Manaconda 2: The Second Coming: A Rock Star Romantic Comedy Series

by Taryn Elliott

  The announcer on the channel came on after the song. “Last night Hammered was in the BBC One studios and we got a hold of the performance. Their new single, ‘Crossing My Line’ been shooting up the charts. This is a stripped down acoustic version. Enjoy.”

  I merged onto the highway, heading for Brentwood. The lyrics were rough with disillusionment and misery. Was this song about her?

  About Victoria?

  I curled my fingers tighter around my steering wheel. I’d been driving myself mad thinking about the ways that she’d hurt him. It was hard enough to walk away from him after a week. I couldn’t imagine a year.

  If I cared so much now, I’d be doubly screwed after a few months.

  It was much better to cut it off now. I wouldn’t allow myself to be like my mother. I’d watched her light up like a Christmas tree when my father came to visit. Smiles and hope shining in her eyes. All too often he’d call at the last minute. “Can’t make it, Rhi. You understand, right?”

  He didn’t see her afterward.

  He didn’t hear her crying in the deepest, darkest part of the night once her shift was over. Three in the morning, I’d find her curled into her bed, stage makeup still on, smearing her pillow and cheeks.

  He was never there to deal with her depression.

  I swore I’d never let a man put me second. And there was no way I’d let Hunter Jordan be the one to do it. No matter how delicious he sounded in my high end speakers. No matter how my body reacted to his voice.

  A text chime trilled over the song and I checked my dash for the text. I tapped a button and my phone read it aloud.

  New client cancelled. Indie and Lila had to reschedule. Pick up some wine, sweetie—you have a free night.

  I shouldn’t be happy that my evening fell apart, but the idea of me and Sammy on my couch with some Chinese delivery sounded blissful. I took the next exit and headed for my house.

  6

  Hunter

  “If she murders me, I expect a very nice eulogy from you and your entire band.”

  “She’s not going to murder you.” I slid open the van door.

  “Oh, no? I just cancelled her evening so you could start the wooing you should have been doing two weeks ago.” Carter stood in the doorway to Kenny’s house, his arms crossed. Sammy was running circles around me and Tristan as we unloaded groceries and supplies. Tristan needed all his own cookware too. Damn prima donna.

  I snapped my fingers for Sammy and he followed us inside. “I know I’m asking a lot, but I needed her to miss me first, or this wasn’t going to work.”

  “Another week and she’d have been dating,” Carter muttered. “All right, I’m leaving. I don’t want to be blamed for this until tomorrow.”

  “Wimp.”

  Carter nodded. “Definitely.” He patted Sammy on the head. “Good luck. Don’t burn down the house,” he said and closed the door behind him.

  “I knew it. If I’d just waited another week I could have…” Tristan trailed off as I dumped his plastic bin on her kitchen island with a crash.

  “Excuse me?”

  “What? You’re the one who told me your brother said bros before hos was archaic high school bullshit.”

  “A—that would only apply if we were broken up. We are not.”

  “Really? Did Kennedy get the memo?”

  I unpacked his rondeau, utensils, and finally his zippered case of knives. I threw them from hand to hand. “Pardon?”

  “Don’t mess with my knives,” Tristan warned.

  “Don’t mess with my girl.”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” Tristan snatched the case out of the air. “On my night off, no less.”

  “And I appreciate it.”

  “Well, prepare to work tonight, son. We’re making risotto.”

  He’d showed me how to make it once, and it had been a disaster. I kinda sucked at standing in one spot for forty minutes stirring, but it was time to bring out my A game.

  She was worth it, and then some.

  I opened up packages from the butcher and the fish monger we’d stopped at earlier. Between the salmon, scallops, and filet mignon we had enough here for us and for the ultimate meal to show a girl she was worth the time.

  The only way I was going to prove to Kenny that she was the first thought in my head when I opened my eyes and the last thought of my night was to do it by degrees. The last two weeks had been hell.

  Doing promo overseas had helped.

  I was pretty sure Indie had mandated that I had to have a chaperone for all things that included Bats. And it was working so far. Wyatt kept me sane with workouts suited for an MMA fighter in training. It helped keep my aggression down, but I hadn’t worked up the right way to go about talking to Bats.

  The fact that he didn’t want to talk to me either didn’t really help our situation. At this point we were living in a stalemate of epic proportions. On stage we were brothers, off…well, I didn’t know what to call us.

  Between my withdrawal from days away from Kenny, and my friendship with Bats circling the drain, I was a walking open wound. Which is why the moment I touched down in LAX, I’d been on the phone with Tristan.

  Noah had given me a deluge of good ideas. Operation: Wooing Kenny had commenced with very little fanfare. Luckily Carter was on my side. I wasn’t sure how I’d get near her if I didn’t have an inside man.

  But instead of looking for trouble, I unloaded the dishes, candles, and tablecloth that I’d packed with Tristan’s goodies.

  While my friend started the risotto, I took direction on mushrooms and seasonings. I was his sous chef—aka his bitch. I listened for any sign of Kenny as I mixed, sautéed, chopped, and washed every freaking pot Tristan used.

  Sammy barked as my hands were submerged in soapy water. She came in with her keys in hand. Her hair was darker and more dramatic, but just as fist-worthy. Her lush mouth was set in a thin line.

  “You’re lucky Carter texted me. I almost called the cops.”

  Remy? I bit my tongue before I could say his name. That’s not what this was about. My petty jealousies needed to be boxed and shoved under a bed located roughly in Timbuktu.

  “Surprise.” I dried my hands and arms.

  “Hi, beautiful,” Tristan purred.

  I cut a glance to him, but the shit didn’t seem to care. He kept on smoldering at her like a goddamn cat in heat. Whore that he was.

  I tucked the towel into my back pocket. “We thought we’d cook for you.”

  She gnawed on her lower lip. I’d never wanted to be a little piece of flesh in my life until just then. I remembered when she bit on me like that. The little nips, the sweet swipe of her tongue, the sigh of her breath just as she kissed me.

  God, I missed her.

  She dropped her briefcase in a chair next to the door and crouched down for the dog. Sammy whined and licked her face as she poured affection on him. When he was satisfied, he wandered back over to us looking for scraps.

  She crossed her arms over her middle. “It smells divine.”

  “I stole one of your bottles of white,” Tristan said and licked off a bit of cream sauce from his thumb.

  “Is that what I think it is?”

  Tristan went back to stirring. “If you mean risotto, then yes.”

  She groaned.

  Before I did something stupid, like push her up against the wall and hear that purr in my ear as I attacked her neck, I took out my frustrations on a stack of pots.

  “So, why exactly are you guys in my house?”

  Tristan wiped his hands on his towel. “We’re cooking you a truly stupendous meal, darlin’.”

  “I see that. How did you convince Carter to let you in? Mind you, your answer will decide just how much punishment I’ll inflict on him.”

  I turned around at the sink, suds dissolving around my wrists. Christ, she was stunning. She’d shucked her jacket leaving her creamy shoulders bare. Her dress was completely modest, and still I wanted to blindfold Tristan.
Especially since he couldn’t quite stop himself from checking her out every three minutes.

  Asshole was going to burn the rice, then I was going to have to beat him unconscious.

  “Carter decided that this idiot needed to further his wooing skills. I aim to complete that particular character flaw with filet mignon crostini with a lovely rosemary pesto, and salmon and shiitake mushrooms over risotto.”

  “All right. I’ll let you stay until you’re done.” She poured a glass of the wine that Tris had opened. “It’s only polite.”

  “That’s what I like about her, Jordan. She’s a class act.”

  “Watch it,” I growled.

  “What? I’m being completely serious.” His smirky mouth lifted at the corner. “I was just telling my boy here that I’d chase you myself.”

  “You’d be chasing your own tail, Mr. Eves.”

  “Tristan, please. If I’ve used your cooktop—not bad for a home set up, by the way—then the least we can do is use first names.”

  “The chef grade stove and oven was here when I moved in.”

  Tristan lifted his own glass. “Cheers to that.”

  She lifted her glass and sipped, but her gaze strayed to me.

  My throat went dry and I turned back to my work. I could feel her eyes on my back and I was very thankful I had an apron on as well. I missed touching her, and I definitely missed curling her under me in the night. Even just to wrap myself around her. She fit perfectly against me. I’d never been the guy to want a woman wrapped around me at night.

  At least until Kenny.

  Now, it didn’t matter what size my bed was, it was too empty without her.

  “I don’t think you can scrub steel off, but you’re giving it a try.”

  “What?”

  Tristan nodded to the sauce pan I was trying to put a hole in.

  “Right.” I rinsed it and shut off the water.

  “Think you can manage to sear the filet?”

  “Yes.” I definitely needed manual tasks. They required concentration and me not staring at the curve of Kenny’s neck and collarbone. And it certainly would deter me from looking for the smattering of freckles at her nape. I’d counted them. Fourteen of them in a cinnamon color.

  I turned the heat on the cast iron skillet to get it ready and seasoned the meat. All the while, Kenny walked around the kitchen, the click of her heels making me insane.

  I was supposed to be charming, not a mute.

  Instead, she and Tristan were chatting amicably.

  Not exactly the best first impression after two weeks. Growling at one of my closest friends for talking to my girl would not help my cause.

  “Can I see how you make the risotto?” she asked.

  “I was supposed to be teaching this one, but he doesn’t have the patience to stand and stir it for the time it requires.”

  “I have patience when it counts,” I muttered.

  “I hope so for her sake,” Tristan said with a smirk.

  Kenny grinned around the lip of her glass. She asked questions and hovered between us at the stove. Rosemary and garlic didn’t have anything on Kenny’s fresh scent. It wasn’t the usual orange blossoms I was used to—what I craved.

  Today she was more of a creamy honey. I wanted to step closer to her, drag in the flavor like a good wine. Instead I checked the meat with a small digital thermometer and took it off the stove to rest.

  Her attention slid to me. “Smells wonderful.”

  I met her gaze. “Yes, it does.”

  “Can I do anything?”

  “Nope, this is all for you,” I said.

  “You didn’t need to do this, Hunter.”

  “I did.”

  “It doesn’t change anything,” she said quietly.

  “It will.”

  She frowned over her glass, but didn’t make another comment.

  It had to. I would just have to make every single thing on my list count.

  7

  Kennedy

  Having two men in my small kitchen was overwhelming in the best of circumstances, having it include Hunter out of the blue was hell on my emotions.

  Excitement, awareness, and being off-balance not withstanding, it was the relief that killed me.

  That he hadn’t forgotten me.

  Forgotten us.

  His shoulders were tight, and his eyes wary as he moved in my space. Tristan was the exact opposite. He was all smiles and easy grace at the stove. He managed three different pans, all the while stirring the risotto.

  His mohawk was tipped in lavender and highlighter yellow, his chef jacket a deep plum over jeans and steel-toed boots. Not like any chef I’d ever met, but the quirks seemed to work for him.

  He and Hunter had an odd ballet to how they worked together. They never got in each other’s way, and they didn’t even have to talk. Though they did that too—mostly with insults.

  I found the noise comforting, and Sammy was delighted with the audience for his antics to get a scrap of food. Hunter was an easy mark, but I caught Tristan sneaking him bits of filet as he was carving the little pieces into thin slices.

  He taught Hunter how to build the little crostini things, and punched him in the arm when he was sloppy.

  “You want to impress the lady, it’s all about presentation.”

  Hunter licked his thumb, then held up the piece of toasted bread dripping with pesto and a piece of steak hanging off the side. “You’d eat this right?”

  I tried to keep a straight face, but his face was priceless. Proud and a little put out that it wasn’t quite perfect. He started to push up the steak with his finger and Tristan slapped it away with a spoon.

  “You touched it with your fingers,” he groused.

  “With clean fingers. You just licked yours.”

  “I did?”

  I laughed. Hunter grinned back at me, dimple in full effect. He held it out to me. “It’s delicious.”

  Tristan moved back to the risotto on the stovetop, giving us his back.

  I leaned across the island. Hunter shook his head when I reached for the crostini. He held it up for me to bite.

  Too intimate.

  I wasn’t supposed to be encouraging him.

  So when the pesto and bread slipped between my lips, I couldn’t help but groan. The flavors exploded on my tongue as I bit down. I made a little squeak when the meat didn’t come apart. Hunter slid his tongue along my lips and I took the rest of it in.

  He watched me as he licked his thumb.

  Tender and salty, my senses came alive, including the ones that had nothing to do with my taste buds. He gripped the edge of the counter as I backed up and sat down on my stool.

  “Regardless of presentation, that was delicious.”

  “See?” Hunter said.

  Tristan rolled his eyes. “Amateur.”

  Hunter laughed, and so did I. From then on it was a tag team event with Tristan and Hunter making plates, feeding me until I begged for mercy.

  “I’m going to bust out of this dress if you keep it up.”

  Hunter came around the table and found the tab of my zipper unerringly. “Time to leave, Tris.”

  I elbowed him and he sat back down. The men had swapped out wine for barleywine after the last course. When I was pretty sure I couldn’t breathe that’s when Tristan pulled out the sticky toffee pudding.

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “I’m just making sure you can’t run.” Hunter pushed over the small dish.

  I laughed. He was outrageous and charming. Watching them cook brought back all the emotions from the first time we’d met.

  The lure of a man who cared about feeding a woman couldn’t be denied. The fact that he brought his friend as a buffer left me at ease and off-balance at the same time.

  This would have been the perfect way to seduce me, but that hadn’t been his intention. Instead, I was just touched that he thought about making me a meal.

  And more importantly, I’d been the focus.r />
  There’s been no talk of work, of shows, of anything other than cooking exploits between the two men as Hunter went from useless to apprentice.

  We sat in the living room and chatted until dark. Dessert had been consumed, and my head grew muzzy thanks to decadent food and a Jamison laced café au lait.

  I must have dozed off because suddenly I was being lifted. I startled awake, looking around the room. Tristan was in the kitchen packing, and Sammy was sound asleep in his favorite chair.

  “Hunter…”

  “Shh.” He gathered me up against his chest. “I’m just putting you to bed.”

  “I can do it.”

  “I know you can, Kenny. I know you can do most things alone; doesn’t mean you have to.”

  I tucked my face into his neck. The lingering hint of coffee and caramel infused his skin and clothes. He carried me into my room and set me on the side of my bed.

  He traced the back of his knuckles against my shoulder and neck, then around to my zipper. He tugged it down slowly, his misty gray eyes heated as my dress fell forward in the front.

  I was helpless against his touch. I’d been starving for it for days.

  He drew the straps of my slip down as well. The lace snagged on my nipples before whispering into a pool at my waist.

  I didn’t care that Tristan was down the hall. I didn’t care that he shouldn’t be here. I didn’t care about being strong. I just wanted him.

  He drew me off the bed and the silk and cotton drifted down my hips to the floor, leaving me in a scrap of white cotton. “Jesus.”

  I didn’t cover myself. He’d seen everything, tasted all of me. It felt like a million years ago, and yesterday all at the same time.

  “God, I missed you,” he whispered.

  I wanted to say it back to him. Everything inside of me wanted to lean into him and let him back in. That little niggling doubt wouldn’t let me.

  He sighed and reached for the nightshirt on the chair beside my bed. He dropped it over my head, helping me slide my arms into the sleeves. In fact, he didn’t touch me until the shirt covered me to the tops of my thighs.