Since returning, she and Bryce had spoken, and she’d forgiven him—or tried to. She was still upset, though, and she couldn’t bring herself to trust him. She knew part of the problem was the distance between them, but he’d also breached that trust, and she wasn’t quite sure how to let go of her bad feelings and let him in again.
By the time the first true days of summer rolled around, the weather had become unbearably hot…but Emily’s feelings for Bryce had cooled. Maybe when he came back in August, they could reignite their feelings. Over the airwaves, though, she just couldn’t feel the sincerity of his apology, any more than she could feel any love from him.
One Saturday near the end of June, Clay reminded Emily that they had planned to make a meal together. Emily found it odd for a couple of reasons. Yes, they’d planned on cooking together, and she was living there; they were eating together a lot; and they spent a lot of time together, although she was spending less and less time organizing his life. She’d found that once she had all his shit, as he called it, under control, the less effort she had to put into managing it.
What she was finding strange about the Saturday meal, though, was something she’d already found weird, but it hadn’t dawned on her until that moment: she hadn’t seen Clay once—not once—with a woman. She knew he liked them (evidence: porn); she knew he’d scored many a time (evidence: pictures on his computer!); and she knew he had plenty of offers (she manned his email and Facebook page; if the man were a whore, he’d never lack for business).
She didn’t question it, though. Because Clay really was the kind of guy who could get it anytime, anywhere he wanted, she felt a little flattered that he wanted to spend his Saturday night with her. They planned to find a movie to watch as well.
So they’d planned a menu that she was convinced he’d like, in spite of the fact that he was a happy carnivore. He usually let her do the grocery shopping by herself (she was sure it was because he liked to stay out of the public eye), but he came with her this time.
He again wore a baseball cap.
He said he felt a little weird at the health food store, but she knew she’d manage to find everything they’d need there. He’d have to pay a little more than he would have at a mainstream supermarket, but she suspected he didn’t know the difference.
As they walked through the store finding items on her list, Clay asked questions here and there, mostly questions about her eating habits. She was surprised that no one recognized him, but looking around the store, she knew why. Most of the people in the store were tattooed, pierced, or otherwise modified. Clay fit in instead of sticking out.
Even he noticed it.
When they got to the car, he took the cap off before starting the car. She looked over at him and smiled. He really did have great hair.
Part of her wondered what it would feel like to run her fingers through it.
When they got back to the house, she shooed him off to do his own thing. She wanted to make her vegan version of cherry cheesecake and then, she said, later on, they would cook together. Until then (something she wouldn’t tell him), she needed a little time to herself. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to control herself with him anymore.
* * *
About four in the afternoon, Emily told Clay that she could use his assistance in the kitchen. He hated anything having to do with cooking, but he’d promised, and he wasn’t going to renege. She was boiling something on the stove that smelled really good, so he asked what it was. She said, “Seitan.”
“What the fuck is that?”
“It’s a fake meat made out of gluten.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Isn’t gluten bad for you?”
“Probably, but I’ve given up everything else.”
He smiled. “Everything?”
She tilted her head. “So, are you gonna help or not?”
“Yeah, that’s why I’m here.”
She had a cutting board and knife next to the stove and told him she was going to have him slice peppers first. He hadn’t done that since he was a teenager working in a pizza joint, so this should be fun. In the meantime, she was shredding cabbage in her food processor. When she finished and dumped it in a bowl, he asked, “So what’s the other pot on the stove?”
“Rice.”
“What’s for dinner?”
“You’ll love it. I promise. Do you like Chinese?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. You’re cutting peppers for the Kung Pao seitan. We’re also having fried rice and Asian slaw. Cherry cheesecake for dessert.”
“You trying to fatten me up?”
“For what?”
He shrugged, a wicked grin on his face. “Games later.” She wasn’t biting. He wasn’t giving up, though.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.” She opened the oven and pulled out a pan of roasted almond slivers. She set the pan on a hot pad on the counter next to the stove and then checked the rice.
Clay asked, “So…did you think about what I said to you?”
She grabbed the bottle of soy sauce on the counter and removed the plastic seal. She looked confused. “What? When?”
Another devilish look. “When we were in California.”
He could tell she was processing it. “Uh…are you talking about…?” She couldn’t even finish the sentence. Did he make her that nervous?
So he was neglecting the pepper. Big damn deal. He wasn’t that hungry anyway. “Yeah. I think you know what I’m talking about—the Jet offer.”
She started giggling, but then she found the measuring cup. She refused to look at him. “Clay, I think you’re a really good guy, but there are two problems with that.”
He wasn’t giving up that easily. “And what would those be?”
As she measured out the soy sauce, she said, “First is that I’m engaged to Bryce, which means I’m committed to making it work.” He had plenty of arguments for that, but he knew that now wasn’t the time. He’d have to wait for a moment of weakness to change her mind there. “And second is that you’re my boss.” She finally looked him in the eyes. “That’s a line we shouldn’t cross.”
“Tell me why.”
She let out a sigh. Clay could tell he was exasperating her. Good. She’d been doing the same thing to him whether she knew it or not. “I shouldn’t have to. It’s just—inappropriate.”
He smiled. “You still haven’t told me why.”
She poured the soy sauce into a bowl and then looked in his eyes. “I shouldn’t have to tell you why. If you want me to be a good employee who works hard and has your best interests at heart, then we shouldn’t go there.”
He smirked. “So you’re telling me that if we were involved with each other, you wouldn’t have my best interests at heart?”
She shook her head, but her face was still sober. “I’d have mine.”
“Fair enough.” After a few moments of silence, he moved the conversation to safer ground. She wasn’t ready. And if she really loved the douchebag she was engaged to, he didn’t want to drive a wedge there. She just didn’t seem like she was in love. She acted like she was in commitment only, and that was something else entirely.
So he talked about new music he’d been hearing and how it was influencing a song he was working on. Her mood was light while she buzzed around the stove. Before he knew it, it was time to sit down to dinner. He’d considered finding those stupid tapered candles, but he had no idea where Mary kept them, and he was pretty sure they’d piss Emily off. He also strongly considered digging out a bottle of wine or something else, but again he figured she wouldn’t appreciate it. Truthfully, if she cuddled up in his arms, he didn’t want it influenced by alcohol anyway. He wanted sober Emily rocking his world. He’d had enough inebriated pussy over the last two years to last a lifetime, and even though those women genuinely wanted Jet, guitarist of Last Five Seconds, he had his doubts as to if they wanted Clay, the real guy inside.
Chapter Thirteen
DINNER TURNED OUT
to be pretty spectacular. Clay had had his doubts about what Emily more than once had referred to as “plant protein,” but it turned out she was a great cook. The food was amazing.
He was still dubious about that “cheese” cake, though. It was made almost entirely out of tofu, and he couldn’t imagine anything made with tofu would taste good. Well, he was assuming it was made mostly out of tofu, only because he’d seen her buy a tub of this kind of tofu and two tubs of that kind of tofu just for the dessert. But he wasn’t going to be an asshole and refuse to try it. She’d impressed him so far.
After they’d cleared the dinner dishes, she got out the cheesecake and the bowl of cherries she’d refrigerated. She sliced the cheesecake, which looked almost like the real deal, and then spooned the cherries on top. Her cherries looked just like regular pie cherries, so he was hopeful.
They sat at the table, and he just looked at the cake for a minute. Emily sliced a bite off with her fork and put it in her mouth, so he decided to do the same. He hadn’t known what to expect, but he was sure it would be spongy and tasteless, just like the other time he’d eaten tofu.
He was pleasantly surprised. It was just as good as regular cheesecake. In fact, if he hadn’t known it was fake, he never would have guessed it. “Goddamn, this is good.”
“Told you. You liked dinner too, right?”
He smiled. “Yeah. Incredible.”
She finished another bite and then said, “Okay…tell me the difference between Jet and Clay. I’ve heard you refer to yourself almost like you’re two different people. I wanna know what’s going on there.”
He chuckled. No way was he going to tell her the whole story, but a little wouldn’t hurt. “Jet and Clay are just two different sides of my personality. No, I don’t have a split personality, but the sides are sometimes distinctive. Clay? That’s me, the real me, who I am at the core.” Fuck. He’d just told her. Well, she didn’t need to know that Clay could sometimes be…sensitive. “Jet is Clay on coke. He’s got brass balls and doesn’t take shit from anyone. He’s the only guy you’ll ever see onstage.”
She pointed her fork at him. “And right now you’re referring to him like another person.”
Clay laughed again. “Yeah, I guess I am, but I assure you, they’re both me.”
“Or maybe you’re mostly Clay.”
Maybe. But he’d never tell.
* * *
They’d had a pleasant evening and even enjoyed watching a comedy together, followed by a long discussion of movies and a few more they wound up watching. Clay had talked like he might try to put the moves on her, but he’d kept his hands to himself. That didn’t help, though, because she thought about him while she was drifting off to sleep anyway.
She and Bryce had made plans to talk Sunday afternoon, though, so it would help. The longer he was gone, the less pull he had on her. The more she was around Clay, the more she started to think that maybe being comfortable and stable with someone like Bryce was overrated.
Sunday was a new day, though, and she was hopeful that she and Bryce could reconnect.
She was ready to talk when he Skyped her around one. It was night where he was, and she could tell that by the picture coming through her computer. Bryce looked pretty cute. His hair was a little shaggy, longer than it had ever been, and it gave him an edgy look that he’d never had before. He always looked corporate, and it was a look she was used to on him. But she’d been around Clay so much lately and was not only used to his lovely long hair but also had grown to love it enough that seeing Bryce with his hair a little longer was fascinating—almost a turn on.
She was still a little miffed at him even though weeks had passed since what she had been thinking of as The California Incident. She wanted to let go of that, though, and reconnect. They’d once had something, and she believed she still wanted to be his wife, so they needed to find a way to make it work. She was willing to put forth the effort for him. “Hey, there.” She smiled, and she was glad it was genuine. The smile came a little easier than she’d thought it would, simply because his vacation had thus far been good to him and she liked the effect. He had a bit of a tan too. He just looked really healthy, and she found him appealing because of it.
“Kitten. How are you?”
“Great. What about you?”
“Having a lot of fun. I’ve seen so much shit. Unbelievable. What’s going on with you?”
She smiled. “I actually got my boss to eat an entirely vegan meal last night.”
Bryce nodded, but the smile on his face waned a little. “So what do you think of the guy anyway?”
He’d never understand. He didn’t get her music, so why would she be surprised? “He’s really nice and extremely talented. Just completely unorganized…and that’s where I come in.”
“So he’s treating you okay?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t he?”
“I’ve heard those rock stars can be pretty moody. Big babies, in fact. Have you ever heard about Van Halen’s hellish contracts back in the day? You know, the brown M&M’s? Always read the fine print.”
“Yeah. He’s not like that.” That’s when she realized she was falling pretty hard for Clay. And shame on her. She was talking to her fiancé and thinking that at the same time. She took a deep breath. “But enough about me. What have you been doing?”
“Oh, God, anything and everything. We’ve been avoiding the main tourist attractions and going to the little villages, visiting out-of-the-way spots, and it’s been incredible.” There was a knock on his door. He turned his head. “I’m on the phone.” The knocking continued. “Just a sec.” One thing Emily noticed was that the signal this time was better than the last. He stuck his head out the door, and Emily could hear him talking but she couldn’t make out the words. Then he shut the door and came back to the desk where he’d been sitting and talking. “Anyway, I think my favorite country in Europe is France.”
“Why?”
The knocking on his door started again. “Damn it. Go away!” This time Emily could hear giggling—female giggling—outside his door. “Just ignore them.”
She could try. “So tell my why France is your favorite.”
This time the door opened, and two young girls entered—one fully clothed and the other topless. Bryce got up and tried to shove them out the door, but one of grabbed his crotch and said, “I want your dick.”
Emily tried not to think the worst, but it wasn’t looking good. Still, she didn’t want to jump to conclusions. “Get out of here!” Bryce shoved them out the door again. They opened it once more, but he closed it again and finally leaned against it. She couldn’t see him well, but he looked angry and sheepish. She’d forgotten to ask what country he was in. Maybe they were just extra friendly wherever he was. “Sorry, Em.” After another minute, he came back to the computer.
“So what was that all about?”
He shrugged. “Hell if I know.”
“Where are you anyway?”
“In a hotel.” He took a deep breath. Emily could tell he was quite flustered. “So where were we anyway?”
The girls broke in again, giggling, and both had their tops off. They were pretty well endowed in the chest department and suddenly Emily felt almost inadequate. “Bryce-y, baby, the party can’t start without you.”
He exploded. “I’m talking to my girlfriend here. Would you get the fuck out of here?”
One of the girls said, “Wife?”
Emily started feeling a little frosty. “Fiancé—as in, engaged to be married. Bryce, what the hell is going on?”
“Get the fuck out of here, ladies.” He got up and shoved them out of the room again.
As he started walking back yet again, Emily repeated her question. “What’s going on over there, Bryce? Something I should be worried about?”
He was still angry. “Look, Em. Here’s the deal. This is my last shot before we get married. So I’m having a little fun, okay? You can understand that, right?”
H
er heart sank. She blinked twice and swallowed, then ensured her voice was steady when she said, “What exactly is a little fun?”
He shrugged. “You know.”
“No, I assure you I don’t. Just have the guts to be honest with me, Bryce. Are you sleeping with those women?”
She knew by now that she’d know, no matter what he said. Bryce wasn’t good at lying, and she suspected she already knew the answer. “You don’t really wanna know, Em.”
Another gulp of air. “I do.” She needed him to say it.
He rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Fine, Em. Yes, I am fucking those women out there, okay? But it means nothing. I got needs, Em. But I love you, and I swear to God you won’t have to worry about it when I get back.”
Without another thought, her finger swirled on the mousepad on her laptop. She knew her face was emotionless, as it should be. “Goodbye, Bryce.”
“Oh, no, you don’t. Don’t hang up on me, Em. Don’t—”
She did. But that wasn’t enough. Then she closed Skype and shut down the computer so he could call all he wanted. And while she was at it, she grabbed her phone and powered it off, just in case.
She sat on her bed, feeling numb. She didn’t want or need to cry, and yet she felt two tears trickling down her cheeks. She swiped them off and took a deep breath. She could do this.
Chapter Fourteen
EMILY HAD BEEN resting her head on her pillow. She had no more tears, no more than the two that had dropped right after she’d closed her laptop lid, but she’d felt numb, and she had to work through it to find her heart again. Once she felt able to process, although still raw, she sat up.
She heard Clay playing his guitar in the music room. He was working on a new song, but she hadn’t heard it enough to recognize it…yet. But she loved it so far.
Feverish (Bullet #3) Page 10
