She wrinkled her nose at him but, a second later, joined him at the sink. “Fine. I’m here.”
“Good. Have some soap.” He pumped the lavender liquid into his hands and lathered them before taking her hands in his own, massaging each of her delicate knuckles and making sure to weave between her fingers, to caress her wrists.
Her cheeks turned a luscious, rosy pink and it was a long minute before she said in a breathy whisper, “Safety first and all.”
“Exactly.” He released her hands, rinsed, and toweled off. “Now what’s on the agenda?”
For the next twenty minutes, she walked him through every step of her process—showing him how to fold gourmet mayonnaise and render duck. It was more complex than he would have thought, and more soothing, too.
And as for Sydney, all the clumsiness and awkwardness that he’d found so endearing faded away in the kitchen. Here, she was as graceful as a dancer, perfectly timed and synchronized to the preparation’s every demand. It was mesmerizing in a way, and he had to admit, that was pretty endearing, too. It was nice to see her in her element.
“So, last thing on the list is the buffalo-chicken. You ready?” she asked.
“Let’s do it.”
She pulled the bowl of chicken she’d sliced from the fridge and set it on the counter beside a dish—of what he now knew was called egg wash—and a vat of flour.
“So, the first thing we do is season the coating.” She reached for a long, opaque shaker, labeled only with a large, black X.
“What’s in there? Uranium?” He pointed to it.
“I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” She shook the contents into the bowls in front of them. “Even my sous chefs don’t know. It’s a secret blend I came up with.”
“I’m going to find out what’s in there. You know that.”
“How do you plan on doing that?” She looked up at him through her lashes, a coy smile curving her lips.
Well, look at that. Sydney Metcalf. Flirting.
He should have met her in the kitchen from day one.
“I have my ways. Hey, that’s burning.” He pointed at the oven and while she turned her head, he pilfered a hand full of flour from the bowl and hid the fist behind his back.
She checked on her food, then returned. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but you’re a bad man.”
“I’m just trying to find out what’s in there. Tell me.” He inched closer to her and that pink glow he was growing so fond of was back in full swing.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
“Then I’m sorry I have to do this.” He pulled out the flour and held it over her head. “Tell me, or I’ll flour you.”
“You wouldn’t.” She backed away and he crept closer still, practically treading on her toes.
“I would.”
“Why do you even need to know? You don’t cook.”
“I don’t like secrets. Tell me.” He inched closer to her until she was pressed against the counter, their noses touching.
“Never,” she whispered with a melodramatic shake of her head.
So he dumped the fistful onto her so that a plume of white dust coated her.
“That’s how we’re playing, huh?” She ran toward the bowl and grabbed two handfuls, chucking them both at him before he could duck.
“Touché.”
He waved the imaginary white flag of defeat, and they went back to cooking, joking, and playing until the last dish was finally complete. Just as they were finishing up, Rocky shuffled in and stopped short.
“Uh… Was there some kind of accident?” he asked with a frown.
And, in an instant, confident Sydney was gone. Just like that. “Oh, uh. We were—there was—you know.” She swallowed hard and started cleaning like a mad woman. Rocky shrugged, grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and left, but not before Laz shot him a dirty look for spoiling the mood.
“This will be a breeze,” he said. He grabbed a dustpan from under the sink and dug in, smiling as she glanced his way every now and then as if to ensure he was still there.
And he was.
Because after today, he was determined that his time with Sydney Metcalf was far from over. If he had his way, they’d be seeing a whole lot more of each other.
When they finally finished the job and the kitchen sparkled again, she joined him at the island and shrugged. “I guess we’re done.”
“Guess so. You look pretty cute, though.”
“Since I’m covered in flour, you mean? You started it.” The tension seemed to leave her again, and her sexy lips curved into a smile. They surveyed each other for a long minute.
“Well, now I’m starting something else. I need to shower off and so do you. How about you join me?”
He shouldn’t have cared what her answer was. It shouldn’t have felt like a big deal at all.
The confusion that swept over her face came and went like a summer thunderstorm. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
But damn did her answer feel good.
Chapter Ten
The next few days went by like a dream, and showers with Laz had become a habit. He was so amazing, every day surprising her with his sweetness and opening her eyes to a world of sensuality with all the expertise of a skilled craftsman. Something had changed between them that day in the kitchen, though she couldn’t quite point out what it was. All she knew was that it excited her. And terrified her.
Stepping from the stall, she dried off and was careful not to glance at Laz’s naked body again. It would take all her resolve just to leave the bedroom if she stared at him for too long.
“So, uh, I should get dressed.” They’d slept in her room the night before, so that should be an easy task.
She scuttled toward her luggage, put on some underwear, and began sorting through the piles of clothes Callie and Lori had left for her. She’d spent most of the past few days naked and the rest of the time with Laz in the kitchen, so there hadn’t been much cause for fancy clothes.
But today was D-day. The guests were arriving and everything she’d been working toward was about to come to fruition. Today was even more special because this was the menu she and Laz had created, and she only hoped that everyone loved it as much as she did.
She grabbed what looked like a dress but, like most of the stuff, was impossible to figure out—snaps and hooks and bows in all sorts of weird configurations. She set it aside and reached for another. When she got to the bottom of the stack, she found something that she remembered seeing on a special hanger in Callie’s closet.
It was a pale pink dress with a skirt that flared out like it was made for a fifties sock hop, a heart-shaped cutout on the back. Much girlier than her usual jeans and T, but it looked like the sort of thing other women would wear to feel pretty.
The sort of thing Laz would expect.
Except it was like an astrophysicist had consulted on the folding of the garment. She held it up and shook, but the liner folded over and it was like two dresses struck together. She couldn’t tell where the fabric of one ended and the other began.
“Need some help, there, slugger?”
She jumped at Laz’s low grumble. “Nope. I’m totally cool. Just, you know, airing my dress.” She shrugged into it, eager to do anything to hide herself from his all too hungry gaze.
“So you know you’re putting it on backward? And inside out?” He pulled it off of her and did some kind of witchcraft with his hands so it looked like a dress again instead of a rumpled mess. Then, he slid it over her, sending tingles coursing through her veins.
How did the most everyday things feel so erotic with him? It wasn’t fair.
“How do you know how to do all this?” Her breath caught as he rounded her, placing one huge hand on her hip while zipping her up with the other.
“Consider it a gift.” He pulled on his own clothes and headed for the door. “Now let’s hit the road. We’ve got a fair to go to, and I hear they have balloon darts.”
&n
bsp; She slipped on a pair of frilly flats that Callie had left behind and trotted after him.
When they walked outside, she froze in her tracks, stunned at the transformation. It was no joke. She’d seen them setting up for the days leading up to the event, but she’d had no idea of the sheer scale until now. It was like a county fair on crack, huge tents and stalls of games and prizes.
Crazy.
But what was crazier was that everywhere they went, people stared after them. She’d gotten so used to it just being them. The band and her girlfriends, hanging out. Her and Laz in their own little world. This was going to be harder than she’d imagined.
Like that day at the grocery store, except multiplied by a billion trillion.
Three women strolled by, dismissing her with a glance and then staring so hard at Laz, it was a surprise they didn’t trip. She tried as hard as she could to remind herself that it wasn’t a sign of judgment. It was his stardom that attracted the onlookers. Even here, in a party full of celebrities and Callie and Jake’s family and friends, Laz stood out.
There was no way they could know how incredibly uncomfortable she felt in her dress and shoes—like someone had dressed a G.I. Joe in Barbie clothes. They weren’t thinking of how ridiculous it was that Laz freaking Stone would so much as be seen with her.
Or so she told herself. Over and over again.
With her staff taking care of the food, aside from tasting everything and stopping in to make sure they were doing all right, there wouldn’t even be the prospect of work to distract her. All she could do was spend her day with the one man who made her knees quake and ignore the fact that everyone surrounding them was pointing and whispering about them. And that didn’t even begin to cover what some of the women did when they saw him.
To be fair, it wasn’t that Laz flirted with them. He didn’t. He was as charming as the situation allowed. Some of the people he knew from the band, others were strangers, but he was friendly with everyone. A little more fun with the older women, who invariably tried to pinch his butt, a little less friendly with the younger ones so as not to encourage, and polite to everyone in between.
But that didn’t quell the storm of rage inside her when she saw the look in the other women’s eyes. Or the sinking realization that this was just another part of his everyday life. As normal as brushing his teeth.
“You okay? Syd?” Laz waved a hand in front of her face.
“Huh? Oh. Yeah. I’m fine. Just thinking.” She focused in on her surroundings and realized he’d led her to the balloon darts, as promised.
“You seem nervous or something. Which I can understand. Your imminent defeat must be weighing on you pretty heavily.” He snatched a handful of darts from the man behind the counter. “Don’t worry. It’ll be over before you know it.”
It was lucky his smile could distract her from anything. Including the fact that the carnie was taking a video of them on his phone. Excellent. Her in this frilly pink dress on film. It was probably like putting frosting on a hockey puck.
“You’re on.” She shook away her inhibitions and grabbed her own stack of darts.
He took his first shot and popped the center balloon.
So he was pretty good. No big deal. He couldn’t be a match for her. She was about to go all Katniss Everdeen on this bitch. She’d show him.
“Red balloon in the corner pocket.”
“You don’t have to call it, you know.”
“Then how will the historians know I meant it when I make balloon dart history?” She eyed him and chucked the needle. Hard. So hard, in fact, that it became lodged resolutely in the wood of the stall a good five feet from her target.
“That was…” He paused. “Something.”
“Yeah,” the carnie chimed in, turning on a little light on his phone and pointing it at her, “I missed that. Will you do it again?”
“Oh, well, I—” She started, a rush of heat already flooding her cheeks.
“You know, we’d really like to just play the game if you don’t mind. This is a no-camera zone.” Laz smiled at him, so charismatic that the guy probably didn’t realize he was being told off, then Laz aimed and threw again, inexplicably popping two balloons in one.
Wasn’t it enough to be a world-famous rock star? Did he have to have it all?
“Beginner’s luck.” She smiled and aimed, but just as she went to release her dart, a flash shone in her face, and she lost control. For a minute, she didn’t know where the missile had gone. It was nowhere on the board, and she hadn’t heard it plunk to the ground…
And then she saw it sticking out the carnie’s phone, surrounded by cracked glass.
The man stared from her to Laz, his mouth hanging open. For a long moment, they all stood in silence.
“You know, in a way, that’s impressive,” Laz said in the most conversational tone imaginable. “I couldn’t do that if you gave me a hundred shots.”
“I’m so sorry,” she murmured, mortification making her face go white hot. “I’ll replace it, I promise.”
“You could have killed me, lady,” the man said, eyeing her like she was an assassin on the loose.
“Don’t be a drama queen. Here.” Laz pulled a wad of money—had to be five hundred dollars or more—from his pocket and placed it on the table. “That’s for the phone and for pain and suffering, okay? And let it be a lesson for you to put your damn phone away.” The look he leveled the man could’ve broiled flesh. Without another word, he turned to her and hooked an arm around her shoulders, ushering her toward the lake.
“You didn’t have to do that. I’ll pay you back. I have the money in my room and—”
“Consider it forgotten. It’s day one and already this shit is starting. If that asshole hadn’t been filming us, which I know Callie and Jake prohibited, that never would’ve happened. That’s not on you. The important thing right now is that I’m starving, and I haven’t stopped thinking about Dorito mac and cheese since this morning.”
There was already a crowd of people around the food tables, but Callie, Jake, and Lori were nowhere to be found. Lita, the only journalist who was allowed on the scene and Lori’s best friend, was scheduled to arrive later that night.
Bummer, because she was feeling a little conspicuous and could really use a friend right now. Syd made a mental note to catch up with Lita when she arrived, preferably alone so she could fill her in on Laz without him present to avoid awkward questions.
As if she even knew the scoop with Laz.
He clutched her hand tighter then, almost as if reading her mind. Whatever it was, he was with her now, and she was going to enjoy it as much as possible. The rest of the people were virtual strangers, though she recognized a few of them here and there from magazine covers and television shows. Maybe it was in her imagination, cooked up by her mountains of insecurity, but none of them seemed to acknowledge her at all.
Not that it mattered. The important thing was that everyone was raving about the food, and her employees were doling out business cards left and right. Why should she care if Laz’s friends noticed her?
Or if every single woman in a three-mile radius always noticed Laz.
Including the curvy blonde Scar Jo wannabe who was strolling toward them, hips swaying like a metronome. Lips and boobs Elyse.
“Laz, how are you?” The woman threw out her arms and made her enormous rack jiggle with the effort.
“Elyse. Nice to see you.”
Laz had sidestepped her hug, but the woman still managed to secure him in her Venus flytrap embrace. The hug was boobs-first, and she looked as though she might have peed on him to mark her territory if there hadn’t been so many witnesses around.
Her voice was put-on, like the trailer-park girls used to do when they were trying to sound like old Hollywood starlets, and it was a perfect match with her shiny, red victory rolls and figure-eight body. She was walking sex appeal. And she didn’t so much as glance at Syd.
“I’ve been thinking, and we rea
lly need to have a one-on-one. For planning, you know?” It didn’t seem humanly possible, but the woman continued to inch closer to Laz, like a cobra on the hunt.
“Yeah, hey, have you met Sydney?” Laz motioned toward her, and Sydney curtsied.
Full-on curtsied, dress in hand and everything. One more entry to add to her compendium of shame.
“Hi.” The breathiness was gone, replaced by the faintest hint of a leftover New York accent.
“Nice to meet you,” Syd replied.
The woman hummed her lukewarm agreement, then turned her attention back to Laz, resting a hand lazily on his chest. “You know, I’m still looking for a date for the wedding.” Amazing, did she think he didn’t hear the shift in her voice?
“I think I already have one lined up.”
This woman’s breasts still hovered dangerously close to him, and he just stood there. Was this how people behaved around celebrities? The old ladies and the butt pinching she could understand, but a young woman shamelessly throwing herself at a man? It was sickening.
And it made her blood boil. Time to exit, stage left.
“Um, listen, I’m going to go make sure the food is okay and we’re all set. I’ll be back in a little bit.” She turned on her heel and made off toward the long buffet tables, careful to breathe deep as she went.
Elyse was clearly more than just a publicist. An ex-lover, maybe. Or current friend with benefits? It shouldn’t be such a big deal, either way. So what if this was what his life was like. He wasn’t hers to keep.
Even if she wanted to poke a hole in the other woman’s balloon-sized fun bags just to see them drain like a water bed.
What if he really were hers? She allowed herself to entertain what had seemed like a fantasy not two hours ago—Laz giving her all his attention despite the swarm of attentive fans. This woman was just the tip of an even crazier iceberg. There were groupies and women who’d want him to sign their breasts and do way more than that.
She’d be home. Making food and trying to pretend that he wasn’t seeing women who were ten times better looking than her on a daily basis. Knowing that he’d spend hours with movie stars and come home to find her covered in bacon fat, with her hair in a messy topknot with flour on her nose. And that was when he actually got to come home. It sounded like hell for both of them.
Reforming the Rock Star Page 11
