Misadventures on the Rebound

by Lauren Rowe

  Aiden rakes his hand through his sandy hair. “I live in LA,” he says softly.

  “Hey, so do I,” I chirp. “I just bought a condo in West LA. Where do you live?”

  “Silver Lake,” he says softly.

  “I love Silver Lake!” I say brightly. And then I babble lamely for an inordinately long time about how much I “adore” Silver Lake—a hipster area of LA across town from my condo.

  After a bit, when it’s clear I’ve run out of steam regarding all things Silver Lake, Aiden stands and indicates my empty bottle. “Another one?”

  “Sure,” I say, my chest tight. “Thanks.”

  And off Aiden goes to the front counter across the small restaurant, his body language stiff.

  As I watch Aiden’s gorgeous ass walking away from me, I scream at myself internally. Take a chill pill, Savvy Valentine! First you begged the guy to come to your reunion and then you made it sound like you’ll be stalking him when you get back to LA! Slow your roll, freak job! When he gets back to the table, make it clear you definitely want to have sex with him tonight and won’t be stalking him afterward. Because that’s how casual sex works, Savvy. Bang and goodbye. Bang and goodbye. Bang and freaking goodbye!

  Aiden appears at the edge of our table, holding two beer bottles. “Here you go. Nice and cold for ya.”

  “Thanks.”

  He slips back into his seat and raises his bottle to me. “Cheers to you, Savvy Who Isn’t Savvy. My trusty partner in a zombie apocalypse.”

  “And to you, Aiden Who Isn’t Ugly. I’m fifty percent confident we’d avoid getting eaten.”

  “I’ll take those odds.”

  We clink. And drink. And then stare at each other awkwardly.

  “So…tell me about your life in Tennessee,” I say. “You said you moved to California at fourteen. What was your childhood like?”

  He pauses, apparently considering his answer. “Well, let’s see. I grew up outside of Nashville in a little house with a huge backyard. Like I said, we had a little chicken coop out back. A couple dogs. When I was really little, I lived with both my mother and grandfather. My mom was always in and out because of her job, but she loved me. I never doubted that, whether she was physically around or not.”

  “What was her job?”

  “She was a professional backup singer for a whole bunch of different bands, so she was always heading out on one tour or another. Whenever she was gone, I stayed home with Gramps. Her father. And that was perfectly fine with me. I worshiped the ground he walked on.” He looks wistful for a long beat. “And then my mother died when I was eight, and it was just Gramps and me and our chickens and dogs. And then Gramps died of a heart attack right after I turned fourteen. And that’s when I moved to California.”

  “Oh, Aiden. I’m so sorry.” My eyes lock on the numbers inked on Aiden’s bicep—and I instantly surmise they’re the dates his mother and grandfather died. “How did your mother pass away?”

  “A bus accident. She was on tour with a pretty popular country band, and their tour bus crashed. My mother and the band’s lead singer both died. The crash was all over the news, but nobody cared about anybody but the lead singer. Mom was always referred to as ‘and another member of the band.’”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks.”

  I’m quiet for a moment, trying to process the tragic losses Aiden has suffered. “Did you move to California to be with family or…?”

  “Yeah. When Gramps died, I had a temporary guardian in Nashville at first, just to avoid being taken into foster care. But then she told me she really couldn’t keep me more than a couple weeks at most, so I knew I’d have to get the hell out of there to avoid being taken into custody. So off I went in the middle of the night to LA. My mother had told my grandfather the name of my father and that he was from LA. And he’d told me, thank God.”

  I’m floored. “You went across the country all by yourself at age fourteen to find a father you’d never met before?”

  Aiden shrugs. “I had nothing to lose.”

  “Oh, Aiden.”

  “I was used to being independent. My grandfather wasn’t the kind of man who cut your meat for you.”

  I look at his face and suddenly realize there’s a toughness there I didn’t notice before. A steeliness. “And you found your father?”

  “I sure did.”

  “How did he react when you showed up out of the blue on his doorstep? Was he shocked?”

  He chuckles. “To put it mildly. He had no idea I existed. But he took me in that very day without hesitation and never looked back.”

  “Wow. Did he already have other kids? Was he married?”

  Aiden shakes his head, grinning. “No. My dad isn’t a ‘married with children’ kind of guy. He’s a rolling stone, my dad. He was twenty-one when he got with my mother. It was a summer tour for a big country band. Mom was twenty-two and singing backup. Dad was part of the crew. Apparently, they had quite the passionate love affair that summer. But when the tour ended, so did their relationship. Dad immediately hopped on another tour. Mom went back home to Nashville to hang out with her dad for a bit and do some studio work. And that’s when she found out she was pregnant.”

  “And she didn’t tell him?”

  “She didn’t see the point. She told Gramps his name and age and stuff. The general story. But she said her future baby would be better off growing up without a father at all than one who didn’t call on birthdays. And that was that. She didn’t even put my father’s name on my birth certificate.”

  “So did your father demand a paternity test when you showed up out of nowhere fourteen years later?”

  “There was no need. I’m his spitting image. To see us together is like seeing the same man, only twenty years apart. My dad saw me on his doorstep, picked his jaw up off the ground, and took me in.” Aiden chuckles. “Dad loves to say it was love at first sight when he saw me. But that’s only because I look so damned much like him.”

  We both laugh.

  And my heart flutters at the adorable look on his face.

  “Seriously, though,” Aiden says. “I’ll be grateful to my father ’til the day I die for taking me in the way he did. He’s not a saint by any stretch, my dad. In fact, he’s a total fuck-up in some major ways.” He rolls his eyes. “But if my father hadn’t taken me in and loved me like he did, no questions asked, no conditions, no hesitations, then I would have been fourteen and living on the streets of LA, doing whatever fucked-up kind of hustle I had to do to survive. As far as I’m concerned, my dad literally saved my life, and I’ll never, ever forget it.”

  I look down at the ring on my hand, thoughts of my own father making my heart squeeze. “I’m sorry you’ve had such a hard road in life,” I say softly. “It breaks my heart to think about the losses you’ve endured, Aiden.”

  He brings his beer to his lips. “Meh. I’m a survivor. If you want to feel sorry for someone, feel sorry for my poor grandfather. When my mother died, that poor man died along with her. For the longest time, he didn’t even want to go into the studio, that was how brokenhearted he was.”

  “The studio?”

  “The recording studio. My gramps was a session musician.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Sorry. I forget laypeople don’t know. If an artist doesn’t have a band of their own, or maybe they don’t have a particular instrument in their usual band, then they hire a session musician to play on their record. Session musicians aren’t the guys who get the fame or fortune. But people in the music business always know the best ones—and everyone knew my gramps was the best of the best. He was a legend. The biggest names in the music industry always wanted my grandfather on their records. Over the decades, he wound up playing for just about every icon you can possibly think of—from country to rock to soul.”

  I glance at the music-themed tattoos on Aiden’s arms. “Did you follow in your grandfather’s footsteps?”

  “I’m a musician, ye
ah. But I mostly play live, not in the studio. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to make a living on music alone the way both my mother and grandfather did. I live for music, for sure. It’s in my blood. But I’ve got to have a day job to survive, especially in a city as expensive as LA.”

  “What’s your day job?”

  “Construction. Handyman. Odd jobs. I live in an apartment complex and get half off my rent for fixing whatever might break. And then I pick up as many music gigs as I possibly can, no matter what the job. I just play and play and play. No job too small. I also do some busking.”

  I indicate the tattoos on his forearms. “You play guitar and piano?”

  “Yeah, but guitar is my preferred instrument. That’s what I’m known for. I sub on guitar for a bunch of different bands in LA.”

  “What do you mean, you ‘sub’ on guitar?”

  “Are you sure I’m not boring you?” he asks. “I feel like I’m talking way too much.”

  “Not at all. I’m utterly fascinated,” I assure him. And I’m telling the God’s truth. Indeed, I’m not merely fascinated, I’m enchanted. Enthralled. Utterly and completely spellbound.

  “I never talk about myself like this,” Aiden mumbles. “How are you getting me to talk like this? Have you cast some kind of spell on me?”

  My heart leaps. Could Aiden possibly be feeling as drawn to me as I am to him? I put my elbow on the table and my chin in my palm and gaze at him with what must be little hearts for eyes. “I’m just listening with rapt attention, the same way you listened to me when I talked earlier. Now, come on. Don’t clam up on me now, Aiden Who Isn’t Ugly. You were telling me about how you sub on guitar.”

  Aiden drags his teeth over his lower lip for a brief moment, making my clit pulse and throb with desire. “Yeah, whenever a band’s guitarist can’t make a gig for whatever reason, they call me and I come running. I also do session work whenever I can get it. But that’s rare. And I have a solo acoustic gig at this popular brunch place in Silver Lake on Sundays. It’s nothing fancy—just me singing and playing my acoustic guitar. But they let me play whatever I want, even my originals, and the tips are incredible. It’s by far my highest-paying music gig every week.”

  “Are you playing a solo gig at that birthday party on Saturday night or is it with a band?”

  Aiden’s face turns visibly red. He looks down at the table. “It’s a…solo gig.”

  Holy hell. Is Aiden embarrassed to be playing at a birthday party? Have they hired him to play cheesy eighties music or something like that, rather than his originals? Well, he shouldn’t be embarrassed, no matter what he’s been hired to play. Not everyone can be a legendary session musician like his grandfather or make their living playing songs they’ve written. I touch Aiden’s hand across the table. “I think it’s awesome you’ve been hired to play at a birthday party, no matter what you’ll be playing. If I can’t parade you around in front of Mason Crenshaw at my stupid reunion, then I’m elated it’s because you’ll be earning money making music—doing what you were born to do.”

  “How do you know I was born to make music? You haven’t heard me play.”

  “The way your face lights up when you talk about making music, it’s clear music is your calling.”

  Aiden’s features soften. “Thanks for knowing that about me, Savvy.”

  “Well, I’m not exactly reading tea leaves here. You wear your passion for music on your sleeve.” I motion to his tattoos. “Literally. I said I have no street smarts, Aiden. I didn’t say I’m a moron.”

  We both laugh.

  “God, you’re so amazing, Savvy, you know that? I really do wish I could have gone to that reunion of yours. I would have dry humped you in front of Mason Crenshaw like nobody’s business.”

  “It’s okay. If you can’t dry hump me in front of Mason Crenshaw, I’m thrilled it’s because you’ve got a paying gig.” I bite my lip, mustering my courage. I take a deep breath. “But, um, actually…would you mind doing me a favor? Would you take a quick selfie with me where you pretend to drool all over me? I’d love to whip out a photo of my ‘hot boyfriend who’s totally obsessed with me’ at the reunion. Ideally, I’d whip it out when Mason happened to be walking past…”

  Aiden hoots and pats his thigh. “Come on, chicken girl! Let’s take a selfie that will make Mason Crenshaw feel like the asshole he is.”

  I spring up from my chair, squealing with excitement and thanking him profusely.

  “Oh, and, just so you know,” Aiden says. “I won’t be pretending to drool all over you in the shot. When it comes to you, sexy girl, any and all drool will be the real thing.”

  Chapter Four

  Savannah

  From my perch on Aiden’s lap, I snap a selfie of him kissing my cheek. And I think our photo shoot is done. But then Aiden surprises me by skimming his lips down my neck after the photo. And then nipping and kissing my neck. I’m not sure if he’s simply hamming it up for the camera, so I snap a few more shots as he kisses me. I run my free hand through his hair, shuddering with arousal as he begins working his way up my neck toward my jawline… And then I turn my head, ever so slightly, to greet his approaching mouth…and our lips meet.

  For a brief moment, Aiden kisses me tentatively, like he’s asking for permission. And when I give it to him, his tongue slides into my mouth and tangles with mine, and every nerve ending in my body zaps and zings with outrageous arousal. I feel his steely hard-on underneath me, and I grind myself into it. Kissing him voraciously now, I slide my arms around Aiden’s neck and lose myself to the glorious pleasure of our hungry kiss. Holy hell, this is the best kiss of my life.

  For several minutes, Aiden and I kiss and kiss like our lives depend on it, more and more passionately—our hunger and yearning boiling over to a breaking point—until, finally, Aiden pulls away from me, his eyelids half-mast, his cheeks flushed, his hard-on driving into me. He whispers, “Did you get the shot?”

  “Oh,” I say, my cheeks flushing. “No, I…got distracted.”

  “You had one job, chicken girl,” he says. He flashes me a cocky smile that tells me he’s joking around. “One job.”

  I bite my lower lip. “Well, damn. I’m sorry. I guess we’ll just have to do it again.”

  “I guess so.” He swipes his thumb across my lower lip, making my crotch throb. And then he leans in slowly and kisses me again. And this time, despite the heart-stopping pleasure I’m experiencing, I somehow manage to snap a few haphazard selfies of us, just for the sheer hell of it.

  When Aiden and I pull away from each other’s lips this time, I whisper, “I’m pretty sure I got the shot that time.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He chuckles. “Let me see.”

  I swipe into my photos, and we both gasp at the image on my screen.

  “Jesus,” Aiden whispers. “We look like we’re about to burst into flames.”

  “Talk about white-hot chemistry,” I say. “Holy hell, Aiden.”

  “Told you I like chickens.”

  “Can I send this shot to Derek? I want him to see I’m not sitting around crying into a pint of Ben & Jerry’s tonight. That I left that mountain today and wound up macking down on a dude who’s ten million times hotter than he is.”

  “Fuck yeah. Send it.”

  I snort. “Now, in a perfect world, I wouldn’t be sending Derek photos of me kissing you. I’d be sending him photos of me and you doing a whole lot more than that. But—”

  “Let’s do it,” Aiden says. “I’m in.”

  My eyebrows ride up. I open and close my mouth. Did I just invite him to fuck me for some photos? By George, I think I did. “In my motel room?” I choke out.

  Aiden smirks. “Was that an invitation, Savvy Who Isn’t Savvy?”

  I ponder my answer for a half second and realize the naked truth: I want him. On camera. Off camera. Honestly, the photo thing was nothing but a ruse to get this gorgeous, sexy man into my bed. “Yes,” I say. “It was an invitation. You’re cordially invited to stay wit
h me in my motel room tonight, Aiden Who Isn’t Ugly.”

  “Thank you,” he says, his eyes blazing. He motions. “Let’s go, baby.”

  I get up from the bulge in Aiden’s lap and hold out my hand to him. “The night is young and gorgeous, and so are we,” I say with a mischievous smile. “Let’s go make a porno in my motel room.”

  Chapter Five

  Aiden

  Wednesday, 10:12 p.m.

  Man, she’s an easy mark.

  That’s what I’m thinking as I walk with Savvy in the warm night air from the taco place to the motel while listening to her belt out “Irreplaceable” by Beyoncé at the top of her lungs.

  Actually, no. Let me correct that thought: Man, Savvy would be an easy mark if I were still on the con—like I was with Dad back in the day. Which I’m not and haven’t been ever since we got pinched and went to prison. Talk about a guy getting scared straight. But yeah, if I were still playing the game with Dad, then there’s no doubt in my mind I’d be shaking my head right now and thinking holy shit, this adorable girl is the easiest mark of my illustrious career.

  I mean, for God’s sake, Savvy straight-up told me she’s gullible. That’s what “not being savvy” and “not having street smarts” mean, after all. And if I’d missed it the first time, Savvy then went on to regale me with story after story to convince me of her lack of savviness. Jesus Christ! It was all I could do not to take that beautiful, sweet, sexy girl into my arms and say, “Listen to me, sweetheart. You’re lucky you’re telling this stuff to me—because I happen to be a reformed grifter—a true Boy Scout these days. But the next time you start talking to a stranger you met in a bar in the middle of nowhere about how not savvy you are, you might not get quite so lucky.”

  As Savvy continues singing and walking, she grabs my arm and leans her cheek against my shoulder—and that simple, affectionate, trusting touch makes my heart squeeze. What kind of spell is this pretty, sexy girl casting on me? I’ve never felt such an immediate spark. Is it the whiskey? Because I definitely feel buzzed. Really buzzed. But I truly don’t think it’s from the alcohol.