Pretty Remedy

by S. E. Hall

  “Clue me in, Teaspoon, ‘cause I got nothing,” I say right before I shut her door and walk around to get in, giving her a few seconds notice that I noticed.

  My door’s unlocked when I get to it, and I notice that too—always will.

  “We should do the Goldsbury. It’s a great idea,” she blurts the second I’m in the car. “If Jovie works out, maybe we could bring her too.”

  I admit I don’t have the exact read on what she doesn’t want to say quite yet, but I damn sure know how to coax it out of her. I don’t respond to the bullshit cover she just rambled, but rather, dive right in to the coaxing. “That man?” I point at a couple walking past us to their car. “He’s got a lot to learn about the woman beside him, but knowing when she’s stewing over something and saying everything but what she really wants to? He’s got that part down pat.”

  She doesn’t respond right away, then finally does so with a snicker, “looks like we’re on our own.”

  She nods toward the windshield, and I glance… well, shit. People storying only works when the people don’t drive out of the parking lot. Thanks man, good lookin’ out. I’ll just sit here with mine, cranky and tongue-tied, while you go bed down with yours.

  No sense sitting here any longer now, I start the car, and start thinking that relationships are a pain in the ass, when she sighs and reaches for my hand.

  “I’d like to think that overall, I’m pretty easy to be involved with. Would you agree?” she asks.

  She’s lucky she threw in the “overall,” hedging her bet, or my answer would be based on the last hour… and piss her off. “Generally speaking, yes, but you’re definitely well-versed in some African tongue-clicking of your own.” I glance from the road to her and grin. “And I don’t even have your yellow sorted out yet, forget the other colors.”

  “Oh please,” she huffs. “I’m a teeny bit out of sorts for one whole hour, and you’re gonna try to say I’m as confusing as you? Ha! It may take me a little while sometimes, but I put stuff out there.”

  “Yeah? So you’re ready to ask me about the thing with my dad? ‘Cause it’s been a little while, and you haven’t.” I lift one brow, knowing she’s staring at me as I stare at the road.

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  Nothing, really. And I know the sensible thing to do is fight current fights, not old ones, but I’ve wondered about her not asking for a while now, and here’s the opportunity to bring it up. “It’s the perfect example, the very epitome of this entire conversation. A huge ‘something you’re not ready to put out there,’ so I’m left guessing at what you’re thinking or if you’re even thinking about it at all.” Not as ill-timed as I thought; actually, now that I’ve said it, it is fitting. “Use your words, Reece, even the ugly ones.”

  “That’s a terrible example,” she says with hushed significance. “I didn’t not ask you about that because I was afraid to bring it up or because my words would be ugly, but because…”

  “Because why?”

  “You just turned the wrong way, captain.” She fails to hide the tinge of laughter.

  “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

  “Uh, because we’re busy fighting?”

  In. Fucking. Furiating. “Reece, tell me where to go,” I grate my staid warning.

  She sighs and points. “Get in the left lane and turn around at that next light. I’ll tell you when to exit.”

  I move into the left lane but turn instead into a parking lot… and park. “Look at me.”

  She does, without any dramatization. Unexpected but appreciated.

  “Because why, Reece?”

  She doesn’t miss a beat, attune to exactly where I’m picking the conversation back up. “Because you were standing right there and heard yourself what I was told. I won’t lie and say I haven’t wondered about it, but I refuse to give them the power to affect you and me. They wanted to drive a wedge between us, make me doubt you. I don’t doubt you, not for a second, and I trust that if you ever want me to know anything else about what happened, or why, you’ll tell me.”

  “Just like that, huh?”

  “I hear that’s how it usually happens. Just like that.” She snaps her fingers. “Anything else you wanna get off your chest?”

  I want to ask her about what started all this in the first place—the cause of her sudden shift in mood tonight. But instead, I decide to return the blind faith she just explained—if she wants me to know, she’ll tell me. So, resolved to that plan, I shake my head, thinking it’s best not to speak quite yet. This round trip from fighting, which according to her we were doing, back to “us” is the least concerning part of the new, crazy feelings going on inside me, and I need a minute… or several.

  “Great, then can we get out of here? You didn’t exactly pick the safest spot to pull over, and I’m not in the right mood for a carjacking.”

  “Why didn’t you say something about that sooner?” I snap to, starting the car and peeling out of the lot.

  “Because we were busy making up.” Her voice is soft and sentimental, which is sweet and doesn’t go unnoticed, but…

  “Oh, Tea.” I laugh. “I’ll show you how we really do that when we get home.” If we’re gonna do the whole “couples fight” thing, which we most definitely are since half of our couple is a woman, then we are even more certainly revamping our make-up procedure. “Which hinges on you sharing directions with me this time.”

  “Take the next exit, then you’re on the freeway. I thought men never asked for directions?” she sasses.

  “Depending on the destination, your man does. When we’re going home and post-fight fucking is on the agenda, I’m asking.”

  Three weeks later…

  “Really, Reece, you brought the redhead? You’re supposed to be my best friend and… and I don’t even know you anymore!”

  I have to be on stage in twenty minutes, and Landry’s chosen now to drag me into the bathroom and shriek in my face about…

  “What are we talking about?” I ask in a fabricated calm.

  “That girl you brought, the one on stage, singing, with red hair?” Her voice scales up yet another octave as she flaps her arms around like a lunatic.

  I dodging the potentially lethal limbs. “Jovie? What’s the problem? She’s great.”

  And she is—the first official artist signed to Crescendo by me. Jovie showed up that following Monday, right on time, with a binder full of original, heartfelt pieces, a hungry sparkle in her eyes, and a willingness to work as hard as needed. I couldn’t put a contract in front of her fast enough. And she’s real; I only had to tell her once that Rhett is mine, and she’s acted nothing but accordingly.

  “The problem? You have to ask? Tell me she’s not fucking Jarrett! I saw the way he looked at her that night, and that’s when I was there! Lord knows what they’ve been doing since then while I’m not! What is it about goddamned redheads?”

  Ah, now I’m caught up.

  “Landry”—I duck and weave, latching onto her shoulders to settle her wild arms—“I can’t do this right now. I gotta go on stage, but let me give you something to think about, and when I’m done, if you still want to talk about this, we will. Deal?”

  Her face wrinkles in sour skepticism. “What?”

  “I don’t think she and Jarrett are having sex. We’ve all been really focused on getting ready for tonight.”

  That’s the understatement of the year. From the second I told the boys I was definitely on board to do a show in Vegas, they insisted on two practices a day. Rhett didn’t have to tell me that performing at his old stomping grounds, in front of Thatcher and JC, was beyond important to him. Tonight’s show needs to be flawless.

  “But even if they were, why would it matter? Do you and Jarrett have some arrangement or commitment I’m unaware of?” I ask her.

  She puffs up, crossing her arms defensively. “Well, no, not exactly.”

  “And can you look me in the face and honestl
y say you haven’t messed around with anyone else?” I challenge her with a loving smile.

  “I get it, sheesh—whose side are you on?”

  “Always yours.” I hold my arms open for a hug. “I’m sure Jarrett will enjoy his time with you while he’s here. Just don’t be mean to Jovie, okay? No scaring off the talent.” I laugh, giving her one last squeeze.

  “Fine, but she’s not hanging out with us at our after party! I’m drawing the line there.”

  I release her and step back. “Yes, she is. I brought her here and have no intention of making her feel like an outcast. And fair warning, I’m not hanging out for very long afterwards, Lan. Sorry, but I’ve got post-show plans of my own.”

  Do I ever. Rhett never asked me what had started our fight that night several weeks ago; luckily he got distracted by getting us home and showing me the proper way to make-up. The rest of the weekend. Ever since, I look for reasons to squabble so he’ll remind me of such procedure. But most importantly, it bought me time—to come to my senses.

  My initial reaction when Landry had suggested a show in Vegas was a resounding hell no! The thought of returning to my boyfriend’s old “sin den” and seeing women he’d been with in the ways he’s only with me now… no woman would knowingly put herself through that, right?

  Wrong.

  You only run from that which you’re afraid of, and I’m not afraid that Rhett doesn’t love me. Maybe he hasn’t actually said it yet, but he tells me every day in his smiles, looks, secrets, time. In everything he chooses to share with me, he tells me. So I tossed my “insecure panties” right out the window and strapped on my sneaky, confident girlfriend pair. He’ll never know I had doubts that night… or what hit him on this one.

  “Reece, hello?” Landry waves her hand in front of my face, bringing me out of my fog. “I asked you a question.”

  “Crap, we gotta go. Come on!” I grab her hand and rush back toward the stage.

  “But you didn’t answer me,” she whines. “What’re these big plans that you’re ditching me for? I never get to see you!”

  “I’ll tell you later, promise.” I let go of her hand and wave as I head backstage, and despite her frustration, she blows me a kiss.

  Rhett’s pacing, twirling a drumstick through his fingers in double-time as I hurry up to him. “You sure you’re done? You weren’t gone very long,” he grumps sarcastically.

  “I wasn’t pooping,” I blurt, fire springing to my cheeks.

  “Well, okay, as long as you weren’t pooping.” He laughs, tapping the end of my nose. “Ozzie called, made me promise to tell you he said he loves you and good luck. Oh, and for me to break a leg, preferably both of them.”

  I snicker and shake my head; even staying behind to run the company, my Ozzie thought of me—and found a way to harass Rhett (who secretly likes it, makes me feel important if he can keep Ozzie riled up). I love their banter. It’s their macho way of bonding, which they do more of every day, and it means the world to me to watch the two most important men in my life slowly accept one another.

  “Where’s Jarrett?” I ask, looking around and coming up short.

  He magically appears, a beaming Liz in tow. “Right here! Look who I found!”

  “What the hell?” I don’t think Rhett realizes he said that out loud, wide-eyes on Liz. “What’re you doing here?”

  “Ask your girlfriend.” She grins my way then hugs Rhett. “Cannon’s in the front row with his sister. Told me to tell you good luck.”

  Rhett stares at me, his steely blue eyes brimming with gravity. “You?”

  I nod and flash him a wink. I knew it’d mean the world to him to have Liz here tonight, so I snuck into his phone while he showered and made it happen. As an amazing man once said—I’m just full of surprises.

  “Thank you,” he murmurs to me. “And you”—he looks at Liz—“thanks for coming. No Con-man this time either?”

  She laughs. “No, you’re gonna have to come to him. He refuses to leave the girls.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” He glances at me then Jarrett, who’s already bobbing his head in agreement. “You got room for three, Mrs. Blackwell?”

  “You know it.” She pats his chest. “I’m gonna go grab my seat. Show me something, boys!” She somehow finds my hand, and her squeeze brings my eyes to hers. “You, show their asses up.”

  “I heard that!” Jarrett yells at her retreating back.

  “The hell you did,” she calls over her shoulder. “Everybody knows you can’t hear a damn thing!”

  We give the Goldsbury crowd a phenomenal show if I do say so myself—which I do. As Jarrett strums the final notes on “Lone Worth,” our closer of the nine-song set, I glance down to front center and see Liz brush away a tear, Cannon leaning in to kiss the top of her head. Landry and JC are at their table, smiling just as wide as they have the entire performance. I’m gonna pretend I didn’t somehow notice where Sommerlyn disappeared to, or with whom.

  I thank the crowd and step back, showcasing the guys. I’m ready to head off stage when his voice freezes me in place. I turn and watch him climb from behind the drums, his hair and shirt wet with sweat, biceps hyper-flexed and glistening from all that banging.

  “One more, Tea,” he growls into his head mic, eyes searing into mine.

  I barely register movement to my side—I assume it’s Jarrett setting me on a stool? But I can’t look away from Rhett to confirm. I’m entranced as he moves behind the keyboards. Apparently I’m not the only one with surprises up my sleeve.

  “Anybody mind if I play one more?” he asks the crowd, receiving a booming response of whistles and cheers. When the roar dies down, he winks at me, the sexiest of all his smirks he’s saved til’ now on his face. “You always seem to listen better if I sing it, so hear me, Teaspoon.”

  Using only his rich, sensuous voice and the keys, he never breaks our locked gazes as he sings “Never Stop,” the slow, wedding version, by SafetySuit. When he learned to play piano, I know not. I’m also a little fuzzy on where we are or my own name, but I know this song… and what he’s telling me with it.

  He loves me.

  I’ll never get used to him either.

  Liz finally yawns. I was counting on her to tucker out long ago, and I’m so anxious, I’m squirming in my seat. Landry, incredibly concerned I wouldn’t stick around, wandered off with Jarrett at least an hour ago, and JC very kindly offered to “make sure Jovie found her room all right” about that same time. No one’s made mention of where anyone else is, and I’m certainly not bringing it up. So the four of us—me, Rhett, Liz, and Cannon—are the last ones standing.

  “Thank you again for inviting us, Reece. I knew it’d be great, but I gotta say”—Liz grins at Rhett—“that finale? Wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes. I’m happy you’re happy, Rhett. You sure held out long enough, waiting for the best.” She shifts her thoughtful regard to me. “You succeeded.”

  Arm around my shoulders, he pulls me in closer and lays a soft kiss on my temple. “Don’t give her a big head, Liz. She won’t be able to carry it around on her little body.”

  “Cute, but you can drop the act. We’re all on to you after that song.” Liz rolls her eyes and stands. “If you wanna get laid with me awake, let’s go,” she tells her husband.

  Cannon jumps up so fast his chair topples over, and we all laugh.

  “Breakfast in the morning,” she yells while being carried away.

  “Man’s so desperate to get some, he forgot to care where his sister is. Thank God—I’m not dealing with other people’s bullshit tonight. I need a shower, bed, and you.” Rhett stands and offers me his hand. “Where are we sleeping?”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” I purr, knees trembling. I’m about to reveal my final surprise, my solution to any lingering doubts I had about coming back here. I pull the key card from between my cleavage and slip it into his palm. The final, lasting memory of any “trips” will be of us.
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  “Tonight, Mr. Foster, you and I are visiting Hawaii.”

  Arabian Nights Suite

  Thatcher King

  “I could go another round.”

  “I have to get back to work, but you’re more than welcome to stay and rest. Room is yours for the night.” It’s the least I can do; she could probably use the rest after all the things she just let me do to her. This one? Wild and insatiable, a defiant edge to her voice as she demanded more from me with an unmistakable glint of rebellion in her eyes. She was fucking to forget something or someone.

  “Turn around and look at me,” she demands, the unique determination in her tone so different from the petulance I expected that I’m compelled to grant her request. “I thought you were the man in charge?” She gives me a daring grin, her tousled curls cascading around her shoulders, lips swollen, impeccable body bare.

  “Your point?” I continue dressing, denying my baser urge to take her again. If things were different, I’d let her talk me into spending some more time in her.

  “You’re the boss. You don’t have to get back to work, and we both know it. Don’t talk to me like of your bimbos, Mr. King. Walk over here like a man, call me by my name, and kiss me long and hard. That’s how you properly thank a lady who knew exactly what she was doing and gave it as good as she got.”

  Oh, she’s cunning, trying to set herself apart with the cool indifference act, a classic bait-and-switch. It’s unfortunate she doesn’t mean a word of it. A good chase might actually entertain me for a while. But she was an excellent fuck, and this game she’s trying to play is far more enjoyable than tears and shameless begging. So I’ll indulge her, briefly.

  I cross the room and stop at the edge of the bed, bending to wrap a hand around the back of her long, slender nape. “I had a wonderful time, Sommerlyn. Enjoy the room and let my staff know if you require anything else.”

  I cover her mouth with hard finality. Her response is swift and violent, her moans delicious as I delve my tongue in to command hers. Coming up on her knees, she presses for more—more friction for her nipples against my chest, more depth to our mouths colliding… more.