Chapter 8

Mason

“I was thinking we could hit the hardware store next,” I said, after paying for my purchases in the clothing store Nicole had taken me to, “so I can get moving on some projects around the house while I’m here.”

“You don’t need to do that. You’re supposed to be taking a few days off to relax, not work.”

To hell with relaxing. I did more than my share of that while stuck on the tour bus for all those long hours. There wasn’t much else you could do while traveling between gigs, unless you were planning to write the next great American novel.

“I don’t mind,” I said. “I used to help my old man around the house as a kid. My talents go beyond being a drummer extraordinaire.” I winked at her, doing my best not to think about how her lips had felt against mine not that long ago.

Doing my best not to think about how she would taste if she kissed me again—only this time deeper, longer, harder.

“I feel bad letting you help me with house-related projects,” she said.

I pulled open the store door and waited for Nicole to exit, then followed after her. “Like I said, I don’t mind at all. And after the hardware store, how ’bout we get some ice cream?” You could never have too much ice cream.

The supermarket-sized hardware store wasn’t too far away. “What are you looking for?” she asked as we wandered down an aisle, with me pushing the shopping cart I’d insisted we would need. Various styles of sliding bolts and locks adorned a section of the wall.

“You need a new latch for your back gate.” The other one was missing. All that was left were the holes from where the screws had originally dug into the wood.

“I don’t need a new latch.”

“Do you know where the old one is?”

She considered it for a second. “There wasn’t one when I moved in.”

“Well, there will be by the time I’m finished. It won’t keep anyone out, but if you ever have kids, you’ll thank me.”

She laughed, and God, I couldn’t get enough of the sweet sound. “I’ll be sure to send you a thank-you card once they arrive.”

“You do that,” I said with a snicker. I surveyed the assortment of iron sliding bolts and selected the hardiest one. By the time I’d finished hunting for everything, the shopping cart was filled with an odd assortment of home improvement supplies—everything from lightbulbs to tools to a new showerhead, which she’d insisted she didn’t need. I’d used her shower this morning, so I had to disagree with her there.

“How attached are you to the wallpaper in your kitchen and hallway?” I asked as we strolled down the paint aisle.

“Why?”

“I was thinking of removing it.” I would leave Zack the pleasure of removing it from the guest room.

Nicole folded her arms, head tilted to the side. “Do you have something against my wallpaper?” She tried to sound offended, but the humor in her eyes said otherwise.

“You mean beyond the part where it’s goddamn ugly?”

“It’s not ugly.” She laughed at my expression, which clearly said, You’ve got to be freaking kidding me. “Okay, it’s ugly. I’ll give you that. But won’t it be hard to remove?”

I had no idea, so I Googled the instructions for it on my phone. “It says it’s not hard, just time-consuming. But from the looks of things, we could finish it in a day. Then we’d just have to paint the walls afterward.”

“Are you sure? It’s not really necessary.”

I snorted. “I’ve seen your walls, Nicole. It’s necessary.” It just meant staying in Desert Springs one day longer than I had originally planned. No big deal.

“I don’t know….”

“It’ll be fun.” All right, fun might be a stretch, but it would give me something to do while waiting to get back on the road again with the band. I needed to do something physical, and you couldn’t get any more physical than this—if you didn’t count sex.

Nicole deliberated for a moment before finally agreeing to it. A short time later we had all the tools we needed, as well as cans of gray-blue paint, similar to what she had used in her bedroom.

“You shouldn’t be paying for this,” she said when I produced my credit card and handed it to the cashier before she had a chance to do the same. “It’s my house and my responsibility.”

“But you’re putting up with me for a day or two.” And what could I say? Helping Nicole around the house made me feel needed—something I hadn’t felt since those days when I’d helped the old man around the house. It gave me an odd sense of accomplishment I hadn’t experienced in a few years. A feeling of satisfaction different from what I got from being in the band.

“I’m hardly putting up with you. You’re fun to have around. Plus you’re helping me remove the wallpaper. I should be paying you for hanging out at my house.”

“Well, I’m insisting, and because I’m your brother’s friend, you can’t argue.” Weak logic, but it was the best I could come up with.

I really didn’t mind. I had the money, thanks to the band’s recent success. And I figured this was just part of paying Zack back for everything he had done for me. If my family wanted nothing to do with me, the least I could do was this.

“I’m buying the ice cream.” Her eyes had a glint in them, warning me that if I thought otherwise, there would be hell to pay.

I pushed the shopping cart to her car and we loaded the supplies into the trunk, then she drove us to what looked like a small barn with windows. Inside, the sweet smell of freshly made waffle cones instantly greeted us, and my thoughts drifted to the last time I had been in an ice cream store…with my father. He had insisted that nothing tasted better than ice cream in a waffle cone. Had to agree with him there.

Along one wall, country-themed giftware sat on decorative wrought-iron shelves. On the other side of the room, a glass-topped counter displaying tubs of ice cream took up almost the entire length of the store. On the wall behind it, the ice cream flavors were listed on a chalkboard. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen so many flavors of ice cream, frozen yogurt, and sorbet. Jared’s son would love this place.

And judging from the line stretching to the door, the store was popular—which was just as well. It gave me time to study the menu and narrow down my choices.

I wasn’t the only one captivated by the board. And because of that, everyone was too busy to notice me—other than a toddler with wild black hair perched in her mother’s arms. Head tilted to the side, she was studying me like I was someone from her favorite kids’ show.

I smiled at her and she grinned back, then hid her face in her mom’s neck. A pang of regret bit me in the ass at how much she reminded me of my sister when she was younger.

I turned back to Nicole to find her still studying the chalkboard. “What are you getting?” I asked.

“I haven’t decided what I’m in the mood for yet.”

“Not the triple-fudge?”

She lightly pressed her lips together—the look of deliberation. “I’m leaning more toward something fruity. Or maybe maple walnut.”

Good news for me. Since she’d ruled out the heavy hitters, it meant she didn’t view our time together as the equivalent of a bad date.

“What about you?” she asked.

“Cappuccino fudge sounds good. And I think I’ll also have maple walnut. And vanilla bean.”

“Three?”

“Hey, I’m a growing boy.”

The toddler next to us giggled. Her father was tickling her and she was squirming in her mother’s arms.

“She’s cute,” Nicole whispered, also watching the happy family. Judging from her expression, I wouldn’t be surprised if her ovaries were getting excited over the prospect of one day having her own toddler in her arms. A toddler who was giggling because her father was tickling her.

“She is,” I said. Without realizing what I was doing, I brushed my thumb up and down Nicole’s bare arm, as if to reassure her that one day it would be her. She would experience the life she dreamed of, with the husband and kids and pets.

With a soft smile, she returned her attention to the menu. “Whatever flavor I get, I’m going to have it in a waffle cone. They make the best ones I’ve ever tasted.”

A waffle cone was a given for me. It was impossible to have three scoops of ice cream in a regular cone, since the law of gravity was not in your favor.

The main door opened and a group of teenage girls entered, talking and giggling. None were paying attention to anything beyond their conversation…at least not until one of them looked in my direction. She came to an abrupt halt. The girl behind her slammed into her, not expecting her to stop so suddenly.

By now the other girls had realized something was up, and they were peering in the direction of her gaze. They all stared at me for a heartbeat, as if their own eyes were deceiving them. Then, in unison, they screamed in the way girls do when they see their favorite musicians and actors. One or two of them looked like they might faint.

Even without checking over my shoulder, I could sense the puzzled glances behind me, wondering what the heck was going on.

“Does this usually happen?” Nicole asked under her breath.

“Not all the time, but definitely more often when I’m not in L.A. People there aren’t so fazed by seeing celebrities.” Or at least the non-tourists weren’t so fazed.

“Oh my God,” a tall blonde shrieked, “aren’t you Mason Dell from Pushing Limits?”

“Of course he is,” her short brunette friend said, sounding mildly irritated at what she perceived to be a dumb question. She glanced around the store, possibly checking to see if the rest of the band was here.

Finally getting over the shock of seeing me, they joined the end of the line, where Nicole and I were standing.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on tour?” the brunette asked.

“We have a few days off, so I came to visit a friend.” No point giving the full reason for why I was here.

“And then you’re back on tour?”

I nodded.

“Wow, it must be so cool being famous,” the blonde said, this time in a calmer voice.

“I wouldn’t know about that. I’m not exactly famous.”

All five girls looked at me like I was insane. I guess if being featured from time to time in tabloids made me famous, then yes, I was. But as the band’s drummer, I wasn’t as well known as Nolan and Jared. Whenever we were at fan events, their names were the ones most frequently yelled out.

“Well, that doesn’t matter,” the brunette said. “You’re still my favorite drummer when it comes to rock music. I just wish I was half as good as you.”

“You play?” I asked.

“Yup. I’ve been playing percussion in the school band since middle school, but I’ve only started playing on the drum kit like yours.”

I thought for a moment. “Is there a music store in town that has drums?”

“Sure, on the corner of Robertson Boulevard and Twenty-third Street.”

“Good. If it isn’t an issue for them, maybe I can show you a few things on their kit. I didn’t exactly bring mine down with me.”

Her eyes widened, and it looked like she could barely stop herself from jumping up and down, like a little kid on Christmas morning. “You’d be willing to do that?”

“Sure, why not?” That was how I’d gotten my start too. A guy at the music store showed me a few things on the drums and I was hooked. The least I could do was pay it forward. Plus it might not be a bad idea to appease the karma gods, because payback from all the pranks I’d pulled over the years was going to smart like a bitch. “Can you meet me there in, say”—I looked at the time on my phone—“an hour?”

“Okay,” she squeaked.

“Can we come too?” her friend asked.

“I don’t see why not.”

“Next,” the girl behind the counter called out. Nicole and I stepped up to it and placed our order.

“No maple walnut?” I asked Nicole after she’d finished ordering hers. She had gone for mango and strawberry.

“I was hoping for a lick of yours instead.” She winked at me, and my dick twitched at the sudden thought of where else I’d like her to lick.

Down, boy. “I think that can be arranged.”

Once Nicole had paid for our ice creams, we went outside to the playground nearby and sat on the grassy embankment under a tree. Several little kids were running around playing tag, their giggles and screams filling the warm air. Seeing them brought forth questions I’d been able to ignore until now. Ever since my family had locked me out of their life, I had managed to avoid thinking about them. But the kids made me wonder if I had nephews or nieces I didn’t know about. Were they as oblivious to my existence as I was to theirs?

That possibility was like a rusty nail in my gut. Just because I was too busy with my career to have kids didn’t mean I didn’t want any in my life. I loved spending time with Jared’s son. But since my family had turned their backs on me, the only kids I would have in my life were those of my bandmates.

“This is really good ice cream,” I said, pulling my thoughts away from the nieces and nephews I’d never get to meet and focusing instead on what I could enjoy now. “Is that where you got last night’s ice cream from?”

“Only the best will do when dealing with crappy-date blues. I bet if the owners expanded outside of Desert Springs, they’d be rich from all the broken hearts they could heal.” She ran the tip of her tongue across her mango ice cream.

And the urge to run the tip of my tongue along those sweet, glossy lips poked me in the ribs, edging me on. “So your heart is broken from those bad dates?”

She laughed. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Have you ever had your heart broken?”

“In a way, I guess. But in my case it wasn’t a boyfriend who broke my heart. It was my father. He used to be a gambler. He almost destroyed my family.” A familiar sadness rolled over her, one I had witnessed with my family in the beginning, when I first struggled with my addiction.

That rusty nail in my gut felt like it had been upgraded to a blunt knife stabbing me repeatedly. I didn’t say anything, though. And I did my best to keep off my face any emotion that would betray the truth.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Zack never told me.” But it did explain why he had been so adamant about helping me when my gambling addiction pulled me down and almost killed me. “What happened?”

“We were living in Vegas at the time. And as far as we knew, he was just gambling occasionally, nothing more than that. Then one day Zack and I overheard our parents arguing. My father had gambled away the money they had saved for Zack’s and my college education. Not only that, they didn’t have the money to pay the mortgage that month. My mom borrowed some from my grandparents, and my father promised that he was done with gambling and wouldn’t screw up again.”

“But he did?” I asked, knowing the answer.

“That’s right. The lure was too strong. My mom begged him to get help. At first he agreed to do it. Later she discovered he never called Gamblers Anonymous. That was just another of his lies. She discovered how deeply in debt we were because of his addiction, and that because they were married she was legally responsible for his debts. She divorced him soon afterward and moved to L.A., where my grandparents live.

“She worked hard to give Zack and me the life she felt we deserved. She wanted to make up for everything. She worked long hours, making sure we had a roof over our heads, clothing, and food. She refused to date—she didn’t have time, and after what my father did to her, she didn’t trust men. She was afraid of ending up with another man like him. She kept telling Zack and me that we meant everything to her. That we were all she needed to be happy.

“She died of cancer several years ago, but before she died, she apologized for all the pain she had caused me and Zack because she hadn’t walked away from my father sooner.”

Each of her words twisted the knife a little more. Her father had been a lot like me.

“And that’s why you’re only interested in marrying a professional?” I asked.

“That’s right. My father was a mechanic. He never earned enough from his job to pay the bills, so he was easily lured into the gambling lifestyle.”

“There are plenty of professionals who get caught up in that lifestyle too. It has nothing to do with income.” I should know. I’d met plenty of them as they were dragged down into the same fiery pits of hell I’d eventually found myself in. Income, race, gender—none of it mattered. Gambling was an equal-opportunity addiction.

Her lips curved down at this revelation, and the itch to kiss her was too strong to ignore. I leaned closer and brushed my mouth against hers. Her sweet taste encouraged me to lightly run the tip of my tongue against the seam of her mouth. Her lips immediately parted and I plunged my tongue into her warmth.

I craved to make her forget everything her father had done to her. And maybe part of me just longed to forget everything I had done to my family.

Our kiss lasted no longer than a minute, during which I came to the conclusion that I couldn’t tell her the truth about my past. In the last few hours I’d had more fun with her than I’d had in…well, I couldn’t remember. I didn’t want the man I used to be to tarnish our limited time together.

“Our ice cream’s melting,” Nicole said, smiling once more. She licked hers. “By the way, your maple walnut tastes delicious.”

I barked a laugh. “Sorry, my brain just went into the gutter.” And it was thoroughly appreciating the view there.

A light blush swept across her cheeks, and damn, did it look hot on her. I chuckled at her reaction. “So what else is on your list of qualifications for this so-called perfect guy?”

“Other than being a professional, he has to have a steady job, no bad habits. You know, like gambling. His life can’t revolve around his job. I don’t want to be an afterthought. He has to be kind, sweet, have a good sense of humor, be honest.” Her gaze dropped to my forearm. “And he can’t have any tattoos or piercings.” She mumbled the last part, as if embarrassed to say it.

“So we can safely say I’m not on your list of perfect guys.” I playfully nudged her shoulder with mine.

She nudged me back. “I guess not. I mean, other than the part about being sweet and kind and honest and having a good sense of humor. And I have no idea if you have any bad habits.” She paused, as if considering this for a moment. “Do you have any I should know about?”

“Nope. None at all.” And that lie just erased the honesty vote.

The heat of the day made it necessary to stop talking for a few minutes while we finished our ice cream before it melted. What I really wanted to do was go back to kissing her. With just that one, I had already become addicted to her kisses.

But unlike with my previous addictions, there was no rehab center that could help me kick this habit. I’d have to go cold turkey—starting now.

“If you have something you need to do,” I said after popping the last piece of waffle cone in my mouth, “you can just drop me off at the music store. I’ll find my way back to your place afterward.”

“No, I don’t mind. I would love to watch you in action.” She bit into her cone.

“Well, technically, you won’t be seeing me in action. For that, you’d have to watch me in all my glory during a concert.”

“I guess that until that day happens, seeing you give some tips to a sixteen-year-old will have to do.”

A small warmth tickled me down to my bones that she wanted to watch me share a drumming pointer or two with the girl. Nicole could be doing something else, but she chose to hang around and watch me instead.

Once it was time to head to the music store, I pushed myself to my feet and held out my hand to help Nicole up. I must have pulled her arm with more strength and enthusiasm than I’d expected, because she took a staggering step forward and her body crashed into mine. My arms automatically went around her waist.

And Christ, did she feel good wrapped in my arms—like she belonged there.