Surrender (Seaside Pictures Book 4) Page 2

  THE Drew Amhurst.

  This was the first time in a long time I actually felt good about someone full-naming me. I waved at Amelia and watched in fascination as Bronte turned back and then jerked away.

  I’d only ever interacted with her when she was at one of Braden’s concerts and hadn’t even been aware that they were in Seaside at the moment. Did they live here now? Or were they just visiting Braden? And how the hell was I supposed to dig for information from him when he’d rather bury my still-breathing body than give it to me?

  I started walking slowly back toward the studio, my grin still in place. Maybe I wouldn’t leave for LA next week, after all.

  Because something suddenly made me think that a little staycation was exactly what I needed.

  CHAPTER 2

  Bronte

  I was at the beach house alone, the same beach house that Braden had owned before buying something bigger and gifting this one to me.

  I needed the privacy, especially after dealing with paparazzi outside our small apartment when he first broke out — then the constant nagging from my ex. He wanted money. He just needed a little bit. He was so proud of his son.

  Bullshit.

  He saw a cash cow and held it against me when our own son wanted nothing to do with the father who’d abandoned him at ten.

  I shoved the lasagna into the oven, even though it was just me. Braden was at his home with his new fiancée, who I adored. And Amelia wanted to stay at a friend’s house since she was stressed out about the results from the doctor. I really couldn’t blame her.

  I just felt…

  Alone.

  Then again, that was what happened when you got pregnant at sixteen and had a fully grown man child already at thirty-nine. You get lonely. It was strange watching some of my friends marry later, only because now they were the ones with infants and toddlers. They were stressed out about daycare, breastfeeding, organic formula, and everything else under the sun, while I had a son who was out of college and ruling the world with his music, a daughter who was currently in her freshman year of college, and another daughter who was in high school.

  I frowned down at my hands.

  They looked frail, but I was still in my thirties — the last year of my thirties. My body didn’t feel as tight as it used to be, because it wasn’t. And everything about me just felt off.

  As if I’d missed it somehow. I’d created these perfect humans, but now that it was time for me to enjoy them and enjoy the empty nest, I’d never felt so empty.

  I poured myself a glass of red wine and stared at my reflection in the perfect double oven.

  Dark chocolate hair with shots of red, bright green eyes, and so short in stature my own son had towered over me by the time he was twelve. I had curves that most people would kill for, which meant if I as much as breathed next to chocolate, it looked as if I’d gone into anaphylaxis.

  In my mind, my face was passable, skin a pale ivory, thanks to my Irish heritage. My body was at least better than average, but my height killed any extra points I got in that arena.

  Was it so much to ask for someone to just—? I didn’t even know. It wasn’t like I wanted to jump into another relationship, right?

  I took another gulp of wine, just as my phone buzzed.

  Probably Amelia.

  It buzzed again.

  And then one more time.

  Seriously?

  I set my goblet down on the white granite countertop and picked up my phone. The number was unknown.

  Unknown: Thinking about me?

  Unknown: I’m thinking about you…

  Unknown: Am I your favorite too?

  What the heck!

  What pervert had my number?

  I texted back immediately.

  Me: Hey creeper, I don’t know you, and I’m pretty sure you don’t know me, so do us both a favor and lose this number.

  I rolled my eyes as the bubbles appeared. They were texting back?

  Unknown: I could be a girl.

  Me: Girls are too intelligent to steal a random number; also, we’re a lot less desperate.

  Unknown: Ouch! Would it help if I sent a selfie?

  Me: Swear on your life, if you send me a dick pic, I will file a police report.

  Unknown: Damn it, caught.

  Who was this insane person?!

  Me: Gross. Just. Leave me alone!

  Unknown: See, that was the thing. You kind of inspired me today. I’m thinking we should be friends.

  You know you’re desperate when a pervy stranger offers friendship, and you almost say, “Sure, yeah, that sounds good. Wanna come over, say around eight sharp? Bring popcorn!”

  Me: Find other friends.

  Unknown: They don’t inspire me the same way you do.

  Me: Maybe they’re shitty friends? And do I even want to know what inspire means?

  Unknown: I’ll send you a pic.

  Me: Yeah, we’ve been over this. Don’t send me—

  I stopped typing when a picture appeared of a notebook with words scribbled down. Poetry? Huh?

  I deleted my original text and started over.

  Me: You’re a poet?

  Unknown: Sort of.

  Me: So?

  Unknown: Five pages, you inspired five full pages. That’s a big deal.

  Me: I’ll make sure to let myself have extra dessert tonight. Bye.

  Unknown: We should hang out.

  Me: You are seriously creeping me out right now. I don’t know you!

  Unknown: Well, I guess that was true. We did meet briefly. I was somewhat of an ass to you by not recognizing you right away and commenting on your daughter’s eating habits because I was worried she was too thin. Then again, the entire conversation is a little bit of a blank. I was focusing too hard on your hair.

  Unknown: You still there? Or did I manage to take the creepiness to the ultimate level? Shit, you’re getting a restraining order, aren’t you?

  With shaking hands, I texted back.

  Me: Drew? Amhurst?

  Unknown: Just Drew. Don’t full-name me, I beg you.

  Me: HOW did you get my number? I said, no!

  Unknown: Amelia deserves a friendship high five, maybe move her to the top spot in your little circle. I begged her for it, and she’s sixteen, so we made a deal. Concert tickets and an Instagram shout-out for her mom’s number. It was almost too easy…

  I burst out laughing.

  Me: Too easy, huh? She said you wouldn’t stop talking about your pet goldfish and the bunion on your foot!

  Unknown: (Gasps) Ground her. Immediately. Bunions? I’m thirty-six! Do people really get bunions at thirty-six? Never mind, don’t tell me. I’ll have nightmares about feet, and the last thing the world needs is me rhyming bunion with Funyun in my next song.

  Me: The world is not ready, Drew. Not even a little bit.

  Unknown: That’s something a true friend would say…

  I sighed and then realized I was smiling, smiling so hard at my phone that I probably looked insane.

  Me: I’m ignoring that. Is there a reason you needed my number? Why not just ask Braden?

  Unknown: Because I like living, and he’s a redhead. Do the math.

  Me: He’s harmless.

  Unknown: Unless you push him, and then his temper is legendary — Side note, you should have pinned a warning to his shirt when I took him that first weekend: Does not like pranks.

  I laughed again.

  Me: And where’s the fun in that?

  Unknown: I nearly froze to death when he locked me out of my own house, all because he wanted me to say sorry in a convincing way that didn’t make him want to set my house on fire.

  Me: What did you do?

  Unknown: Oh, I put snakes in the toilet, classic.

  Me: How old are you?

  Unknown: It was a welcome prank!

  Me: Wow.

  Unknown: Are we already breaking up?

  Me: Were we together?

  Unknown: Only i
n my soul.

  Me: …what do you really want?

  The little bubbles popped up. I held my breath like an idiot waiting for him to say something like “you,” when I realized I wouldn’t even know what to do with this sort of man. He was a handful — an arrogant, rich, famous, handful.

  Who also made sure my son survived fame, my heart reminded me.

  But still!

  He dated supermodels, literally.

  Unknown: I want to come over.

  Me: I don’t do one-night stands.

  Unknown: Yeah, you should have let me finish. Now you’re going to be embarrassed. I was going to say I want to come over, have nice adult conversation, steal sips from the wine you’re probably already drinking, and eat whatever dinner you just put in your oven.

  Me: ARE YOU SPYING ON ME?

  Unknown: Do you want me to answer that truthfully or just pretend I’m not in my car outside after forcing a bandmate to pry it out of Braden where you were staying?

  Me: You’re an arrogant creepy ass.

  Unknown: So that’s a yes? Also, I’m not creepy. You’ve known me for five years.

  He wasn’t wrong, but our paths rarely crossed! Even at the Grammy’s, he was too busy being him to even notice me. Right?

  The loneliness was clearly winning out as I chewed my lower lip then finally typed back.

  Me: One hour, you can stay for one hour. Keep your hands to yourself, and your rockstar swagger turned on low or completely off, got it?

  Unknown: You scare me.

  Me: I’m a mom.

  Unknown: I’m going to just not reply what I’m thinking.

  Me: What?

  Unknown: If I told you, you wouldn’t let me in, and I’m about ten seconds away from knocking on your door.

  I threw my phone against the cushion, sprinted toward the hall bathroom to make sure nothing was stuck on my face or in my teeth, then barely managed to take a deep breath before my doorbell rang.

  What the hell am I doing!

  Loneliness had driven me insane.

  Hey, it could be worse, I could be on drugs. Ha.

  Or hoard cats.

  Or… I stared at the solid black doors and gulped.

  Drew Amhurst, the Drew Amhurst, the guy who I’d obsessed over during high school, the guy whose face had been on my teenage walls more times than I could count.

  Was seriously at my door.

  Breathe, just breathe.

  I slowly opened it up a crack and then all the way.

  Damn, I should have closed it in his face.

  If this was turning the swagger to low, God help all women when he had it on high.

  He was in a different outfit than before, braced across the doorframe with a lazy smile on his face, his eyes honing in on mine. Earlier, he had been wearing sunglasses; now I knew why. It was almost impossible to look away from the depths of the blue.

  “Bronte.” His voice was hoarse as he leaned down and whispered next to my neck. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  “I think that’s what the devil says before asking for your soul.” I fired the thought back, and then realized I’d actually said it out loud.

  His chuckle was warm; it wrapped around me and squeezed tight. “I’m going to just ignore that, within five seconds of agreeing to friendship, you compared me to the devil.”

  And just like that, Drew Amhurst stepped across the threshold, and into my world.

  CHAPTER 3

  Andrew

  My first thought: Braden’s going to lose his shit.

  My second: But it’s okay. We’ll send him away somewhere after I kiss up and down his mom’s glorious body. I may even take a selfie by her perfect hips and rest my cheek against her ass. Shh, don’t tell.

  My third: He’s not too old for military school, right?

  “You’re staring.” Her green eyes flicked to mine, her pink tongue snuck out and licked her bottom lip before her teeth held it captive for one-point-two seconds. I clenched my tatted-up hands into fists and swayed a bit toward her.

  “Did you expect an apology?” I finally rasped.

  Her eyes darted from mine to my nose ring, then to my neck, where I had an eagle tattoo on the right side, and then her gaze traveled south. I was wearing a loose black tank, so she was getting an eyeful of tattoos.

  I tried not to preen when she continued to check me out, down my lean arms until her eyes rested on my right wrist.

  I was wearing a white bandana around it, along with three leather bracelets on my right hand, and my always present red bracelet on my left hand that reminded me of all my sins and faults.

  “I like those,” she said softly, and then she seemed to shake herself out of her stupor and gulped. “Wine?”

  I smiled. “Thought you’d never ask.”

  “And I thought I told you to tone it down?” she grumbled under her breath.

  I wasn’t sure if it was a question or a complaint. Before I could think of figuring that out, she was walking away from me.

  I grinned after her as her ass swayed back and forth, almost weeping when she made it into the kitchen and reached up into the cabinet to grab another glass. I was able to see it all.

  Her ass.

  Her curves.

  The small of her back as her cream sweater lifted just high enough for me to see her smooth white skin.

  “You like red?” She was still struggling to reach the glass when I took pity on her and came to her rescue.

  I could feel the heat emitting from her body as I moved behind her and reached overhead to pull the glass down.

  My fingers itched to jerk her against me.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  It was like my sex drive had gone into hunger-mode without an off button.

  Damn, I want to take her like a savage against the fridge decorated with the mom magnets.

  Every weird fantasy I’d ever had about librarians and teachers came flaring to life as she turned around and gave me a scathing look.

  Probably not the time to ask her if she has a wooden spoon and knows how to use it, right?

  I vaguely remembered that she’d asked for my wine preference, so I quickly handed her the glass and tried to gather myself before I gathered her and didn’t let go. “Red is good.”

  “Good, because I don’t have white.” She grinned and started pouring quite heavily into a wine glass.

  “That’s good.” I chuckled. “We don’t want me getting drunk. Not sure I can turn it off then, and I try to stay away from too much alcohol.”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks bloomed red.

  “Hey.” I reached out, then dropped my hand. “It’s fine. I just like to be careful. All the guys do. It’s our thing. We weren’t the best in our teens or early twenties, so wine and cider are basically the only things we drink. Anything harder than that, and we suddenly remember how fucking nice it is to do a line of cocaine and pretend we’re Superman.”

  She choked on her sip.

  I winced. “Sorry, too far? Also, know that Braden is in good hands. Plus, you raised him right. You don’t have to worry about—”

  She waved me off, her face pale. “Subject change?”

  “What? You don’t like talking about drugs?” I teased. “Should we go over safe sex next? I could do the good ol’ birds-and-bees talk, especially since I never got it. Bronte, where do babies come from?”

  Laughter burst from her mouth, and she shook her head as if she wasn’t sure if she wanted to point me toward the door or ask me to sit on the couch. “Wow, I can’t decide if I hate you, or if I find you charming.”

  Her head tilted a bit, and her smile was wide. Even her teeth were pretty, all white and straight against glossy lips. Her cheeks were flushed and looking almost biteable next to her reddish-brown hair.

  “Charming.” I clinked my glass against hers. “I’m fucking adorable.”

  Her eyes widened a bit before she cleared her throat and looked away. “Yeah, I wouldn’t say adorable.
I reserve that for kittens, children, and stuffed animals.”

  “Wow, and here I thought I was selling it so well,” I teased, leaning my body against the countertop, trying to put distance between us, so she felt like I wasn’t there to maul her by the oven.

  “Uh-huh.” She opened her mouth to say something — possibly confess her undying love — when the timer went off on the oven. “Shoot!”

  I moved out of her way as she scurried around the kitchen, grabbed her oven mitts, and pulled open the door.

  The smell of food — good food. Not tour food, but food that was homemade — filled the air. I couldn’t suppress the groan that emitted from my mouth if I tried.

  “Oh God, please tell me that’s some sort of pasta.” I licked my lips, then set my wineglass down and stared at the pan of bubbling cheese as she placed it on the countertop. “I may orgasm. You’ve been warned.”

  She dropped the spoon she was using directly into the food then glared at me. “Your fault.”

  I held up my hands. “You take away points for honesty?”

  “Yes.” She glared harder. “No.” A huff and then “Should have never let you in the door.”

  “Ha, if I were you, I’d be more worried about how the hell you’re going to try to get me out.” I winked at her sharp intake of breath. “Don’t worry. I know, I know… you want me to set the table. I’ll grab the plates.”

  And just like that, I set us up on the breakfast bar with plates, napkins, cutlery, and then moved her goblet near her plate all while she watched me, possibly frozen in shock that I was house-trained.

  “I’m not an animal, you know,” I said once I pulled out her barstool. “I have manners. I just like seeing you blush.”

  She gulped and then looked guiltily away before sitting down on the stool. “I know. Sorry, I just…” Her shoulders slumped a bit. “It’s been a while since I’ve had dinner with someone, or with anyone of the male variety. Amelia’s with her friends a lot, and even when she’s home, we’re usually binge-watching something or sitting on the couch…”

  “Hmm…” I grabbed a napkin and folded it out on her lap then tilted her chin up with my fingertip. “Food should be savored. Life will always come at you fast, but you won’t ever regret sitting down and letting your body rest while your mind goes over the things you did that day and take a minute to thank God you’re alive. Just sit. Food should be experienced, and it’s my preference that it’s experienced with someone you mildly tolerate.”