Trent’s easy demeanor changed. “Forget I said anything. It’s her story, not mine. Just don’t . . . don’t be that guy. She’s my kid sister in every way that counts. Everything about you is—fuck—up until meeting Harper—shit. Don’t hurt her.” Trent took his hat off and ran his hand through his hair before placing it back on.
Dred understood what Trent was saying and, more importantly, why he was saying it. He got what it meant to redefine family. He only had to look at his own living situation. “I hear you. If I could make you promises about where this is going, I would. But I can’t.”
The idea of Pixie sleeping not ten feet from where he was sitting rubbed up against his own memories. Nights he’d spent sleeping in friend’s garages or living rooms while his mom worked the streets and took strange men back to the tiny apartment they lived in. Why hadn’t Pixie told him any of that? In fact, he realized, she hadn’t shared much of her previous life with him beyond her real first name.
He looked at Trent who was eying him coolly. “Look,” he said, choosing his words carefully, because he could feel the weight of their importance, “I want this. And I think she does too. We’ve got to figure out how to be in a relationship with each other.”
Trent frowned for another moment before smiling again. “Fine. Go. We’ll manage. But next time we’re in L.A., you can take me to that sushi place again. Your treat.”
Dred walked to Pixie to pay. He handed her his credit card. “When you’ve run this through, we’re leaving.”
“We are?” She cocked her head and smiled flirtatiously.
“Yes, Snowflake. And you and I are going to take the fastest route between here and naked.”
Cujo groaned beside him. “Oh my God. You made my fucking ears bleed.”
Pixie laughed and settled Dred’s bill, and, with the help of a taxi, made that happen in what felt like no time at all.
*
Pixie placed her key in the door to the apartment, but it swung open, ripping the key from her fingers. She tripped forward, but Dred caught her before she crashed into Lia who looked as shocked as she felt.
Pixie felt the laughter bubble up inside her. “Oh my gosh, Lia. I’m sorry.”
Lia looked over Pixie’s shoulder and obviously seeing Dred there, grinned at her. “No worries, Pix. I popped home to change. I’m going to the studio to help them catch up. Hey, Dred.”
“I shouldn’t have bailed.” She turned to Dred. “I should go back.”
“No,” Lia said gently. “We got this . . . and you got this.” She gave Dred a playful look up and down. “I think you got the better end of the bargain. I won’t be back for hours. Toodles.”
Dred laughed. “Well, that was subtle.” He wrapped his hands around her waist and nuzzled her neck. They stepped into the apartment and Dred closed the door. “I have an idea, want to play a game?”
As playful as he sounded, self-preservation stopped her from jumping in with a resounding yes. “What kind of game?” she asked, turning in his arms.
His lips descended on hers, taking the breath from her body as they teased hers. She opened for him and swallowed his groan.
Dred pulled away from her, dropped the bag he’d been carrying, and took his leather jacket off. “For every article of clothing we take off each other, we get to ask a question.”
Pixie’s stomach sank a little. There was so much about her past she didn’t want to revisit because doing that with him would destroy her. She could feel the blood leave her face.
“Hey,” he said, pulling her into his arms, “I didn’t mean to freak you out. We don’t have to play.”
Pixie stood for a moment looking out beyond the glass panels of the balcony. Sunlight rippled across the water. She was safe here. With him. In her own home.
“No. Let’s try it,” she said resolutely. “But if I hate it, can we stop?”
Dred cocked his head to one side. “Hmm,” he said, running the tips of his fingers along her collarbone. “I think we should decide on a forfeit.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, we can decide at the time one of us wants to quit.” He took her hand and led her over to one of the large sofas that flanked the fireplace. They sat down facing each other, and Dred’s finger slipped inside the top button of her sheer black blouse, tracing the skin underneath lazily. “I have a question. Where were you born?”
An easy question to start, one that wouldn’t give too much away. “On the outskirts of The Muck. Also known as Pahokee, Florida.”
“Sounds like a real must-see kind of place,” he said, making short work of the rest of her buttons. She was glad she’d worn the somewhat sexy camisole underneath. Dred slipped the sleeves down her arms and threw the shirt on the sofa behind her. “My turn. Ask me.”
She tried to ignore the way Dred’s fingers slid under the thin strap of her camisole and focused on what question to ask. It would set the tone for the kinds of questions he would ask her. And while she desperately wanted to know why the band still lived together and what Dred’s life was like in foster care, she played it safe. “What would you be if you weren’t a rock star?”
Dred nudged the camisole strap off her shoulder.