Someone to Watch Over Me Page 25

  Dropping beside me, Tate rolled me into his arms. His hand skimmed over my side and rested on my abdomen, just below my belly button. His chin rested over my shoulder as we lay back to front and cheek to cheek. I steeped in the silence, welcoming the reprieve from insanity.

  “Now that you’re calm, can we discuss what just happened?”

  “Must we? I really don’t want to ruin this with talk of Carter’s damn phone.”

  “I could give a shit about Carter’s phone. I meant with Mini Cooper. Did you see his face when I yelled at him? Damn, that was traumatizing. I don’t think I can do it again.”

  “I told you parenting isn’t all shits and giggles.”

  “I’m realizing that. So how ‘bout we come to an agreement. You handle him if he’s bad, sick, needs to be bathed or changed and I’ll handle the rest.”

  “I don’t think that leaves much else.”

  “Perfect.”

  Chapter 18

  “Watching Carter square up his new toy for yet another photograph, I grimaced. The thing was a monstrosity that looked closer to a tablet than a phone. I knew because ninety-nine percent of the time, he had the device pointed toward me. It was penance for throwing his old phone under the bus tire. I was half-tempted to douse it with my ice water. One clumsy grasp, an accidental tip of my glass and I could render the thing completely nonfunctional.

  “Smile for me one more time, guys.”

  Tate pressed his cheek against mine and smiled. For him, I flashed my pearly whites and complied. Smirking, Carter pressed the shutter. The flash went off, temporarily blinding me. By the night’s end, I was going to have permanent floaters in my field of vision.

  “How many does that make now,” Tate asked, “three…four…sixty-six?” Lifting his glass, he took another swig of beer. We had stopped at some newfangled rock bar to stretch our legs and grab some dinner. After New York, we had hit New Hampshire and then headed back down toward Boston, where we spent the week before heading west to Buffalo and Pittsburg. We were now in Columbus Ohio in that lull between press interviews and sound checks.

  Anyhow, during that week in Boston, Carter took the time to purchase a new cell phone. He was still toying with the thing, or rather toying with me. I seemed to be the sole focus of his amusement.

  “Test shots,” Carter explained, reviewing the image. “I have to figure out all the bells and whistles. Since someone dropped my other phone and broke it.” His fingers swiped over the screen, a hint of glee in his eye as he glanced up at me. “Thanks for that by the way. This new one’s so much better.”

  Perhaps I should’ve thrown Carter under the bus tires instead of the phone.

  “This thing’s state of the art.” Turning the steroidal phone around, Carter offered us a peek. “Good huh?”

  Actually, it was a freakin masterpiece. The composition and lighting were flawless. My eyes were blue, not red. He even removed the freckle under my right eye. “I’m impressed.”

  “I know it’s great, isn’t it? Watch this.” Another tap of the screen and the image came to life. Good lord, he made a slide show, with music and everything. “I can post this, right?”

  My God, the guy had a one track mind. There were images of me, me, me, Levy and me, me again, Tate and me, oh, and me. I must’ve made a face, because Carter went on defense.

  “What? I asked first!”

  “But they’re all of me!” I exclaimed. “Why don’t you take pictures of the guys? You could post pictures of them getting a cough test and they wouldn’t care.”

  “I’ve been taking pictures of them for ten years, Coop. How many more do we need of Shane playing the drums or Jake on keyboard? I need fresh subject matter. Besides, you owe me after going all ‘I’ll get you my pretty, and your little cell phone too!’”

  “Cooper.”

  Oh, there it was…the name. Tate was using both syllables. They were ganging up on me. This was two against one. Where was the justice? “What?”

  “There’s nothing in those pictures that he doesn’t already know.”

  He.

  Grant.

  I hadn’t given a conscious thought to why I was reluctant to post the images. Lying low was ingrained after two years of harassment and innumerable threats on my life. But Grant already knew about Levy, and the whole world knew that Tate and I had eloped to Vegas.

  So what was I actually hiding?

  “Ok. Fine.” I dropped my napkin on my lap, where I had been wringing it anxiously around my fingers.

  “Coop,” Carter apologized, backpedaling, “If you don’t want me to…”

  “No, he’s right. Go ahead and post ‘em.” I guess Grant couldn’t want to murder me more than he already did. It was a particularly atrocious philosophy and the fact that I contemplated and drew that conclusion was disturbing. I felt like Grant was dragging me down the path of insanity with him, and even should I survive when all was said and done, I would never be whole again.

  “…on,” Tate said, sliding from the booth. Expectantly, he held out his hand. Too embarrassed to confess that I wasn’t paying attention, I took his hand and let him help me from the booth. So I was completely caught off guard when he stopped between the next set of tables and swung me into his arms. With his right hand, he lifted mine to shoulder height, his left slid around my waist, keeping me snug against his chest.

  “What are you doing?” I asked dumbly.

  “I think that’s fairly obvious.” Slowly, he began revolving us in a small circle, in rhythm to the girl singing terribly out of tune on the karaoke machine. “Living in the moment, Coop.”

  A smile spreading across my face, I rested my chin against his chest. “You’re just full of surprises.” Wonderful surprises.

  “I can’t disclose all my secrets at once. I have to ration them out slowly so that you don’t lose interest in me. Grow bored. Leave me.”

  “I don’t think that’s possible.”

  “Because I’m amazing?”

  “Because we skipped right to the milestones in life and missed all the tiny details in between. I still have much to learn about you.”

  “There’s not much to tell. You know all my idiosyncrasies.”

  “Like eating beef jerky even though it gives you noxious gas?”

  “It tastes good.”

  “I don’t know when your birthday is. When did you start singing? What your first or worst job was. Where your happy place is—”

  “That one’s easy,” he interjected with a lascivious grin.

  “Pervert.”

  “It’s true. It’s my favorite place in the whole wide world.”

  “Only because you haven’t fucked my mouth yet.” I smiled widely, half embarrassed, half in triumph at the shifting expression on Tate’s face as he processed my response.

  “Grease,” he said, changing the subject. “It was the first time I sang. I was in a high school musical in my sophomore year.”

  “Did I catch you up short? I did, didn’t I?”

  Tate placed his foot just past mine and dipped me back. This also put me in a position to feel his erection against my hip. “Moving on,” he explained, pressing a kiss to my lips as he lifted me back up, “before I’m tempted to drag you into that rather seedy bathroom in the back.”

  “Preciate that. Whom did you play?”

  “Lead, of course. Danny Zuko. You?”

  “Lead, of course. Sandy Olsson.”

  Trying not to laugh when Tate’s face scrunched up, I watched him shrill out the first few lines for the closing song. “I got thrills. They’re multiplying. And I’m losing control. 'Cause the power, you're supplying. It's electrifying!”

  “I’m impressed. You still remember the lyrics.”

  “Every one of them. All the moves too.”

  Teasingly, I pressed my fingers to my lips with mock incredulity. “Nooo! You can remember back that far?”

  “Coop…” Tate drawled, his tone thick with warning, “Don’t make me show you up i
n front of everyone here.”

  “Is that a challenge?”

  “You keep knocking my age…”

  “It was—what—ten years ago?”

  Rolling his eyes, Tate looked away. “Something like that.”

  “Oh my God, it was more than ten, wasn’t it?” How old was he now, twenty-eight…twenty-nine? Quickly, I did the math in my head. “That was fourteen years ago!”

  “Thirteen. I’m not twenty-nine yet.”

  “You can’t possibly remember all the moves.”

  “Trust me, I remember. The whole thing was horrendous. It’s burned into my memory. Grease. Gah. I’d sooner sing Celine Dion.”

  “Then why did you do it?”

  “Belinda Cummings played lead. She had great tits.”

  “Oh? Did it pan out for you?”

  Tate grinned crookedly in answer.

  “Was she your first?”

  “Do you really want to know the answer to that?”

  “What do I care? I was nine and playing with Barbie dolls.” I bit my lip to hide my smile. “I hadn’t even hit puberty and you were already having sex.”

  “Cooper. Jesus.” Tate rubbed his eyes, chasing the thought away. “Please don’t put images like that in my head.”

  “So, was she?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it good?”

  “We were kids. It didn’t take much back then.” Shooting me a look of warning, he said, “And don’t you dare say anything. I’ve more than made up for our first time together.”

  “I wasn’t going to.”

  “What else do you want to know, the weirdest place or position? Do you want to know how many I’ve slept with or if I’ve slept with any celebrities?”

  “God, no, I don’t want to know your whole history. I don’t have all day.”

  “Funny.”

  “Seriously, though, just the first. The first is different. It’s somewhat bittersweet, I suppose. Were you in love with her?”

  “I thought I was at the time.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “Melissa Miller.”

  I snorted, and laughed silently. At least he was honest. “What makes you so sure you’re in love with me?” For all I knew he might only be with me on some misguided belief generated by his father’s illustration. Or he might’ve liked the chase. It couldn’t have been often that girls ran the other way. Yet a third thought popped into my head. Perhaps he just liked to play the hero. I fit the bill for the damsel in distress.

  Contemplating, he lifted his shoulder. “The other girls, I never felt the desire to keep them around. They didn’t fit. With them, it was all about fortune and fame. But you’re different. You want to make music. You get it. I can talk to you and get an intelligent answer, even if it’s not what I might want to hear. You don’t idolize me, you know?”

  “Oh, I idolize you. Trust me.”

  Tate grinned sheepishly, but pressed on. “It’s not just that. Other than your obvious attributes, you get along with the guys—” My expression must’ve shifted, revealing my disagreement, because Tate paused and shook his head. “It might not seem like it, but they do actually like you.”

  “They have an odd way of showing it.”

  “Carter’s trying. You have to admit, he’s toned down the last few days.”

  He had. Ever since I told him that I hated him, he pretty much left me alone. Well, I thought he had, but now that I saw the pictures he had been taking on the sly, I knew that wasn’t the case. He was like my own personal paparazzi.

  “And Shane might be upset that he lost his drawers, but you noticed him, truly and honestly noticed him for his artistry. He appreciates that more than he’ll ever admit.”

  “You don’t have to mediate, Tate. I can get along.”

  “You more than get along, Coop. That’s my point. You can hold your own. They respect you. So whether it was fate or coincidence that we crossed paths, I don’t care. I’m thankful. It’s not often that you find someone that both you and your friends like.”

  “Ok, so your happy place is between my thighs, you were in Grease during your sophomore year because Belinda Cummings had great tits, and you love me because your friends approve—”

  Chest shaking with silent laughter, Tate asked, “Can we quit this line of questioning now?”

  “Are you sure you want to leave it at that? Right now, I have the impression I married someone shallow. If we keep going, at least you’ll have the chance to redeem yourself.”

  “You’re right—next question.”

  “When’s your birthday?”

  “June twenty-seventh.”

  “Worst job.”

  “I never had a job other than singing.”

  “You really suck,” I declared. “Your dad didn’t even make you work a normal job so that you would learn morals, ethics and build social skills?”

  “No.”

  “That’s what happened to you.”

  “Yes, are we done now?”

  “You don’t want to turn the tables?”

  “Another time.” Tate’s smile faded. He pulled me close, slowly revolving us to the music that was no longer playing. Resting my head against his chest, my mind wandered, speculating over his hesitation regarding my past. A second later, it dawned on me.

  “Grant wasn’t my first.”

  “That’s actually a relief.”

  “His name was Sean McCreary. I—”

  “I really don’t need to know any more,” Tate interjected. “While I’m glad it wasn’t Grant, I have to confess, I can’t remain as objective as you have. No matter how narrow-minded it sounds, no guy wants to hear about his wife’s past lovers, be—”

  “It is narrow-minded, completely narrow-minded! I didn’t get mad about Belinda Cummings big tits, but you can’t listen to my story?”

  “I really have no desire to know if he rocked your world or not.”

  My mouth popped open. My lips curled up at the corners. “You’re afraid that I’ll say he was better!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “You know what—now you’ll never know.”

  “You didn’t deny it! My God, Coop, you’re supposed to deny it! You’re supposed to bolster my masculinity and say, ‘No, Tate, you’re the best I’ve ever had.’”

  “It’s going to eat at you, not knowing, isn’t it?”

  “Coop.”

  “Song’s over.” Smirking, I backed away, slipped from his arms.

  “Coop, come on.”

  “Have to use the ladies room.”

  Tate’s eyebrow arched at this. “The seedy one in the back?”

  “Don’t even think about it,” I threw over my shoulder. Nevertheless, Tate began following me through the restaurant.

  “I just thought maybe I should go back there with you. You know, I could make sure no one walks in on you.”

  “It has three stalls. It’s meant to accommodate more than one person at a time.”

  “See? That’s practically an invitation.”

  “Of the same sex.”

  “I’m not really into mé—”

  “You’re not coming in.”

  “Are you putting your foot down?”

  “Yes.” Turning to face him, I placed my hand on his chest, watched his expression dissolve into a pout. He took my hand, fiddled with my fingers. “Tonight,” I promised, “I’ll wait up for you.”

  “I like it better when you wait for me backstage.”

  “Levy will be in bed.”

  “I’ll have to hire a nanny.”

  “An ugly nanny,” I qualified, “or at least one that isn’t your type.” Teasingly, I cocked my head to the side in wonder. “Is there such a thing?”

  “Anyone that isn’t you, Coop. That’s a very narrow field, like one in…oh, let’s say about seven billion.” Testing my resolve, he leaned in and kissed me, slowly, sensually. He stroked my tongue, nibbled my lip until every nerve ending stirred and tingled. I fo
und myself drawing closer despite the audience surrounding us. When he broke the kiss, my lips turned into a pout.

  “Can I change my mind?”

  “Nah, I think I’ll wait. I wanna take my time with you.”

  “Why not both,” I suggested from under my lashes. “Fast now. Slow later. Just the way you like it.”

  “One in a billion.” Stealing one furtive glance, he made sure nobody was looking. There wasn’t. The ‘seedy’ bathroom was in a small hall in the right rear of the restaurant. Tate called it seedy because it was secluded and the hall was dim, but the three-stall bathroom was actually roomy and reasonably clean. We had Levy with us, after all. It had to be family oriented.

  When the coast was clear, Tate pushed the door open. We stumbled into the bathroom, yanking at each other’s clothes. Abruptly, he broke the kiss. He whirled and shoved me back out.

  “Hey!” I exclaimed, caught off guard. I laughed. It was obviously occupied. Whomever we’d barged in on was probably just as surprised as we were. “Take it ea—”

  I didn’t get the chance to voice my complaint. Tate shoved me forward, essentially herding me away from the bathroom. It was all I could do to keep from falling down. Behind him, the door opened. A man stepped out. I immediately recognized him despite the shoddy dye job.

  Grant.

  A scream stuck in my throat as he lifted his hand. Nestled in his palm was a chunky old revolver. Everything slowed to a crawl. I think the angry sneer on Grant’s face would remain forever in my memory. His lip curled back, his dark brows shadowing his cornflower blue eyes.

  I heard a loud pop. My ears began to ring, after effects of the gun blast. I yelped or screamed, possibly both. Tate dropped, taking me with him to the floor. People began screaming. “Down!” someone shouted. “Get down!” More gunfire. Tate curled himself around me, over me, used his body to shield mine. Those who decided to run for the exit reconsidered their decision and dropped to the floor around us. Tate pushed my head down.

  A distance away, Levy was crying. I’d know his cry anywhere, though he sounded muffled to my ears. He was alive. That’s all that mattered. If he was crying, he was alive.

  “Stay down,” Tate ordered. “Goddamn mother fu—damn that hurt.”