Pretty Remedy

by S. E. Hall

  Me: Take your time, I’ll take care of Reece. Not fucking cool of her friend, or you, though.

  Jarrett: WTF?

  Me: Not gonna explain human decency to you right now, I’m on a date. Gotta go.

  “What is it?” she asks in a timid voice.

  I look up from my phone, her head ducked as though she has a pretty good idea of what’s coming. “Oh, um, Jarrett was just asking our plan. And I have one. You hungry?”

  Her head lifts, glee no longer gracing her features. “They don’t want me there, do they? I swear, I’m going home tomorrow. This is ridiculous.” She heaves a sigh of frustration, dropping back in her chair.

  Jarrett: I may need to explain “date” to you—not what you’re doing.

  Me: Night.

  “Can you see if JC can get me a room? Not free though. I’ll hit an ATM.” She fails to hide a slight wince when she says it. “I’ll worry about dealing with the questions later.”

  “What questions? From who?” I ask, definitely interested in the answer. This is where she pops my bubble of foolishly thinking there’s something about her and casually mentions the fiancé or husband… she forgot to mention.

  “My father, mainly. We’re in business together, sorta, and he’ll grill me over the withdrawal. That part doesn’t bother me as badly as what he’ll say about Landry though. He already thinks she’s flaky, a horrible influence, whatever. I’ve been trying not to give him any ammunition, sticking to the cash I brought.”

  She surprises me again. That wasn’t the answer I was expecting, and an honest one I’ve no doubt. Her father’s not exactly wrong on a few points, but I don’t say so.

  “I asked you a question.” I pull her up by the hand. “Are you hungry?”

  “Rhett, it’s fine. I’ll just get a room. You’ve entertained me long enough.”

  “Okay, let me try this another way. I’m hungry, and you just don’t want to admit that you can’t live without my company. So we’re going to eat. Say yes.”

  “Rhett…” she dawdles.

  “Say yes.” I’m already leading us to the door and she isn’t even attempting to pull her hand from mine.

  “I guess I could eat. But you drank. Should you drive?”

  I laugh. “Mine were Coke.”

  “Coke and…?”

  “Ice. Come on.” I speed up our steps.

  “You order the same thing every time you come here, don’t you?” she asks, coy little grin and confident twinkle in her eyes mocking me.

  “And you order something different at every restaurant, every time,” I counter, having already decided that this time, we’re dissecting all things Reece for a change.

  “Basis for your theory?”

  I’d forgotten how fucking sexy intelligence can be. “You’re really gonna let me have a turn, huh? Okay.” I put my elbows on the table and lean closer to her across the booth. “You order something different because it makes you feel free, spontaneous. Your tiny consolation of empowerment that you refuse to forfeit, that last saving grace between what you want and what’s wanted for you.”

  “How’d you know that?” Her mouth remains agape after she asks.

  The waitress brings our food and we both thank her.

  “How’d you know all that stuff about me?” I ask.

  I take a big bite of my sandwich, giving her time to formulate an answer and because I’m starving.

  “So I was right?” she challenges.

  I keep chewing but nod. She was right, on all nosy counts. I can’t deny her affirmation.

  “Intuition, I guess,” she replies, blasé and popping a shoulder.

  I swallow and take a drink. “Well, Teaspoon, I’m equipped with some intuition myself.”

  Her phone vibrates on the table with an incoming text and I can see Landry’s name displayed from here. “What’d she say?” I ask after she’s had time to read it.

  “She, um, asked if I was on a date?”

  Jarrett’s big mouth.

  She’s still typing, looking at her phone. “And said I was welcome to come stay there tonight.”

  Of course I don’t have the definitive “read” on everything yet, but I know Reece deserves better than being someone’s afterthought, burden or consolation prize when they’re done with whatever’s obviously more important to them.

  “What’d you tell her?” I use the ketchup on her plate, since mine is gone, for my fry and pop it in my mouth.

  She says nothing and turns the phone toward me.

  Me: I think I may be? And no thank you.

  Landry: Jarrett said Rhett doesn’t date. It’s a show to get in your pants. Come stay here.

  Her green eyes are waiting, filled with a hopeful trust I haven’t earned.

  “Your friend’s kinda shitty. And wrong,” I deadpan.

  She reaches for the ketchup bottle and squeezes some onto my plate for me. “She’s actually not. Landry didn’t desert me for selfish reasons. Took me a minute to figure it out, but I got it now.”

  “Care to fill me in?” I use her ketchup again and laugh at her small scowl.

  “She thought if she forced my company onto you, well, that maybe I’d be forced to live a little.”

  “And?”

  “And she was right. I’ve had a lot of fun. I’m still not sleeping there though. She needs to learn to polish up her good-hearted tactics. I’ll get a room and give her a wake-up call.”

  “Stay with me.” I hold up a hand to thwart her upcoming attempt to argue, her mouth already open.

  “I’m not going to Hawaii with you.” Her eyes narrow to fiery slits, and her lil’ bowtie-shaped mouth twists.

  “I didn’t invite you to.” I arch a condescending brow. “You are, however, more than welcome to stay at my place for the night. And before those eyes roll out your head and you say things you don’t mean, know this. Not only do I never use my apartment to partake in activities of the Hawaiian variety, but we’ve established that’s off limits for us. You’ll be respected, I promise you, and you’ll avoid any hassle with your father. I’m well versed in what that’s like. Now say yes.”

  “Rhett?” She nibbles on her bottom lip.

  “Say. Yes,” I repeat.

  She releases that tortured lip, enabling her face to split into a blinding smile. “Yes.”

  “Yes.” I hold out my hand.

  I defied my father and Warrick’s high-handed, forbidding demands by even making this trip to Vegas, but if they knew that I’ve progressed to spending the night with an insanely hot man who’s all but a stranger? They’d both fly here to forcibly drag me home—five minutes ago.

  What they don’t know can’t control me. That thought alone adds an extra, exhilarating zing of liberation to my decision.

  “You okay?” Rhett asks as we walk to his car. “Your brain’s steaming again.”

  “No, yeah, I mean…” I tsk at myself and giggle, a rambling mess. “I was just thinking that I don’t have my stuff: clothes, toothbrush, pajamas.” To be honest, I was deliberating between this being an act of freedom or just a dumb choice. Do I really believe I can trust him to be a gentleman if I crash at his place for the night?’

  Absolutely.

  But what does my agreement say about me? Ladies who are responsible and professionally poised don’t have a few drinks and dinner with new acquaintances and then go home with them. Then again, being whoever I’m expected to be is boring as hell.

  He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. “I have stuff you can sleep in and probably an extra toothbrush. We’ll have you back to your clothes tomorrow. Sound livable?”

  I nod, my pulse racing with my myriad of scandalous musings… such as sleeping in his clothes, items saturated with his scent against my naked flesh. When he opens the car door for me, I falter, my knees as shaky as my nerves, but he’s right there to catch and steady me.

  “Relax.” He dips his head and speaks comfortingly in my ear. “I told you, I never let people into my home, my one
sanctuary. If I’m inviting you there, I swear to be a platonically accommodating host. My childhood best friend was a girl, and I’d have been furious if she went home with a guy she barely knew, so I can guess the range of concerns in your head right now. But I give you my word, you’ll be safe.”

  “Why?” It comes out as blunt and rude rather than the appreciatively shocked I intended and I shrink back in embarrassment. “I meant, if you don’t ever, ya know, invite anyone, why me?”

  “Several reasons. If you’re with me, I don’t have to worry about you. And like I said, it saves you from an inquisition from your dad.” He turns me to face him and tilts his head. “I’ve proven I have the ability to enjoy female company while keeping my hands to myself. I’m rusty as of late, I’ll admit, but I’m diggin’ deep for ya here, Reece.”

  “Lizzie…” I whisper with heated inquisitiveness laced with biologically natural—I’ll tell myself that excuse anyway—jealousy. No girl wants to hear about other ones, from any guy, no matter what. Platonic smonic.

  “How do you know about Liz?” he asks in a weak attempt at nonchalance, seemingly distracted with helping me get in the car and shutting my door before I can answer.

  We’re on the road a good five minutes before the color returns to his blanched knuckles that are clutching the steering wheel and I feel comfortable enough to reply.

  “I don’t know much about Lizzie, just her name mostly. Jarrett was talking about your band earlier and mentioned her.”

  He stares ahead. “Hmm…”

  “So?”

  “So what?” he snaps with a quick glimpse my way.

  “You’re stewing in thought over there. Why don’t you tell me about her? Did you, or um”—I look out my window—“do you love her?” The blonde girl staring at me in the glass is unashamed of intruding ever deeper into none-of-her-business territory.

  He sighs and shifts in his seat. “How do we always end back up on me?”

  “I’m not sure, but you keep answering me, so I’m gonna keep asking.” I snicker softly. “Talk to me. Doesn’t it feel better to get it off your chest?”

  “Maybe,” he grumbles. “I think you may be drugging me—only explanation for how you’re doing it—but yeah, it does feel good to air out loud. So to answer your question, yes, I love Liz very much. I always will. But not like you’re thinking. Liz, her brother, her uncle, our band; we were a family, all each other had. I loved it. Then a new guy joined, loved her in the forever-and-only kind of way I never did, and now I have twin nieces. Stella and Sophia, my angels.”

  I feel as if I’ve cracked a code. Rhett Foster is openly sharing things that are making him more than obviously uncomfortable. I’m honored he must think enough of me to entrust me with his ghosts.

  “Are you happy for her?” I ask quietly, teetering on the tightrope of pushing too hard.

  “Of course. She deserves every happiness she gets and then some. Cannon adores her, as do I, but I was never in love with her. She’s a mom now, a wife, part of a real family. I might be a bit jealous at times, but I’m never not happy as hell for her, for them. All Liz’s ever done is give, nurture, and protect. Cannon gives all that back to her now. If I wasn’t confident in that, he’d be dead.”

  “Then what are you jealous of?”

  “I think you should’ve bought me dinner.” He laughs. “I’m feeling rather violated.”

  “How ‘bout if I make you breakfast? Not just for asking a follow-up question, but for buying me dinner—thank you very much for that by the way—and letting me stay over. Oh, and for swearing not to ‘violate me’ of course.” I snicker.

  “Deal, but only because I haven’t had a home-cooked breakfast in… shit, I can’t remember when. So I’ll humor you a bit. I like French toast by the way. You got that on your menu?”

  “Perhaps,” I needle him in a drawl. “Now talk.”

  He exhales extendedly, once more fidgeting in his seat, then spits it all out in one rush of vulnerability. “I miss being depended on, needed. I knew Liz inside and out, same as she did me. We didn’t have to speak a word to know what the other was thinking, saved a lot of painful conversations. Like this one.” He winks my way with a coy grin. “But most of all, I miss our band, the camaraderie, being a part of something that mattered.”

  The car’s stopped, parked in front of what I assume is his apartment building. The only movement and sound is him turning off the car and pulling out the keys. I don’t have to ask why the gigs he does now don’t fill the void of which he just spoke; I know the answer. I definitely abstain from prompting him for more information on that topic—sharing all that took too much out of him. Instead, I wait for his lead.

  Long minutes later, he runs a hand through his hair, the dark locks in front sticking up and out perfectly imperfect, and turns fully to look at me. “That enough to earn me a couple slices of bread dipped in egg?” He smiles, and I swear it lights up the whole interior of the car.

  “Definitely,” I affirm with a curt nod.

  “Thank fuck,” he breathes out heavily.

  “I’m not taking your bed from you,” I counter with my best impression of authority, standing in the middle of his hallway with my arms crossed. “Just give me a pillow and blanket, and the couch will be more than sufficient.”

  Obstinate stance of his own and scowl firmly in place, he sighs loudly and lets his head fall back to stare at the ceiling. “You’re a smart sprite, Reece, a people reader. Any part of me screaming ‘make the female take the couch’ at you?” He drops his head back down and anchors me with those imposing blue eyes. “You’re taking the bed. End of conversation. Sweet dreams.” He turns and walks toward the living room, leaving me rooted stubbornly in the same spot, mouth agape in aggravation.

  I’m already shamefully interloping on his time and space, not to mention I’m currently wearing his oversized T-shirt and boxer shorts—I’m not taking his bed too! I do have some semblance of decorum left in my helpless, deserted self. Between his shifts from grumpy manwhore to open, considerate conversation guy, coupled with his clothes and his bed saturated in the pheromones the man can’t help but exude, I fear I may collapse from sensory overload.

  “Go to bed, Reece,” he growls, jolting me out of my thoughts.

  I lean around the corner to peek into the living room at him situating the cushions and blanket for his makeshift bed. The moon, that blessed ball of light in the sky, sends down the perfect amount of romantic glow, highlighting the vision of Rhett getting in, or rather getting out, of his sleep attire.

  Nine out of ten men would reach behind their neck and yank that bad boy off over their head with one hand, exactly as he did when we were moving. But not tonight. No, tonight he torments me—either aware I’m watching or utterly the master of sexiest ways to undress. He grips the hem of his white T-shirt, pulling it up agonizingly slow and finally, at long last, off. He jerks open his jeans and slides them off, revealing a pair of black, short-cut boxer briefs that hardly contain his robust thighs but still manage to showcase all the right areas.

  Man, oh man, when the angels got together on this design—what a product meeting that was. His perfectly proportioned, tall physique could literally be displayed at the front of an anatomy class and used to learn every muscle in the body, ideally delineated. His skin is a light tan, as if kissed daily by the sun, his chest hairless, and I think I’m counting three lines of definition… easy multiplication… that’s a six pack! He’s delectable, truly the embodiment of masculine beauty.

  “Reece?” His throaty rumble, spiked with feral warning, startles me, and a mortified heat of embarrassment rolls up my entire body. Caught. “Do I pass inspection?”

  I teeter back off my tiptoes, the wall hopefully shrouding me more now than I stupidly thought it already was, and I clear my throat. “Sorry, I was gonna… just… come get a glass of water.” He doesn’t need to see me to know I’m lying—and badly.

  “Give me a minute to get under the blanket,
then you can come get your water. Yes?”

  “A-alright,” I mutter lamely at the beige wall.

  “Trust me, Reece. Listen and do it. Because if you spend one more second eye-fucking me from the shadows, with those sweet little nipples poking out high and hard through my shirt, we’re both taking the bed. I’m only human. But you had a few drinks tonight and would regret it in the morning. We decided that when you were completely sober and not adorably swallowed up in my clothes, remember? So play fair. My resolve is wavering.”

  I glance down and gasp. He wasn’t lying—my nipples are visibly peaked.

  He chuckles softly. “Yeah, imagine how I feel. They’re pointing right at me, just begging to be in my mouth.”

  I hear the rustle of the blanket, the couch squeaking under his weight, and the juncture between my thighs pulses from the erotically tempting sound.

  “It’s safe now, you lil’ peepin’ Tom. So either come get your water and go straight back to bed, or come attack me, all at once, no hesitation, not a hint of uncertainty in your eyes. Those are your only options.”

  Wordlessly, I shake off any unclear thoughts and do what the Reece I can’t help but be would do—I turn around and head for the bedroom.

  “Not thirsty?” he calls out in the darkness.

  “No, I changed my mind. I’m fine. Goodnight, Rhett, and thank you.” I rest my forehead on the doorjamb of his bedroom, calming my breathing and full-body tingles as I await his response.

  “Goodnight, Reece.” His sigh is distinct, bouncing off every surface and wall between us. “And you’re more than welcome.”

  Am I imagining the innuendos of my options in that sentence?

  I grapple for sleep, perhaps harder than I’ve ever sought anything in my life, but the room’s too hot and the sheets are annoyingly infused with his intoxicating aroma, which has been branded in my nostrils since I first met him at the door of the club. My fitful unrest must be making a commotion, keeping him awake as well, because I hear him doing some noisy tossing and turning of his own.