My Soul To Keep (Soul Series Book 1) (14 page)

I’ve told her a lot about emancipating from my parents and coming to live here. Not everything, but more than anyone who doesn’t already know. She’s told me about her mom and the years she stayed in Georgia taking care of her. Her dedication, her sacrifice, challenges me. I’ve lived for myself all my life, and music and ambition have been the constant driving forces. It’s hard for me to imagine delaying my dreams for anyone. I’ve never had to.

“Rhys, are you still there?” My extended silence has pushed Bristol from irate to angry in seconds. “What do you expect me to tell these session players?”

“Tell them I had a last minute conflict, and like I said, we’ll pick up with the session Sunday night. It’ll be fine.”

“But I just don’t—”

“Bris, what’s your job?” She had to go and make me play the boss card.

Her heavy sigh huffs between us.

“To make your life easier.”

“Then do it.”

I slide my phone into my pocket and make my way back over to the couch where Marlon sits. I feel his eyes on me, but I just press the button to restart the game.

He pauses it.

“So this Pepper girl is worth cancelling a session that’s costing you thousands of dollars?”

God of the joystick, give me patience.

“Man, don’t start.” My eyes don’t leave the action paused onscreen. “Let’s just finish the game.”

I press the button. So does he. Pause again.

“Was that Bristol on the phone?”

I run my hands through my hair and scrunch my face up. Can we not just play the damn game? I was winning.

“Yeah, and can I say how creepy it is that you perv on Bristol?”

“Your sister’s hot.”

“Of course she is. We’re twins.”

“If that head gets any bigger . . .”

“Let me worry about my head.”

“Which brings me back to Pepper. You getting any head?”

Comments like that make me keep Kai to myself. Well, that and the fact that I just want her to myself.

“I’m not talking about her with you.”

“Oh, so you
like
her.”

I could deny it, but I do like her. And I haven’t talked to anyone about it. Certainly not Grady. He’d hang me by my thumbs if he realized I was still trying with Kai. I’ve visited his studio and “bumped into” Kai while I was there a few times. I’m sure it’s obvious from our banter and teasing that we’re friends, but he trusted me when I said I wouldn’t pursue her. We were both fools to think I’d stick to that.

“I like her, yeah.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds. So quiet that I risk a glance at the man who has been my best friend since we met at the L.A. School for the Arts way before I won my Grammys and he became known as Grip to his fans. Two misfits who clicked immediately even though I was a classically trained dork pianist who couldn’t buy a clue, and Marlon was a straight-from-the-hood wannabe rapper and spoken word artist flapping around like a fish out of water. We’ve seen everything the other has been through since we were sixteen, over a decade of friendship, so he knows girls don’t ever really move beyond the “tapped that” category with me.

“You for real, Rhys?” Marlon’s dark brows pique with his interest. “You catching feelings?”

Screw it. If I have my way—and I always do eventually since it’s one of the perks of being me—he’ll meet her soon enough. And the sooner I give him what he wants to know, the sooner we can get back to my Madden domination.

“Long story short, she wants to be just friends. I’ve accepted it, but I’m kind of biding my time because I know she feels more for me than she admits.” I toss the controller to the floor and lean back, resting my head against the cool leather couch cushion. “So yeah, catching feelings or some shit like that.”

Marlon turns the corners of his mouth down, nods, and fixes his eyes on me for more of the inquisition.

“How’d you meet her?”

“Through Grady. She’s one of his students.”

He rolls his eyes and sucks his teeth, the universal sound of disgust.

“Aw, man. An aspiring singer? You sure she ain’t just thirsty?”

“She’s not. She barely accepts a ride home from me, much less wants help with her career. It’s ridiculous.”

“What’s she look like?”

I don’t even want to show him what I have on my phone. Kai had beaten me again at movie quotes and was dancing around like a goofball. She literally did the sprinkler. I caught it on video. Even acting goofy, you can see the lean curves of her dancer’s body and that tight, plump ass. Her dark, tilted eyes laugh into the camera. Her hair is pulled up into this big knot on top of her head. She’s wearing no makeup, but you want to bottle the way her face glows. My heart starts pounding harder watching this ten-second clip. When I show Marlon, his mouth drops open a little.

“Damn, she’s hot.”

He pulls his finger over the progress bar like he’s planning to watch the clip again.

“That’s enough.” I grab the phone and slide it into my pocket and out of reach.

“So why haven’t we met her? You haven’t brought her around or anything.”

“You know what a bitch Bris is. She’d scare her off.” I point an accusing finger at him. “And you’d freak her out with that player thing you do. And Jimmi . . .”

Jimmi, Marlon, and I all met in high school. We count on each other. We share everything. But this? I’m not sure I want to share yet. I’ve never brought a girl around. Not a groupie, a
girl
that I won’t be able to hide how much I like.

“Well, there’s also the fact that Jimmi’s in love with you.” Marlon leans back into the couch and crosses his feet on the oversized tree trunk that is my coffee table.

“She’s not.” I hate it when he says that. I hate it because it may be true, and I don’t know how to fix it without ruining my friendship with the girl I’ve known since I had acne.

“What about last summer between you two?”

Jimmi wasn’t my only regret from the ten-city tour we did together last summer, but she’s the only one I have to face on a regular basis.

“All kinds of shit happens on the road,” I counter with a shrug. “It was a mistake.”

“Yeah, but when the girl wants to keep making that mistake over and over and over again for the rest of her life, that’s called being in love.” Marlon pulls his locks out of the elastic band holding them back from his face, freeing them to fall around his shoulders. “See, that’s why you need to introduce me to this Pepper. You don’t know women. I know women.”

“Is that why you’ve been asking my sister out for two years and have exactly zero dates to show for it?”

“We’re playing a game of cat and mouse, me and Bris.”

“More like Never Will I Ever.”

I have to laugh at myself for that one, which doesn’t please Marlon.

“So do we get to meet her soon or what? You could bring her to Jimmi’s birthday party in a couple of weeks.”

It’s a private party, so there won’t be any media. Kai has made it clear she doesn’t want anyone thinking her road to the top ran through my bed, so I want to protect her from the paparazzi circus my life can be when I’m out. It’s not for another two weeks, so there should be time to persuade her. She has friend zoned me so hard, I have no idea if the next few days will get me any closer to being . . . whatever I want to be to her. Boyfriend? Fuck, that sounds like I want to take her to the prom or something.

What would I call what I want us to be?

I just know I want to spend as much time with her as any day will allow. I want her slow-cooked molasses Southern drawl to roll over me and seep into all the cracks hard days leave behind. I want to fall asleep talking to her about music and wake up from dreaming about her naked to find her naked beside me. I want to teach her to play piano just so I can touch her fingers. I want to give her nice things because I know she’d never ask for them. Because I know she doesn’t need them. I want to taste her, to kiss her so deeply my tongue hits the back of her throat. I want those small, high breasts heavy in my hands. I want her nipples swollen when they brush the roof of my mouth. I want to hold her so close our heartbeats syncopate.

So what’s that called?

THIS MAY BE THE BEST SLEEP
I’ve had in months. Maybe it isn’t so much the sleep, as how I’m waking up. I’m curled up on my lumpy sofa, but my head rests on Rhyson’s warm, hard chest. Well-muscled arms cocoon me in strength and safety. And he smells absolutely divine. I pull in a long breath, relishing the clean scent of him even at whatever godawful time of morning it is. I hold my breath so my chest doesn’t rise and fall. I want him to stay asleep so I can enjoy this.

Being Rhyson’s friend for the last six weeks has been a lot harder than I thought it would be. I knew I was attracted to him, but I had no idea we’d grow so close in such a short time. That every day he’d make me laugh with some outrageous text message. That his thoughtfulness, picking me up when San couldn’t, would make me look forward to our short rides home and to our long talks at the apartment. And I didn’t take into account how much I would want to kiss him every few minutes. He’s the kind of guy I’ve dreamed about, but didn’t think actually existed. And being his friend—
just his friend—
is exhausting.

So I’m holding my breath and hoping he doesn’t wake up. I want to look my fill without worrying he’ll read too much into it. The first night I saw him, I wasn’t even sure he was handsome. Boy, was I wrong. He’s gorgeous. Everything is prominent. His nose. His wide mouth and full lips. His high cheekbones. It’s almost too much, like the man himself. Too gifted. Too smart. Too funny. Too . . . right. And yet, so wrong for me. I’d lose myself in Rhyson. Before I’d know it, I’d be off on his world tour, following behind him and neglecting my own dreams just to be with him. I’d sink everything into him, and I’ve seen firsthand where that leads.

“Kai,” he mumbles my name in his sleep but doesn’t wake up.

Does he dream about me? Does he think about me as many times a day as I think about him? Does his heart skip beats when he knows we’ll see each other?

His arms tighten around me, and I don’t have the resolve to wake him up. His big hands run up and down my back, warm through the thin tank top I put on after work last night for the
Sex and the City
marathon. I haven’t been touched like this . . . ever. I’ve had a few boyfriends. Slept with a few guys, but even in his sleep, Rhyson is so tender with me. His hands move under the tank top until they caress my bare skin.

I’ll wake him up soon. I promise myself I will, but I can’t yet. It feels too good. One hand drifts down until he’s cupping my butt. I want to push my hips into him, relieve this pressure building between my legs. He groans, a frown pulling his dark brows together.

“Pep.” His sleep-husky voice seduces away what remains of my common sense. I slide my hands under his T-shirt. Oh, God. The lean muscles of his back flex beneath my fingers. He bends his head until his lips trace my neck. The layer of scruff on his chin is a prickly, tickly, tantalizing burn across my skin. Being touched by him, being kissed by him, even just on the neck, is heaven.

“Mmmmm.” He moans against my collarbone, eyes still tightly closed.

I have to stop this. He shouldn’t be kissing my neck. He shouldn’t be stroking my back. For the love of God, he should not be twisting my nipple between those long, gifted fingers, but he is. I push my breast deeper into his palm, needing the pressure. Needing his touch. An electric thread pulls taut from my breasts to my core. He hasn’t even kissed me, but I’m wet through my pajama bottoms. Embarrassingly wet, and I want his fingers on me. Pushing inside me until the world around me goes prismatic with an orgasm I know will be more spectacular than anything I’ve ever felt before.

I want him, but I can’t have him. Not and be who I want to be. Not and do the things I want to do. There’s too much of him. Not just physically. His presence. His talent. His fame. It’s this fabulous vacuum I won’t be sucked into. I’m afraid if I have him completely, he’ll take all of me.

I ease myself away, inch by careful inch, making sure not to wake him. My body mourns the loss of his hands and lips, his warmth, but I pull back until I can stand on shaky legs. I allow myself one last look. He settles back into the cushions, long lashes fanning down to cover the shadows I noticed earlier under his eyes. So much of his life happens late at night in studios while most people are sleeping. One day that’ll be me. The shadows under my eyes will be from doing what I love, what I’m meant to do. Not from waiting tables, teaching high school students dance routines, and reconciling Grady’s accounts.