by Zoey Oliver
It wasn’t though. She woke up and smiled big at me, and my heart practically jumped out of my chest. She kissed me back and then I only barely managed to wriggle out of her arms before she convinced me we should have sex again. We were already close to being late and we’d definitely be late if we spent the time that activity deserved.
So I’d started getting dressed when she’d followed me out and hopped in the passenger side of my car, her eyes sparkling. By her reasoning, there was no point in taking two vehicles. It was hard to argue with that, but really, I just wanted to show her off.
But now that I remember where we’re going—and who is going to be there—I’m wondering if it was the right call. Showing up with me could really damage Chelsea’s reputation and that’s the last thing I wanna do.
“What, are you ashamed to be seen with me?” she asks with a fake pout. I give her an unamused look.
“The other way around actually.”
She sighs. “Look, whatever other people are going to think, they’re going to think it no matter what we do. If some paparazzi gets pictures of us grabbing coffee together or walking into the studio together, who cares? That’s just more press for the album and more profit for Wish Givers.”
“I guess,” I say, though I don’t mention that it’s not the paparazzi I’m worried about.
And just as I expected, the moment we walk through the studio door Rosa and Merrill are there, both giving us unimpressed looks. Merrill looks disappointed, but Rosa looks pissed. She looks at me like I’m some sort of predator that coaxed her virginal daughter to spread her legs. But that’s not what happened. Chelsea’s an adult and she can make her own damn decisions, even if her manager thinks otherwise.
“Morning,” I say, waving to them both before I head into the booth with my coffee. I don’t need to hear what either of them has to say to me right now because I can already tell I’m not going to like it.
“Chelsea, a word?” Rosa says, her voice clipped and tight. I send Chelsea a nervous look, but she just grins at me like she’s not worried about anything. Chelsea’s never tangled with anything like me before. She doesn’t know the lengths people will go to to save you from yourself when you get involved with someone like me. She has no idea what she’s in for.
They step right outside the studio, into the hallway that I can still see through a window in the door. I’m tuning my guitar, or at least running through the motions, barely paying attention as I watch the two of them. Rosa looks like she’s really laying into Chelsea, but then Chelsea snaps back, her eyes blazing, her hands flying around wildly. Rosa doesn’t back down and I can almost hear her through the thick soundproofing in the booth. I’m sure Merrill’s getting an earful, and I look to him for any clues. He’s pale as a sheet, but glaring murder at me and I look away fast as I can, back to tuning my instrument.
I knew it was a bad idea to show up together. But I believed Chelsea when I should have relied on my own experience. I could have waited outside for another ten minutes, drank my coffee, and walked in alone without raising any suspicions. But I just had to be a showoff. I just had to parade around with Chelsea on my arm like a proud fucking peacock.
Now I’ve probably ruined everything.
Eventually, Chelsea slinks back into the booth and I raise my eyebrows at her hopefully, waiting for a smile or a wink or a nod, or something. But she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t even look at me. Though, to be fair, she’s not looking at Rosa either. I don’t know what the hell went on between them, but I can see her pulling away from me and panic grips my chest, wringing my heart out like a wet mop.
“Everything okay?” I say under my breath, hoping for something. For any glimmer of hope.
“Fine. Let’s do this.”
My heart sinks. I should have known that Chelsea wouldn’t stick by me when things got tough. She’d already run out on me once just at the possibility of things going wrong. Apparently, her manager breathing down her neck was all it took.
But shaken as I am, I can’t let it rattle me. I can’t let it stop me from doing my job. So I start my warmups, trying not to look at her, trying not to look at the managers, trying not to hear her perfect voice filling me with that bittersweet ache that’s going to be with me for the rest of my miserable life.
I’m lucky to have had a chance with her at all. Even if it is over far sooner than I’d like.
The music is shaky for both of us. I don’t know why Chelsea’s struggling when she’s the one trampling all over my heart, but she is. And I’m no better. We’re stumbling over lyrics, missing cues, our voices not harmonizing the way they really should. Somehow, we make it through a song, then another, and finally a third before Merrill decides to wrap the session.
I don’t have to look at him or Rosa to know that these aren’t the best tracks on the album, but there’s just not time to deal with it. We’re on a tight schedule and the constant roller coaster of emotions that Chelsea and I are on is going to be painfully obvious once the album’s pressed, I just know it.
Merrill catches me in the hall, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Only one more day of this. Think you can handle it?”
I freeze, counting through the recorded songs and the tracklist in my head. Shit. He’s right. One more day of recording and the album should be done. And then my excuses to see Chelsea will be done too. I think I manage to hide my sudden panic with a nonchalant shrug.
“Yeah, don’t see why not,” I say, trying to inject some confidence in my voice. Truth is, the thought of not being in the studio with Chelsea is torture. I always knew this thing had an expiration date, but I kept thinking it was far off in the future, some distant day that I didn’t need to worry about.
But now it’s not so distant and it’s all I can worry about. Whatever happened with Rosa and Chelsea this morning, there’s a chance I could get Chelsea to come around, but with only one day?
I’m good, but I’m no miracle worker. If I’d realized the way things would go down, I would’ve taken Chelsea up on her offer this morning and taken my sweet time making her come over and over. To hell with being late. But I’d been trying to show her my responsible side and now maybe the last chance I had would be my last chance ever.
I feel like a fool. Living in the moment used to be my motto, but rehab broke me of that. Living for the now and not thinking about consequences is what got me there in the first place. But now the tools I learned to help me be a better person may have lost me the best damn thing I’d ever had.
I’m still stewing and grumbling to myself as I head out to the car, a dark cloud hanging over me with every step.
But when I reach the car, the cloud parts and a shower of sunlight breaks in, making my heart soar with hope. Chelsea’s there, standing by my car, waiting for me. And then I remember we rode in together. So at least I have one last chance to talk to her. I have a feeling if I don’t fix this rift before we go home, before we split up for the day, that there will be no fixing it. But she could have taken a cab or an Uber. She didn’t. And the fact that she’s here fans that little ember of hope into a big blazing ball of fire.
“Hey,” I say, unlocking the car to toss my guitar case in the back.
“Hey,” she says, sliding into the passenger side. She keeps her eyes straight ahead.
Not a great start.
I climb in too, taking my sweet time putting on my seatbelt, starting the car, fiddling with the radio, watching her out of the corner of my eye. She’s clearly wrestling with something and I want to tease it out of her, but I don’t know how hard I can press.
“So—”
“Can we not talk about it?” she snaps, cutting me off.
I sigh, my shoulders slumping. Guess we’re back to that then, with Chelsea keeping me at arm’s length and me being left out in the cold with no one on my side.
“I was just going to ask if you wanted to come back to my place for lunch… Maybe a swim? It’s a nice day and it always helps me relax.” I know i
t’s a long shot and I brace myself for rejection. I steel myself for the blow I know is headed my way, when she finally tells me to stop trying and just take her home.
Chelsea looks like she melts into the seat, slumping down until she probably can’t even see over the dash. She rests her head back and sighs, her eyes closed for a long time before she turns and looks at me with those big, beautiful eyes that never fail to take my breath away.
“I need to go home,” she says, and all the hope floods out of me, leaving me an empty useless husk of a person. “You are not getting me to skinny dip. I need a bikini,” she adds, a grin turning her mouth.
I’m not sure I heard her right at first. I think maybe I had a stroke or something, some kind of desperation-induced hallucination, but she’s smiling at me and all the light floods back into my world.
“Of course. I’d never,” I say, my voice coming out rough and raw like I haven’t used it in forever. But my expression of feigned offense pulls it off and she giggles, shaking her head at me.
“You would too.”
“All right, maybe. But only with you.”
Her cheeks glow and she dips her head, trying to hide it, but I already saw it and I’m never going to forget how damn cute she looks in this moment.
When I get back to her place and she gets out of the car, I hold my breath, not entirely convinced she’s going to come back. But then she comes jogging out with something balled up in her fist and I can’t stop the huge, dumb grin from lighting up my face. Then the realization hits that the tiny scrap of fabric balled up in her hand is her bikini, the only thing she’ll be wearing, and my cock surges to life.
“Okay, let’s go,” she says, jumping back in. But just as she’s putting her seatbelt on, she pauses. “Do you have sunscreen?”
“Uh… Probably?”
She frowns, eyes darting back to her house.
“You can go grab it. I’m not going anywhere without you,” I say.
She shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. A little tan will look good in the promo materials.”
That just makes me chuckle and shake my head. Leave it to Chelsea Garten to rationalize UV exposure in favor of her career. But I’m not giving her the chance to change her mind, already pulling out of her driveway and heading across town to my place.
“God, I’m never going to get used to this place,” she says as I pull up to the gate and they swing open for my car automatically.
“You and me both,” I mutter, rolling my eyes at the guitar-gate like I do every time I come home. I’m not sure who built and designed this place, but I think they might have had a hard-on for Graceland or something. It’s over-the-top from the ground up. But it’s a roof over my head and it’s done a good job of keeping my nose out of trouble.
“You know, you could move,” she says, her nose wrinkling as she teases me.
“I could, but I haven’t really found a reason to.” I don’t mean for it to happen, but there’s a suggestive edge to my voice that seems to be saying she’s the reason I’ve been looking for, but hell, even I’m not crazy enough to think things like that after only one night with the girl.
She lets it roll off her back, which I’m grateful for. “So, what’s for lunch? Please don’t say a frozen pizza.”
I clutch my chest like she’s wounded me and put the car in park, cutting the engine. “Would you believe me if I said I hadn’t thought that far?”
She sighs, looking exasperated. “Yes.”
“How about breakfast? I’m pretty sure I’ve got eggs and bread. I could probably whip up a mean French toast if you’re into that.” There’s not a whole lot else I can cook, but it’s something.
She laughs and shakes her head. “How about we order in and swim first so we don’t have to wait half an hour after eating.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s an urban legend and you’re just shunning my world-famous French toast.”
We’re in the house now and her laughter is bouncing off the walls, surrounding me in this happy glow that makes me feel better than I have any right to.
“Well, you were underselling it. I didn’t know it was world famous,” she teases.
“You joke, but my recipe got printed in Rolling Stone a few years ago.”
“Oh, wow. I’m sorry. You’re right. I didn’t know you were published in the acclaimed culinary magazine Rolling Stone.”
“You know what? Now you don’t get the French toast. You’ve lost the opportunity,” I say, trying my best to keep a straight face, but it’s hard when her eyes are glittering at me like that.
“Please, Ian? I really want to try it now. You wouldn’t deprive me, would you?” The way her voice coos reminds me of her panting and begging for me last night. My balls tighten in my jeans and my cock presses uncomfortably against the zipper.
“I guess I can consider it, but I think I need to relax in the pool from your assault first.”
She rolls her eyes playfully, and then lunges forward to kiss me on the cheek. “I know you just want to see me in this bikini, but I’ll play along,” she whispers, her warm breath teasing over my ear, sending even more blood surging southward. This girl is going to be the death of me. But she’s not wrong. I want to see her in that bikini more than just about anything. She turns and heads off to change, but before she’s totally out of my reach, I smack her ass lightly, earning a little surprised yelp and a smoldering look from her.
I’m already changed by the time she comes out of the guest bathroom, and the moment she does, it’s like time itself stops. Her bikini is this little red and white polka-dotted number held together by thin little strings tied around her body. My mouth goes dry and already I want to peel the damn thing off of her.
“Oh! You found some, awesome!” she says brightly, and it takes me a minute to come back to earth and remember the bottle of sunscreen I’d pulled out from under my sink.
“Yeah,” is the only thing I can manage to say. Her curves look even more tempting in that tiny string bikini than I thought possible. The top has a string that goes behind her neck, lifting her breasts and pushing them together in an irresistible display. Surely she did this on purpose, right? I’ve known other girls before and a lot of them have enough bikinis to have a different one every day of the week. She picked this one on purpose to drive me crazy.
And it’s working.
It doesn’t hurt that she’s currently slathering sunscreen over her smooth legs and arms, then her chest, her fingers delving into her cleavage. She turns around and lifts her hair, giving me an over-the-shoulder look that in any other context would scream “fuck me.”
“Do my back?” she asks, grinning. I suppress a growl—just barely—and take the bottle from her, squeezing the cold lotion into my hands before gingerly reaching out to touch her hot skin.
She flinches and pulls away with a squeal. “It’s so cold!”
“Let me warm it up for you,” I say, rubbing it in, covering every inch of her skin with my warm hands, massaging her shoulders while I’m at it until she’s practically slumping against me, sighing happily.
I have a feeling I could keep this going. I could slide my hands around her, tease her, make her pant and squirm until I ripped this little bikini off of her and had my way with her. But I don’t. As much as I want to, I resist.
“There, all done,” I say, pulling my hands back away from her like her touch burns.
“Thanks,” she says, sauntering off toward the pool. Watching her ass sway, barely covered by a scrap of fabric, is nearly all my poor dick can take.
I run past her tossing “Slowpoke,” over my shoulder as I jump into the mercifully cold water. At least now she won’t be able to see how much she’s turning me on. Not that I think there’s a chance in hell she doesn’t already know.
My jump into the pool splashes her as she tries to catch up, and she’s just standing on the edge of the pool, her mouth hanging open, her front absolutely drenched. Already I can see her hard nipples poking throu
gh the thin bikini top and the cold water isn’t doing anything to stop me from getting hard now.
“It’s freezing in there!” she squeals, hugging herself.
“It’s not so bad once you’re in it. Besides, I’ll keep you warm,” I add with a wink. The way she rolls her eyes at me when I make a comment like that always makes me grin. Hell, half the reason I say things like that is just to get the eye roll out of her. And I think she knows that, too.
She makes her way to the stairs and gingerly dips her toes into the water, taking another step down and then another until she’s submerged up to her knees and shivering.
“Stop being a baby,” I say, grabbing her hand and yanking her into the water with me. She lets out a yelp and falls against me, but I catch her, holding her tight. She clings to me, still shivering, but the longer we stay like this, the more her chattering teeth fade away.
“There, that’s not so bad, is it?”
“You’re a j-j-jerk,” she says, glaring at me. I can’t resist it anymore. I pull her close to me and kiss her slowly, holding my breath to see if she’s going to push me away. She doesn’t, and I slide my hand up her back, cupping the back of her neck as I coax her lips to part for me, our breaths mingling in heavy pants.
When the kiss finally breaks, she’s flushed and breathless and her eyes have that glassy lust-fueled haze.
“Am I forgiven yet?” I ask, my voice low and husky.
“I’m not that easy,” she says, but I hear the challenge. I hear her saying “a kiss isn’t enough, what else have you got for me?” And boy do I have things to offer her.
“I never suspected you were,” I say, sliding my hands down her body, nibbling on her neck, across her shoulders, making her gasp as my hands cup her ass and lift her up against me. She throws her head back on a sigh as my finger slips under her bikini bottoms, finding her slick and wet already.
