by BB Miller
His presence alone changed the dynamic dramatically. What started out as excitement and an eagerness to learn after they devoured the pizza I brought, took a darker turn the minute Zach walked into the garage. He passes critical judgement with a simple look, a shrug of his shoulders, or a snide comment about how lame working in the garage is. Unfortunately, some of these kids hang on his every word.
When you’re outside looking in, it’s easy to pick out the lemmings, the ones who will follow Zach, no questions asked. Beck is another matter entirely. He’s trying to focus on replacing the rear brake pads of the Harley—one of the last parts we need to repair before it’s road-worthy again—but it’s difficult when Zach refuses to leave him alone for more than five minutes.
“You’re just the golden boy today, aren’t you, Beck?” Zach throws another sneer at him, trying to get a reaction. “Teacher’s little pet. What a pussy.”
“Enough,” Aaron’s voice rises again, and he takes a firm stance near the bike. “If you’d just pay attention, maybe you’d learn something.”
In a scene that is all too familiar, Zach huffs and returns to polishing the chrome air cleaner cover, surrounded by his pack of wannabe thugs across the room.
“Ignore him,” I mutter to Beck as he scowls at the bike.
“I’m trying to.”
“I know you are. I also know it’s not easy.”
“He’s a fucking jerk,” he whispers under his breath.
“Watch your mouth.” Beck glances up at me, looking much older than his seventeen years. “If he knows he’s getting to you he’ll just keep doing it.”
“Remind me about this again.” Beck picks up the torque wrench and changes the subject.
“I torque everything to specifications. You need to do it properly. Let’s just say you don’t want an accident on your hands because you were being lazy.”
Beck listens intently as Zach and the rest of the crowd join the fold. “It’s one of the areas you don’t mess around with. Safety first. Always.”
“Guess there’s a lot that can go wrong with a bike,” Zach comments, picking up the skull brake caliper insert and studying it carefully.
“Yeah, there is. That’s why you need to pay attention.”
Zach glances at me, his eyes hard and assessing, muscles coiled for a fight. Fuck, I remember those days. So much anger and resentment bottled up and ready to explode. It can consume you. I want to tell him to stop being such an ass, that it does get better, but I know he doesn’t want to hear it. The best I can do, the best any of us can do, is just to be there for him, and for any of these kids who’ve had no one in their corner for far too long.
Zach glances at the bike, moving beside Beck, surprising the hell out of me. “You’re the boss. So show me what I need to know.” It’s a glimmer of hope from Zach, and I’ll take it.
An hour later, while Aaron and I are taking the boys through the basics of tire changing, the Brit calls, checking in from across the pond with his annual holiday update. Sean’s at home in London, spending time with his parents and his twin sister, Sydney, before we head up to Canada for the rest of the tour.
“Syd’s engaged, Grasshopper! Fucking engaged!” He’s furious and begins ranting like the fool he is. I have to hold the phone away from my ear as he hollers. “To a bloody barrister. She’s known him for about thirty seconds. Wore a proper three-piece suit to Christmas supper.”
“Pretty sure I’ve seen you in one of those,” I mutter, moving out of the garage to catch some air. It’s cooler today, a dampness settling in, but I know that’s nothing compared to what awaits when we hit Winnipeg for the tour in the new year. Minus fucking forty. The Canadian fans are diehards, though. Some of my favorite crowds.
Sean goes on. “He’s a wanker.”
“Would anyone be good enough for your sister?”
“No. Not since Simon died. But a barrister? Come on. She can do better.” He lets out a huff of frustration.
“Mmm.”
“Fuck, I wish you guys were here. I need to play.”
“So play. You’ve got your own place there, tripped out with the latest equipment, if memory serves.”
“It’s not the same.” I can practically see the pout on his face, sulking like a five-year-old who’s lost his favorite toy. “Tell me about your holiday, then. Get my mind off this clusterfuck. How is the lovely Tess?”
I think about fucking her in the shower this morning. The luscious curve of her sweet ass grinding against me, her soft cries driving me insane as I claimed her over and over. It was intense and raw, frenzied and needy, leaving us both a breathless, quivering mess. Tess has managed to crack me open and plant herself into my heart and soul. What the hell did I do before I found her?
Sean’s annoyed groan ends my vivid memory quickly. “Not you, too. Damn it. It’s bad enough HRH is writing ballads every other day. I’ve lost you, too?”
“You’ll live, I’m sure.”
“More for Cameron and me, then. How is his dad? When I talked to him a couple of days back, things were improving.”
Frowning, I pace the side of the garage. When I dropped Cameron off in Boston at the hospital before the holidays, his dad’s heart attack had hit him hard. His father is an overbearing hardass who probably wishes Cam had never laid eyes on any of us. Despite all of that, Cameron saw him as invincible. “He’s recovering. Too stubborn not to. I think it shook Cam up more than he wanted to admit.”
“I saw that one coming a mile away. The man is a walking stress bomb. Probably works eighteen hours a day.”
“Probably more than that.”
“You think Cam’s okay, though? I mean, shit like this rattles you.”
I know where he’s going. Cameron being clean after his last stint in rehab is relatively new, fragile at best. But with a focus now on getting his dad better, I hope he’s got another reason to stay clean. “I think he’ll be okay. He’s still texting us all a few times a day. It’s when he goes quiet that we have to worry.”
“You’re a wise man, Grasshopper. Good thing we all have you to keep us on the straight and narrow.”
Shaking my head, I glance up at the threatening skies. “Jesus, if you’re relying on me to keep you in line, we’re in some serious trouble.”
“Nothing wrong with a little trouble every now and again. Keeps us honest, yeah?”
“Cardinal! Limo’s waiting.” I adjust the cuff link on my shirt as I wait for Tess downstairs in my loft. It takes a lot to get me in a suit. The gala for the group home is one of the events I’ll make an exception for.
It’s being held this year at the Bently Reserve. Pretentious as all hell. I’d typically hate going to this thing. I’d operate on autopilot with the stuffed shirts and high society elite, and the small talk that just about kills me. This year, that’s all changed. The thought of having Tess on my arm, by my side, has hit me hard. Something protective, territorial has kicked in. This nagging desire to make sure everyone knows she’s mine.
There will be press there. Tess and I will have to walk the red carpet and pose for a few pictures. There will be no question after tonight that we’re together. I’m not sure if she’s prepared for that. We haven’t exactly talked about what it all means for her, or how it could change things for us. I know what the pressure can do when the bubble you’ve put yourself in breaks, and your life is exposed, raw, and open for the world to see.
Turning to the sound of heels on the staircase, my breath stops at the sight of her. Enticing curves poured into a ruby red gown made to fit her in all the right places. Her long, raven black hair falls in waves around her shoulders. She’s a walking dream … my dream.
She turns around slowly in front of me as I drop my gaze over her. “What do you think?”
It takes a minute for my brain to function. “I think we should stay here. Let me peel you out of that dress, you gorgeous girl.”
She smiles—that one I know is meant just for me. “You like it?”
“Maybe,” she says, her voice breathy as she grips the lapel of my jacket.
I can’t resist pressing my lips to hers, a deep groan vibrating through my chest as my palm skims up her exposed back. “Cherry fucking almond. You know I like that one.”
“You like all of them,” she whispers before crushing her lips to mine once more.
My fingers toy with the zipper on the back of her dress, dragging it down. I guess we’re going to be late.
Tessa
I brighten my smile and straighten my shoulders, bracing myself for another inquisition. Matt hadn’t been kidding when he said people would be surprised he brought someone to the fundraiser. I’ve felt the inquisitive gazes all night. But the nearly constant presence of the tall man beside me has made it more than bearable.
“Matt!” A distinguished, iron-haired gentleman approaches. “So nice to see you again. I wasn’t sure you’d be here this year because of your tour.” Matt shakes his hand, a practiced smile on his face.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Matt assures him. He smiles down at me. “Tess, this is Daniel Green.”
“Tessa Baker.” I shake his offered hand as Daniel explains he’s the president of an investment bank. We exchange pleasantries for a few minutes and eventually trade business cards when he learns where I work. His firm is a huge backer of the group home, but he’d also love to help What’s Your Dream. It’s been like that all evening. With Parker’s concert still fresh in people’s minds, and knowing how involved Matt and Redfall were in the success of the event, people have been practically falling over themselves to be associated with our future projects.
A woman wearing a gown more appropriate for a woman thirty years younger drifts over to us. It’s obvious that she’s no stranger to Botox. “My wife, Missy,” Daniel supplies. Missy smiles at me, the skin of her too-smooth face stretching unnaturally. The heavy diamonds glittering at her throat and ears stand out against her artificial tan.
“So nice to meet you,” she simpers, and I suppress my cringe at her limp society handshake. She gives Matt a sly glance. “I didn’t know you had a little sister, Matt. How nice of you to bring her.”
I feel Matt’s fingers dig into my waist a little. “My girlfriend, Tessa Baker,” he says shortly, by way of introduction.
“Oh!” She blinks in faux surprise, looking between us. “But, you’re so … Oh well, I suppose that’s all part of the rock-and-roll image, isn’t it? Older men with young girls? Paul McCartney is seventy-something, and his new wife is half his age.”
“Uh, nice to see you again Matt, and lovely to meet you, Tessa. I’ll have my charity department give you a call,” Daniel interjects quickly, his smile now brittle as he ushers his wife away. “Come along, dear.”
“Catty bitch,” I mutter after they’re out of earshot, and then shrug, dismissing her. It’s not my fault that she’s having trouble accepting her sixties.
“Daniel’s not bad, but his wife is a trip. Ignore her. She’s just jealous.” He reaches up to toy with one of the microscopic straps holding up my gown. “You’re easily the most beautiful woman here.”
I duck my chin, his compliment making my cheeks heat. “I love this dress. I’ve been hoping for another opportunity to wear it.” It’s a copy of a Vivienne Westwood couture that would impress Vivienne herself. My mother did a fantastic job on it; the rich red satin flows into a few graceful gathers that make the most out of what nature gave me. The runway version was ice blue, but Mom happily recreated it in my favorite color.
“It’s not just the dress.” He presses his lips to my neck, and I shiver. “Let’s get out of here so I can show you what I mean. Again.”
“Stop!” A giggle bubbles up as I grab his hand at my hip, keeping it from sliding down to my ass. “We don’t have time. They’re starting to seat people for dinner.” I nod to where Tom is standing with a small group of donors, looking supremely awkward in his tux, and scanning the room—for us most likely. We’re supposed to be at his table.
Frowning in sudden consternation, Matt steers me around the corner and stops us by a potted plant. “Cardinal, I’ve never thought to ask if our age difference bothers you.” He casts a worried glance in the direction of Missy the Catty Bitch, and the light dawns on me.
“Of course not. There’s only seven years between us, Matt.” I smooth down his long tie. Damn, the man looks good in a tux. “My parents are eight years apart, if that makes you feel any better.”
He slides a hand around my waist. “It does, actually. You once said your birthday is in a couple of months. When, exactly?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. I should’ve known he’d ask that. “February,” I say, looking over toward Tom. “I think we need to join the others.”
He holds me fast. “When in February?”
Sighing internally, I look up into his earnest, excited blue eyes. “The fourteenth,” I admit, and his eyes widen predictably.
“You were born on Valentine’s Day?” The amusement in his voice makes me groan. “How did your folks plan that?”
“I don’t think there was much planning involved.” I roll my eyes and turn to lead us back to the group and away from the subject. Having a birthday on the biggest Hallmark holiday of the year has always been annoying as hell. All my birthday cards were festooned in shades of pink with frilly lettering and sappy sentiments, the holiday overshadowing everything else. As a tomboy growing up, it drove me batty. It’s probably not as bad as having your birthday on Christmas, but it’s got to be pretty close.
“I think it’s perfectly appropriate,” he murmurs, trailing his fingers down my bare arm before falling into step beside me. Holding hands, we join the others moving toward the round tables set up with white cloths and gleaming china in the magnificent room. I’ve always loved the Bently Reserve. What’s Your Dream has held several events here.
“Have you checked out the silent auction yet?” a deep voice asks, and I turn and beam at Tom.
“Of course! There’s a great mix of items. Your donor team did well. I have my eye on the private dinner for two at the Top of the Mark.”
“Great views from up there,” Matt comments, giving me an approving nod. “I haven’t been there in years.”
“Who says I’m taking you?” I retort, tossing my head and linking arms with Tom, who laughs heartily and claps a hand on Matt’s shoulder.
“Sorry, son.” He gives me a wink. “The lady clearly has good taste.”
“My lady,” Matt growls, pulling me back to his side. “Hands off, old man.”
Tom holds his hands up, still smiling. “Fine, fine. Let’s get this dinner started, shall we? I’m starved.”
There are more camera flashes around the room as we move among the other guests. From the minute we stepped out of the limo, the evening has been captured on film. I can only imagine what the gossip blogs who follow the band will say about another member of Redfall falling off the list of eligible celebs. Because that’s exactly what it’s looked like tonight. Matt has stood tall and handsome, his hand firmly at my waist. It’s as if he’s relishing the opportunity to declare to the world that we’re a couple. The thought is both encouraging and a little scary.
Matt holds my chair for me as I sit, and the simple gesture strikes a chord in me when I notice several other gentlemen doing the same for their partners. This is real. We’re out, in public, showing affection and behaving just like other couples do. Just like other people in love do. So what if he hasn’t said the words yet? Even if he’s not quite there yet, he’s certainly close to it. I need to get over myself and just tell him how I feel. I love him. Like Tom said, there doesn’t have to be a right time. Right?
“Darn it,” Tom mutters as he frowns down at his phone and draws Matt’s a
ttention.
“Something happen?” he asks, leaning over to see the text message.
“Is it Zach again?” I ask. I know they want to give Zach every opportunity to pull himself out of the anger he’s currently wallowing in, but I can’t help but wonder if this time their goodwill is misplaced. There’s something about that kid that’s disturbing.
Tom glances over to me and shoves his phone in his pocket. “Nothing that we need to worry about tonight,” he assures me. I look at Matt for confirmation, and he skims his hand over his blond hair before slinging his arm across the back of my chair.
“It’s just the same old shit, Cardinal, I promise.” He presses his lips briefly against my temple, and then sits back as the well-trained team of waiters begins their intricate dance around the tables with trays laden with food. “Zach isn’t involved; he’s not even there tonight.”
“Fuck.” Matt’s groan of relief brings a smile to my lips. “I hate wearing a tux.” He throws his jacket on a chair and yanks at his tie like it’s strangling him.
“You may hate wearing it, but you looked fantastic tonight.” I retrieve the offending jacket and hang it up out of harm’s way. His lips quirk in a smile, and he comes up behind me, pulling me against his chest.
“Is that so?” His lips tickle my ear, making me squirm in his grasp. “I’ll tell you what’s fantastic, and it’s what’s under this dress.” I hold my breath as his skillful fingers draw down the long zipper of my gown. Yards of red satin settle at my feet with a soft rustle, and then I’m lifted into his strong arms and tossed on the bed.
He’s on me in an instant, and we’re a tangle of lips and limbs. I struggle to undo his shirt buttons, but it’s hard to see what I’m doing because he won’t stop kissing me. It finally comes free, and I’m starting on his pants when his ringtone for Tom splits the air.
Matt mutters a curse and rests his forehead against mine for a beat, before rolling over with a huff to answer. “Your timing is—” he begins, but stops abruptly. “Seriously? Fuck.”
I sit up and hold a pillow over my chest, alarmed at his tone. “No, don’t do that,” he continues, reaching to take my hand. “Come here. We can pull out the sofa bed for you.” He meets my curious gaze and smiles. “We wouldn’t have it any other way. Right.”
