Barreled Over

by Jenna Sutton

  He’d been stunned when she strolled into the Trinity headquarters last week with her hair cut almost as short as his own. When he kissed her good-bye that morning before he left for work, her thick, glossy hair hung down the middle of her back.

  Five hours later, she had a new hairstyle—one she described as a pixie cut. Side-swept bangs barely teased her forehead, and in the back, the soft blond tendrils had been razor cut above her nape.

  He’d loved her long hair … loved nuzzling his face in it while they were in bed … loved sliding his fingers through it when he kissed her. And he’d really loved fisting his hands in it when she went down on him.

  But she’d shorn it off for a good cause. The company that made the hair products she endorsed had a philanthropic program with the American Cancer Society to make wigs for women who were battling cancer, and Ava Grace gave her hair to the program to encourage more donations.

  Beck had seen women with pixie haircuts before, and none of them had looked as good as Ava Grace. Somehow she looked even more beautiful without her long hair.

  The short, almost masculine haircut made her look more feminine. It highlighted her delicate bone structure, especially her high cheekbones, and made her eyes look larger and more luminous.

  Her new haircut also made her less recognizable to her fans. And in Beck’s opinion, that was a major bonus.

  “Only a few more things on the list,” she said.

  “Where to next?”

  “The meat department. I need ground beef and bacon.”

  She led the way down the aisle, and he followed with the cart. They had worked out their roles: she was the brains, and he was the brawn. She made the shopping list and kept them on task while he pushed the cart and carried the bags.

  As they rolled toward the meat section, he noticed several other men pushing carts behind their women. Without exception, the guys either had a glazed look in their eyes or they were staring at their woman’s ass with a lascivious gaze.

  Beck fell into the second category. He never missed an opportunity to ogle Ava Grace’s ass, and he never missed an opportunity to put his hands on it either.

  He and Ava Grace looked like an average couple doing their weekly food shopping. But looks were deceiving. They weren’t a couple, and she sure as hell wasn’t average. She was a country star, and he was just the guy she had sex with whenever she was in town.

  He had to remind himself of that several times an hour, especially on days like this. Today they’d woken up in the same bed, cocooned in the comforter and wrapped around each other. They’d enjoyed slow morning sex, shared a shower, eaten a late breakfast, and gone for a long walk with Chicken before jumping in his Jeep to head to the grocery store.

  On days like this, Beck felt as if he and Ava Grace were a real couple—a real couple with real feelings and a real future together. They did more “couple” things than most of the couples he knew.

  They definitely did more couple things than he and Olivia had done. He couldn’t think of a single occasion when he and his ex-girlfriend went shopping together.

  In fact, now that he thought about it, he and Olivia hadn’t spent much time together. Work had been a priority for both of them. He’d been trying to get Trinity in the black, and she’d … well, she’d been fucking her boss.

  Even when they’d had the opportunity to spend time together, they found other things to do. Olivia had been into what he jokingly called “extreme self-improvement.” She was obsessed with lessons and classes, from Chinese and tennis to wine appreciation and sushi making.

  They could’ve done those things together, but she hadn’t invited him, and he hadn’t asked to come along. He preferred to hang out with Gabe and Ren instead of Olivia.

  But he didn’t feel that way about Ava Grace. He wanted to spend time with her, both in and out of bed. More than once, he’d turned down invitations from the guys in favor of being with her.

  Now that he no longer had to fight his desire for her, he could just enjoy being with her. And he enjoyed it a lot more than he’d thought he would. That realization probably would’ve made him uneasy if she didn’t seem to enjoy his company just as much.

  Ava Grace stopped next to an end-cap display of peanut butter. Picking up a jar, she said, “My bourbon blondie bars didn’t turn out, but maybe peanut butter bourbon bars would taste good.”

  Bracing his elbows on the plastic-covered handle, he propped his booted foot on the edge of the cart’s lower storage area. “Peanut butter bourbon bars sound good.” He laughed. “Try saying that a few times. Peanut butter bourbon bars. It’s a tongue twister.”

  Her husky laughter floated to him. “Peanut butter bourbon bars,” she echoed softly.

  “Why don’t you make a test batch and bring them to the cookout?”

  She tilted her head. “I don’t know if I have enough time to do the meatballs and beans and the bars too.”

  “I’ll help.”

  Her lips twitched. “I appreciate the offer, handsome, but you’re not very skilled in the kitchen.”

  “You seemed impressed with my skills last night.”

  She’d made chicken sausage lasagna with Alfredo sauce for dinner, and while it had baked, he’d picked her up and fucked her against the cold surface of the refrigerator. When the oven timer dinged, she was in the middle of her third orgasm.

  Rosy pink color bloomed on her smooth cheeks, and he chuckled. “Are you sure you don’t want my help?” he teased.

  She smiled. “If help is another word for body, then yes, I want your help. Otherwise, I want you to stay out of the kitchen. You might set something on fire or cut off your finger.”

  “I have degrees in chemical engineering and biochemistry,” he replied dryly. “I’ve worked with dangerous chemicals and a Bunsen burner. I think I can handle peanut butter bourbon bars.”

  “Good point. You can make everything while I just sit there and enjoy the view of your butt.”

  A surprised laugh escaped him. “You like my butt, huh?”

  Her smile faded. “I like everything about you, Jonah.”

  Sincerity sweetened her voice, and her expression reinforced her words. As he stared into her face, warmth spread throughout his chest. She likes everything about me.

  She smiled suddenly. “I like everything about you but your annoying habit of hanging your towel over mine. I always have to dry off with a damp towel.”

  He laughed. “Sorry, sugar. I’ll make sure to hang my towel next to yours.”

  “What a creative solution to the problem,” she mocked.

  He only saw one problem at the moment: he wouldn’t be able to get her naked for at least an hour.

  She put the peanut butter into the cart, and they resumed their trek toward the meat department. Once they were there, it didn’t take long to find the bacon and ground beef she wanted.

  “Is that it?” he asked as she tossed two packages of bacon into the cart.

  She nodded. “That’s it.”

  They made their way to the front of the store, where they discovered every single checkout line was backed up with shoppers. Some of the lines extended into the aisles.

  He caught Ava Grace’s eyes. “Are all seven million residents of the Bay Area in this store?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Seems like it.”

  Maneuvering the cart into the nearest line, he settled in for a long wait. She shifted closer to him and wrapped her arm around his waist. As he draped his arm over her shoulder, she leaned against him, her head nestled on his shoulder.

  “Your middle name is Oglesby, in honor of Ellis Oglesby. Am I right?”

  “No.”

  The line slowly advanced. Finally, they were in sight of the checkout displays. Colorful magazines filled the metal racks, and he swept his gaze over them without noticing the covers.

  Beside him, Ava Grace made a funny noise, kind of a choked snort. He looked down into her face. “What?”

  She pointed, and he followed
the direction of her finger to the magazines. He did a double-take when he realized her face was plastered on every cover. The pictures were obviously recent because her hair was short.

  The headlines ranged from “Ava Grace’s New Look” to “Get Ava Grace’s Sexy Style” to “Ava Grace’s Secret Heartbreak Spurs Makeover.” That cover showed a photo collage of her with various men.

  Dropping his arm from her shoulders, he lunged toward the display and jerked the gossip rag from the shelf. He studied the cover, shocked to see a small picture of himself and Ava Grace when they’d arrived at the hotel after the Roarke show.

  One of the larger photos caught Beck’s attention. In the image, a big, dark-haired man held Ava Grace protectively, their heads close together. Beck could only assume the man was Kyle Hood.

  Dismay exploded inside his chest. Lifting his eyes from the cover, he met hers. She smiled ruefully.

  “I guess my new haircut is big news,” she said in a laughter-tinged voice.

  Sensing the heavy weight of curious gazes, Beck glanced around at the other shoppers. They’d seen the magazines and spotted Ava Grace. Awareness raced through the crowd like a wildfire, and people began to point and murmur her name.

  Several people pulled out their phones and edged closer to him and Ava Grace so they could snap pictures. Within seconds, a crowd surrounded them. She immediately went into what he thought of as her “star” mode, smiling and chatting and posing for photos.

  The buzz of an entire colony of bees filled Beck’s ears, obliterating the beeps from the electronic checkout scanners and the hum of conversation. He’d known Ava Grace was a celebrity … known her life was fodder for the tabloids, but he’d always felt removed from her fame.

  He’d envisioned himself as a piece of space debris floating around her planetary body, but he abruptly realized he was caught up in her force field. He was no longer on the periphery of her fame; he was right in the middle of it.

  Nausea began to churn in his stomach. One of the reasons he’d supported the idea of Trinity partnering with Ava Grace had been to take the spotlight off him.

  He didn’t want to be the face of Trinity. He wanted his private life to stay private. And if he continued to spend time with Ava Grace, everything about his life would be scrutinized.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Ava Grace stood next to Beck, unloading groceries onto the kitchen island. After removing several items from the insulated tote bag, she brought them to the refrigerator and arranged them on the shelves.

  As she closed the refrigerator, she checked the clock display on the microwave. Their shopping trip had taken much longer than she’d expected, and it was past three o’clock. The store had been busier than usual, and more than a dozen people had asked her to sign autographs and take pictures.

  “It’s way past lunchtime,” she noted. “Are you hungry? I could make some sandwiches, or I could heat up the leftover lasagna.”

  When Beck didn’t answer, she glanced sideways at him. “Did you hear me, handsome?”

  “What?” he asked absently, removing several cans of pinto beans from a reusable grocery bag.

  She studied him for a moment. He wasn’t as talkative as Quinn and Gabe, but he wasn’t as quiet as Ren either. Beck was somewhere in between, and he’d been quieter than usual on the way home from the grocery store. She couldn’t tell if something was wrong or if he was just hungry.

  “Sandwiches? Leftover lasagna?”

  “Whatever you want,” he answered flatly.

  She bumped him with her hip. “I want you to tell me what you’re thinking about.”

  “Nothing,” he muttered, using his forearm to scoop several cans against his chest.

  She hurried to the pantry and opened the door for him. He brushed by her as if she were invisible, and a stone settled in her stomach. She sensed him pulling away from her. Panic and worry collided inside her, but she instinctively knew he wouldn’t respond to those emotions.

  “If you’re upset … if I did something to upset you … you should tell me instead of pouting like a little girl whose mommy refused to buy her a doll,” she said, knowing she was picking a fight.

  Beck stopped in his tracks. “Pouting like a little girl?” he repeated in a sharp, icy voice completely unlike his normal deep drawl.

  “Yes. Pouting like a little girl.”

  His gorgeous eyes narrowed into slits, his long eyelashes tangling at the corners. “I’m not pouting.”

  She waited until he’d shelved the cans before asking, “Then what are you doing?”

  “Thinking,” he snapped.

  “About what?” she asked, matching his tone.

  He stomped back to the island. “About the fact you have to be the center of attention all the time.”

  Ah. He’s upset about the impromptu meet-and-greet at the grocery store.

  “I don’t have to be the center of attention all the time,” she countered calmly.

  “And yet you always are,” he replied, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

  After gathering another armful of canned goods, he returned to the pantry. He put them on the shelves with jerky, uncoordinated movements that hinted at his emotional upheaval.

  Slamming his palm against the pantry door, he forced it closed with a bang. She hadn’t seen him this upset since the Roarke show, and she knew the situation could very easily escalate if she let it.

  A cold feeling spread over her. She’d worried her high-profile career—her fame—would be a problem for Beck. He’d experienced the downside of being newsworthy when he was younger. And even if he’d started with a clean slate, her fame probably still would’ve created a strain in their relationship.

  A lot of celebrities had no one in their lives except managers, assistants, and acquaintances. They hadn’t found anyone who thought the benefit of being with someone famous outweighed the bullshit.

  “Every time we go somewhere, even to the goddamn grocery store, there you are—chatting up strangers, signing autographs, posing for pictures,” Beck said.

  “I have to do that. It’s my job.”

  “You don’t have to do it,” he countered, his brown eyes so dark they looked black. “You want to do it. You like to do it.”

  She shook her head, both confused and frustrated by his words. “Your job is distilling bourbon. You don’t have to do it, but you do. You want to do it. You like to do it. What’s the difference?”

  He stared at her unblinkingly. “There’s a difference.”

  “I don’t see the difference. Explain it to me.”

  “When we go out, people fawn all over you. It happens when we go out to dinner, to the grocery store, walking in the park, standing in the line at the movies. Every-fucking-where.”

  “I have fans. What do you think I should do? Just walk by and pretend they’re not there? I can’t do that. I can’t ignore them.”

  He snorted rudely. “You love the attention. You eat up their compliments like a kid gorging on Halloween candy.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned back against the pantry door. “Ava Grace, you’re even prettier in person. Ava Grace, you’re my favorite singer. Ava Grace, I’m your number one fan.” His eyes caught hers. “I almost forgot this one: Ava Grace, I love you.”

  She knew he was mimicking her fans. She knew he didn’t mean those three little words. Yet hearing them in his baritone drawl made her stomach tremble.

  Shoving his hands in his pockets, he rocked back on his heels. “Do you see the difference now?”

  She wet her dry lips. “I understand why you’re upset. I know my fame is inconvenient. I know it’s hard to deal with … that it’s a huge pain in the ass for the people around me.”

  Beck wasn’t the only person in Ava Grace’s life who had to deal with her fame. Amelia had experienced both the positives and negatives of it. But she’d accepted the good, the bad, and the ugly because she loved Ava Grace.

  “I know it’s inconvenient for you, Jonah. It’s inconv
enient for me too. Don’t you think I’d like to go out to eat without people staring at me … without someone interrupting us? I’m there with you. I want to talk to you. I don’t want to sign autographs on the back of receipts or stand up in the middle of the restaurant and take a picture.”

  Taking a deep breath, she continued, “I’d like to go grocery shopping with you without people recognizing me … without people stopping me in the aisles and wanting to talk to me. I want to be just like every other couple there.”

  “Every other couple,” he repeated, a weird note in his voice.

  She frowned. “You know what I mean. I want you to be able to kiss me in the produce section without worrying it will show up on the front of National Enquirer.”

  Ava Grace moved to stand in front of Beck. She placed her palms on his broad chest, which was covered in a navy-blue T-shirt with white block lettering that said Bourbon goggles work better than beer goggles.

  “I don’t like being the center of attention wherever I go, but I am.” She looked up into his face. “It’s just the way things are. I can’t change it.”

  He shook his head. “You love the attention. You light up when people tell you how much they love your music.”

  “I don’t love the attention. But I won’t deny it feels good when my fans compliment me.” She gently poked him in the chest with her forefinger. “You need to think about your fans and how you feel when they compliment you.”

  “My fans? What are you talking about?”

  “The people who drink Trinity. They’re your fans. Don’t forget I was at the International Wine and Spirits Show. I saw the smile on your face when they said Trinity was the best bourbon they’d ever tasted. It feels good when someone acknowledges your hard work.”

  She could tell she was getting through to him. His posture relaxed a little, and his face softened.

  “You’re right,” he admitted quietly. “It does feel good.”

  “I still remember the first time one of my fans stopped me for an autograph. I was standing in line at a taco shop with Millie in LA, and this girl tapped me on the arm and held out a piece of paper. I thought she was passing out flyers until she said, ‘You’re my favorite singer on American Star. I vote for you every week. I hope you win. Can I have your autograph?’”