Call on Me

by Roni Loren

  Was it really such a terrible idea?

  Her biggest fear about sex with him was that she’d develop feelings for him, but if she kept up this game of talk-but-don’t-touch much longer, she’d be in trouble anyway. The effect he had on her was potent and dangerously all-consuming. The dating profile she’d set up in defense had gone untouched. Every time someone tried to chat with her, she couldn’t help but compare them to Pike. Since when had he become her measuring stick?

  So maybe the best thing would be to take away the temptation. Have the forbidden thing and move on. Grab that chocolate cake by the handfuls and lick it from her fingers. She was a big girl. She could handle it. Pike couldn’t hurt her, not if she didn’t give him the power to. This was sex. Primal. Basic. Physical.

  A need they could meet for each other. Simple as that.

  She raised her head, meeting his eyes. “Okay.”

  His gaze darkened, black eating up the green-gold. “Yeah?”

  Just the look had her ready to drag him into the bedroom right now. If not for Reagan on the other side of the room, she might have done just that. “Next Saturday night Rae’s going camping overnight with my brother’s family. I’ll have the night to myself.”

  “Perfect.”

  She sat back a little, trying to catch her breath and regain some use of her senses. “But nix the wine-and-dine date.”

  His pierced brow arched.

  “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want or need the rock-star treatment. I’m already a sure thing.”

  He frowned. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to give you a nice night.”

  “I know. It’s just—” She sighed, trying to put her feelings into words. “I’m not one of those women you need to impress with VIP tables and five-star dinners. I don’t want the image, Pike. I just want you and a bed and maybe a little adventure.”

  Something flickered over his expression, something unpleasant, but he covered it quickly. “Adventure?”

  She gave him a half-smile and met his eyes. “I talk a big game on the phone, but I’m pretty damn vanilla in real life. I like that you’ve pushed my boundaries.”

  He considered her for a moment then nodded. “How about this? I’ll take you to The Ranch, that resort I belong to. We’ll have as much privacy as we want. But we’ll also have all kinds of things at our fingertips if you want to seek out some adventure.”

  The kink resort. Exciting. Terrifying. She licked her lips. “All right.”

  Pike’s hand wrapped around her neck and drew her closer, his thumb mapping the hollow of her throat and his position over her making her feel small. “Then Saturday, you’re mine.”

  The words held both promise and warning in them, making her heart beat faster. But before she could respond, her phone beeped and broke the spell.

  Pike released her and sat back. “Your brother?”

  She grabbed her phone and checked the screen. “Yeah. His dinner party’s over. I better get going.”

  “Or you could stay.”

  She sat on her calves. “You know I can’t.”

  “You and Reagan can take my bed. I’ll take the couch. You shouldn’t disturb her if you don’t have to.”

  She glanced over at her sleeping daughter. The snoring was now two-fold between her and Monty. Carrying her downstairs and putting her in the car would wake her up. And she was more than a little cranky when awakened in the middle of the night.

  “I hate to take your bed.”

  He smirked. “You’re always welcome in my bed, mama. Even if I’m not going to be in it with you tonight.”

  She eyed him for a long moment, tiredness and practicality eventually winning out, and then typed out a message to her brother.

  Oakley: Going 2 stay at Pike’s.

  Devon: What???

  Oakley: Totally PG, Rae sleeping, don’t want 2 wake her

  A few seconds passed before her brother responded again.

  Devon: Use condoms.

  Oakley: Dev!!!

  Devon: Responsible big brother

  She laughed and rolled her eyes.

  Pike smiled. “What? Your brother headed over with a shotgun?”

  “No. He told me to make sure I use protection.”

  “I like this brother.”

  “I think he likes you, too. You know, in that way.”

  Pike grinned, unrepentant. “Ah, good taste then, too. Is he hot?”

  She shoved his leg, relieved that the consuming tension from a few moments before was dispelled. She could breathe again. They’d made a decision. They could handle it. “Oh, I see. You don’t care the gender as long as the person provides proper adoration?”

  He chuckled. “You haven’t Googled me and learned all about my steamy gay affairs?”

  She blinked. “There’ve been steamy gay affairs?”

  He glanced toward Reagan’s sleeping form and cocked a thumb toward the kitchen. “Ice cream. Then I’ll answer any sordid question you have.”

  “Good plan.” She knew Rae slept like the dead once she hit the snoring stage but better not to risk it. And really, she didn’t care if Pike was bi, but she was damn curious now.

  When she was perched on a stool in the kitchen with a bowl of fudge ice cream in front of her a few minute later, Pike hopped up to sit on the counter across from her. She lifted her brow in silent question.

  He shrugged. “I’ve tried almost everything to be honest.”

  “So, guys?”

  He swallowed a bite of his ice cream. “No, not in the way you’re thinking. My best friend, Foster, and I used to live together, and there were rumors out there for a while that we were secretly in a relationship. Why else would two men who could afford their own places many times over choose to be roommates?” He shook his head. “Neither of us bothered to dispel the rumors because—well, fuck them. Being gay shouldn’t be a scandal. But even though we weren’t together like that, there was a relationship of sorts. We were single and kinky and shared women more often than not.”

  Oakley tried to school her face into an impassive expression. “Oh?”

  “Yeah, so to answer your question. Have I been naked in bed with a guy? Yes. Have I had sex with one? No. Not my deal.”

  She took a second to absorb all of that and to get the images out of her head. “So is that why y’all lived together? The threesome thing?”

  “Nah. That was just a side benefit. Foster and I became friends when we were in junior high. I met him when one of my mom’s boyfriends was doing work on Foster’s family mansion and brought me along to help. It was a weird match. Richie Rich hanging out with the punkass kid from the rough neighborhood. But we both had crap home situations. His parents were never around and mine was best avoided. So we clicked and ended up being each other’s family in a lot of ways, taking care of each other like brothers.” He smiled, a wistful touch to it. “And we take that bond seriously.

  “When I got home from my first tour, I was a fucking mess. I’d found out my brother had been killed in a car accident, and my recreational substance use had turned into the dangerous kind. Dumb, grieving kid meets endless supply of drugs, booze, and women. It wasn’t pretty.” He gave her an uneasy look like he wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about this stuff. “Foster saw how strung out I’d gotten, so he dragged me to his place and set me straight. I stayed for a few years after that because I didn’t trust myself to be alone and left to my own devices.”

  Her stomach dipped. She’d seen addiction and the ugliness of it when she’d been in the business. One of the other girls in Pop Luck had gotten hooked on heroin after one little sample at a party. Insidious stuff. Last Oakley had heard, Collette was on her fourth stint in rehab. “And now?”

  “I’m good. I got lucky and managed not to get hooked on anything except the chaos. Took a while to purge myself of that. But now I’m older. Smarter.” He nodded toward the living room. “Plus, Monty keeps me in line.”

  She smirked. “I bet he does.”

&
nbsp; He scooped another bite of ice cream and waggled his eyebrows. “So now that I’ve told you my sordid Behind the Music interview, what about you? Any girl-on-girl episodes in the life of Oakley Easton? Scandalous sexcapades?”

  He was obviously teasing, but her lungs cinched anyway.

  “Whoa, what’s that look for?” he asked, his smile dropping. “Some chick break your heart or something?”

  “No, nothing like that.” She tapped her spoon on the side of her bowl. Shut up, Oakley. Just make up something and shut the fuck up. But her pep talk did no good. The words fell out of her anyway. “I kissed a girl a few times. But it was … for show.”

  He tilted his head. “To impress a guy?”

  Yes. Just say yes.

  “Sort of.” Fuck. She stirred her ice cream into a soupy mess, fighting with herself on how much to tell him. Her past was something she never discussed, but annoyingly, Pike’s honesty about his own background and the open, nonjudgmental expression on his face were hard to lie to. He was like some damn truth serum. “I was on stage. It was a publicity stunt.”

  His spoon paused halfway to his mouth. “A publicity—on stage?”

  She gave him a grim smile. In for a penny. “Remember that thing you said about not telling other people’s secrets? Does that still hold true?”

  His forehead creased. “Of course.”

  “Would you believe me if I told you that once upon a time, I was doing exactly what you do? Touring, performing, living that life.”

  Pike set his bowl aside, his focus completely on her. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Ever heard of a girl group called Pop Luck?”

  His lips parted, his eyes widening. The expression would’ve been comical—GIF worthy—if not for the pit the whole conversation was causing in her stomach.

  “Imagine me many years younger with blue pigtails and a schoolgirl skirt. I used the name Krissy Crow.”

  A few long, tortuous seconds passed. Then it was as if the sun had dawned on his face.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, I knew I’d heard your voice before!” He slid off the counter. “I had that CD. I used to have the hots for the one with the pink hair.”

  “Brianna,” Oakley supplied, smirking. “You and the rest of the male population.”

  “Shit, sorry. That was the wrong thing to say. But—God, I’m trying to remember what you looked like.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Easy to miss me. My voice sounded too old to sing lead in any of the teen pop songs, and I got tall and awkward fast so I stayed mostly in the background.”

  Pike still looked stunned. Then he snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “Wait—that song about broken butterflies.”

  “‘Wings.’”

  “Yes, that one. The bridge was you, wasn’t it?”

  She glanced down. “Yeah. Brianna sang that part in the video, so everyone assumed it was her.”

  “But it was you. I can hear it now. Your voice was sick on that part—throaty and edgy. It was my favorite song of the record.”

  His praise and the fact that he remembered the one song they’d actually given her a lead vocal on pleased her more than it should. “Thanks.”

  His exuberant expression at remembering faltered a bit. “But the group had a few big hits. What happened? I mean—”

  “Why am I living in suburbia, working two jobs to make ends meet?”

  “I didn’t mean it like—”

  “I was kicked out when I got pregnant.” That wasn’t the total truth. She’d been told to go home and get an abortion then to come back. “That kind of behavior was breach of contract because it would mess with the image. We were supposed to be young and sexy and available. They replaced me. I didn’t own rights to anything—crap contract that favored the guy who put the group together. So I moved to Texas with my brother, had Reagan, and started a new life.”

  Pike raked a hand through his hair and sagged against the counter. “Wow. That’s—why didn’t you tell me before now?”

  She rubbed her lips together. “I don’t want people to know. I—Rae’s father is out of the picture, and I need to keep it that way. I don’t want any press or any of the shit that comes along with being a has-been. Those years were some of the worst of my life. It’s a chapter I’ve happily closed.”

  “Does Reagan know?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ll tell her one day. She’ll romanticize it if I tell her now. I tried hard early on to lead her in any direction but music because of it, but she found her way to it anyway.”

  The corners of his mouth dipped down. “Is that why you don’t like her to sing?”

  “What?”

  “This afternoon she was singing while we were cleaning up. She has a gorgeous voice, Oakley. But she said you don’t like her to use it.”

  Her chest squeezed. “God, is that what she thinks?”

  “Seems so.”

  She sighed. “I don’t want her to think that. It’s just—I was that kid with the outstanding voice. It got me all kinds of attention growing up. Then it ruined everything. I’m terrified she’s going to want to follow in my footsteps. It’s an ugly, soul-sucking business. My baby doesn’t need to be exposed to any of that.”

  Pike braced his hands on the counter in front of her and nodded. “I totally get that. But even I can see how much she loves music. I know that no one would’ve been able to talk me out of it once I got the bug. And no one should’ve. What kind of life do we have if we can’t chase our passion?”

  She pushed away her bowl, the conversation making her lose her appetite. “You can take a different path and be happy. Just because you’re passionate or good at something doesn’t mean it has to be your destiny. I managed to give it up and not look back.”

  His eyes held hers, evaluating. “Have you? You don’t crave that high of being on stage and creating music? I mean, I don’t know what I’d do if I wasn’t making music. You were just able to drop it all?”

  She traced a line in the granite countertop with her fingertip, his words prodding deep. Did she miss it? She rarely let her mind go fully there. When she’d gotten pregnant, she’d shut that door without looking back. It had hurt too much to think about what-ifs because that would mean she was regretting Reagan—and she never regretted having her daughter. The circumstances, yes, but not her baby girl. Rae was her world. And God knows where Oakley would’ve ended up if she’d gotten rid of the pregnancy and stayed with the group. The rest of the girls hadn’t fared very well. But making music …

  “I don’t miss the stage. Honestly, I would’ve been happier singing on a stool in a coffee shop, playing my guitar. The joy I got was in the song creation—the writing. I loved that process.”

  “Based on what I heard at your house that night you sang to Reagan, you’re good at it, too,” Pike said, no bullshit in his tone. “Do you still write?”

  She sniffed. “Only if writing lyrics on napkins and the back of take-out menus counts. When I’m stressed, that’s how my thoughts come out—in poetry, lyrics.”

  “Totally counts. Some of the best songs out there were probably scribbled first on a bar napkin.” He lifted his palm, where she could see minute print along the fleshy mound beneath his thumb. “I’m partial to the writing-on-my-hand method when I get inspiration.”

  She laughed and grabbed his hand, turning it so she could read the slightly smudged words. Bread. Beer. Cheese. “This is your grocery list.”

  He grinned. “It’s a multipurpose notepad.”

  She lowered his hand but didn’t let go of it.

  He curled his fingers around hers. “So what’s it going to take for me to hear some of those songs you’ve written?”

  “Not gonna happen.”

  “You know,” he said, undeterred. “There’s this great guy who has a studio. He’s very good-looking and wildly talented. He’d probably be willing to cut you a deal to make a few demos.”

  She gave him a small smile and shook her head. �
�I appreciate that. Really. But I have no interest in resurrecting my singing career.”

  He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “What about trying a new one as a songwriter?”

  “Pike …”

  “No, I’m serious. You could put together a few demos, try to sell the songs to a publisher. It’s always a long shot, but if the rest of your stuff is anything like the song I heard, you have a solid chance. Even the songs we’re working on at Bluebonnet are strong, and I know they’re based on melodies you originally came up with.”

  She blew out a breath, the offer tempting in that way going on a trip to the moon was—fantastical but impossible. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m past the point of having time to chase a pipe dream. I’ve already got two jobs. I don’t need another—especially one that may never put food on the table.”

  He put his hands back on the counter and eyed her. “Come on, Oakley, that’s bullshit and you know it. You’re writing the songs anyway. Laying down a couple of tracks wouldn’t take long. What could it hurt to try?”

  There was no censure in his voice, but his earnestness was prodding at things she didn’t want poked, stirring up hope that she’d long put to rest. She had to remember that it was easy for someone with a pile of cash in the bank to spout off about chasing your passions and dreams, but Pike didn’t live in the real world. She did.

  She slid off the stool and walked around the counter. He turned to face her, and she put her hands on his shoulders, meeting his eyes. “Pike, I’m willing to go away for a night with you. I’m looking forward to that and I like working with you at Bluebonnet. But this—my life, what I do with it, how I handle my daughter—is not your territory. So, back off.”

  His expression fell then darkened, but he didn’t say anything.

  She pushed up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “It’s late. I’m getting Rae and going to bed. Thank you for letting us stay.”

  He didn’t kiss her back and he didn’t touch her. His open expression had closed fully—a tightly sealed door. “Good night, Oakley.”

  She walked out of the kitchen and didn’t look back. She didn’t want him to see the tears that filled her eyes.