by Susan Ward
My heart does a somersault.
I fight back the tears.
In such a short time he’s become a part of me.
“You’re right. It is everything. And I’ll be waiting in Seattle for you to come back”—I look over my shoulder at him—“because you are you.”
I rub my cheek against his forearm. Closing my eyes, I turn into him and absorb the light kisses on my cheeks and lips.
He’s holding me.
I’m holding him just as tightly.
It’s like neither of us wants to let go.
“I’ll call you when I reach LA,” he whispers.
He’s leaving.
Really leaving.
It didn’t feel real until this second.
I nod and the bed shimmies beneath me.
I can’t look, but I hear the door click closed behind him.
And it hits me like a punch in my stomach.
How deeply I’ve fallen in love with Eric, and that I should have gone with him.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Eric
I NEARLY MISS MY plane. I sprint up the steps and enter the cabin to find it filled with corporate working stiffs. Probably from the tech industry. Five dudes wearing Dockers, stark button-downs, and loafers huddled over devices scattered across the tables.
This ought to be a fun three-hour flight home. Only one vacant seat, next to a burly middle-aged guy with an unfortunate receding hairline. It’s going to be dull as hell sitting beside to him, even though it’s a fast flight.
“Champagne or cocktail?” a soft voice purrs, and I glance to the left to see a gorgeous blond flight attendant waiting happy and patient for my answer, though I can tell she’s neither. She’s young, beautiful, and sexy…
“Scotch neat,” I say, flashing my smile.
She eyes me from head to toe, sizing me up. My looks first, then trying to assess if I’m someone worth getting to know before I leave the plane. Worth knowing in the monetary sense. I’m sure the attendant is home-based in LA. Everything about her is plastic and fake. I’ve seen that simper of hers a thousand times before.
It does nothing for me.
My mood goes flat.
As I expect, there’s no sparkle in her eyes as she gestures at the plane. She’s crossed me off as an opportunity. Don’t fucking care. Why would I want her?
“Take your seat and I’ll bring your drink to you.”
As I make my way to the back of the plane, no one looks up. I sink down on the plush leather seat.
My scotch is set in front of me. “Thank you.”
Her gaze lands on mine briefly before she hurries back toward the front. No you’re welcome or smile in return. Fuck her.
I down my scotch and swipe open my phone, going to my pictures. Willow’s face lights up the screen. She’d probably hit me if she knew how many I snuck while she was sleeping. But this is my favorite. She’s naked and curled on her side, that mane of black hair sprayed across her cheeks and pillows.
Beautiful Willow.
What a contrast she is to all the girls I’ve known. These last few days have been the most fun of my life. They’ve also been the weirdest.
Jesus Christ, I’m laughing.
Hugh and the guys fucked me over, then created a shitstorm I’m going to have to deal with when I reach LA, and I’m fucking laughing.
I should tell Hugh thank you for being a prick when I see him tomorrow. If he hadn’t been, I wouldn’t have gotten to know Willow and that would have been a fucking shame.
I study her photo and then close my eyes.
Memories of her float behind my lids: how her body moves perfectly with mine when we fuck; the little impish light in her eyes she gets before she says something outlandish or nosy; the way her shoulders square before she tackles some kind of work she has to do; how her nose lifts before she manages me; how she smells and feels in my hands; the way I feel both her laughter and tears.
I’ve never experienced anything like it with a girl before. It hurts like hell to leave her even knowing it’s only for a few days. I never expected that either, for a girl to become something I want and need so quickly.
“You weren’t in Seattle on business, were ya, son?” the guy beside me says, amused. “Only one thing makes a guy look the way you do on a plane leaving somewhere.”
The way I look?
I realize I’m smiling and turn my head toward the man in the seat beside me. “Spent a few days visiting my girlfriend.” Christ, it feels good saying girlfriend and it rolls off my tongue so easily.
“She’s a knockout.”
Shit, he’s looking my phone. My face reddens and I click it off.
He holds out a hand to me. “Buzz Taylor.”
I pause for a moment then shake it. “Eric Manzone.”
My name takes him by surprise.
“Manzone? Are you that Manzone?”
That Manzone. Stupid way to ask a question, but it’s not first time I’ve heard it. His curiosity is piqued; next comes rude questions.
“Yes, he’s my father.” I give him a quick dismissive smile. “I’m beat. I think I’m going to snooze until we hit LA.”
I pretend to go to sleep. I don’t want to talk about my family or any part of my life just yet. For a little while longer I want only Willow in my head.
I’m stirred from sleep by the pilot’s voice floating through the intercom with the usual before-landing rigmarole: the weather in LA, the time, and a polite thank you for flying Sea-Tac Westcoast Charters.
I stare out the window. It’s nearly night and the LA basin is awash in a twilight blue, speckled with lights and the orange-red glow of the sun disappearing across the Pacific. I wonder what Willow’s doing. She’s not working. Before I left, I asked Jade not to make her work tonight and her sister said she would.
When the landing gear touches the runaway, I turn on my cell. I send her a fast text. In LA. Call you when I get home. Miss ya already. Immediately I get a ding back.
Willow: You better call me when you get home. And I want pictures. I’ve never been to LA. How can you miss me already?
Me: Because you are you.
Willow: Because you are you, too.
Seeing that makes me choke up in a good way. That’s the last line I ever thought I’d appropriate from my dad, but I’ve gotta admit Alan knows women. And not only did it make Willow happy, it makes me happy to see it. No wonder Dad says it so much to Mom.
I can feel the asshole beside me trying to grab a look at the screen. Welcome back to the real world, Eric. Can’t even text my girlfriend without someone trying to cop a peek. Fucking people. I shove my phone in my pocket.
I have the cab drop me off at my house in Laurel Canyon. “Can you wait here? I need to run inside and grab some money.”
The guy stares at me, suspicious. Then he looks out the window at the sprawling front lawns with the tuft of trees—eucalyptus and sycamore—inside the high wall with the double-gated circle driveway.
No, not explaining why I can’t pay him.
He’ll either wait or he won’t.
I climb out of the car and hurry up the front walk. At the front door of my single-story rustic wood and glass mansion, I tap the code into the alarm panel. I hear a beep, a click, and the door opens.
Switching on lights throughout the house with a single tap on a panel, I head to my bedroom. Behind the picture of my grandpa is a wall safe. I push the buttons with the code.
I reach in, rummaging beneath my passport and various other important shit for the envelope of cash I keep here. I pull out a few hundred and the notebook with my other passcodes in it.
I’ve only got hundreds.
A hundred bucks says the fucking cabbie doesn’t have change. No one pays with cash for anything anymore.
He’s waiting when I return to the driveway. I tap on his window and he rolls it down. I hold out a bill to him. “Here. Keep the ch
ange.”
I sprint back toward my front door and am inside my house before he’s off my property.
When I call Alan, I get voice mail.
“Hey, Dad, I’m back in LA. Hugh told me something about meeting at the house tomorrow. See ya then.”
I toss the phone on the kitchen counter and go in search of something to drink and eat.
Leaning into my fridge, I see that it’s stocked up even though I wasn’t home for my weekly delivery. Someone must have let the grocery service in on Monday. Mom? One of my sisters? Maybe I’m off everyone’s shit list if someone cared enough to come here to check on my house.
Nothing looks appealing.
What’s with all the vegan shit? It’s not on my list. It must be a mistake.
I grab a beer and a slice of leftover pizza from last week. I walk toward the patio. It’s dark now. It took an hour to get home from the airport. Fucking LA traffic.
After switching on the back lawn lights, I step out and settle on a patio lounger next to the pool. I place my brew on the ground and take the notebook from my pocket.
I run my finger down my list of passwords. Of course I don’t remember any of these fucking things, Ivy. Uppercase and lowercase letters, strings of numbers with symbols. Christ, why is everything so complicated?
I tap into my Venmo app.
Just to be a dick, I rummage through my emails for the payee information and send the sixty bucks I owe Mel’s to Jade’s first. I write a tongue-in-cheek thank-you note for her understanding. What I should have typed was fuck you for every rotten thing you’ve whispered in Willow’s ear about me since I met her.
I wait a few seconds. No response from her. No surprise. Everything about her screams she’d rather be right about me than get the bar tab she made such a stink about paid.
I go into my email and tally up in my head what I owe Willow for the plane ticket and other stuff. It’s hardly anything. I wouldn’t have given this sum a thought before this week. But having in mind how hard she works for every dime she’s earned and seeing what she laid out all sweet and loving gives me a new appreciation for what it meant to her and how amazing she is.
My finger hovers above the screen. Maybe I should send more than I owe her. I’d like to help her out. Hell, I’d like to give her everything if she’d let me.
Then I remember all the things I haven’t told her.
It’s probably not wise to do anything to open that discussion while I’m a thousand miles away. No, better to wait until Sunday when I’m back in Seattle.
Carefully I type in only the amount Willow lent me. I add a simple note. Thank you, baby, for believing in me enough to help me out this way. No one has ever done anything this kind for me before. I love you.
Chapter Thirty
Eric
I’M IN MY RECORDING studio when my cell finally rings. I scramble to turn off the tape—I record on tape when I’m composing because it gives a truer playback for the sound I’m going for, and I haven’t been able to shut off the music in my head since I got back from Seattle—and reach for my phone.
Willow’s picture on the screen.
My incredible muse.
Words and lyrics have never flowed this easily for me.
Video call.
Even better.
“Where have you been? I called you three hours ago,” I say rapidly instead of hello.
Her face goes blank, surprised by something. Surprised by me? Oh shit, that must have come out too intense.
“I was working—”
Fuck you, Jade, for lying to me about giving Willow the night off.
“Where are you?” she asks, uncertain.
I laugh to give me a moment to pull into control the jumpiness in my stomach. “I’m in my recording studio at the house.”
“House?” She stares and looks confused. “I thought you lived in an apartment.”
Oh fuck. That’s right, that is what I told her. Damn fucking lies. Can’t wait until Sunday to be with her to shred all the bullshit I spewed in Seattle, so I don’t have to catch myself in everything I say with her.
“I do have an apartment. I just decided to go home,” I answer evasively, hating that I have to continue to maintain the Eric James charade.
“Oh. You’re with your parents.” Her brows pucker. “Why do they have a recording studio in their home?”
“Probably because they don’t want to listen to me when I compose. The creative process isn’t always a sweet melody.”
She laughs; I feel like a shit.
“If I’m disturbing you, you can call me when you’re done.”
“Hell no. I waited all night to hear your voice. What are you doing?”
“Getting ready to go to bed.”
“I’m calling it a night early, too. I wish I was there to sleep with you.”
Her eyes turn into sparkling dark pools. “So do I.” She sighs dramatically. “But I’m exhausted. Ivy called in sick. I had to work tonight alone on the floor. It’s probably better you’re not here. I should let you go. I just wanted to say thank you for paying me back.”
I shake my head at her. “Don’t thank me for that. I’m the one who thanks you. I’ll be eternally grateful for what you did.”
“It was nothing.”
“It was everything.”
I head into the hallway, passing through the front entry toward the kitchen.
“What’s the strange sound?”
I pause. Listen. “I don’t hear anything.”
“It sounds like you have a water leak in your house.”
Oh. “There’s a koi pond with a waterfall in the foyer.”
“Foyer,” She repeats with a heavy British accent then busts up laughing. “You’re so full of crap. You don’t have a fish pond inside your house.”
For a moment I consider turning the phone so she can see it, then I let it go. “You’re right. I left Animal Planet on the TV.”
“Animal Planet? I don’t believe that either.”
I grin. “Well, you should. One of my favorite shows. All that primal mating uncensored and uncut.”
Her cheeks pink. “Uncensored and uncut. Sounds like you’re talking about yourself.”
“Not tonight. I’m not with you.”
I open the fridge and grab a beer.
“I like that answer,” she says, and it’s as if her voice is glowing.
“But watch out on Sunday. I plan to be uncensored as much as you’ll let me. Four days until I’m up there again. It’s going to be torture, love.”
“For me, too,” she simpers.
I hear a car in my front drive. I lean over the sink to look out the window. Oh fuck. “Hey, I gotta go, Willow.”
She pouts. “See. You don’t really miss me at all.”
“I do, babe.” I hurry toward the front door to head off what’s barreling my way. “Call you in the morning. Love ya.”
I click off my phone, toss it on the table, and haul ass out onto the driveway before Tara’s out of the BMW I bought for her. Fuck, she has a nose like a bloodhound. How did she know I was back?
My fingers close over the top of her door, keeping her in the driver’s seat. “No, you’re not coming into my house. Get out of here. You’re the last person I want to see tonight.”
“How can you talk to me that way?”
Tears rise in her eyes and her face scrunches up as if that hurt her. But I know it didn’t. Every emotion she displays is an act for her personal gain. If it wasn’t, I might feel differently about her and not have busted up her relationship with Ethan.
There’s a lot about Tara for a guy to like. Model face and body. Shiny long straight brown hair always perfectly arranged in a flirty, sexy do. Giant green eyes. Plump lips. Great rack…
Well, it would be a great rack if it wasn’t always heaving in anger, warning she’s about to go on a bitch rant.
“I can talk to you that way beca
use I know you, Tara.”
“Fuck you, Eric.” She pushes hard against the door, trying to get out. “Don’t even think to pull this shit. We fly to Vegas on Wednesday and the next morning you’re gone. Then you shoot me a text saying you’ve left to go to Seattle with the guys. Not acceptable. You better let me out of my car. You’re not getting away without an explanation.”
It is kind of a limp-dick move to hold her in the car. I step back since I really can’t avoid this, but I put plenty of space between us. “We had an agreement. I did my part. I expect you to do your part. And there’s nothing I’ve gotta explain to you.”
She slowly climbs out. Feet to the pavement showing off her long legs, then her body glides upward until she’s striking a pose that I’m sure she’s practiced.
With her fingers she traces upward on her forehead then lightly touches back her hair. “You disappear for five days and don’t call me when you get home. Where the hell have you been since Friday?”
If I didn’t know her, I’d believe she was jealous.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but Seattle. Like I already told you.”
Her face moves into mine. “Everything about you is my business, Eric. We both know why.”
I shove my balled fists deep into my pockets so she can’t see how well she landed that punch. “What did you tell Ethan? You didn’t tell him everything, did you?”
Her brows slowly ease upward in feigned surprise. “I wouldn’t do that. I care about him, too.”
My temper spikes. “You care about him so much you fucking ripped out his heart when I was a thousand miles away and couldn’t stop you from doing it.”
“I didn’t plan to hurt him.” Tears again in her eyes. “What was I supposed to do? He asked me to move to Boston with him. I tried to let him down gently when I said no, and you know what he did?”
A pregnant pause.
Predictable.
