Untwisted (9 page)

“We’re in a band.”

“I figured that. Don’t suppose you’re in the Christian music field?”

“No.” Gray thought of Oblivion’s current hit “Sugar Kiss”—aka an ode to oral sex, specifically oral sex with his soon-to-be wife—and winced. “Not exactly.”

“Head-banging music?”

Gray laughed. “At times, yes. Look, San Francisco’s special to us. I’d like to get married there now and then we can do another ceremony later if she wants to. Whatever she wants.”

“Are you hoping to use the church?”

“No. Do you happen to have some grounds nearby maybe? I want to make it easy on you, but I realize holding it in the house of the Lord might be a bit much for…reasons.” Gray took another quick glance inside the restaurant and noticed Jazz had toed off her flip flops and had curled her bare legs under herself on the seat. “Plus, I’m pretty sure she’s going to want to be barefoot. It’s her thing.”

Father Freeley chuckled. “I can do you one better than the church itself. We’re right next door to a park with numerous hills. On a clear day, and from the right vantage spot, you can see the bridge in the distance.”

“The Golden Gate?”

“Is there any other?”

“No. Not really.” Gray grinned. “Does this mean you’re saying you’ll do it? You’ll marry us? Please. I promise, after this one lapse of premarital sex we’ll be good Catholics from here on out.” One lapse plus about ten thousand. But his fingers of his free hand were crossed in his pocket, so the fib didn’t count.

“Twist my robe, why don’t you? Of course I will. I would never stand in the path of true love. But one request.” He lowered his voice to a near-whisper. “Can you sign a T-shirt for me? I have a teenage niece who would love some memorabilia from a head-banging band.”

“Sure thing. Thank you so much.”

They finalized a few details then Gray hung up and hurriedly called Lila. “Tell me you’re coming tomorrow.”

“Well, hello to you too,” she said drily. “Yes, I’m coming. Though next time, I’d appreciate some notice to do damage control. You do realize the paparazzi will probably get their hands on this info? Thanks to you, I have no time to work my spin.”

“The spin is I want to marry my girl, hopefully quickly and privately enough that no one with a telephoto lens will find out.”

“Dream on, rockstar.”

“You’re the second person to say that to me today.” Shaking it off, he waved to Jazz through the glass and held up his finger to indicate one more minute when she frowned. Time was running out. “Look, I need a favor.”

“A favor other than interrupting my work in the middle of the week to drive up to San Francisco?”

“You’re not driving. You’re taking your husband’s private jet and bringing the band with you.”

“How did you know?”

“Lucky guess. Plus I couldn’t imagine you sitting in a smog-filled car for five hours.” He grinned. “I need a T-shirt.”

“Then how are you affording a wedding?”

He had to laugh. “We’re doing it pretty low-key. Though, shit, she needs a dress. Can you find one for her?” He relayed a few more details about the church and the park next door, waiting while she wrote down the address. “Oh, and make sure Harper comes. No matter what, Harper needs to be there.”

“Anything else? My personal assistant will just be so bored if you don’t keep giving me tasks to pass on to her.”

“About the T-shirt.” He explained about Father Freeley, then blew out a breath. He hadn’t talked as much in the last month as he had in the last ten minutes. “Do we have anything left merch-wise?”

“We’re in the process of coordinating new merchandise for the album and tour. The numerous delays on said album led to the merchandise being delayed also. We’re expecting a shipment next week.”

“Next week is too late. C’mon, one damn shirt?”

“The only thing we have left in house is the shirts for Simon’s Skanks.”

He chuckled. “Simon’s Sirens? That’ll do.”

“No, I’d swear it says skanks.”

Knowing Lila’s sense of humor could be sarcastic on the best day, he just went with it. “Okay, fine. Bring one, please.”

“Surely there’s more. Do you need flowers for her hair?”

“Fuck. I didn’t even think of flowers. Are they necessary?”

“In a wedding? Of course not. Neither are the wedding bands—” At his groan, she sighed. “Seriously, Grayson, have you not done one thing in preparation?”

“At least we have our marriage license. We got it as soon as I got back from rehab in case we carved out time for the wedding before the tour.”

“One thing taken care of. I’m so proud.”

“There’s one more. I also rented the penthouse suite at the Palatial in San Fran. They bled me dry for two nights. And I think they gave me a discount when I told them my name.”

“Right, of course you’d get the place for the honeymoon squared away. Because that benefits you. All you men are the same.” It sounded like Lila thumped something in the background. “Where is the love? Where is the romance?”

“Can you bring some of that too? I have the love part down, I think.” He smiled at her disgusted huff. “Cool your jets. I have the wedding bands taken care of. I just, uh, haven’t picked them up from the jeweler yet.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Alas, no. Can you grab those too on the way here?” Before she could say no, he rattled off the jeweler’s name and address.

“Your thin ice is about to cave in, pal.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it more than I can say.” Noticing that Jazz was getting restless—her plate of food was empty, and that was one of the few things that could hold her attention for long these days—he reached for the door handle. “I’ll sign anything you want and do two extended solos at every show on the first leg of the tour.”

“And an extended solo in the encore. And maybe a book signing.”

“For what book?”

“We’ll talk later. Ciao.” Lila clicked off.

Clearly, he’d just signed his soul away to the devil. Except this one hid her horns beneath layers of perfect blond hair.

“Who was that?” Jazz asked.

“Lila.” He pocketed his phone but kept his crossed fingers firmly tucked in his pocket. More lies were coming, and they were basically against the tenets he’d agreed to in rehab. Lies for a good reason were still lies, and he didn’t want to start down that path again if he didn’t have to.

Unfortunately, right now he had no choice.

“Why did you call her?”

“She needs me back in the studio again.”

“What? Why? Your parts were all set. I heard them. They were incredible. Jimmy Page couldn’t have done better.”

He slid into the booth and leaned across the table to cup her cheeks in her hands. “Keep talking like that and we’ll never get to San Jose.”

“Sure, we will. They have rest stops. Besides, I thought ahead for easier access.” She slipped something red out of her pocket and pressed it into his hand, right above her plate of demolished chicken. Seriously, he wasn’t even sure she’d left the bones.

Then he refocused on what she’d handed him. Lacy. Tiny. Damp.

“Holy fu—nballs.”

She only smirked. “When he’s born, you can go back to using the word every five minutes. I may even let you have an extended session saying the word in my ear while you demonstrate a live action sequence.”

“You
may
let me?” He tucked the pair of panties into his pocket, barely resisting the urge to sniff them. Hell, if there hadn’t been grandparents with some young kids in the next booth, he would’ve buried his face in them.

“There is no may, Yoda. There is only do.”

“Someone’s mood has improved.” He picked up one discarded breast from her plate. “That chicken tasted good going down, huh?”

“Not all that tasted good going down.” She smacked her lips and slid out of the booth to slip back into her shoes, mischief dancing in her eyes.

He chuckled. “You’re a dirty bird.”

“Duh.” She dumped out her tray in the garbage and returned to tug him out of the booth. “Well, c’mon then. If we have to get right back so you can head into the studio, we have to get to Molly’s in a hurry. No more sidetrips.”

“Tell your belly that,” he said, following her out to the parking lot. Watching her ass sway unabashedly the whole time.

“Your son is offended by that comment.” She got into the passenger side of the car and turned on the radio as soon as he started the ignition. An Oblivion song was playing—their first big hit, “The Becoming.” The song that he’d written with Deacon that had led to him and Jazz being invited to join the band.

He smiled at her across the small space that separated them. Even that felt like too much. “We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”

“Yeah.” Her smile was wistful. “It hasn’t been all that long since we joined the band, but God, everything has changed.”

“Not quite a year yet. One hell of an anniversary.” He brushed her hair out of her face and rubbed his thumb over her full lower lip. “Dylan Edward Duffy.”

She blinked. “What?”

“The kid’s name. What do you think?”

“I—I don’t know. We haven’t even begun to think of names. I’m only on the Bs in my baby name book.”

He reversed then drove to the exit. “Let it sit. See what you think.”

“Edward for a middle name?”

“Unless you want to make it Edwards.”

“That sounds so stuffy. Like he should be in Parliament or something.”

“Wrong country, but President would be cool.” He shot her a grin as he headed toward the entrance to the freeway. “Better than a rock star.”

“What’s so bad about being a rock star? It lets me bang lots of dudes.” Pursing her lips, she slid him a glance. “So, um, about those Raiders.”

It felt so good to laugh as he reached out to toy with her hair. Someday he might not need to touch her every minute, but that day wasn’t coming anytime soon. “The only dude you’re banging for the rest of your life is me. Deal with it, Duffy.”

It took her a second to realize what he’d said, but when she did, a slow smile dawned across her face. “I like the sound of that.”

He did too, a hell of a lot. And hopefully by this time tomorrow, it would be official.

If
he didn’t colossally fuck up the biggest day of his life.

CHAPTER FIVE

The address on the piece of paper turned out to be in a crappy neighborhood filled with crammed together row houses and cans of overflowing garbage serving as curb appeal. Jazz had even seen a toilet in front of one house, sitting in the middle of the lawn and filled with blooming flowers as if it were some kind of urn.

“Nice digs your sister has,” Gray said, peering through the windshield as they crept along the street, searching for the right house number.

“Is there a college around here? These look like frat houses. See that dude sitting on the hood of his car over there? He has a keg next to the tire.”

“Guys in frats aren’t the only ones who drink from kegs.”

“I know that. I’m just saying. It has a young vibe.”

“Not the only kind of vibe it has,” he muttered. “What’s the number again?”

She read it to him while trying not to smear the ink on the page from her damp fingers. The nerves were back, and this time they’d brought their friends goose bumps and slight nausea. She seriously hoped the morning sickness had not decided to make another reappearance now. It was heading toward night, for one thing, and for another, throwing up upon meeting someone wasn’t exactly the way to make a killer first impression.

Biting her lip, she scanned the houses out the window. “Did we pack crackers, by any chance?”

“I didn’t. Did you?”

“If I knew that, would I be asking?”

“The chicken afterglow has clearly worn off. There—that’s the one we’re looking for.” He pulled the car over and glanced at her, apparently noticing her distress. “We passed a convenience store a few blocks ago. After we meet Molly, you can stay here and visit and I’ll go see if I can find you something to settle your stomach.”

“Don’t forget the Pepto.”

He grabbed her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles. “She’s going to love you. It’s impossible not to.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “I’d be thrilled if you were my sister.”

“Sicko. I already sort of was. And you see how
that
turned out.” Pointedly, she looked down at her belly and he laughed.

They got out and stood on the curb, staring at the multi-family house in front of them. Sunset wasn’t too far away and the rundown brown building in front of them didn’t look any better in the soft pink and gold haze of almost-twilight. “So, I guess we should go see if she lives upstairs or down.” She frowned. “Oh shit, I was supposed to call and let her know when we were close.”

“Call her now. She didn’t say how close, right?”

She rolled her eyes and started heading up the sidewalk. “Good thing you’re hot, because you’re a total pain in the ass.”

“Hello, Dylan is listening. I am offended on his behalf.”

Ignoring him, she jogged up the crumbling steps and stopped in front of the row of mailboxes. Three of them. Box number two was for the second floor and was labeled Molly McIntire, written in fading purple ink covered by a piece of peeling tape.

Jazz’s already iffy belly sank down to her toes and roiled. Molly’s name was the only one on the mailbox, not their mother’s.

And sticking out of the top of the mailbox was an eviction notice.

“Nice decorating scheme,” Gray said, stopping beside her and gesturing to the weathered gnome holding a daisy that was guarding the front door.

Saying nothing, she pulled out the eviction notice and pressed it into his hand.

He read it silently, his gaze lifting to hers. “Guess it’s a good thing we got here before she got booted.” His brows knitted. “Unless that’s why she contacted you in the first place.”

“God, now you sound like Harper.”

Moving past her, he aimed for the second door and knocked. When he didn’t get a response, he pulled it open, revealing a narrow hallway and a flight of stairs to the left. To the right was the door for apartment number three.

Gray glanced back and motioned her forward. “After you.”

Jazz bit her lip and dragged her attention away from the window covered with bars that she’d just noticed. That was probably some sort of design. Most likely the bars weren’t for protection.