Page 30

Rocket

T he sun is setting, the crew is working at a snail’s fucking pace, and the guy running the auger keeps glancing at me like I’m going to sign his ass to a record label.

Normally I don’t supervise shit like this, but since we’re off tour, the bands’ personal assistants were given the first month off, and this is on me.

Plus? This is something I want to do myself, like a dad who has his shit together.

Newsflash. I don’t.

At least that was my thought until these guys started dragging ass and taking twice as long as I was promised.

How hard is it to core some holes in the concrete and slip those tiny posts for the child fence into them?

My cell is tucked between my shoulder and ear while I move one of their rusted drill bits off the cushion of my patio furniture. Sandra drones on in her clipped tone about power of attorney and rights and who the fuck knows what else because as usual, I stopped listening ten minutes ago.

“You’ve stopped listening, haven’t you?” she asks.

“Of course not. I never tune out.”

Her laugh is rich and throaty and sounds like she’s upped her occasional cigarette to several packs a day. “You forget how long you’ve been my client.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” I roll my eyes and move to pick up a piece of plastic trash that has fallen out of one of the boxes the workers have opened.

“So, how’s it going? How’s dad life?” Her tone is cautious. Searching.

“It’s good. Better. Poppy’s adjusting well and getting more comfortable with ... all the changes. Willow’s keeping everything under control.”

“That’s good. Great. And how are you feeling about it all?”

Memories of the past four weeks flash through my head.

It feels like forever and just a minute—but the moments flicker like a slideshow through my head.

Poppy giggling on the kitchen counter the other morning and painting with pancake batter on the kitchen counter.

Her on a tricycle on the back grass, crashing into the cones I set up for a racecourse.

Stacking blocks up as high as we could before I used my head to ram them and knock them down—just so I could hear that belly giggle over and over.

The memories are starting to stack up, and the fact that there are some amazing ones causes my chest to ache in the best way.

I smile. “I’m slowly adjusting. It’s a big life change that I’m figuring out.

” I wave to the contractors as they say goodnight and head home.

“You got any idea what Olivia’s parents are thinking?

You don’t just call without a reason. Are they going push this? ”

There’s a pause on the line. I’m not going to like what comes next.

“I’m not certain yet, but my gut tells me that we need to start preparing for it. Testimonials from family and friends, people who know how you are with kids.”

My stomach tightens, and I bark out a dry laugh. “That might be tough because I’ve never exactly been around kids before. Not until”—I glance toward the back door—“now.”

“You have your bandmates and their kids. You’ve spent time with them, and no doubt they’ll vouch for you.”

“Exactly. That means it won’t hold any weight because they’re expected to vouch for me.”

“What about the nanny?”

“Nanny?” I repeat the word like it’s foreign because I realize I’m staring right at Willow, and every goddamn coherent thought I had seconds ago,vanishes.

Fuck me.

She’s standing in the doorway, and she’s not in the same athleisure outfits she’s usually in with her trademark braid.

Not in the least.

The black dress she has on? It clings to every dip and curve and thought I shouldn’t be having.

Her legs? They look a mile long in those heels, and I’m not ashamed to say I have immediate thoughts about what they’d look like digging into my ass as I fuck her.

Her lips? They’re painted a sinful shade of red, and the way she looks at me says she doesn’t have a shred of regret in her choices.

“Rocket? You still there?” Sandra asks.

“Uh, yeah ... I have to go though. Something just came up.” Like my cock . I hang up before she can ask why.

My dick aches. My fingers itch to touch. My lips beg to taste.

So much for anticipation.

This is full-blown torture. Like skintight, lipstick-wearing, legs-bared torture.

My swallow gets stuck over the desire lodged in my throat. “Going somewhere?”

Her slow crawl of a smile is a temptation in and of itself. “Yep. Tonight’s my night off. Remember. We talked about it last week. I suggested you call over Quinlan or Hendrix if you couldn’t handle it alone. It’s on the schedule I gave you.”

“Schedule?” There was a schedule?

“Yes. We talked—”

“We did.” I shake my head. “I’m having a hard time thinking anything at the moment with you standing there looking like that.”

“Oh.”

The way those lips shock in a puckered O have even more thoughts springing up.

“I thought you said you were going out for coffee ... or something.” Like knitting. Or dog sitting. Or anything that doesn’t involve that dress.

“Plans changed.”

No shit. Plans can unchange real fucking quickly .

“So a book club meeting?” I ask.

She grins. “Not tonight. Tonight we’re going out.”

“Looking like that?”

I’m doing everything in my power to keep my eyes on hers, but they keep dragging lower.

That dress . . . Jesus .

She glances down, then runs her hands slowly down the front of her dress—right where my hands want to be.

“Why? Is something wrong with it? Did I get deodorant—”

“No. God, no.” My voice breaks and gives a hint at what my insides feel like.

What’s it feel like to want, Rock?

We stare at each other.

Everything I’ve been trying not to think about overwhelms my thoughts—the curve of her hips, the way her mouth tastes when she bites her lip, the way she said my name that night I almost—

No.

Stop.

“Wait.” Her head startles, and she looks at the backyard while my eyes stay trained on hers. “You put in a pool fence?” she asks, her voice a mixture of surprise and gratitude.

“Yes. That’s what the guys were doing back there. For Poppy.” I grunt because fuck the pool fence. Especially when Willow’s going out tonight looking like that.

Other guys are going to see her tonight. Guys who’ll look at her and think the same sinful things I’m thinking right now. And they’ll be allowed to do something about it while I’m over here trying to fucking prove anticipation is all that. I never want to hear the word again.

“Rocket.” Her voice is soft, and tears well in her eyes. She either has no clue what I’m thinking, or she’s a damn good actress. She motions to the pool fence. “That’s the sweetest thing ever.”

I shrug and swallow. “Poppy can come out here now. Play back here without you having to worry.”

“Thank you.”

I swear to God if she steps up and gives me a kiss on the cheek to thank me, that dress will be on the floor in seconds.

Walk toward me, Willow. Pretty. Please .

“Poppy is ‘reading’ books on the couch,” she says. “Already fed and bathed. You know what to do next.”

“Yep. Get the wiggles out with music. Brush teeth then whatever it is she wants to do before bedtime. I’ve got it covered, Wills.”

I’d rather have you covered, though.

How can she seem so unfazed? So nonchalant? But the thought lasts for a split second as her own eyes drag down the length of me and no doubt see my cock straining against the seam of my jeans.

A smirk plays at the corner of her lips. She fucking knows she’s turning me inside out, and she’samused.

“Who are you going with?” I ask it like it’s casual, like I’m not dying inside.

“My friend.”

“Friend?” If she says Bob or Steve, she’s not leaving.

“Yes. Lily.”

I breathe a little easier. “Where are you going?”

Willow chuckles. “What is this? Twenty questions?”

No, but it’s about to be. Because if I think about her out there in that dress for one more second, I’m going to handcuff her to the goddamn kitchen table.

“Where to?”

Willow shrugs. “Lily makes the plans. I just go along with them.”

Of course, Lily does. Of course, this is the one time she decides to be spontaneous and hot as fuck at the same time.

My palms sweat. My chest tightens. I want to be chill. I want to nod and let her go and act like this is no big deal, but instead, “Give me your phone.”

“Why?” She laughs the word out.

I hold my hand out. “Just ... give it.”

She narrows her eyes but hands it over.

It only takes me a few seconds to do what I need to do. To make a clear but subtle statement about where my head—and where my cock hopes—to be at.

I hold it back out to her just as a car horn honks out front.

“Perfect timing,” she says.

“You have fun,” I lie.

“Bye, Pops,” she calls over my shoulder into the family room. “I’ll be back in a while like we talked about, but you’ll be asleep. I’ll give you more kisses when I get home.”

Poppy’s curls bounce as she nods, but she doesn’t get up. She keeps turning the pages of her board book. In the moment, I’m not realizing it, but I know later it’ll sink in that her lack of a reaction means she’s comfortable with me.

“Maybe I should—”

“Go,” I say. “We’ll be fine.

“You sure?” She smiles, and the sight of it tugs on something inside me that I don’t understand.

“I’m sure.” Seconds ago, I was needing her to stay and now I’m begging her to go . Get a grip, Caldwell.

But before I can say anything more, the door closes behind her.

I stare after her like I’ve just been punched in the gut.

What the actual fuck is she doing to me?

I’m jealous—of the nanny. The fucking nanny .

I could snap my fingers and have a pool filled with naked women and get lost in any number of them. Women who wouldn’t hesitate. Women who wouldn’t ask me questions or talk about anticipation or wear goddamn dresses that make my whole body hurt.

But I don’t want any of them.

I want her.

And that? That’s the most dangerous part of all.