Page 22 of Rock the Chardonnay

I push it aside. “No, Ciaran. It’s late. I need to go to sleep.”

“That’s cool, that’s cool.” He holds up his hands. “I’ll see you at the festival in the mañana.” He mispronounces the Spanish word and flashes that megawatt grin at me again, but to both of our surprise, it does absolutely nothing for me. “I look forward to talking with you tomorrow.”

“Sure.” My hand sits on the edge of the door, ready to close and lock it behind him.

“Hey, one more thing.” He sticks his hands in his pockets and backs away, but it would be noticeable if I slam the door in his face.

“What is it?”

“Watch out for Declan.”

The mere mention of his brother’s name straightens my spine. “Why?”

“He’s always had a thing for you. And he’s not the best in relationships. He’s not like us, you know?” He waves a hand between us.

“Yeah. I know.” I dry swallow. I knew it back then, too, which is how I’d ended up with Ciaran in the first place. There’s always been something a little frightening about Declan. He is all promises and hope I know I can’t live up to.

“He’s a decent guy, if you like that stuffy-nerdy thing he does.” Ciaran’s expression tells me he clearly doesn’t care for it. “But he just doesn’t get it. He falls hard and fast. It’s how he ended up in that mess with his ex-wife. We need someone temporary, right? We’re rolling stones.”

“Exactly.” The word sounds hollow and falls flat. The mention of Declan’s ex chases away the last residual pleasure from my earlier sex hormones. “I really have to go.”

“Right.” There’s something sincere in his expression. “Tomorrow, Daughtry.” He waves once, then I close the door on this entire conversation.

Tomorrow. Life is always different tomorrow.

CHAPTER 11

Declan

“Dad, can I buy Daughtry’s album?”

I look up at Alex from where I’m buttering toast. Or, over-buttering the toast. No solitary slice of bread really needs a full quarter cup of softened butter. “What are you talking about?” I scrape half the butter onto an empty plate.

Today, Alex has on neon pink eyeshadow and some sort of sparkly lip balm that smells like fake strawberries. “Daughtry’s album. I want to listen to it. Please?” He holds out my phone with her album already pulled up on the screen.

Daughtry looks fucking hot on that album cover, which does absolutely nothing to help my sleep deprived state. She wears a thin purple tank top that slings low over the curves of her breasts. Her hair is ashy blond on the cover, in long, sexy waves, and her eyes are painted with liner in the shape of feathers. She doesn’t show her ass on the cover, but the memory of it last night is enough to get me hard again. Her ass is perfection, a Venn diagram of all the things I find attractive.

Call me good girl.

She looks like a sexy rock angel, and there is no way I’m going to be productive if I have to look at that photo any longer.

Adjusting myself as discreetly as possible, I hit the purchase button and hand my device back to Alex. “She needs a sweater for that cover.”

“You are so old.” Alex fits his headphones over his ears and takes his toast and copy of The Misfits to the kitchen table.

Right. Old. I’m too old for Daughtry, or at least too old for her one-time-only policy. Is that a normal thing? I am not the person to ask, and there is zero chance I’ll talk to Ciaran about it. Besides, four years seems like a much smaller age gap in our thirties than when she was eighteen and I was twenty-two.

Of course, this is the same refrain that prevented me from getting more than one hour of tortured sleep the night before.

I pour myself a third cup of strong coffee and do ten jumping jacks. Perfect. Now I’m tired, horny, and out of breath.

“Hi, hon.” My mom walks into the room looking bright and chipper as a chipmunk on speed. She kisses my cheek then bypasses me for the coffee machine. “Sleep well?”

“Sure thing.” Lies. I took a shower after I got home, during which I tortured myself with thoughts of showering with naked Daughtry, then woke up at midnight with my cock aching. Then at four with the same issue. I’ve never masturbated three times in one night.

One time only. Really?

The second I kissed her, it felt like this beautiful symphony of inevitability. Like my whole life had spiraled hers until it dropped us together in that one moment. When I was deep inside her, feeling her fall apart around me, all I could think was how I wished that fucking Daughtry Sutcliffe was an Olympic sport. I’d quit my job and focus solely on practicing.

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