Sweet Talk Me

by Kieran Kramer

  “He’s always liked me,” Harrison said.

  True laughed. “I’m glad I did that.”

  They drove along in what he thought was damned happy silence for a few minutes.

  “We still can’t risk you being seen by anyone,” she said. “That text to Dubose reminded me that you do need to write yourself at least one amazing song ASAP, and you need peace and quiet. Going with me on wedding errands is busywork. It isn’t going to help your cause, especially if some paparazzi land on your trail.”

  “I’m an evil genius when it comes to evading the paparazzi.”

  “I don’t care. I’m not going to be the reason they descend upon you. Besides, I can do this alone.”

  “I know you can,” he said. “But are you sure you don’t want me to call an out-of-town caterer? Or celebrity chef? They can handle southern cuisine, if that’s your sticking point. And then this mess will be behind you and you can do all that fun bride stuff like painting your toenails or whatever it is brides do.”

  “No, thanks.” She flipped her hair out for no reason at all, which he loved. “This sounds snobby, but getting a caterer or celebrity chef from ‘off’ would be considered tacky. And I’m still without a location. I need a big room overlooking the water. Something grand that’ll suit a string quartet, and then it needs a stage for the band.”

  “What’ll they play?”

  “Mainly old standards. Dubose’s law partners will be there. So will Penn’s friends. They never do anything with the Waring stamp on it that’s not entirely tasteful.”

  “Thank God for the classy among us,” Harrison said drily, “saving us from our own worst selves.”

  “What about you and your songwriting? How will you go about that?”

  “Well, I can’t just sit down and say to the gods of country music, Hit me. I don’t know how it works. It seems that the more I try to come up with something, the worse my output is. Maybe my subconscious mind is working on a song right now.”

  About a hot girl named True in a funky little dress.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” True asked.

  “I don’t think so,” he lied.

  God, yes. He hadn’t had sex like he’d had with her since he saw her last. He’d written his first hit song over the next two days. Was there a connection?

  Yes.

  No.

  Hell if he knew. Even if there wasn’t, his body insisted on pretending there was. Any excuse to get that girl back in his bed. And sure, he’d steal her away from Dubose and not feel a smidgeon of guilt if that were the right thing to do. But he knew it wasn’t. She deserved top billing in someone’s life, but apart from his lifelong devotion to Gage, that slot would always go to his career. Besides, True wasn’t cut out to be a groupie, tagging along with him all over the world. She belonged in Biscuit Creek.

  Keeping her at arm’s length was the order of the day. But so was being a friend to her. He could manage both if he took a cold shower every night and imagined his mother and all the angels floating right above him, watching his every move.

  No, X out the part about his mother and the angels. He’d stick with the cold shower. And maybe punishing himself with the Shopping Network channel if his thoughts strayed to the sexy.

  “You can’t do a thing to help.” Harrison put a further lid on his raging libido by reminding himself that he’d been able to write twenty-four additional Top Ten country hits without having access to True’s sexual favors. “Being around a songwriter is like watching a squirrel reaching for an acorn on the other side of a window. Painful. Pitiful. And in the end, you’re mad at the squirrel for wasting your time, and you start to think he’s pretty dumb.”

  Thank God they were getting close to town. Harrison needed out of the car. True smelled like flowers again, and her lips were all plump and ready for kissing. It was too much for a man to tolerate in a small, enclosed space without wanting to reach his hand across and grab her thigh and give it a good rub up and down.

  He’d turn on the radio, but it would only remind him that he still had music to write. So instead, he asked True all about the politics of the city now. Who was mayor of Charleston? Was it still Joe Riley? Who ran the school board? How were they handling the tourism trade? What was happening with the port?

  She knew everything about everything and loved to talk about it, which made him wonder if she was as relieved as he was not to think about sex. Or maybe it was the opposite—sex wasn’t on her mind at all. And this talking of hers was just what she wanted to do anyway.

  Thank God the Ravenel Bridge loomed ahead, and the city was on the other side. Last time he’d been here was when he’d worked a couple of nights a week as a busboy at Carolina’s the second semester of his senior year in high school.

  “I’d never think of you as a squirrel,” she said out of the blue.

  “Um … thanks?”

  She sent him a sideways look of semi-amusement.

  “What animal do I remind you of?” He was dying to know. “And don’t you dare say a jackass. That’s too easy.”

  “All right.” She feigned disappointment. “If I had to choose something else, you’d be a … lion.”

  “Really? Or are you just saying that to make me feel good?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Oh. Right. Why would you? Our history pretty much sucks, except for those halcyon days when we were tweens, and then—”

  “Don’t say it,” she said, but she wasn’t angry. She simply didn’t want to talk about that spectacular night they’d gotten together.

  “Why am I like a lion, then?” he asked. “I’ve got a massive ego. I need to know so I can get my secretary to write it in my gold-plated journal.”

  “Because you watch after Gage. And you have great hair. You’ve also got a temper.”

  “Is that all?”

  She made a face. “Okay, you’re sexy and you know it. Lions know they’re hot. Feel better now?” She scrunched down in her seat. “As if you don’t already have the whole world lying at your feet,” she muttered.

  “And you,” he said grandly, “remind me of Lady in Lady and the Tramp, tough and smart but always elegant. Perhaps a little demanding, too?” He was driving down King Street, where Charlestonians did most of their shopping. “Lady’s my favorite girl Disney character. She beats out all the princesses.”

  “So I’m a dog,” True said. “I notice you didn’t use the word.”

  “I’m not an idiot, that’s why. Although who doesn’t love dogs? I miss having them.”

  “You can’t?”

  “Not really. They’d be ignored most of the time. I don’t want to do that to an animal—or a person.” He pulled over into a parking space. “My life has enough space for one—me.”

  There. The lines were clearly drawn between them, which meant he could have more fun now. Not that he wasn’t already.

  “You were born lucky,” True said. “I can never get parking down here by Bits of Lace. And look! They’re having their annual sale!” She obviously didn’t give a crap that his life had space only for one. “I still need a few things for my honeymoon.”

  Did she now.

  “I’m going to run in there first,” she said in that breathless way women did when they saw a good sale, “and then can we check back via text in an hour? All three caterers are either on King or Wentworth.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Oh, and Ben Silver is up the street near the city market.”

  “Good.”

  “While you’re there, would you mind looking at what they might have for groomsmen gifts? Dubose didn’t have time to work on that.”

  “Not a problem.” He scratched the back of his neck. Damn Dubose.

  She smiled. “Thank you, Harrison. Really.”

  They were both searching for quarters to put in the meter when his phone chirped. He didn’t recognize the number, but it was a New York area code. Curiosity made him pick up, just in case it w
as someone from the studio.

  “Hey, you.” Bad timing. It was Valerie Wren, the hottest single female country singer in Nashville. Her voice was like sweet bourbon going down slow.

  True held up two quarters. “Not enough,” she mouthed.

  “Hey, Valerie,” he said, and pointed at the glove compartment.

  True got the message.

  “How are ya?” Valerie purred.

  “Great, great.” She was a sex kitten. No doubt about it.

  True opened the glove compartment, and a pair of pink, polka-dotted panties fell out.

  Damn. Those were actually brand new, never worn, and Dan had given them to him to give to Valerie. Dan liked to live vicariously, the sicko, all while pretending to help Harrison out with his lady friends, the way a thoughtful concierge would. Harrison had literally stuck them on Dan’s head, and this was Dan’s puny revenge—hiding them in his car.

  True sent him the laser look of death and kept looking for quarters.

  Harrison shrugged and tried to look like a choirboy.

  “I was thinking about coming to visit you since you can’t come up here,” Valerie said. “These Yankees know how to throw some parties.”

  “You’re sweet,” he said, “but I’m kinda busy, Val.”

  “Too busy for me?” Valerie practically meowed.

  True slammed the glove compartment shut and started rummaging through the little recess beneath the radio and then beneath her seat. Finally, she took out her purse and pulled everything out. No quarters.

  “I’m too busy for everyone,” Harrison said into his cell. “I have some songs to write. But let’s catch up soon, huh? Maybe we’ll do a duet at the CMAs. They should be calling soon, don’t you think, with this year’s lineup?”

  “I have no idea.” Valerie was pouting through the phone. “I’m busy, too, you know.”

  Harrison pulled out his wallet and handed it to True. Then he pointed at a store. “Change,” he mouthed.

  She glared at him, opened the wallet, pulled out a twenty—and a condom fell out between them.

  God, no.

  True stared at it then, without looking at him, tried to get out of the car.

  “Hey, Val, I hate to go but I really need to.” True was practically yanking off the door handle. “You’re sweet to call.”

  “Whatever.” Valerie hung up.

  Harrison reached across True—the prettiest fire-breathing dragon he ever saw—and opened the door. She got out without a word and strode into the store.

  The car felt lonely without her. With a sigh he reached into the back and pulled out his Indiana Jones hat. He already had his uncool sunglasses on, the ones he’d gotten at Bob’s Fireworks Palace on I-95. A bike rickshaw almost hit him when he got out of the car. He could see it now: Famous Country Singer Killed While Wearing Dorky Disguise. He pulled his hat brim down, leaned against the meter, and waited. He was in deep kimchee, and he knew it. Of course, he shouldn’t be—he and True didn’t have anything going on—but he was anyway.

  And he liked it.

  When True returned, she handed him a sheaf of bills.

  Plunk, went the meter when she dropped in the first quarter. Plunk, plunk, plunk, plunk, plunk.

  She didn’t look at him the entire time. It was too cute for words.

  “Hey,” he said, “sorry about the panties and the condom.”

  “That’s your business,” she said. “I’ll text you in an hour.”

  And walked away, nearly bumping into a sweet old man in a seersucker suit in her haste to be gone.

  Harrison couldn’t help smiling after her. Damn that girl for making him happy.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  True was so bummed. Not about Harrison and his lady friend. That was his business. If he wanted to go off all cockeyed and date someone as ditzy as Valerie Wren, he could go right ahead and look the fool! True had his number. Sex and PR—good, bad, or indifferent—were probably his top two priorities. Was she ever glad she was through with him.

  No. She was mad about the caterers. Not one of them gave her the time of day. Less than two weeks? She had to be kidding! They had no interest in speaking to her beyond saying no.

  When she met Harrison back at the car, he was carrying six shopping bags from Ben Silver.

  “What did you get?” she asked, in a terrible mood.

  He threw them in the backseat. “A bunch of clothes and toiletries. Plus Dubose’s groomsmen’s gifts.”

  “You did?” Her mood brightened ever so slightly.

  He came around and opened her door. “It was my pleasure to help.”

  Her mood sank again. What was he doing being so willing to help her marry another man? An ex had a certain amount of pride to maintain, right?

  Which was why when she slid past him to get into the car, she didn’t make eye contact. She felt very feminine and sexually needy, although she hoped he didn’t guess the latter part. “I wish you’d have called me to let me know. I would have told you if the gifts are appropriate or not.”

  “They are,” he said, and shut her door.

  It irked her that he didn’t notice her bad mood. It bothered her that he was so confident and incredibly good-looking even in that ridiculous hat and pair of weird-for-a-guy sunglasses. It riled her just as much that she hadn’t been able to find a single thing at Bits of Lace. She’d walked in and seen a million pieces of slippery satin and delicate cotton lingerie, but when it came time to try them on, she just wasn’t in the mood. She’d have to come back before the wedding or find something closer by.

  “So what did you pick out for the guys?” she asked as he slid out into traffic.

  “Bow ties.” He tossed his hat in the seat behind him, yanked off his ugly sunglasses, and put on his cool shades. “With little frogs.”

  She sat in shocked silence. “Frogs?”

  He nodded. “They’re killer.”

  A beat of silence went by.

  “But I picked up something else, too, just in case Dubose doesn’t like ’em,” he added as he maneuvered the car around a horse-and-carriage.

  “What else?”

  He sat up straighter. “Cuff links. Sterling silver.”

  True was relieved. “That sounds good.”

  “With little pigs on them.”

  Oh, Lord. “Really?”

  He nodded. “They rock.”

  She looked out the window. It was hard to hold on to a bad mood around him. “We’ll pay you back. But did you save the receipts? In case Dubose wants something else?”

  Harrison looked shocked. “Why would he?”

  She tried not to laugh. “Well, not everyone likes frogs and pigs.”

  “Guys do,” Harrison said. “And I mean all guys, just in case Dubose has a groomsman who’s gay. I’ve never met a man who doesn’t like frogs and pigs.”

  “Okaaay … thanks for doing that.”

  “It was fun,” he said.

  “Did anyone recognize you?”

  He nodded. “One of the clerks figured it out as soon as I walked in. I thought my disguise was pretty good, but he’s a die-hard fan. He said my chin gave me away. Go figure.”

  She understood. He had a sexy chin. “Did he give you any trouble?”

  “No, they were great about it. One of them had a MoonPie and asked me to sign the wrapper with a Sharpie. It was the least I could do, considering they tried to comp me the bow ties and the cuff links. And they were ’spensive, too.”

  True’s mouth dropped open. “How expensive?”

  “Five groomsmen, right? So the bow ties added up to eight hundred dollars. The cufflinks were three thousand.”

  “Oh, my God.” True was mortified. “You shouldn’t use your celebrity status to get free stuff. Don’t you get enough freebies when you go to the Grammys and CMAs?”

  “Sure.” Harrison put on his blinker.

  “I mean, I appreciate your doing that for Dubose, but no, we can’t take free things—”

  “I didn�
��t,” Harrison said. “I put ’em on my card.”

  “Oh, thank God.” True exhaled in relief. “But … I can’t believe Dubose would want to pay that much for groomsmen gifts. Although he did buy himself a five-thousand-dollar tux for the wedding.”

  “He did?”

  “Yes. But still. We need to go back. I’m going to return all that stuff and start over.”

  “I got them to write me a phony receipt for half that price for Dubose. Just in case he objected.”

  “But that means you’re paying the other half!”

  “As if my bank account would even notice…”

  “It’s not right.”

  Harrison sighed. “If we go back, then the owner will be miffed. He’s a big guy. Dapper as hell, but if he took off the blazer, he could be a bouncer at any hole-in-the-wall he wanted to patronize. Do you really want to mess with a man in a bow tie who could kick Arnold’s ass?”

  “Why would he be so upset?”

  “They had a Miracle League fund-raising poster in the window. I wrote them a check for that first. And then when I went to buy my clothes and stuff, he tried to comp me the groomsmen’s gifts as a thank-you. His son plays in the Miracle League. It took me a long time to convince him I couldn’t accept those items comped and for him to take my card instead. By the end of it, we were bros. I can’t diss my new bro. Besides, he won’t want back those frogs and pigs. They’d been sitting around awhile—”

  “I told you no one wanted frogs and pigs!”

  “Let me finish.” He eyed her askance. “They’d been sitting around awhile because some fella by the name of the duke of Argyll ordered them for his hunting buddies at his castle in Scotland.”

  “No way.”

  “Way. The duke wound up ordering too many, so the store had some left over. No one bought them because the owner was saving them for—get this—Channing Tatum and his posse. They’re coming through to play golf at the Ocean Course on Kiawah Island next week. But I rate higher, being a local boy, so I got ’em.”

  “Wow.” And she meant it. “How much was that check you wrote to the Miracle League?”