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“Fine! Tell him not to worry,” I shout after her, “I’ll get all this ‘crap’ out of here and find somewhere else to finish my album.”
“Whatever, Mr. Rock Star,” she calls back over her shoulder.
“Stop calling me that!” I shout back in annoyance.
In reply, she slams the door to the top of the stairs behind her.
I stare at the closed door in annoyance. But I’m also feeling guilty. It wasn’t until I took Lacy on the full tour of the house, noting all the repairs needed, that I realized just how run-down Rose Manor has become. I hate to admit it—I’llneveradmit it, at least not to her—but she’s right. I should have taken better care of the house in the years I’ve been visiting. I’m embarrassed at the state of it.
Especially because I really have a place in my heart for Rose Manor. The six months my mom and I spent here with Elliot and his daughter Lacy were the only time in my young life that I felt some kind of regularity and stability. Normally, mom was chasing rock stars on the road, with me in tow. I basically grew up on tour buses. Those six months we spent at Rose Manor were a refreshing change of pace. For me, anyway. My mom couldn’t stand staying still, especially in some place as out-of-the-way as Clover Springs.
That said, I’m surprised at how Lacy called me out. I remember her as such a shy, quiet teen. She rarely got angry. She was more like a little mouse, hiding in the corner with a book to read or a notepad to scribble in. She still has some of that vibe to her, I realize now—the way she hides behind her oversized glasses and her huge baggy sweatshirts…
Cool it, Ben. Stop thinking about those curves she’s packing underneath those clothes.
But she’s grown up now. And she’s clearly stressing about this stupid house. I wonder what that work deadline she mentioned is all about?
Doesn’t matter, Ben,I remind myself sternly. I don’t have time to worry about Lacyorthis ridiculous renovation project. My top priority right now is getting past my writer’s block and finishing this album. The rest doesn’t matter.
Chapter Three
Lacy
Afteryesterday’srockyreintroduction,I didn’t talk to Benjamin for the rest of the evening. I was totally exhausted and irritated. Not to mention, I was still gross from the lack of a shower. At least that’s been fixed. I smile now as I let the warm water rush over my body and start lathering the shampoo on my scalp.
As jerky as he’s been behaving, I have to admit that Benjamin looks better than ever. He’s even cuter in person than he is in the photos I’ve seen of him on social media and in magazines. No wonder he always seems to have some Hollywood starlet or famous popstar on his arm. With his ripped muscles, sexy stubble, and wild head of thick hair, he’s irresistible eye candy. And then, on top of it all, he’s got those smoldering eyes. They sort of have that tortured musician look to them, I think to myself as I rinse the shampoo out of my hair and comb conditioner through it. I can’t help wondering if he’s dating anyone now? Is there a mysterious secret girlfriend waiting back for him in Nashville or LA?
I blush as I remember my slip-up, how I admitted that I knew about his two famous homes from that stupidArchitectural Digestarticle. How embarrassing. I made myself look like some kind of psycho-stalker. The truth is, I always pick up a magazine if I see his name on the cover. But we’re technically step-siblings, so that’s normal, right?
Or wewerestep-siblings, I remind myself.
Does it even count if it was only for six months?
I take the removable showerhead and move the stream of water from my hair down over my breasts, stomach, and between my legs, letting the warmth run over me. I feel a tingle between my legs as I aim the showerhead at my sweet spot, just for a moment, just enough to tease myself.
Seeing Benjamin shirtless when I arrived yesterday, I immediately realized he’d gotten slightly more muscular than when we were teens. Briefly, I wonder what it would be like to press myself against his chest and run my hand over that chiseled six pack. His hands are so adept with a piano or a guitar, what could they do to a woman’s body? But the sexiest thing about Benjamin is probably thatattitude.That no-fucks-given, I’m-a-rock star-and-I-know-it look in his eyes.Ugh.I bring one hand between my legs, thinking I’ll just finish myself off—
BANG!The crash of a shampoo bottle falling to the shower floor jerks me out of my lusty stupor. I nearly jump out of my skin. It’s for the best, I tell myself. Benjamin is the last person I should be thinking about while doing…that.
I finish rinsing off and turn off the water, giving a silent thanks again for the fact that the plumber was able to make it over this morning. Ben had still been in bed, and I’d been sipping my morning coffee, enjoying the silence and solitude, when a truck marked Pete’s Plumbing pulled up to the door. I thought for a second that old Pete, who used to unclog the toilet after Nanette flushed cigarettes down it, reallywasstill in business.
Instead, it was his son who stepped out of the van, tools in hand. He told me that his dad had died awhile back, and he’d taken over the family business. He also took one look at Rose Manor and oh-so-casually mentioned that he had a contractor friend who could look at it and give me an estimate on the repairs. After yesterday’s tour of traumas, I agreed to it. The contractor should be coming by soon.
As I’m getting dressed, my phone rings. It’s dad.
“Hey, sweetheart, sorry I missed your call yesterday.”
His voice is crackling on the line. The reception out here sucks.
“Hey dad. Thanks for calling me back.”
“Everything okay? You made it safe to Rose Manor?”
“Well, yeah, I did. But we’ve got a problem.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Benjamin is here.”
