Exposed by Kristen Callihan

Chapter Thirteen

Rye

TrueAceOfBass:So. I had this idea. I’d drop by your house, armed w/ Pringles & Diet Cherry Coke (even though it’s a disgusting drink) and offer you a foot rub. But, apparently, you’re in Atlanta.

Berrylicious: Diet Cherry Coke is delicious. Anyone with true taste knows it.

TrueAceOfBass: It’s the devil’s juice, Bren. Accept that your tastes have been compromised and let the healing begin.

Berrylicious: Never. In fact, I’m going on a tour of the Coke factory tomorrow. Will demand a crate of DCC.

TrueAceOfBass: You’re staying in Atlanta? Scottie is coming home tonight. And how is it that Scottie tells me these things and you don’t?

Berrylicious: You’re sounding suspiciously parental right now, Peterson.

TrueAceOfBass: If you want to call me Daddy, I’m surprisingly okay with that.

Berrylicious: It’s like you never want to have sex with me again.

TrueAceOfBass: Oh, I’m getting some. As soon as you return from Atlanta. Exactly when is that, btw?

Berrylicious: You’re pretty sure of yourself, buttercup.

TrueAceOfBass: I was there. You were two moans away from, “Oh, Daddy, please give me more.”

Berrylicious: Ugh. That’s it. I’m turning off my phone. I have to go take a hot shower and scrub my skin to rid myself of the ick.

TrueAceOfBass: You mean a cold shower because you’re hot for me. They don’t work, you know. I’ve tried. Several times since I left you. I’m still dying over here.

TrueAceOfBass: Bren?

TrueAceOfBass: You seriously turned off your phone?

TrueAceOfBass: Bren?

TrueAceOfBass: Damn, it’s like that, huh?

When Brenna doesn’t answer, I tuck away my phone and bite back a grin. Despite the fact she’s tuned me out, the small exchange gave me far too much enjoyment. Still, she did turn off her phone. That can’t be good.

“Question.” I turn to Jax who’s thumbing through my LP collection. “Do women truly frown upon the whole ‘call me Daddy’ thing?”

Jax pauses, his mouth falling open. “Please, for the love of vinyl, tell me you didn’t go there.”

“What? I was joking.” Mostly. I mean, I’m up for anything Brenna wants to throw my way. I aim to please. But it’s not my personal kink.

Jax shakes his head. “I thought you had better game than this.”

“I never needed game before now.”

“Sadly, I believe that.” He should; he’s had as many women throw themselves on him over the years. Shit, even more. Our fame was our game.

Jax’s expression becomes empathetic. “Engaging with Brenna is master-level tactics, and you’re over there in primary school.”

A sound of frustration escapes me, and I rub my fingers along my tight scalp. “You know what? We shouldn’t be talking about this. Forget I said anything.”

“Then you shouldn’t have mentioned the daddy thing. Not likely to forget that.”

With a groan, I flop back onto my couch. “That was stupid of me to text, wasn’t it?”

Jax snickers. “You texted that? Now she has a visible record of that horror for the rest of your lives and will pull it up to torture you with in times of strife.” He glances at me with unrepentant glee. “Of which I predict there will be many.”

I’d flip him the finger, but I’m too busy pressing my fingers to the hollows of my aching eyes. “Fuck. We really shouldn’t be talking about this.”

“But you want to talk about it, don’t you?” Jax’s tone is serious now, and for once he doesn’t seem to be on the verge of cracking a joke. It must be killing him to hold back.

My hands fall to my thighs, and I instantly start thrumming a beat. But it doesn’t stop the twitchy feeling inside me. “I just…I don’t know. I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“You will, though.”

“Thanks, man. Truly.” I’d be more upset if I didn’t think Jax was sort of right.

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing personal. We’re guys. We’ll fuck things up because we haven’t got a clue what to do with our feelings once we start having them for someone.” His snort is self-deprecating. “Do you know the amount of asinine word spew that came out of my mouth when I met Stella?”

“I can imagine,” I mutter.

But he doesn’t hear me. He’s on a tear now. “Instead of pulling little dudes aside in health class to tell them it’s okay to rub one off—which, no shit, man, we all know that—they should be teaching them how to handle relationships. I swear that advice is worth more than gold.”

He pins me with serious eyes. “Let me save you some more future grief. If your woman comes to you to complain about some shit going down in her life, she doesn’t want you to fix it.”

“What’s the point of telling me if I can’t help find a solution?”

“So you can nod and say, ‘Fuck that noise, you’re completely in the right, sweetness.’ Or, ‘I’m sorry, honey, that truly sucks. Would you like a foot rub?’”

“I offered a foot rub.” I scratch at my growing beard. I need to shave it. “She ignored that part.”

Jax snorts. “Doesn’t count if you weird her out with a side of bad flirting.”

“She’s intrigued. I know it.”

“You know dick.” He seems pleased by this.

“Maybe you should teach a class now that you’re so enlightened.”

“Maybe I should. Gather ’round, little dudes, and let Unkie John explain this wonderful concept called ‘think before you speak.’”

“Probably best if you don’t call yourself ‘Unkie John.’ That’s creepy.”

“Whatever you say, Daddy.”

“God,” I groan, pained. “I shouldn’t have gone there.”

“Live and learn, my friend.” He shrugs. “Nothing is easy when you’re falling in love.”

Alarm has me sitting up. “Hey now, no one said anything about love. I like Brenna. A lot. I want to try and see where this goes without totally messing it up before it even begins. But love? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not opposed to love as a concept. But love is…” Flaying yourself wide open and handing over salt to dump in the wound.

Jax stares at me with a placid expression that says I’m talking too much. I stare back, determined not to squirm or pull at my collar because it is damn hot in this room, and I need to get better window treatments.

The silence grows taut, and I clench my fists.

She bolted. Because I know damn well that’s what she did. It’s a kick in the teeth, a punch in my needy nuts. I’m not going to think about the region of my heart. That organ is off-limits.

Yes, she bolted. But I can’t sweat it. We only promised each other three days out of the week. Asking for more already would be pushing it. So, I won’t text her again. I won’t think about her or count the minutes that she’s gone.

Life goes on. I did fine before I ever knew the silken heat of Brenna James’s body. Or the sounds she makes when she comes. Or the way her skin flushes peach…

“Hell,” I mutter. “My apartment is too stuffy. You want to go for a run?”

Because my friend is far more astute than he likes to let on, he jumps to his feet and stretches. “Sure. But we’re stopping for a shake on the way back.”

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of exercise?”

He lifts a brow. “Is that why we’re running?”

Damn it, I need that shake. “Let’s go. I’ll pay for the shakes.”

* * *

Brenna

“Is it just me, or is this movie really bizarre?” I whisper.

Jules gapes at the massive screen where animated polar bears frolic in the snow. A frown forms between her brows. “They’re drinking Coke. I hate it when they make animals eat or drink human food.”

“Or make animated food items look cute and dance around.” I wrinkle my nose. “I’m supposed to want to eat them later?”

“How about when they eat each other?”

“It’s never the type of eating I approve of, sadly.”

We both snicker. A mother sitting next to Jules shoots us a repressive glare while her two-year-old tries to put his fist in his mouth. It’s kind of impressive how she can glare so effectively while wearing 3-D glasses, though. It must be a mother thing.

Jules eases closer to me. “When is this over? I want to see old-timey Coke advertisements and try weird drinks like ginger-lime Coke.”

“I heard they have a pine nut flavor.”

“They do not! Why!”

We get another glare from the mother. Her kid, on the other hand, has taken to kicking the seat in front of him. Hard.

I don’t blame him. I want out too. Thankfully we opted not to sit in the moving theater seats for the 4-D experience. I’d probably want to vomit at this point.

“Thank you for coming with me,” I murmur to Jules.

When Scottie told me he’d set up a meeting in Atlanta with Al Rasken, one of Kill John’s A&R men, to discuss their upcoming record, I’d jumped at the chance to join in. Record labels can be notoriously stingy with the promotion and marketing budget. Kill John is their biggest artist, so we have much more leeway. Even so, a bit of finessing never hurt. The more promotion money I can get for them, the better. At least that’s what I told myself was the reason for going.

“Hey, it’s a mini vacation from work. I’m not complaining.”

She doesn’t realize it, but her words hit a weak spot, and I suppress the urge to wriggle. Because we aren’t working anymore. There is absolutely no reason for me to still be in Atlanta. No legitimate reason, that is.

Days later and I still feel Rye on me. If I close my eyes and let my concentration slip, I’m haunted by the ghost of his scent, salty-sweet lust, citrus and spices. Someone should bottle it; I’d rub that stuff all over my skin at night and sleep in it.

God, I miss him. I miss him! How the hell can that be? We had sex once. I shouldn’t be craving him like this. Oh, but I do. Before, I ached for physical touch. It was a nebulous need, strong but not rooted in one specific person. Now, it’s him I ache for. Damn it.

“Don’t you start sighing,” Jules says out of the side of her mouth. “This was your idea.”

“I slept with Rye.” The words burst free without warning.

“What?” Jules squeaks.

“Hush,” the mother next to us admonishes.

Jules pinches my arm. “You and Rye? Rye Peterson?”

“What other Rye would I be talking about?” I grump, regretting my loose lips. But I need to tell someone, anyone, and Jules won’t judge. She’ll tease me a little, but that’s to be expected.

“Certainly not the one you insisted you’d like to drop in a vat of boiling oil.” She rolls her eyes then glares. “What the hell, Brenna?”

“Ow!” I rub my skin. “Would you quit pinching me?”

“Shhh!”

Jules waves off the irate mother then turns my way. Her oversized 3-D glasses reflect the light of the screen as her lips purse. “Spill it.”

“You’re going to get us kicked out.” I dart an apologetic look at the mother. She’s too busy trying to prevent her kid from eating floor candy.

“You dropped this bomb on me here so I couldn’t properly freak out, didn’t you?” Jules accuses.

She’s not wrong. Sighing, I focus on the screen but then close my eyes because I freaking hate 3-D movies. “Remember that night we talked about my little problem?”

“The need for a good fucking?”

Thankfully, Jules whispers that.

“Yes. Rye was there. He overheard.”

“Shut the front door,” Jules says, part scandalized, part anticipatory.

“He offered…”

“To butter your buns?” she says. Loudly.

“There are children here,” the mother hisses.

Jules gives her a level look. “Like he’s going to understand that?” She shakes her head and glances at the little boy, who is utterly oblivious to our chatter and is clapping at the screen. “I’m sorry, I assumed you’d be pro-sex. My mistake.”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing as Jules turns back to me. “I’ll be quiet now so Ms. Buttered Buns here doesn’t have a fit. But when this show is done, we’re having words.”

We shut up until the lights go up, and finally we’re let into the museum. As soon as we’re free, Jules grabs my elbow and hustles me to a corner where a cherry-cheeked Santa lifts a bottle of Coke high in the air. “All right, now tell me everything.” Her eyes are alight and avid with curiosity.

“I don’t know…” I hedge, feeling weirdly protective of it now that I’ve opened my mouth. “It was a moment of weakness.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

“What can I say? He was persuasive.”

Jules gives me a get-real face. “He’s Rye Peterson. He doesn’t need to say a word. Just looking at him is enough. I mean, those arms? That ass?”

“I didn’t realize you’d noticed.”

“Am I dead?” She pinches my arm again with her quick fingers. “Don’t be jealous. I’m not into him. But I can appreciate the package.”

“Apparently I do too.”

“Of course, you do. It’s Rye. He’s always been your weak spot. Not that I blame you. Few can resist that aw-shucks grin. The beard thing is a surprise. I didn’t think it would work for him, but it’s like when Chris Evans went from wholesome, cute ‘how do you do, ma’am?’ Captain America, to ‘who’s your daddy, you’re gonna like the spanking I give you’ Cap.”

“God, don’t say ‘Daddy,’” I moan, remembering Rye’s stupid texts. Call me Daddy, indeed. The arrogance. Why had that turned me on? If it had been anyone else but Rye, I’d be intrigued…No, that’s not true. It turned me on more because it was Rye. Which makes me twisted. Totally twisted to get hot at the idea of playing Daddy with Rye freaking Peterson when I’ve spent the whole of my adult life trying to prove to myself that he has no power over me.

Silence greets me, and I realize what I’ve said. I wince at the utterly gleeful expression on Jules’s face.

“Oh, really?” she drawls.

“There’s no really.”

“I knew he’d be a dirty bird in bed.”

I clear my throat and catch a glimpse of grinning Santa. Edging away from him, I roll my stiff shoulders and try again. “We did not go there!” Texts don’t count. “I just don’t want that image in my head.” Too late. “But, okay, it was…good. Really good. But it’s Rye.”

Jules hums thoughtfully under her breath then pins me with a curious stare. “Can I ask you something? You and Rye have always been at each other’s throats, and I assumed it was simmering repressed sexual tension—”

“Oh, for crying out—” I shut up, because she lifts a brow as if to say, Get real, Brenna. And she isn’t entirely wrong. Damn it. With a sigh, I make a motion with my hand for her to continue.

Jules sniffs delicately. “As I was saying, I’m pretty sure we all thought that. But how did this animosity between you two start? Where’s it coming from?”

Part of me wants to turn tail and run. But I squeeze the bridge of my nose and answer her. “In the beginning, it was a simple case of immaturity and my inability to handle rejection.” I tell her about my crush on Rye, the way he effectively squashed it, and the resulting low-key feud. “We started relating to each other by bickering and sniping. But a few years later…”

I grit my teeth. I don’t want to remember. I put it aside a while ago. Remembering only pokes a sore spot that I’ve worked to heal. Remembering only threatens to make me view Rye in a way that will make everything harder. But Jules asked, and maybe it’s better to get it out instead of burying it away.

“I saw him doing something he shouldn’t.”

“What, like a crime?”

“No. He was with a woman—”

“Please don’t tell me he hurt her.” Horror shimmers in her eyes.

“Jules!” I huff out a weak laugh. “Stop interrupting. No, he didn’t do that. I’d have told someone, and he’d have been out of the band in a blink. He was just kissing someone he shouldn’t have.”

I close my eyes and will away the memory, the utter disappointment and rage I’d felt toward him, knowing that he put his drunken lust over the happiness of his friends.

“I’m not going to say who, because it’s been ten years at this point, and it does no good to stir the pot.” I give Jules a sad, wane smile. “But it set the tone for how I related to him for so long. I held on to that rage for years, let it feed me when it came to him. But it wasn’t healthy, and he never did anything like that again—not that I know of. So, I let it go. Only by then, we’d settled into the pattern of animosity like a pair of favorite shoes.”

“Does he know about this?” Jules asks.

“No. I never said a word. I didn’t want to hurt the band.” I snort. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? I protected him from a blowup, when he deserved everything that he would have gotten.”

“Not really,” Jules says. “Your job was to protect them. I can see how that would put you in a tough spot.”

“And I resented that too. I took it out on Rye, even though he had no clue why I was so pissed.”

She peers at me, and I have the urge to squirm. When she talks, her tone holds no judgment, only curiosity. “Despite all that, when he made you this offer, you took it.”

“Sometimes, I can’t believe it myself.” I laugh without humor. My chest hurts, and my head feels as if it’s stuffed with wool. “I’d like to think we’ve both grown. And the truth is…Shit. I like this Rye.”

Saying it makes it real. Saying it also lifts a weight I didn’t know I’d been carrying.

Jules nods as if understanding. “And you’re running scared.”

“Scared,” I scoff. “I’m not scared.” I am, though. I’m terrified of falling.

“Of course not.” Jules pats my arm. “That’s why we’re talking about sex in front of St. Nick instead of you being in New York getting some dick.”

“Ugh!” I turn away and start walking through the museum. But I can’t outrun my memories.

Ride me, Bren.

He’d been so thick. So hard. So good.

“Shit.” With a silent groan, I toss up my hands in defeat. I can lie to myself all day, but it won’t change the truth. My body doesn’t feel right anymore. Like it’s waiting for him. “I ran, all right! I know I ran. But I couldn’t face him. I just couldn’t, okay?”

Not after he’d taken me apart in the best of ways. He’d taken me apart and then put me back together. I’m this new needy woman who can’t stop craving one more touch. I don’t know if I like it. But I want it.

Jules is silent for a moment, letting me stride along, my heels clicking double time on the linoleum floor. “Brenna, you are my idol, the woman who told the head of RAI Records that the day he started staring at guys’ dicks when he talked to them was the day it would be okay for him to talk to your tits.”

I snort at the memory.

Jules smiles fondly. “Do you know how many times I’ve seen you set down random drunk and disorderly dudes at events without breaking a sweat? Or make power-hungry executives quake in their loafers? You’re never fazed. You’re a badass in five-inch heels. No one takes advantage of you.” Her gaze is serious now. “If I could harness half your confidence, I’d be a happy woman. So, I have to wonder why you’re running from the one guy who lights you up.”

My steps slow to a halt. Lights me up? As much as I want to, I can’t deny that I feel something when I’m around him. Alive. Energized.

“I don’t know.”

But I do. I’m a sham. I am not cool and collected. Half the time, I’m terrified to take any risks. I’m afraid anything I truly want will get ripped away and I’ll be that insecure girl on the outside looking in once more.

When it comes to Rye, he has the power to pull the rug out from under me. When I got physical with him, I only gave him more of that power. That knowledge lies on my skin, making it feel too tight. And yet I cannot lie to myself: I crave more of him.

Jules watches me carefully. Whatever she sees in my face has her tone softening. “I know one thing. You don’t let a man like Rye see you sweat. He’ll never let that go. Get back to New York and face him head-on.”