Take Me Home Tonight (5 page)

“You remember?”

“Hard not to.”

“What does that mean?”

“You make an impression.”

“Oh. Yeah, well, believe me, so do you.”

He drew back. He hadn't meant to flirt with her—just tell her the truth. He hoped she didn't read into it. Because whatever the attraction, he wouldn't hook up with a friend of the band. “I'm guessing that's why they chose you. You make an impression.”

Looking down at her hands, fingers steepled, she blinked a few times. He didn't want her to get all emotional, so he changed the subject. “You gonna stop cooking for the band?”

She snapped up. “Of course not. It's only five competitions. And they tape once a week, so I'll just miss five dinners. And the apprenticeship doesn't start until next season.”

“Yeah, but you said you need to get up to speed for the show.”

“I do. And I will. But I'm not bailing on the band.”

“See? There you go being a pampered princess socialite.” He slowly shook his head.

She threw him a smile so dazzling he had to look away. “Hey, they were nice enough to give me a job when I didn't have anything. I'd never bail on them. Besides, they're the closest thing I've got to a family.”

Well, that was just sad. “Your mom lives on the farm. You've got family.”

“Of course. I just meant, you know, outside my mom and dad.” Her gaze drifted to the shoreline, where a bunch of guys were just coming out of the thrashing sea. She stretched her legs out, curling her toes.

His gaze tracked from her polished toenails to slim, bare ankles, and up her nicely shaped candy-cane-covered calves and thighs.

“Is it okay for me to ask where your mom was tonight?”

Ripped from the low hum of attraction, he let the question tear through him. Of course she'd want to know. The moment he'd come in, he'd shut off the music. The mood had changed. Weird shit from an outsider's perspective. But he wasn't sure what to say, so he turned to watch his friends laughing and smoking weed by the fire.

“You don't have to talk about it. It's okay.”

He sure as hell didn't want to talk about it. But any irritation dulled when she touched his arm. And when her thumb stroked the sensitive skin under his wrist, a slow burn spread along his nerves.

“You have interesting ink. I've never seen anything like it before.”

“My brother.”

Her gaze snapped up to him. “Sorry?”

“He died. Three years ago.”
Fuck.
When was the last time he'd said those words out loud? Or even thought them? It felt awkward, like putting on a pair of brand-new, unwashed jeans, stiff and ill-fitting.

She sucked in a breath, forehead crimping in pain. “The youngest?”

He nodded.

“I wondered . . . he's so obviously missing.”

“Yeah. So, when my mom heard the music tonight, she . . . it's hard for her. What our home used to be like . . . the music, laughing, everyone all together . . . she just . . . it's hard.”

“I'm so sorry, Calix. I can't even imagine your mom's pain.”

“What you did tonight . . . it hasn't been like that since . . . before.”

“I'm sorry.”

“No, it's a good thing.”

“Not for your mom.”

“No. Not for her.” And then he realized she needed to know the truth. If she was going to be involved, she should be aware. “Full disclosure.”

She tilted her head questioningly.

“The cooking lessons? My dad thinks they'll draw my mom out. The kitchen. That's her domain.
Was
. She used to love cooking.”

“Ah. I wondered why you'd be so willing.”

“I probably wouldn't have.”

She pulled the towel around her like a shawl. “No. I didn't think so.”

“But I've tried everything and so far nothing's worked. And . . . this seems like it could work.”

“Hey, I'm not going to complain. If helping me can help your mom, I'm in.”

“Yeah.” He tapped his fingers on his knee. “Used to be everyone hung out at our house. My mom was always cooking, music playing. And now it's been three years of silence. No one comes around anymore. Until you showed up tonight. And you . . . well, it made me think.”

Her smile, it gave him all the room in the world to just . . . be. Not explain or come up with shit to say. She just . . . gave him space. “I don't want to overwhelm her, but . . .”

“I get it.”

Fucking hell, she was beautiful. And patient. And kind. And nothing like what he'd thought.

“Your brother looked like the most loved boy in the world.”

Jesus. It was like she'd grabbed hold of his heart and squeezed. “He was.”

“Can you tell me how he died?”

His heartbeat kicked up so hard and heavy, it made his head spin. He hadn't talked about it since right after it happened. At all. To anyone. Even his family. They just didn't talk about it.

“You don't have to. I'm sorry I asked.”

Strangely, he wanted to. And where the hell did that come from? “We had a gig at a festival in upstate New York. We were playing with some pretty big bands—”

“We? You mean your family?”

“I was in a band.”

Her chin snapped up. “Oh. I had no idea. I thought . . .”

“You thought I've always been a session musician?”

“You seem to . . . I don't know. I thought you were just a free spirit, doing what you felt like doing, flitting from one job to another.”

“A free spirit?” He barked out a laugh. “Good one.”

“So, your band was successful?”

“Getting there. We were playing a big festival, and I'd asked my parents to play, too. Do their own set. Seemed like a great idea at the time. And my dad, he's not like my mom. Not as scarred by the shit that went down over their time in the business.”

He flashed her a look, always a little uneasy talking about his family. So why was he? Maybe because she had this patience . . .
no, you know what it is? She's strong.
Mimi Romano had a fuck of a lot of inner strength.

And it fed right into him. “My dad's got a lot of energy. He's one of the most creative guys you'll ever meet, and retirement sucked for him. But what could he do? He'd bought into the whole compound thing, the homeschooling. He was in. But I could see he needed more. I even had him producing some of our songs. And then I suggested they play with us. Just the one event. My mom said she did it for my dad, but I saw her. She loved it, too. They love music. They love performing. It's a rush, you know?”

She smiled warmly, encouraging him to go on.

“Yeah, so, of course, they brought Hopper.”

“Did he love music, too?”

“Oh, yeah. Nobody loved music more than him. Whenever we jammed, Hopper was right in the middle of it.”

“Did he play?”

“He played everything. He sang. But no. He had some disabilities.”

“Down syndrome?”

He nodded.

“I saw the pictures. God, you can feel how happy he was.”

Calix tipped his head back. She was killing him. “He was. Happy. He was . . .”

Her warm hand covered his. “He was the luckiest boy in the world.”

Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Why was he having this conversation? Why
her
? “Yeah, until he overdosed.”

“Overdosed?”

“While I was getting my ass kissed by the guys from Voltage Records, he wandered off. We spent the whole night looking for him. My mom was . . . she was a mess. We all were.” He blew out a breath, pulled on his beard. “They didn't find him till the next morning. OD'd on some band's tour bus.”

The bindings around his chest yanked hard, making it hurt to breathe. All his senses narrowed to the whistle of the wind, the roar of the sea, and the thick knot of pain lodged in the center of his chest.

Fuck, what was he thinking bringing this shit up with her? The impulse to run took hold. He needed to ride. Ride until his anxiety—his sorrow—his
guilt
—drained away. So why the fuck couldn't he move? His legs felt weighted down by sandbags.

She got up on her knees, moved behind him, and pressed her soft, warm body into his back. Resting a cheek on his shoulder blade, she didn't say a word. Just held him like that.

Her body heat penetrated his skin, warmed his tissue through to his bones.

And while his mind slowly settled and his thoughts stopped scattering, her warmth was the only sensation getting through.

A few drops of rain splattered on his wetsuit. And he
surprised the hell out of himself by saying, “I was torn.” She didn't prod him for more. Didn't move. And for some strange reason, it enabled him to continue. “I wanted to see my parents onstage. It was a big deal, them performing again. And my dad, he's crazy. But the Voltage guys had been coming to our shows, and I knew this was it—they wanted to sign us. So they were kissing my ass. Making me feel like the next Bon Jovi. And I loved it.” He fisted a handful of sand so tightly the grains burned in his palm. “I did. I loved the attention.”

Her hold tightened around his waist.

“My parents' friend was supposed to be watching Hopper during their set. It's not his fault,” he hurried to explain. “It's no one's fault. He just . . . you know, I don't know if the guys from Death Tab thought it'd be funny to invite the Down syndrome kid onto their bus, or if Hopper just followed along. He trusted everyone—why wouldn't he? The guys swear no one offered him anything. But they had drugs and booze all over the place. Hopper didn't know. He was the most trusting kid you'd ever meet.”

“I could tell. From the pictures. He didn't know anything but love.”

“Fuck.” He said it softly, his voice rough and shaky.

Her hand never moved, but her fingers lightly stroked his arm. “I doubt anyone on this earth had a better childhood than he did.”

He reached for her hand, gave it a squeeze. “You're right.”

The moment he turned to look at her, he knew he shouldn't have. Something about this woman—so vital, so strong, so real—got to him. Dug right down into the man he used to be.

Her features softened, and she licked her lips. And suddenly what he wanted more than anything was to close the distance between them. Get his hands in that silky hair and feel the soft heat of her mouth.

But he wasn't that man anymore. And he didn't have room for anything until his family healed.

So he stopped looking at her mouth and those pretty green eyes that didn't seem to miss a thing. “I'm gonna get you home.”

“I appreciate the offer.” She pulled away, releasing him. “But I'll take a cab. Stay with your friends.”

“Not gonna happen.”

Feet pounding on sand caught his attention, but before he could see what was going on, two of his friends flung themselves at him, piling onto his back and laughing.

“Play for us.”

“Jax brought his guitar.” The smell of reefer clung to their clothes.

Just then lightning split the darkness. The girls shrieked. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and raindrops splattered on his skin.

“Oh, my God,” one of them said.

The other took off. “Let's go to Calix's. Come on, you guys.”

“Oh, crap.” Mimi lifted the towel so it covered her head.

“It's just rain.”

“Until you spend forty minutes a day blow-drying your hair straight, you don't get to mock.”

“Forty minutes? Who has that much extra time?”

“Women with crazy hair.”

“Calix, come on,” someone shouted.

A crack of thunder made Mimi jump. The rain turned from steady to a downpour.

“Dude!” someone shouted.

Calix grabbed her hand. “Come on.” He led the way to the stairs.

“Calix!” Shay jumped on his back, her knees tucking in against his ribs. “Give me a ride.” Letting go of Mimi's hand to grab hold of Shay's legs, he hitched her higher. They all raced up the narrow trail, bracketed by bushes that led to a flat parcel of grass. Climbing the stairs to his cottage, he took a glance at the roiling sea before setting Shay down.

As music and lights flipped on, he did a quick scan for Mimi. Found her pushing the hair out of her eyes and holding the drenched towel. He took it from her. “I'll change into some dry clothes, and then I'll take you home.”

“No problem. Take your time.”

He dumped the towel on the laundry room floor before
heading down the short hall. Opening the linen closet, he pulled a stack of towels off the shelf.

“Oh, my God, I'm freezing.” Shay reached for one, gazing up at him with those hooded eyes and soft lips.

“You want to bring these out there for everyone?”

“Sure, babe.” She gave him a lingering look before taking them and heading back out to the living room.

Since Mimi didn't seem to be in a rush, he figured he'd grab a shower. He tossed his wetsuit on the floor of his bedroom as he headed into the bathroom. Turning on the water, he stepped into the warm spray, one hand braced on the tiled wall as his cold skin burned with the hot water.

A rush of cool air had him turning to find Shay, naked, hair streaming down her slender body, stepping into the stall with him.

“I'm so cold.” She huddled up to him.

Maybe it was because he'd gotten stirred up from being with Mimi or maybe he just hadn't gotten laid in too long, but his body responded to her in a way it hadn't in a long time.

Her gaze dropped to his semi, and she reached for his hips, pressing kisses to his chest.

Yeah, he was horny, and yeah, he could go for a blow job.

She glanced up at him, eyes hungry and needy, and he took a step back.

But not from Shay.

When she came closer, he reached for her shoulders, tipped her chin. “Shay, no.”