by Karen Cimms
His expression softened. “I know.”
She rested her chin on his chest and absentmindedly traced circles around his nipples and down to his belly button, then back again.
“Should I be afraid?”
“Of what?” He lifted his head so he could see her.
“Of you. What if I make you mad?”
He lay down with a grunt. “I’ll punch you in the nose.”
“I’m serious. I’ve never seen anything like that before. My parents never raised their voices. I could only tell when they were angry because every sentence ended with ‘Yes, dear’ or ‘dearest.’ Emotion wasn’t acceptable in my house—good or bad.”
Billy cupped her chin and looked at her with his good eye. “I’ll never hurt you. I promise.”
She felt the words as much as heard them. They took root inside her and became something tangible; something she could believe in, hold on to.
She nodded, unable to speak at first. But there was something that still bothered her.
“It’s just . . . it’s something Pete said.”
“Pete’s a dick.”
“Still.”
“Okay. I’ll bite. What did he say?”
“He said there must be something special about me to keep your interest for so long. What does that mean?”
“How do I know what he means?”
“Haven’t you had other girlfriends?”
“Yes.”
“Then why would he think there’s something special about me?”
“Because you are special.” He ran his finger down her forehead, stopping to tap her on the nose.
“I’m serious.”
He rolled onto his side with a grunt. “I can see I’m not gonna get anymore sleep, so let’s knock this out. Then we can get something to eat, because I’m not only tired, I’m hungry.”
She sat up and hugged her legs against her body, waiting.
“I’ve had two girlfriends. One for a couple years in high school, and one for about a year in college. We broke up when I quit school and moved east.”
“So you’ve only been with two girls?”
He laughed, then quickly looked contrite. “I didn’t say that. I said I had two girlfriends. I never said anything about being with just two girls.”
“Oh.”
“What about you? Tell me about your boyfriends.”
“One.”
“One? Just one before me?”
“No. Just one including you.”
He slapped his palms against the mattress in mock frustration. “C’mon, Katie. You never dated anyone before me?”
“Not really, just Digger. And that was a huge mistake.”
“Oh yeah, prom boy.” He chuckled.
She wasn’t going to let him off so easily. “So? How many women?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “You don’t want to ask me that.”
“Yes, I do. I wanna know what he meant. He made it sound like being with me was some Olympic feat or something.”
“What he probably meant was that given the way I’ve behaved with women in the past, or at least since he’s known me, the fact that I’m faithful to you must make you pretty damn special.” He kissed her neck and along her chin, giving her goose bumps, but she still wanted an answer. “He was right. You are pretty damn special.”
“In what way have you behaved with women in the past?”
He stopped nibbling and looked her in the eye. “We’re gonna have this conversation once, okay?”
She nodded.
“You’re not gonna like the answer.”
“Just be honest.”
“You want honesty?”
She nodded again.
He propped his head up on his elbow, his face blank. “What do you want to know?”
“How many women have you dated?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not fair. You said you’d be honest.”
“I am. I don’t remember how many women I’ve dated.”
“I’ll make it easier, then. How many women have you slept with?”
“Exact number?”
Now he was deliberately being a jerk. “No. Just round up or down.”
He studied her face until she began to grow uncomfortable.
“If you want me to be honest, Katie, I can’t. Not because I don’t want to, but because I really don’t know. I’m embarrassed to admit this, but you seem determined to know the answer, so my best guess is between four and five hundred.”
She blinked several times and opened her mouth slowly, although there were no words.
“You okay?”
She nodded.
“I told you, you wouldn’t like it, but let me add something. Since I’ve been on the road and playing music full time, I haven’t had any type of relationship except with you, and not for over four years. You’re very special to me, and I have no desire to be with anyone else. I don’t even look at other women.”
It took a few seconds for it all to sink in, but his last comment brought her around pretty quickly.
“You’re full of shit.”
He laughed guiltily. “Okay—I look. But I’m not interested, and that’s the truth. The flirting onstage, that’s part of the act. When I’m on the road and you’re not with me, I pack up and I’m back to the hotel before the rest of the band finishes their last beer. I promise.” He put his arms around her. “I mean it. I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize what we have. You hear me?”
“Yeah, but—”
“But what?”
She lay one palm flat against his chest. “Why me?”
“Why you, what?”
“I don’t understand why you want me when you’ve been with so many women. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe to you it doesn’t make sense.”
She shoved him gently. “Seriously. I have no experience in the bedroom, other than what I’ve learned from you.”
He smiled wickedly. “Well, I’m a very good teacher.”
She plowed onward. “And I have no life experience. I grew up in a small town, and the only time I ever left was for summer vacations in Maine. Other than that, I’ve had one semester of college. I have nothing to offer. That’s ‘why me.’”
“Do you want me to say I’m no longer interested?”
“No.” She hoped he wasn’t serious. “I guess I’m afraid someday you will say that.”
“Katie. For the last time today, as I’m sure you aren’t gonna let this go, you have a lot to offer. In addition to being beautiful on the outside, you’re beautiful on the inside. You’re kind, generous, and gentle. You’re supportive and nurturing. You’re smart, funny, and clever, even though you never give yourself credit for any of it. You’ve carved a spot for yourself right here.” He moved her hand over his heart. “If you were to go away and leave that spot empty, it’s so big, I don’t know if I’d ever be able to fill it.”
She closed her eyes and felt his heart thump steadily beneath her fingers.
“Now.” He nipped her bottom lip. “Can we please go get something to eat?”
Chapter Eighteen
The break Billy had been waiting for came in the form of a phone call Monday afternoon.
“This is Christa Dunphy with Bennett-Friedman. Davy Steinman gave me your number. He said you’re in need of an agent, and I’m the best in the business.”
Humble, too. He made a polite noise of agreement.
“Davy tells me you’re something to see and hear. Can we get together sometime this week?”
His fingers leapt to the thin black thread holding his cheek together. “This week isn’t good for me. How about next Monday?”
“I’m flying to LA Sunday. It’s important that we meet. Davy and I have been discussing something you might be perfect for. You sure you can’t squeeze me in?”
“I guess.”
“Don’t sound too excited!”
“Sorry. It’s just that I had a little accident ove
r the weekend, and I still have a few stitches in my face.”
“I don’t care if you don’t.”
They met the following afternoon at Sardi’s on Forty-Fourth Street. When Billy told the maître d’ he was meeting Ms. Dunphy, he was directed to “her table.” He had no idea who or what to expect, and he was pleased when an attractive blonde, probably in her early thirties, made her way toward him. She was small in stature, but her spiked heels and the way she carried herself let everyone know she was important. She shrugged her long black overcoat into the waiting arms of the maître d, unveiling a dark red suit so tight he was surprised she could move. He rose as she approached, taking her outstretched hand.
“Oh my,” she said, holding on to his hand. “You are a tall drink of water. And you’re even more handsome than I expected, in spite of your little boo-boo.” She settled into her chair, her eyes never leaving his face. “So, Billy, have you ordered a drink?”
“No, ma’am.”
“‘Ma’am’? You must be from the south. Call me Christa.”
“Midwest.”
She shrugged. “Same thing. Unless of course you want to play country music.”
“No, ma’am—sorry. Christa. I don’t play country.”
“So I hear.” She pulled a cigarette from a quilted case and held it to her lips. “I must say, I’ve been dying to see for myself the man Asher Drake turned down because he was too good-looking.” She snickered.
“I beg your pardon?”
Her eyes remained fixed on his as he lit her cigarette.
“Asher Drake?” She blew a cloud of smoke over his head. “Didn’t you just audition for Asher’s band?”
“Yeah, but Davy said they went with someone else.”
“He didn’t tell you why?” A sly smile tugged at the edge of her crimson lips.
He shook his head.
“This is precious!” She leaned forward, as if everyone in Sardi’s was waiting to hear why he hadn’t landed the lead guitarist spot with Asher Drake. “Asher nixed you himself. I think the boy was worried you might steal some of his thunder. Now I can see why. You look like a young Robert Redford, only with all that gorgeous blond hair.”
“I’m an excellent guitar player,” he said evenly.
“So I’ve been told. Of course, I’ll have to hear for myself, but Davy is singing your praises.”
“I brought a couple cassettes.” He slid a manila envelope across the table.
“Wonderful.” Christa took a sip of the martini that appeared, even though she hadn’t ordered. “Billy? What are you drinking?”
“Just a beer,” he told the waiter. “Whatever you have on tap.”
“Beer?” With a cursory glance at the waiter, Christa leaned back and studied Billy carefully. “I take you for a Jack Daniels man. Single malt?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned. “That’ll do fine.”
“So.” Christa snuggled into her chair. “Tell me about yourself.”
“Well, I’m a damn good lead guitarist. I have my own style, but I might lean a bit toward Eddie Van Halen or Slash. “
“Mason Edwards!”
“Not really. Although I admire him.”
She didn’t hear him as she’d already bounced from her seat and into the arms of a dark-haired, bearded man. Billy listened, awed, as the two exchanged small talk.
“Mason, sweetheart, I have to introduce you to someone who just might give you a run for your money.”
Billy wiped a sweaty palm on his jeans and stood. He was several inches taller than Edwards, but he still felt like he was standing next to a giant.
“I’m a huge fan,” Billy said, extending his hand.
Edwards smiled as he touched his finger to his cheek. “Woman or money?”
His hand rose to his sutures, and he shrugged. “Woman.”
“Only thing worth fighting for,” Edwards said with a wink. He gave Christa another peck on the cheek, wished Billy luck, and left.
The waiter brought their lunch, a hamburger that cost more than Billy had ever paid for steak along with a Cobb salad for Christa.
“So, woman trouble?” Christa asked, spearing a sliver of chicken.
“Excuse me?”
“You told Mason you were fighting over a woman.”
“Oh, yeah. Someone got out of line with my girlfriend.”
She grimaced. “I don’t like to hear that.”
“It won’t happen again. I fired him.”
She waved her fork dismissively. “I don’t mean that. I have no problem with the bad boy image. I don’t like to hear that you have a girlfriend.”
Looking up from his drink, he gave her a sly smile. “Sorry. I’m spoken for.”
She reached across the table and patted his hand. “Not for me, silly. For all the other women. They’ll want to believe you’re available. They want to imagine going home with you and doing all sorts of nasty things. I’m just saying it would be a lot easier to sell you if women jump on board from the get-go. You’ve got the makings of a real heartthrob.”
This wasn’t going the way he’d expected. He wasn’t looking for tail. The quicker they got that out of the way, the better.
“Listen, Christa. I want to play my music and be judged for that, not for my looks.”
“Aren’t you precious?” She slapped his hand playfully before diving back into her salad. “I’m not telling you to dump the girlfriend. I’m just saying don’t broadcast that you have one.” She arched an eyebrow. “Who needs to know?”
He didn’t like his personal life being open for discussion. What he did and with whom was nobody’s business. It was especially not the business of someone he’d known less than an hour.
“Where does she live?”
“Katie? With me.”
She studied him closely. “How old are you?”
“I’ll be twenty-four in March.”
“You’re a baby! Let’s keep this between us.”
When the waiter asked if they wanted dessert, she ordered them each another drink. Billy declined, but ordered a slice of cheesecake to go.
Christa arched an eyebrow. “Too full to eat that now?”
“It’s not for me.”
“That’s what I thought. I don’t think you’re listening to me.”
“I’m listening. I’m not sure I agree.”
A flicker of irritation crossed her face. “I guess that’s all I can ask.” She decided to skip her drink as well, then instructed the waiter to put the cheesecake on a separate check. “You’re on your own with that one, sweetheart.”
“Understood.”
As she stood, the maître d’ materialized with her coat. “I’m going to give these a listen, and I’ll be in touch.” She swept up the manila envelope, leaving him in a cloud of blue smoke and expensive perfume.
When Christa didn’t call right away, Billy became unbearable to be around. If he hadn’t scheduled auditions to replace Pete and band practice for Friday afternoon, Kate didn’t think he would have moved more than a few feet from the phone, let alone left the apartment. And just like a watched pot, Christa called almost as soon as he drove away.
Kate tracked him down at his rehearsal space to pass along the numbers Christa had left. That had been shortly after four o’clock. It was almost one when she woke to the familiar thump of guitar cases on the living room floor. She squinted up at him in the flickering blue light of the television.
“Well?” she croaked, her voice heavy with sleep.
He picked up her legs, plopped down on the couch alongside her, and dropped them into his lap, then leaned back and pretended to snore.
She shoved him with her foot. “Nuh-uh. Start talking.”
He opened his eyes and grinned. “Christa loved my demos, and we discussed some possibilities. There are a couple things she wants to flesh out with her agency, but what she wanted to talk to me about tonight was a job for Davy Steinman.”
“Who?”
“Remember the pro
ducer I auditioned for last month?”
“But I thought he said no.”
“No, he didn’t say no. He liked me. Asher Drake said no.”
“Right.” She yawned. “Because you’re too good-looking. Sorry, I have to agree. You’re much better looking than Asher Drake—although he’s not bad.”
Billy snorted. “Sounds like a jerk.” He lifted her foot and started kneading the sole with his knuckles. She sighed contentedly. If someone could figure out how to bottle a guitarist’s hands and fingers, they’d make millions.
“Probably. You wouldn’t want to work with someone that insecure anyway.” She nudged him. “Keep talking.”
“Davy’s filming a music video in a few weeks, and that’s why he suggested Christa contact me. He thinks I need an agent, and he wants me to back Bailey Swift on a song called ‘Phoenix Rising.’ Christa wants to represent me. She’s gonna negotiate a deal with Steinman for me to play lead guitar in the video.”
Kate threw her arms around his neck, then wrinkled her nose as she sniffed his hair.
“Why do you smell like cigarettes?”
“Christa smokes.”
“I thought you talked to her on the phone.”
“I did. Then she wanted me to meet her at her hotel, so I went straight to the city after practice.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Her hotel?”
“Yes, her hotel. In the bar. Okay? Although her agency has an office in New York, her base is in LA. So when she’s on the East Coast, she often works from her hotel.”
“How convenient.”
He ignored the snarky comment. “She’s also gonna start setting up some gigs for the band, try to hook us up on some tours.”
“Are the other guys are on board?”
“Dunno. I didn’t discuss it with them. They’ve only been with me a couple months. I’m not sure if they’re willing to go on long cross-country tours.”
Her stomach turned over. “Is that what’s gonna happen?”
“Probably. No one’s gonna sign me if they never heard of me. I have to build a fan base.”
Fear and uncertainty settled in around her.
“You knew this was my dream, babe.” Billy cupped her cheek, angling her face toward him.
She nodded.
“It won’t change anything. If you can come, then you’ll come. If not, you stay here until I come back. I’ll still take care of you.”
