”

  “There’s no I in team, Vicki,” Greer chuckles, dropping his phone into his lap.

  “There’s a u in cunt,” I snicker, feeling Tanner’s body vibrate with silent laughter beside me.

  “Your uncultured spelling lessons are not helping your current situation.” Her glare snaps our way, eyes narrowing into judgmental slits.

  “Well, isn’t that a b-i-t-c-h,” Bristol giggles, her palm pressing to her forehead.

  “Bitch has an I in it,” Evan announces, pointing to Bristol.

  “So does quitter,” I offer with a smirk, earning me one of his own, along with his middle finger. I laugh, so does Greer, Tanner and Bristol. Vicki and her stone statue-like guard dogs don’t.

  “I will be sure to let Mr. Boyer know of your lack of cooperation.” Vicki thoughtfully taps her lips with her French tipped fingernail. “Maybe he will move forward with his plans for a new bassist after all.”

  Tanner growls low in his throat, arm coming up to stop me when I start to stand. “Greer told you yesterday, AWOL stays as is,” he seethes, his jaw ticking angrily. “I’ve got no problem tellin’ Boyer that my goddamn self.”

  Clearing my throat, I sit up, dropping one foot to the floor and pushing Tanner’s arm away. “That intimidation bullshit never worked in the past, Vicki. Don’t fool yourself into believing that’ll change.”

  “It won’t,” Bristol says adamantly. “To be honest, Vicki, I’m looking for reasons not to walk at this point. Newsflash: you’re not the best negotiator.”

  “Legalese and violations of contract aside.” Vicki exhales roughly, face turning impassive. “Mr. Boyer phoned this morning. Absent Without Leave is set to perform at a sold-out event this weekend in Nashville. We would fly out in the morning. That is, if you agree to move forward.” Her eyes slide around the room, taking in each of our faces before continuing. “The contracts with all the amended changes will be ready to be signed upon our return. Given there are no complications during said excursion.”

  “You may want to rethink the whole no shenanigans rule,” Evan insists, flashing her a wide smile. “With these shitheads, those are guaranteed.”

  “None of my implementations are up for negotiation,” she replies, refusing to look at him. “That was explained yesterday when we spoke. It was also included in the arrangement you have all agreed to.”

  “Sounds like you’ve both been a bit presumptuous about the outcome of your little ultimatum,” Bristol blurts, calling her out. “I’m also thinking Boyer would look like an ass if we walked right now and left him hanging with that open spot this weekend. Huh, Vicki?”

  “The personal invitation was extended at the last minute to Absent Without Leave personally,” she clarifies, not sounding the least bit pleased about it. “So, yes, I suppose it would. Though I highly doubt it presumptuous to believe you would jump at the opportunity to perform on the same stage as Shaft. After all, they are headlining.”

  The room goes so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Shaft has been a household name in the music industry for decades. They were our first concert. We were teenager, screaming from the shitty seats we saved all summer to afford, dreaming of the day that could be us up there.

  Wanting to be like Hunter Chesterfield, then idolizing Ireland Tyler when Hunter focused more on the lyrics and his vocal performances. I studied everything about them. Their song, Armor, was the very first song I learned on my bass. I taught myself by ear, wearing out the c.d. and impressing the hell out of Tanner and my brother. So much so, we recorded it as a group on the demo for Frayed Edge Records.

  There isn’t one person in this room that would say no to this.

  Bristol looks over at me, her eyes glancing beyond to Tanner and Greer for a moment before turning back to Vicki. “When do we leave?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Fender Fondling Frontman

  Quinn

  “This interview and meet and greet tomorrow before you perform will not be happening.” Vicki snaps at me, her fingers slapping against the keyboard of her laptop furiously. “I don’t care what the event planner scheduled. I refuse to put you four in a position to draw attention away from where it rightfully belongs.”

  “Why don’t you lead us out on stage wearin’ collars and leashes?” Greer mutters, slinging a handful of almonds into his mouth from the bowl on the bar in front of him.

  “Careful.” Propping my guitar against the brown chaise lounge I’ve been sitting on, I walk toward the windows. “She may put you in a muzzle.”

  Nashville is one of my favorite cities to spend time in. Not that we’ve had the opportunity often. I can actually count the number of times we have been able to play for the huge crowds of Music City USA on one hand. Something I hope changes in t
he future. The energy the city gives off is like no other place on earth. Every night, the streets known as Music Row are lined with talent of all types and ages. It is impossible to be here and not feel inspired.

  If it were possible for me to live that far from a shoreline, and not go crazy, I’d move here and never look back.

  Thanks to Vicki taking control of everything we do, the four of us flew to Nashville with her in tow, along with Craig and Nigel. Evan’s unemployed ass was forced to stay behind with Tage and Moo. Something that none of us were used to, but he demanded we not fight her on the forced separation.

  Now, here we are in one of the most amazing cities in the world, about to share a stage with one of the very groups that made me fall in love with music, and we aren’t even allowed to enjoy it. I can’t count the amount of times I’ve had to talk Bristol out of trying to spike Vicki and her henchmen’s drinks with the Melatonin drops she bought for E. Although, I can’t blame her for wanting a break from her tireless bitching about everything between the distance between the hotel and the venue, to the color of the fucking throw pillows on the couch she is currently kicking her feet up on.

  Since she arrived at the house the other day, Vicki has rained down orders on all of us pretty much any time she opens her mouth. Her demands nothing more than her getting off on flexing her authoritative muscle. Icing on the cake if it pisses someone off, or ruins any of our plans. Especially when it comes to Evan, who can’t seem to keep his tongue in his mouth when she is in full swing.

  When we checked into the hotel, the man at the front desk informed us that the event planner had booked the two penthouse suites that make up an entire wing of the top floor for us to stay in for the entire weekend. Being that access to the suites were private, we had the entire section to ourselves. Which is good. That way, if Vicki decides to keep pushing her luck, no one will hear her scream when I ram the itinerary binder she refers to like iron clad law up her ass.