No matter how much time passes by, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that motherfucker Wyatt being married to my kid sister. I should’ve known it would happen, but maybe I’ve been so wrapped up in my own shit to notice what was happening around me.
Then again, I should’ve been expecting her to quit on me too. But while I was getting ready for the tour and the launch of my own stuff, I failed to see that one coming. She breaks the news to me about a month after her crazy ass Vegas stunt, and for someone who isn’t easily surprised, I’m fucking stunned.
“I should make your ass pay for lunch,” I tell her. She’d convinced me to take her to some new Italian restaurant that had ended up being shit—plus I spent half the lunch signing napkins and tits for a group of fans that had noticed me. “Really, Kylie? Right before the goddamn tour?”
She presses her lips together into a thin white line. “Have you listened to a single word I’ve said, Lucas?”
I down the rest of my beer, which is lukewarm and flat. “I heard Wyatt, New Orleans, and sorry. Did I miss something?”
“You’re being a dick.” She digs her fork into my spaghetti, eats it, and makes a face at the taste. “Okay, that is gross. Sorry, Lucas.”
I shrug. “I’m more worried about you and McCrae picking up and moving to Louisiana. Fuck the shitty food.” I signal our waitress and mouth a request for the check. “You sure you going to be okay, Ky?”
“I plan on keeping you in line even from New Orleans. I would never quit on you.”
“But are you going to be okay?” I repeat.
“I wouldn’t be going if I didn’t think I’d be okay.” She grabs the bill the moment our waitress sets it on our table. “Don’t worry, I got this one.”
Yeah, probably out of her business credit card. I watch her carefully as she digs in her wallet for a credit card, and I’m surprised when she uses cash. “So, why the move?”
Sliding the money to the edge of the table, she lifts her shoulders. “New start. We’ve got so much baggage around here, and so much good history there, that it seems smart. And you’re only a few hours away by flight.” When I just stare at her, she heaves a sigh. “If you had Sienna back in your life right now—if you could have that new start—wouldn’t you pick up and leave?”
Of course I would. “Without a fucking doubt.”
A slow smile builds on my sister’s face. “So you understand where I’m coming from?” When I give her a little gesture that isn’t a negative or a positive, she adds, “You accept this, right? Because I feel like I need that from you before I start telling everyone else what I’ve done.”
When Kylie talks like this, it puts me in a shitty place. She has to know that. I wait until after our waitress carries off the bill and cash to tell her, “I accept everything that makes you happy.”
She sinks back into the booth. “Good. Like, incredibly good. Hell, Lucas, I was more afraid of dealing with you than I was of Dad.”
“You should be.”
As we start to leave, she looks into her bag and hands me a folded up piece of paper. “Thought you’d be interested.”
“I’m not upping your salary.”
She laughs, backing away. “Just think about it. It’ll be good for you.”
I don’t open the paper until I get back to my Jeep, and when I do I can’t help but laugh and shake my head. It’s a real estate listing for a cabin in the Tennessee mountains. It’s so fucking typical of Kylie, and across the top of the sheet is a message written in her neat handwriting.
Since you lost the last one, thought you’d be interested in taking a look at this one before you win Sienna back. Don’t give me shit about the price, either. I Googled your celebrity net worth.
I’m still shaking my head as I watch Kylie’s little compact drive past. Even though her window is up, I know exactly what she’s saying when she turns her head toward me.
“Don’t let me down.”
Over the course of the next month, I reshoot the “Ten Days” video with McBride two more times. I don’t actually watch the full run-through of the newest version until the day before it’s supposed to air when Kylie emails me the file. I watch it by myself in the living room of the cabin I let my sister talk me into buying. It’s nothing like any video I’ve ever done with the band, but for what I need to get across, it’s right. Stark and honest. Right.
A few minutes after the video ends, I get a text from Kylie wishing me good luck. Asking if I still plan on going through with going to Sienna tomorrow night. When I respond that I’m not a fucking quitter, Kylie wishes me good luck one more time.
When I go to bed much later after going to a nearby bar, it’s no surprise that my last good memory of Sienna dominates my thoughts. In these memories, she’s coming out of the bathroom of that hotel room in Atlanta, wearing that little black lace dress that had instantly made my cock harden. Instead of her blue eyes staring at me like I’ve ripped her heart to shreds, she’s looking at me with that type of emotion that most motherfuckers wish they could find.
“When we’re done tonight,” I say, yanking her to me, “I’m going to rip this goddamn thing to shreds, and tie you to each fucking corner of that bed over there.”
Even though she’s already familiar with all of the four posters of the bed, she still casts a quick glance behind her. “You don’t really want to tear my dress,” she breathes against my mouth.
I glide my tongue around her soft lips before dropping my lips to her neck. “Why the fuck not?”
“I won’t have anything to wear if you go around ripping all of my clothes.”
I growl against the center of her throat. “Then I’ll buy you another.”
“And probably pull the same crap,” she says, gasping when I jerk the lacy dress up around her hips and come down on my knees in front of her. “What are you doing?” she demands, her breath hitching.
“I want to fuck you right now.” No, that’s not right. I need to be inside of her right now. We’ve surpassed want. I need that escape that I find only with her.
“Lucas,” she starts, and I grasp her ass, causing her to suck in a deep breath between her teeth. “Cilla’s party,” she reminds me.
I know she cares about Cilla’s party as much as I do, and right now I give zero fucks. Her long legs have already started shaking violently. She’s digging her fingertips into my shoulders as I shove her panties down. And she’s moaning my name even before I pull one of her legs over my shoulders so I can skim the tip of my tongue over her pussy.
She yanks at my hair.
“Calm down.” When she pulls harder, my hand meets her ass, causing a sharp noise in the room. She shivers and loosens her grip. “God, you taste so good.”
“What about you?” she moans.
I blow against her clit, lick, and repeat. “What about me?”
“I want to make you happy. I want to—” But I cut her off by lowering her to the floor, my tongue never loosing her. I wait until she’s gasping, practically singing, and then I stop. I cover the sounds she’s making with my mouth, shoving my tongue in between her lips, letting her taste herself as I drag down my pants. When I draw away from her—and it’s fucking hard to do—she drops her blue eyes down to my cock. “I didn’t even realize you were putting that on.”
I follow her gaze to the condom and grin. “Multi-talented.” She starts to respond, but I shake my head. “Bend over, Si.”
But she moves her head from side to side, too. The motion quickly changes to a shudder as I rub my thumb over her clit. “Please, I-I want to see you,” she pleads.
I stare down at her for a minute, watching as she grinds her teeth, and her hips, before I give her a nod. “Then come here.”
I wake up then in a cold sweat, but I know how it ends. I know how she felt, how she tasted. And how she told me over and over how much she loved me—me, a fucked up man who had screwed her over.
And of course, as I drink a Sam Adams even though it’s 3 in the goddamn morning, I force myself to remember how the night ended—how I fucked her once again.
So by the time I get into my Audi to drive to Nashville the next evening, I know that there’s a good chance it’s all over.
But I turn on a playlist my sister made for me with way too much fucking Chevelle, and I remain hopeful.