“How much time are you going to need off?” Brian asked, his fingers flying over the screen of his iPad. “Will we have time to add in a TV appearance or two with the happy couple? Shit, I know a guy who would go bonkers for the exclusive rights to a docu-series of the preparations beforehand. Think about it...they’d just shadow you—”
“No.” At this point my head was throbbing. My hands twitched beside me as I imagined wrapping them tightly around Brian’s neck in order to shut him up. “Quit asking.”
“But think about all the publicity, Chester. You, the asshole rock star, is getting hitched to a fiery Latina and breaking the hearts of millions.” Grabbing his bottle of water, he undid the top and took a swig. “It’s the least you could do for your fans.”
It’d been three days since Slim took off for Florida, and I was stuck in a never-ending cycle of meetings.
How long?
Is it necessary?
What about media coverage?
If it were up to my representation, my wedding would be made into a spectacle for the world to see. Over my dead body.
I owed no one.
“Gentlemen,” Rick spoke beside me, his hand on my shoulder pushing me down into my seat. He knew me well enough to see the anger mounting within. “If you haven’t realized by the vein throbbing on Cheeto’s forehead, the answer is no. Hell no. And last but not least, fuck no.”
“Drop it, B.” Heather put her notepad down and leaned over the table. Bitch brow set on him, she glared his ass down. “Chester made his thoughts vocal when he said no the first time. Quit pushing.”
Beside her, Cris shook his head. “Nope.”
“What about you, Tex?” All eyes turned toward the phone. Once again, the man was away, but this time, he never claimed to be heading home. Just up and left.
Came in one day, and not twenty-four hours later, he sent me a text saying he’d be back before my wedding.
My money was on him going to see Ashley in Colorado.
“I stand behind my brothers. Answer is no.”
“Fine!”
“Enough.” Chaz slammed his hands down on the table, causing his empty coffee cup to tip over. “This was my meeting. We’re here to discuss studio time and that single you mentioned last week. The one for Slim.”
“What song?” Brian threw his hands up in the air at Chaz’s words. “Why haven’t I been informed?”
“Because you’ve become a rabid dog with a bone.” Fuck him. I wasn’t going to mince my words.
He winced and then gave me an apologetic look. “Have I been that bad?” Everyone nodded. “Sorry, guys. It’s just that the execs over at—”
“Don’t. Push again and I’ll un-invite you.” I tacked on a smirk at the end to lessen the statement. While I thought of him as a friend, I wouldn’t hesitate to block him from this.
“Understood.” Looking down at his tablet, he tapped the screen twice before addressing us again. “There isn’t anything concrete for another month, so I’ll push everything back even further out.” Brian flipped the device around for us to see our schedules. “We’ll still be on time to do the European leg of the tour. Ticket sales have been insane. All shows are sold out.”
“How much time does that give me before I’m due back?”
“Seven to eight weeks, max.”
Nodding, I rubbed my chin. “Can I get some studio time in before Sunday, Chaz? All I need is two sessions to get the track down... I have the melody, hook, and lyrics all done. Just minor tweaks here and there left.”
“Done.” Heather mouthed a thank you to him, while my boys bumped my fist.
“I’ll be there,” Tex interjected before I could ask him. I needed all of them for this to work. “And, Cheetos?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m coming home.” Everyone in the room smiled. We all knew he needed—deserved the time alone to find a solution. Learn to deal with the blow life had dealt him. “She knows where to find me. Ball’s in Ashley’s court.”
“Everything will work out, brother,” Rick piped up with a smile.
“Word,” Cris added.
“To your mother,” Tex and I tagged on in unison, cracking everyone up.
“All right. Settle down, kids.” Brian clapped his hands in order to garner our attention. “Chaz will meet you in the studio on Thursday. Say...around three?” I nodded, and the others agreed.
“Works for me, but Cheetos buys lunch. Non-negotiable stipulation.”
“Are you bribing me, Chaz?”
“Of course!”
“Three words.” I’m such an asshole.
Tilting his head to the side, he eyed me suspiciously. “Speak up.”
“I’m. Telling. Mom.” At that, my boys lost it, while Heather reached over to give me a high five.
He blanched. “You two are evil.”
“Scared much?” my sister giggled.
“Focus, please.” Brian once again called us to order. He gave each of us a pointed look; I had to bite the inside of my cheek in order not to laugh. “In the meantime, I can keep Heather up to date with any changes while we plan a wedding.” Before I could protest, he held a hand up to silence me. “As your friend, not manager. We are all on vacation for the next two months. Let’s get this surprise ready for Arianna.”
“Thank you.”
I Love You...
“Don’t kill me.” Not exactly the words you want to hear coming from the woman you love. If I were any other man, I’d think the worst, but I was anything but ordinary.
No. This phone call was right on schedule.
Last night I’d left Brian and the boys with the task of finding suits. Shouldn’t be too hard; we had a stylist on speed dial for certain events, but they had to be smart about how they handled the chick. She meant well, but was nosy.
Knew her shit, but I needed absolute hush on what was going down. Telling her meant the paparazzi could find out, and then the trailing would begin. Insinuating. Insulting. Anything and everything to try and get the scoop.
Fuck and no.
Instructions were simple: all black with white dress shirts and no tie. They’d figure it out or show up in board shorts. Either way, they were warned.
“Que pasa?” My Spanish was shit, but hanging out with her crazy family had taught me a few things. Curse words being the most prominent. Who knew you could tell someone to go fuck him or herself in different ways depending on which country you came from. That one word could mean one thing in Cuba and for Dominicans it was something else.
“You’re so freaking adorable learning Spanish for me. God, I love you.” Not ashamed in the least to say I puffed out my chest at her words.
“Love you too, beautiful.” Clearing my throat, I tried to hide my amusement. Couldn’t let her get the smallest whiff of my master plan; I played the part of concerned fiancé to a T. “Babes, what’s going on?”
“I can’t make it back until next Wednesday.” Could almost see the pout on her face. Whenever she did, her tone would get the slightest bit whiny. So fucking cute. “Yuli needs my help.”
“Is she okay?”
“Yeah...”
Putting my phone on speaker, I checked my inbox for the text that had come through. “Help with what?”
Find THE dress is a go! ~Yuli
“Plan her cousin’s wedding. Well, more like help find the dress.” Arianna let out a long and tired sigh. “It’s in two weeks and they have nada. Not even an idea. How does that even happen?”
For a moment I felt bad. A moment. Minute. Not long lasting.
I owe you. ~Chester
This was all part of my evil-genius plan. Fake wedding for a woman whom, from what I understood, already had her dress. This was all for show. A way to get the perfect one for my girl.
One she picked under the guise of helping someone else.
Nope. This is my pleasure. :p ~Yuli.
Thank you. ~Chester
“Want some help?” Almost had the urge to bring my hands together—rub them together while I let out a fake, demented laugh.
“How can you help?” Cheeky little shit. “Unless you own a wedding dress factory I wasn’t aware of.”
Maria and I have this. Don’t worry. Do you want pics? ~Yuli
Did I? Too easy of a question.
No. I want to be surprised. ~Chester
“Brat.” Walking back into my bedroom, I threw myself on the bed with my phone lying beside my ear. Arm thrown over my eyes, I imagined her:
In her apartment lying on her bed. Naked, except for a tiny little pair of boy shorts. All white and cotton. Comfortable, yet sexy.
Innocent.
I pressed down on my dick. Groaned at the mental image.
“Are you imagining me naked?” This she whispered, and the sound of a door closing followed.
“Want me to?”
“Please don’t. Not now.”
“I’m not doing anything, Slim.” Slipping my hand inside my basketball shorts, I pulled my dick free. “Just talking.”
“Baby,” she whined, her plea making me jerk inside my hold. Tighten my fingers and hiss out a low expletive.
I was hard.
Slit leaking.
Almost volatile in my need for her.
“Fuck, I love your voice like that. Soft and seductive—hungry for my cock.”
“Can we Skype tonight? Please, I need to see you. Play a little.”
“Nine o’clock, Slim, and not a minute later.” Lowering my voice to an almost whisper, I pumped myself twice. “I want you see you come.”
“Papi, I—”
“Arianna Garcia, get off the phone this instant!” And there went my hard-on.
Her mother’s voice carried through the line. Loud. Demanding. Killer of arousal.
I went from rock hard to soft in the blink of an eye.
“Give me two minutes, woman,” Ari called back, a slight hint of humor in her tone. Little stinker found this shit funny.
Payback was a bitch.
“Is that Chester on the line?”
“Yeah.” Yup. She was definitely amused.
“Oh goody! Pass me the phone.” A rustle of the line, and she was on. “Mijo! How are you? You need to visit...it’s been too long. I was just telling Pipo that you guys needed to take the boat out and to the Keys...”
I was used to this now. My introduction to Hispanic mothers had left me petrified at first, but now I understand. You let them talk. Drop noncommittal sounds here and there, and hope you didn’t just offer her your soul.
They talk, and you listen.
“Sounds great, Maria.”
“Christmas in Cuba this year. Oh, my God I’m so excited...thank you, my love. Everyone in one place makes me so happy!” Maria didn’t take in a single breath while saying this. “I’ll call your mother this week and work out the details. Our first family reunion.” Woman was practically vibrating through the phone.
“Perfecto.” Added bonus for using Spanish: check. In addition, I like the sound of this trip. Everyone in one place and celebrating. “Is Ari in the room?”
“No. Yuli took her to get an opinion on something bogus.” Dear Lord, I could imagine her doing the air quotes and everything. The woman spoke with her hands, always flapping and expressive.
Was one of the things I adored about her family: you always knew where you stood with them.
“Okay. Good.” Rubbing my chin, I noticed my small beard needed a trim. My girl loved it, but it was getting out of hand. “And she doesn’t suspect a thing?”
“Nope. Not a one.” She laughed, and it reminded me of Ari’s. “But she is homesick...”
“Homesick?” Because my plans had always been to follow her. “Is she coming down with something? Do I need to fly in?”
Because I would. In a heartbeat if she needed me.
“Calm down, son,” she spoke low. “It’s just a figure of speech. You are her home—she’s missing you.”
“And I’d die without her.” That was my motherfucking truth.