Page 20 of A Way Out (Rock Star #2)

Chapter Nineteen

O z woke up alone on the day of the wedding, and frankly, it sucked.

It was stupid of him to feel that way. He had a king-sized bed all to himself; when was the last time he’d enjoyed that luxury?

Never, that’s when. Before his sister died, he’d had a double bed because the bedroom in his apartment had been too small to fit anything larger. And, of course, for the past four years, he’d bunked down on his mom’s couch.

He rolled onto his back and spread out, like Riley had been sleeping the night before when he’d invited Maria into his bed.

Yeah, he still didn’t like it.

He tried to tell himself it was because he wasn’t used to having so much space to himself, but he knew damn well it was all about Maria. He wanted her in his bed.

Time to get up, get away from the reminder. Get his mind off things that would never be.

He paused at the bathroom door. He didn’t hear anything, and there was no light coming from underneath, so he opened it to an empty bathroom. Hurrying across to the other door, he flipped the lock.

No more accidental meetings to tempt them.

After a quick shower, he went back to his bedroom, dressed, and headed downstairs.

Parker was already in the kitchen, cracking eggs into a bowl.

“It’s your wedding day,” Oz said. “I’ll do this.”

“You can come help,” Parker said, “but I need something to occupy my brain right now.”

Oz poured himself a cup of coffee and then started chopping vegetables. Looked like Parker planned to make omelets to order.

“Are you having second thoughts?” Oz asked.

Parker shook his head. “Hell no. But I am nervous. I have always been really good at screwing things up. The first thing that’s ever gone right for me is the band.”

“And your relationship with Lacey,” Oz pointed out.

“Yeah.” The guy sounded all sappy and dreamy. If Oz were any other guy, he’d make fake gagging noises right now.

But he wasn’t. He was a guy who secretly wished he could have what Parker had.

Not with Maria, but maybe, someday, with…someone.

Sam came into the kitchen, once again dressed for a jog. “Want to join me?”

“Hell yes,” Parker said, like he’d been waiting for his best friend to offer.

“I’ll pass,” Oz said, “and finish up here.”

“Appreciate it, man.” Parker slapped him on the back before taking off to go change.

Oz was fully aware of how little alone time could be had when staying in a house full of people, so he wasn’t surprised at all when, a few minutes later, he was no longer the only one in the kitchen.

Although he hadn’t anticipated Maria would be the first person to join him, with Riley on her hip.

“Morning,” she said, without looking at him directly.

“Hi, Oz.” Riley waved, grinning.

He pulled a mug out of the cupboard and added coffee and creamer and then slid it across the counter to Maria, who placed Riley on her feet so she could pour milk into a sippy cup.

“Thanks,” Maria said, taking a sip of coffee.

“Can I watch cartoons, Mama?” Riley asked.

“Sure, honey.”

Oz glanced over his shoulder. Maria retreated around the island and moved into the living room, where she helped Riley get situated on the couch and then turned on the television for her.

She returned to the kitchen a moment later. “Do you need help?”

Did he ever. Not the kind she was offering, unfortunately. No, it was fortunate she wasn’t offering what he wanted her to offer. Because his resolve was slipping, damn it.

He blamed the fucking happiness all around them. It was masking the reality that hovered, waiting for them to return. His family. His financial situation. Maria’s family. Her financial situation. And how very different they were.

Oh, and don’t forget the fact that she now held Oz’s purse strings.

“I’m good,” he managed to croak. “I’m pretty much ready to start making omelets. What would you and Riley like?”

“Riley will just have ham and cheese. As small as you can make it.”

“What about you?”

“Did you make salsa?”

“Of course I did.” He forced himself not to dwell on the fact that she even asked. It only meant that she liked salsa. Period. Not his salsa in particular.

“Good, because you make the best salsa I’ve ever had. How about a vegetarian omelet? With salsa, of course.”

Of course.

The day progressed as only a wedding day could.

The brides, the flower girl, the mother-of-the-bride, and the maids of honor took off to get their hair and makeup done.

Sam panicked because he couldn’t find his shoes, which Parker unearthed for him.

Parker asked a hundred times if Sam was sure he was okay with Parker marrying his sister, until Sam’s father told him to chill the hell out.

Flowers were delivered, but there weren’t any boutonnieres. Luckily, the wedding planner had arrived by that point, and she immediately got on the phone with the florist and ensured the situation would be rectified before the ceremony started.

The catering staff began setting up. The wedding planner and the florist started decorating.

Oz did his best to stay out of the way. He was just a guest; he didn’t have an important role until the reception.

When the ladies returned from the stylist, he happened to be wandering through the living area, on his way out to sit on the deck and maybe work on some new songs.

With the way the band’s popularity was growing, they were going to need to put out another album sooner than later, to keep the momentum going.

His proximity at the moment Maria walked in the door was both good and bad.

Bad, because it stole his breath away when he spotted her. Her face was perfect; her skin dewy, her eyes smoky and sexy, her lips full and pouty and painted burgundy.

Her hair had been loosely pulled away from her face and wrapped in what looked like a knot at her nape. A couple of chunky curls framed her face, softening the style.

She looked like an angel.

“Snap out of it, Oz,” Holly said, clicking her fingers for emphasis. “We have a problem.”

He shook his head, took in her freshly colored, silvery blue hair with the deeper blue roots. “You all look beautiful.” His voice didn’t even crack. “What’s the problem?”

“We’ve been outed,” Holly said.

Maria and Lacey both had their heads down, looking at their phones.

Instead of pulling out his own phone, Oz moved behind them, looking over their shoulders.

Definitely a mistake, because once he got a whiff of Maria’s flowery scent, he was immediately transported back to the night they’d shared together.

“What am I looking at?” he asked, forcing his brain to focus on the panic in Holly’s voice.

Maria pointed at her phone. “Your fans have figured out you’re in town. They seem to think there’s some secret concert tonight, and they’re trying to work out where it’s going to be.”

“Well, there kind of is,” Oz said.

Holly whipped her head up and glared at him. “I don’t want anyone to crash my wedding. Our wedding,” she amended with a swift glance at Lacey. “I want this to be our moment. They can figure everything out tomorrow, but not today!”

She sounded slightly crazed, which, Oz guessed, was a result of stress.

Lacey seemed calmer, probably because she’d only had eighteen hours or so to wrap her head around the fact that she was getting married.

“Go,” Maria said, giving her sister a push toward the stairs. “Get ready. I’ll handle this. Oz, I need you.”

Do not picture her saying that in bed, naked. Do not … He cleared his throat. “What can I do?”

“Where’s your guitar?”

“Out on the deck.”

“Good, come on. I want you to play something, and I’m going to record it. Then you’re going to post it and put your location as LA.”

It was a brilliant idea. Except for the part where he was about to play an impromptu acoustic session for Maria alone.

She situated a chair so that the backdrop was the nondescript wooden siding of the lodge, with nothing else in the shot, and then Oz sat and picked up his guitar.

“Any requests?” he asked, trying to make light of a situation that felt too intimate. That didn’t really make sense, since there were people milling all around, but did anything about this attraction to Maria make any damn sense?

“It might be cool to play ‘Why Can’t We Be.’ Lacey says that’s the next song you’re going to release.”

He shrugged. It was a beautiful song, but it wasn’t his song, so maybe it would help alleviate the intimacy of this situation.

“Unless you’d rather play something else.”

There were the lyrics he’d penned on the plane while Maria slept in the seat next to him. Since then, he’d added music. He’d planned to offer it up to the rest of the band, see if they wanted to include the song on the next album.

Problem was, it was a hell of an erotic track.

“You do,” Maria said, pointing her camera at him. “I can tell by the look on your face that you really like it, too. Play it.”

Shit.

“What’s it called?” she asked, positioning her phone, ready to record him.

He lifted his guitar, strummed it a few times to make sure it was still tuned and ready to go. Clearing his throat and keeping his gaze on the instrument, he said, “‘Desire.’”

She lowered her camera so she could peek over the top. “‘Desire?’”

He swiftly dropped his gaze again. “Yeah, it’s, uh, probably not ready anyway. You’re right. It makes way more sense to play?—”

“No. Play ‘Desire.’ I want to hear it.”

No, you don’t . He thrummed a few more times, seeking his rhythm even as he debated whether to actually go through with this.

The problem was, while he wasn’t comfortable playing this song alone, for Maria, he knew damn well it would be a hit.

It was bluesy and sexy and angsty, building to a desperate crescendo before the bridge shifted it to a soft ballad.

Lots of babies would be conceived to this song. He knew it in his gut.

And Maria would instantly know he’d written it for her.

“Ready?” she asked. Her phone was chest level, ready to record. She was all business.

Taking a deep breath, he let everything slide off his shoulders except the very real thrill of playing, even if he was only doing so for a party of one.

Or maybe that was exactly why it felt so damn good.

About a minute in, she stopped recording and stood there, watching while he finished the song, articulating all his feelings without actually speaking them. All she had to do was listen to the lyrics.

The song faded away, and she continued to stand there, continued to maintain eye contact. Her breath came in short spurts, her chest rising and falling much like it had when he’d made love to her.

“Maria…” He stood. He wasn’t sure what he planned to do. Hug her? Kiss her? Walk away?

It didn’t matter, because the moment he moved, she fled.

A shadow fell over him. He glanced up to see that Travis had taken Maria’s spot. He frowned and practically growled, “Don’t make me be the bad guy.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Oz asked.

“You know damn well who I’m talking about. Holly’s sister.”

“Her name’s Maria.”

“Yeah, and she’s practically our publicist.”

He knew what Travis was saying. She was tied to the band, which meant she was off limits.

“It’s not like that,” he said, turning to walk away.

Travis grabbed his arm. “It’s exactly like that.”

Oz shook him off. “So what if it is? I like her. I want to sleep with her. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“Bullshit.”

“You know what? Maybe you need to get laid. Maybe it will chill you the fuck out.” Oz deliberately knocked his shoulder into Travis’s as he finally pushed past him.