by BB Miller
“Hey! Let’s send them something. Come ’ere.” She grabs her phone and we snuggle together to take a photo. I laugh when I see it; we’re a couple of tousled bedheads with not a speck of makeup, wearing the oversized Redfall tees we slept in, slivers of skin showing here and there, and grinning like idiots. Glamazons, we’re not.
When I receive it from her, I quickly send it to Matt with a caption: Just a couple of groupies here.
“Okay, let’s hit the sack. Morning will be here too soon,” she says decisively, and I shut down the laptop. Just before we part ways, her phone chimes with a message that makes her blush. “Uh, sleep well!” She gives me a little wave and a goofy grin before shutting herself in her bedroom.
Back in the guest room, I stare at my phone for a while, until it’s obvious he’s not responding. Or, maybe he just doesn’t keep his phone with him like Kennedy does. I settle down under the covers with a sigh. Just as I’m about to drop off, my phone, which I discover is still clutched in my hand, chimes with a message.
Matt: No groupie has ever looked as good as you. I miss you.
I miss you too. You guys were incredible tonight.
Matt: It felt pretty incredible, too. I’m glad you liked it. It’s late there, baby. Go to sleep.
I grin at the screen. Do you really want me to?
Matt: No, but I’m surrounded by people and can’t get away to do what I want to do with you. So, sleep.
Fine, I’ll go to sleep. I add a little pouty face.
Matt: You’d better, gorgeous, cuz you won’t be sleeping much when I get home.
Thanks to that enticing promise, sleep doesn’t come easy.
The following morning, Abby and I bear April’s teasing about our mutual bleariness with grace and a few shared smug looks. After a meeting with my team, I stop back in my office just in time to grab my ringing phone.
“Tessa?” My eyes pop open at hearing my father’s deep voice. “I heard the darnedest thing today. Care to guess what it was?”
“Um . . .”
“I heard that you’re in the market for some repairs on a pretty fancy car. A car that does not belong to you. Does any of this ring a bell?”
I grimace, hating how my father can make me, even at twenty-eight, feel like a toddler caught stealing a cookie. “Uh.”
“Whose car is it, Tessa? Chet said it belongs to a guy. Don’t tell me some bum has conned you into paying for his car repairs.”
“Of course not, Dad.” I drum my fingers on my desk. “I borrowed a friend’s car while he’s out of town and someone keyed it. So I’m taking care of it.” Responsibility is a big thing for my dad, and I hope that will soothe him. He’s been wary of boys trying to take advantage since Paula, Rachel, and I began dating.
“A friend? Must be a pretty good friend if he loaned you a showroom-ready ’68 Camaro,” he grumbles. I roll my eyes at how well informed my father is. Chet was the body shop guy my dad turned to when he was restoring his own classic Camaro when I was a kid, and I knew I could trust him to fix Matt’s car. However, I apparently can’t trust him to keep his mouth shut.
“Yes, a friend,” I retort, before continuing delicately, “Ah, a friend I’m bringing to Christmas Eve dinner.”
“Really?” He sounds shocked, not that I can blame him. I think my parents have given up on me ever bringing a man to meet my family. “Er, okay. Here, talk to your mother,” he mutters, clearly uncomfortable with the direction our conversation has taken. Cars are one thing, but emotions are quite another.
“Hi, honey.” I smile at my mother’s clear voice although she’s sounding a little shocked, too, now. “Did I hear you say you’re bringing someone to Christmas Eve dinner? A man?”
“Yes, if that’s okay.” I swallow my sudden nerves and plow on quickly. “His name is Matt Logan and he’s a musician.”
“A musician?”
“Yes, he plays bass guitar for Redfall.” I’m not sure if that will mean anything to her or not. She only listens to classical. “They’re a rock band, but they just did a series of shows with the Sydney Symphony Orchestra in Australia.”
“Oh! You said Redford?”
“Redfall, Mom. They’re world-famous. Ask Rachel the next time you talk to her.” I smirk to myself; my sister is going to come unglued when she meets Matt.
“Are they the ones who do that car commercial?”
I stifle a laugh. I can only imagine Matt’s face if she asks him that. “No, Mom, that’s The Rolling Stones. So, you don’t mind if I bring him, do you?”
“Of course not! It would be lovely to meet him,” she says, her voice full of wonder, as if she’d just seen a unicorn. “I just never thought . . . Tessa, are you serious about this boy?”
“We just started dating,” I reply hesitantly, my heart skipping a beat as I picture Matt’s face. “But, I like him, Mom. A lot.”
“I would guess so, if you’re bringing him here.” She takes a deep breath. “Well, Mrs. Hutton is here for her fitting, dear, so I need to go. We’ll talk more later, okay?”
“Okay.” I hang up and sit down in my chair, relieved. Step one, complete.
The rest of the week goes quickly, although I’m missing Matt like crazy. We catch each other when we can, but it’s not easy with the time difference and our work obligations. I can’t wait to see him. It’s pathetic, but I’ve even stayed at his house a few nights, just to be near his things. Chet called to say the Camaro will be ready this weekend. My plan is to take it straight back to Matt’s and lock it up, safe and sound. No detours.
“Good afternoon, Tess.” I look up to see Jeff the Mailroom Guy standing in my doorway, holding a big box. “I’ve got an overseas delivery for you from a Mr. Logan.”
I perk up and try to suppress my grin, remembering what happened the last time Mr. Logan sent me a boxful of something. Discreetly, I smooth my hand over my hip and the lace boyshorts that lie under my pants. “Great, Jeff. Thanks.” He sets it on my desk and stands awkwardly as I eagerly begin to open the box. “I’ll take it from here,” I add, and glance at the door, hoping he’ll take the hint.
He doesn’t.
“Tess, I was wondering, we never did get that cup of coffee.” He smiles hopefully at me, and I realize what I need to do.
“I wouldn’t mind some coffee, but I’m seeing someone, Jeff,” I say gently, as the light in his eyes dims.
“Oh, I see.” He finally takes a step backward toward my office door, looking dejected. “Well, maybe later, then.”
I nod as he leaves and then tear into the box—and burst out laughing. A large stuffed toy kangaroo is smiling up at me from the cardboard container, surrounded by packets of Tim Tams and something called Violet Crumble. How sweet is this man? Still chuckling, I snatch a note that I see peeking out of the kangaroo’s pouch. My chuckles die with a gasp and all my muscles south of the border clench.
Thought you could use something to snuggle with until I get back. The candy tastes almost as sweet as you—almost. I’m looking forward to revisiting that in person. Soon.
Oh, me too, Mr. Logan. Me, too.
Matt
THE RAIN POUNDS against the metal Dumpster, dripping in a constant, steady rhythm. It’s melodic and hypnotizing, dulling the hunger pains that roll through me. It’s well past midnight, the streets never really silent, but quieter now that most of the bars have closed for the night.
I watch the shallow puddle at my feet fill with the dirty runoff from the Dumpster. I’m shivering from the cold, feeling dampness in my bones. I reek of the streets, of sweat and blood, and days without a roof over my head.
I’m desperate to close my eyes. Exhaustion threatens to take over, but I can’t let it. I won’t make that mistake again. The last time I did, I woke up to a stranger hovering over me with a dull, dirty knife at my throat.
Pulling my knees up to my chest, I scan the alleyway once more, and with shaking hands fish out the stale, rock-hard crust of bread I’ve been carrying around for the last co
uple of days.
Primed to every single sound on the street, I stare into the darkness and tear off a bite of bread, chewing slowly. In the distance, the sound of hurried footsteps echoes, my heart beats faster against my ribs. A trio of voices gets louder, closer, inching toward my safe haven. Of course, you’re never really safe out here.
I hold my breath and cower closer to the Dumpster, but it’s too late.
“What do we have here, boys?”
I’m jolted awake, my arms flailing. Disoriented, my heart pounds out a frantic bassline, thanks to my latest nightmare.
“Jesus, watch it.” I turn to the sound of Cam’s voice. From his seat beside me, he narrows his eyes, shoving my arm away from him. “Your left hook needs some work.”
“Sorry, man.” Pushing up in the seat, I glance out the window of the plane to the darkened sky. It’s not enough that the nightmares keep coming; now my bandmates have to witness them.
“Another nightmare, hmm?” Cam keeps his voice low, and I take a sweep of the plane. In a rare sight, Tucker is passed out, snoring away on one of the couches. Kennedy and Sean are huddled together, sharing a set of headphones, deep into composing some masterpiece I’m sure we’ll be playing soon.
“Something like that.”
“You know I hated rehab.” I glance back at Cameron. He hasn’t really talked to us about his time in rehab, and none of us have pushed him.
“It couldn’t have been easy.”
“It wasn’t. It was fucking hell.” He stretches his legs out, his eyes darting up to the front of the plane before he continues. “Those first few days were awful. I’d wake up with night sweats, shaking, fucking cursing everything and everyone. And the nightmares?” He shakes his head as if he can will the memory away. “I know this isn’t drug-related for you. But it’s something.”
My jaw sets as I look back at him. “I know you don’t like to talk about shit, but talking in rehab for me helped. You get it out and it’s done. It’s not eating you alive anymore.”
My grip tightens on the armrest. I was an idiot thinking I could hide anything from these guys. “Just know that I’m here if you want to vent.” He nods to the front of the plane. “We all are. And if it’s not us you want to talk to, I’ve got the names of a few therapists.”
I scoff at that and he hits me in the arm. “Fuck knows Tess has got enough to put up with, what with your extra-small package and everything. She doesn’t need to deal with you flailing around in your sleep, too.”
I groan. “I’m never going to live that extra-small shit down, am I?”
He shakes his head before settling back in the seat, closing his eyes. “Never.”
Tessa
“Are you sure he’s coming?”
I fix Jada with a baleful eye. “He would’ve been in town already, but he had to do something for Cameron.” It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m trying to control my nerves. Matt’s thirty minutes late to pick me up to go to my parents’ house, and I’m a basket case. Jada’s censorious looks aren’t helping.
Since I pulled my head out of my ass, things have been better between Matt and me—as good as things can be when there’s been a literal ocean between us. Texting has proved more reliable due to the time zone differences, but we have been able to squeeze in a few phone calls and one incredibly hot bout of Facetime sex. Jesus, if he can get me that worked up over video conferencing, I’m going to self-combust when he lays hands on me in person.
Jada huffs and arranges a platter of antipasto. While I’m at my folks’ this evening, she’s hosting a get-together here for her coworkers who don’t have anywhere else to go for the holiday. Catered, of course. Neither of us can make much beyond ramen or spaghetti sauce out of a jar. “Must have been important.” She hasn’t come right out and said it, but I can tell that she’s just waiting for him to fuck up.
“It was. He had some kind of a family emergency and Matt volunteered to help.” I adjust an ornament on our fake Christmas tree in the corner. Whatever it was that happened with Cam, Matt was the only band member left to deal with it. Kennedy and Abby flew to be with his folks in Minnesota, and Sean was on his way to England to spend the holiday with his sister. The guys are close—more like brothers, really—and Matt couldn’t bail on him. His loyalty is one of the things I admire about him, so I’m not going to get all pissy when things don’t go my way. “Look, I get that you don’t like him,” I continue, lifting my chin in defiance.
“I never said that I don’t like him.” She frowns. “It’s just that I haven’t seen you like this before. You’re all moony and swoony, distinctly un-Tess. And he didn’t look like the swooniest guy when I saw him, no matter how well he can flip a pancake.”
“Looks can be deceiving.” I smile wryly. “And it’s worse than that. I’m falling in love with him.”
It snuck up on me. I bolted awake a couple nights ago after dreaming of him, struck with the realization that no matter how I twisted and turned, I had to admit what was staring me in the face. I want him. I want to be with Matt more than I’ve ever wanted to be with any man in my life. He challenges me and makes me think about myself differently. Not only does he respect me, he trusts me—which is huge. The circle of people Matt trusts isn’t just small, it’s tiny.
I shift on the sofa, letting my epiphany wash over me once more. It’s more than respect and trust and desire and passion, as important as all that is. He fills an empty space in my heart I didn’t know I had.
It’s love.
She stares at me, her dark brown eyes incredulous. “You’re . . . wow.” She looks away, shaking her head, and chuckles. “Wow, okay. Didn’t see that coming, but okay.”
I purse my lips. “Well, thanks, friend.” I didn’t see it coming either, but her words still sting.
“I’m sorry,” she says quickly, instantly contrite, and comes to drag me to sit on our sofa. Andy Williams is crooning about silver bells from the iPod dock. “I didn’t think it was that serious. You guys haven’t been together that long. Does he feel the same?”
“I’m not sure; we haven’t talked about it. You said it yourself—I only met him a couple months ago. It sounds ludicrous.” Although we’ve shared some momentous things about our pasts, things we never discuss with anyone else, we’ve still barely scratched the surface. I look down at my hands folded in my lap and take a calming breath. “But I can’t help it. I know how I feel.” And I can’t pretend I don’t anymore.
I smooth my hair back. “He obviously cares for me, but I don’t know how deep it goes. He keeps things pretty close to the vest. And there are so many demands on his time. The band, all the shows, the fans, the press.” I glance at her, trying to find the words. “That’s partly why I haven’t said anything. I don’t want to be another demand. Something else he has to deal with. Does that make sense?”
“Yes.” She toys with one of her earrings. “But who says you would fall in that category? I think it would be pretty freakin’ great if someone told me he loved me.”
I slump back into the cushions and look at the ceiling. “It’s easier said than done.”
“Tess,” she says with a touch of exasperation. “If you love him, tell him, for heaven’s sake. Don’t worry about what I may or may not think. Go with what feels right for you.” She looks at the clock in the kitchen. “But it would help if he’d get his ass here so you can.”
There’s a knock, and my heart leaps. Ignoring Jada’s teasing laugh, I jump to my feet and race to the door, stopping only to smooth my dark red sweater over my short skirt and take a deep breath. I swing the door open and try not to let my disappointment show; it’s Jada’s friends from work. Mustering a bright smile, I usher them in and help with their coats, exchanging holiday greetings and good wishes. I carry their proffered bottles of wine and plates of Christmas cookies to the kitchen while they greet their hostess with enthusiastic hugs. Someone starts singing along with Bing Crosby. Their exuberance is infectious, and I feel a pang of longing.
I fire off a quick text to Matt, telling him that I’ll call later. I can’t delay any longer; I have to get going or my mom is going to have a cow. Grabbing my coat and purse, I carry them to the door, waving my goodbyes to Jada. She’s already embroiled in conversation, so I don’t want to interrupt. I open the door and freeze.
Matt is standing on the threshold, his hand raised to knock. His blue eyes seem even brighter than I remember. His short blond hair is a mess, as if he’s been running his fingers through it. He’s wearing a black dress shirt and pants under his worn leather jacket and looks like he just stepped off the cover of GQ. I want to eat him alive.
“Tess.” He lunges at me at the same time I drop everything in my hands and leap into his arms. And then his mouth is on mine, plundering, claiming, and igniting the fire in me. He tastes like cinnamon toothpaste and smells like heaven. He grunts as I pull at his soft hair, and I moan into his mouth. His hand is under my skirt, squeezing my ass as he presses me against the wall. “Fuck, I missed you,” he mumbles against my lips, and I hum in agreement. Time has stopped.
Until a throat clears from somewhere nearby.
We freeze and slowly look to the side, where there’s a roomful of computer nerds gawking at us. Jada looks like she’s about to burst out laughing; she may hurt herself. Matt slowly puts me down, ensuring that no one gets a look at my ass. A light blush covers his cheeks; he’s adorable.
“Uh, hi, everyone. Merry Christmas.” He gives an awkward wave. There are a few giggles and awkward waves back. “We’ll just be going now.”
“Too bad,” Jada says, grinning at me. “I was getting ready to sell tickets.”
Matt looks at me in desperation, and I take his hand after retrieving my coat and purse from the floor. As our fingers interlock, my nerves vanish. “Come on, tiger,” I say with a grin. “Time for the real show.”
“You flew to Boston?” I look at him, startled. No wonder he was late. I knew he was with Cameron, but I didn’t know that included shuttling him across country.
