Of course not.
That would be giving up a point, making the first move. And we’ve always been keeping score in some fashion or other.
His eyes move over my face, warm and affectionate, that infuriating smirk still in place. “Yeah,”—his voice is a low rumble, little more than a whisper—“you’ve been checking up on me. Don’t try to deny it.”
My cheeks heat more, and I curse my fair skin for the millionth time for giving me away.
“Wanna know a secret?” He plants one hand on the counter next to mine, leaning in close so his mouth is right by my ear. “I’ve been checking up on you, too.”
I shiver at the way his breath fans over my neck. He doesn’t move away, and if I turned my head just a little, we’d be kissing.
“Hey, Lauren? Oh!”
I step sideways, moving away from Brendan as fast as I can at the sound of Charlie’s voice.
But it’s clear from the look on her face that I haven’t fooled her. Her eyes pingpong between Brendan, who’s now leaning casually against the counter where I’d been standing, and me in front of the stove, guilty and flushed.
“What’s up, Charlie?” I ask.
After another long look, she brings her eyes to mine. “I was wondering what you were up to in here. Damian’s on his way over, since this is apparently turning into a party. Do you want me to order takeout? Or do you have food here?”
This is my chance. I can escape, figure out what I want to do, and then come back here and do whatever it is I’ve decided. There’s no way I can make any kind of good decisions with Brendan here whispering in my ear and looking all sexy.
“I’ll run to the store. I know you and Jonathan tend to be strict with your diets. You guys don’t need a night of pizza and crap.”
Charlie snorts. “Wasn’t that the plan tonight anyway?”
“No.”
She gives me a doubtful look.
“Fine,” I concede on a sigh. “Maybe so. Doesn’t mean we can’t have something healthier instead.” I move past Brendan, stepping closer to Charlie to pat her on the arm. “I’ll run to the store and get a few party platters. And I’ll make sure I grab a variety, so you can still have your junk food session if that’s what you want. I’ll grab some more drinks, too.”
I move into the living room, where Jonathan and Gabby are cuddled up on the couch, talking and kissing like they haven’t seen each other in weeks instead of just an hour or two. Colt sits on the opposite end with his face buried in his phone. I can’t blame him. If I were trapped with those two, I’d be walling myself off with technology too.
“I’m making a food run. Any requests? Beer? Tacos? Veggie trays?”
Colt groans at the last suggestion. “Beer and tacos for me. You can save the veggie tray.”
Gabby gives him a look. “All of that sounds fine, Lauren. Do you want me to come with you and help out?”
I grab my purse and settle it on my shoulder, making sure my keys are inside. “Nah. I can get it. I’ll be back soon.”
“I’ll come with you,” says Brendan from the kitchen doorway.
Dammit.
So much for planning my way out of this.
Chapter Three
Brendan
Lauren’s doing her best to pretend I’m not with her, even though I’m pushing the shopping cart through the grocery store behind her.
I’m not dumb. I know she saw this as her chance to get away from me.
But after she revealed that she’s been cyberstalking me, there was no way I was letting her escape. She might pretend to be mad at me—or maybe she’s not pretending—but she’s not over me. Over us. And I’m here with her, and I’m tired of pretending that I’m over us, so I’m not willing to let any of this go. To let her go.
I’ve already tried that, and it hasn’t worked.
Surely five months should be enough time. Especially considering our time together was so short.
Since it’s obvious that neither of us have managed to move on, I say it’s time we explore what’s between us. Beyond the false confines of an intense road trip.
Halfway down the beer aisle, she grabs a case of IPA, and I snort and shake my head. She jerks her head up, eyes narrowed. “What?”
“You drink IPA?”
She shakes her head. “No. But Colt does. Would you prefer something else?”
I reach out and grab a wheat beer. “We need to go back to the produce section and get oranges too.”
She sighs, like going back to the produce section is the biggest inconvenience. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stares at me for a long moment. I hold her stare, making an effort to keep my face bland. Let her look at me, assess me. I’ve got nothing to hide.
“What are you doing here, Brendan?”
I gesture at the refrigerated case next to us. “Helping you pick out beer.”
She snorts and looks away, shaking her head. “You know what I mean. I know you said your brothers wanted to crash our party”—she points a finger at me—“which I buy, because I know how Gabby and Jonathan are.”
“Disgusting, right?”
She huffs out a laugh, and her answering grin can’t be bitten back. “Yes. They’re the worst. Charlie and Damian can get pretty bad, but they’ve got nothing on Gabby and your brother.”
“You jealous?”
She sucks in a breath. I’ve hit a nerve. I open my mouth to backtrack, but then clamp it shut again. I’m curious to hear her answer.
“That would be stupid.” Except she won’t meet my eyes. She’s examining the cases of beer on display like they hold the answer to the great question concerning life, the universe, and everything.
But I decide to be a gentleman and not push her. At least not about that.
“Do you want me to go?”
She sucks her lower lip into her mouth, still facing the beer. When she releases it, it’s plump and shiny, and I want to kiss her so bad. But I stay behind the cart, watching her, waiting for her answer.
When she looks at me, her eyes are bright like she’s about to cry. And I’m torn between the desire to hug her and make it all better and turning and walking out because I think I’m the reason she’s about to cry. The problem is, I can see both of those as bad options, so I’m stuck, not knowing what to do.
She sniffs, blinks a few times, and shakes her head. I can’t tell if that’s her answer, or if it’s just a reflexive action.
But then she meets my eyes. “No. I don’t want you to leave. It’s stupid, and I should tell you to go and leave me alone, but I can’t make myself do it.”
Another flare of hope sparks to life, but I try not to get too excited. She might still be attracted to me, she might still be aware of the chemistry, the pull between us. But she’s sure as hell not happy about it.
I jerk my head toward the checkout stands. “C’mon. Let’s go grab an orange and take this back to your house. Then you can decide whether we hang out with your friends and my brothers or if you want to go somewhere and figure our shit out.”
She gives me another long assessing stare. Then she nods. “Let’s go.”
It takes longer than I’d like to get everything unloaded back at her place and set out just so for everyone. Lauren fusses over the veggie trays, pulling the lids off the dip, unwrapping a stack of paper plates that she bought, getting out napkins, and pouring a bag of chips into a large bowl. She also bought a turtle cheesecake that she’s dithering over, debating whether to leave it on the counter or put it in the fridge.
“Leave it in the fridge,” I say as she stands in front of the open refrigerator door staring at the damn thing for the fifth time in the last five minutes. “You’ve already told everyone about it. They can get it out when they’re ready.”
She hasn’t actually answered my question about whether she wants to stay or go somewhere alone with me, but I’m assuming it’s the second choice. Otherwise she’d have declared that she didn’t want to go anywhere else already. I’m sure
of it.
Or mostly sure. Because she could be dithering just to put off the decision.
But she doesn’t contradict me, just lets go of the fridge door so that it closes slowly on its own.
I step behind her and give it a push, just to make sure it’s all the way closed, and then I wrap my arm around her waist from behind. At first she doesn’t acknowledge my touch in any way. She doesn’t move a muscle.
And then she sags back against me all at once, her eyes closing, and her lips parting on a sigh.
Wrapping my other arm around her, I hold her tight, rubbing my cheek against hers, repressing the urge to kiss the line of her neck, her jaw, her mouth. I remember the sounds she makes when I do all those things, and it’s been so long since I’ve heard them.
I just don’t know how she’d take it if I tried any of that right now, and I’m not willing to chance it.
“Let’s get out of here,” I whisper in her ear.
She shivers in my arms, and goosebumps ripple over the exposed skin of her neck and shoulder. I can’t help smiling, pleased about causing that reaction.
It takes her several breaths to respond, but she finally straightens, slowly taking more of her weight on her own feet and pulling away from me. “I’ll drive.”
Chapter Four
Lauren
Being in a car with Brendan again is … surreal. Without talking, I take us to the freeway, heading east.
Maybe spending an hour or so in the car together will give us some perspective.
Or maybe it’ll catapult us right back to where we started and make his inevitable departure even more heartwrenching.
Either way, it’s clear he wants to spend time with me. Just me.
And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to see him too. Without all the distractions of the others interfering and watching and wondering.
They can wonder all on their own. I’ll have to answer a million questions later, but that can wait.
Right now the only questions I want answers to are my own.
“Where are we going?”
My brows pull together. That isn’t one of my questions. Well, it kinda is, I guess, in a metaphorical sense, but I’m pretty sure Brendan means geographically.
I glance at him. “Lake Coeur d’Alene. It’ll be dark soon. You can see the stars really well out there.”
He mulls that over. “Is it far?”
I tilt my head back and forth. “About a forty-five minute drive. Is that a problem for you?”
“No,” he says slowly. “But we didn’t get to eat any of the food we bought. Can we hit a drive-thru?”
I can’t help laughing, but nod. “Sure. Food sounds good.” I’ve been so wrapped up in my head and figuring out what to do about Brendan and me that I didn’t even realize I still haven’t eaten dinner. “Let’s get out of downtown Spokane. There’ll be easier places to get in and out of in a bit. Can you make it that long?”
He gives me another of his charming smiles. “Yeah, I can wait that long.” There’s a certain subtext to his words. Like he’s saying he’s waited this long to get me to himself, a few more minutes won’t matter much in the long run.
Or maybe I’m reading too much into a simple statement …
But with Brendan, that’s all I’ve been doing since I boarded the plane to fly back from New York before Christmas. Every communication, every off-hand comment, every vague post I’ve found on social media … I’ve examined every word, every punctuation mark or lack thereof for some kind of deeper meaning.
I’ve been driving myself crazy.
Suddenly the silence seems stifling. I can’t take any more of the non-communication. The hoping for crumbs. The endless analysis.
Clearing my throat, I decide that starting a conversation is up to me. “So your internship is still going well?”
He sucks in a breath. “You could say that. It’s actually moved beyond an internship. I’m part of The Professor’s stable of beat makers and budding producers now.”
I wrinkle my brows together, clenching the steering wheel harder. “So what does that mean? I mean, I thought he was the producer, and internships are all about gruntwork and getting coffee or whatever.”
“There’s some of that, yeah, but he brought me on as an intern because he wanted to see what I could do. Give me a chance to shine. I’m still learning, of course. I’m not ready to go out on my own. But he employs a whole studio of beat makers and top liners.”
“Top liners?”
“The people who write the melodic hooks. The songs are created in chunks. Some top liners work on the bridge or the chorus, others work on the verses, and I make the beat tracks that go underneath. Or one of the other guys does. Then The Professor blends it all together, makes it seamless, and has one of the singers he uses to create the demos record it to shop it out to the popstars looking for new hits.”
I’m quiet for a long moment, processing all of that. “I had no idea that pop music was so …”
His grin flashes under a streetlight. “It’s like an assembly line for songs. But most of the songs The Professor puts out make it into the top ten on the Billboard lists.”
“Have you contributed to any of those?”
He shakes his head. “Not yet. At least none that have my name. I just got the paid position a month ago, so none of the songs that I’ve worked on that I could be credited for have been released yet. I did help with some of Charlie’s next album, though. During my internship.”
“Really? That’s super cool.” I bite my lip, a stab of hurt burning in my chest. “Charlie didn’t mention that she was working with you.”
He’s quiet for a few beats. “Why would she? Did she know that we were anything to each other?”
“No.” My answer is so quiet that I can barely hear it over the road noise. But Brendan seems to understand anyway.
“She’s been pretty busy, too. Have you guys talked much?”
Again the answer is, “No.”
His fingers skim my shoulder and withdraw. “See? She’s not withholding information. It’s just not something that would come up naturally.” He pauses, obviously considering his next words. “Have you talked to Gabby? About us?”
I shake my head. “It didn’t seem like there was anything to tell. She was on her honeymoon, and then back to performing and writing and all the crazy that is her life now. And …” And I was licking my wounds, dealing with my angry parents, and trying to convince myself that I wasn’t actually as hurt as I was. Am. Talking to Gabby about any of it would mean admitting my feelings out loud, and I haven’t been willing to acknowledge them even to myself.
Which is why having Brendan show up is so hard. It forces me to recognize the reality of my feelings for him and the hopelessness of our situation.
Even though I’ve trailed off, he doesn’t seem to need me to finish the statement. He nods, looking out the window, like my answer is no surprise.
“Have you?”
His head jerks around. “No. Gabby and I aren’t that close.”
Good. I don’t know why that makes me feel better, but somehow it does. I didn’t think she knew already, but …
“Well,” I muse aloud, “they’ll all know something’s up now.”
He snorts, shifting in his seat. “Yeah. I guess so.” Pause. “Is that a problem for you?”
I have to think about that for a minute, but I finally shake my head. “No. It’ll be a relief in a way.”
“Yeah,” he sighs.
I pull off the freeway a minute later to hit a Jack In the Box. And I almost just order for him without asking, because we stopped at Jack In the Box several times on our road trip, and he always got the same thing. At the last minute, I turn to him just to make sure I’m not being too presumptuous. “Jumbo Jack with Dr. Pepper and curly fries?”
He grins. “You remember.”
“Of course.” It’s supposed to come out on a scoff, but instead it’s breathy and sincere.
&nb
sp; His grin softens into something more intimate, and his eyes stray to my lips.
The voice crackling through the speaker breaks the moment. I order our food, keeping my eyes on the brightly lit menu, the steering wheel, straight ahead, then on the person giving us our food, only glancing at Brendan when he leans across me to hand his credit card over to pay for our meal.
Before I can protest, he’s passed it to the cashier. Then it’s his turn to avoid my eyes as he fiddles with his wallet and his phone.
Once we have the food, Brendan digs into his bag, unwrapping his burger and taking a huge bite.
I chuckle at his enthusiasm as I pull back onto the road, getting us back onto the freeway. “Sorry. I didn’t realize you were starving to death.”
His answer is muffled from the giant mouthful of food. And all I can do is laugh, the weird tension that’s been between us since I opened the door to find him on the other side finally lessening. He covers his mouth with a napkin, laughing along with me.
When he finally manages to swallow, he laughs out loud. “Sorry. I really am starving.” He hooks a finger on the edge of my bag. “Do you want me to get out your sandwich? I can unwrap it for you.”
“That would be great.”
He takes another giant bite of his burger before setting it in his lap and reaching into the bag to pull out my breakfast sandwich. He carefully unwraps the paper and sets it on the console between us, moving the bag to the floor at his feet. Then he carefully hands me one half.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Silence descends once again as we eat, but it’s more comfortable now. And I’m transported back to the trip to New York, eating fast food in the car just like this, the passenger—which was me more often than not—unwrapping the driver’s food so they can eat more easily.
Longing for that trip hits me like a punch in the chest. I miss it all so much. The easiness between us. The casual touching, the affection … the sex. Holy shit, I miss sex with Brendan. It was life-altering.
Which is another reason that being trapped in a car with him is probably a terrible, terrible idea.
Reverb (Songs and Sonatas Book 7) Page 2
